The Writing Thread

[Meowi]

Any writers? Share your work... Songs, Poem, Shorts - anything.
I'll start off... (Keep in mind I am only 14 :p)

Blue on Grey

Was my birthplace my home? Was it my passion with an axe, my zeal? Those questions entered my mind. Was it right? Would it be loyal to human life - to kill?
The boat rocked slowly, timber oars dipping into the dank cool water. Fog set on the wet, and sails curled with the wind. I sat down on the wooden stool, beating the wretched ocean with my oar. When Captain’s faithful eye was gone, I stopped paddling. I swiftly reached for the sack underneath my stool and picked out my axe. I wanted to feel its evil, steely fear.
The axe was covered in blood, the paint of all evil. Duke William’s ship was now parallel to us; the would-be king sat firmly on a perversely decorated throne, standing high. William was a ravenous man, O, how I feared the sureness of his mission!So many times, when I entered the court of Normandy, I’d find William off hunting deer. William’s ship and the rest soon frizzled into the drizzly fog.
“That man over there, I am watching!” said the Captain. Yet again I picked my oars, ready to paddle the twenty-one freezing miles over the Channel. What did it mean to be a Frank? Why was I fighting with the neighbour, Normandy? That question remained unanswered, but it was the reason I was disowned from my village, Bac.
They expelled me. Claudé De Mande was now a traitor, seasoned and cursed in treason. My family kicked me out of my home. My lover discarded me and walked away; oh how I pined for that Alda, my one real love that I’ll ever have. All my problems started from one faithful deal - to help a woman to find her own true love. Matilda, William’s wife, lingered for another man and another life.
Matilda had hired me prior to the affair, cloaked in a deceptive veil of unworthy love. She pleaded for a new life, as she looked up to my solemn and understanding face. Her short stature was heavy and weary, her expressions vague and quite often pained.
I had to help her. I saw much of my own Alda in her beautiful nature. Yet, when she told me who she was, I felt a stain of guilty pleasure in my heart.
Of course, it was only right to fall in love with Matilda, and she bore me a child, much to Williams’ laconic but occasionally intense angst. After much love and adoration towards Matilda, I soon found myself in a rather vile case.
When I returned to my humble home months later, I was attacked by immoral rumors and rich accusations. Alda was gone; she was now well betrothed to the town’s drunk. I was the Queen’s culpable lover, and sitting beside me on this dingy boat was the love child.
Before my child’s birth, I met with Matilda and arranged an agreement. Under the moonlight credence, I watched as she comforted her large belly. Duke William was to be told the baby was his own. And, finally on that faithful spring night, some thirteen years ago, Alain De Mande was born. I was to take the child, and William was to believe it was his own son.
To ensure my safety and that of my son and of my own life, I became a Norman soldier. I took the given name Richard Demande, my son, Alain. With fear and hope, I built a humble dwelling deep in the darkest shades of a forest green.
And, so after many faithful years of modest hermitage, I received the very news which would situate me and my adolescent son on this ship.
The wind blew lightly on the decorated sail; the sewn image of a deer pranced lifelike in the wind. We had been on this wretched ship for at least ten agonizing days. It was in these past days in which I had seen numerous friends and colleagues rot to insanity.
As I rowed tirelessly, a felt an innocent tap on my shoulder,
“Father, when will we arrive in England?” asked Alain.
“When the crow calls, my son, our journey will end but a war will start” I told him.
The boat moved on in the cold, wicked silence. When the crow would call, we would land and fight. But then I pondered, could the crow that I had envisioned be shot at with a poison arrow? Could the boat have rowed the wrong way?
I had an eerie feeling of sombre fear, the night sky was rolling into inevitable and unwelcome light. Hours of rowing and waiting were nothing now, due to the fact that Captain Hugo had been drunk ever since we first set foot on this boat. I recognized the fear in other men, and that of Alain. The prospect of mutiny was rising, as captain Hugo walked about the boat, in his hand a flask of warm, brutal wine. Immediately I stopped rowing, the Captain’s eyes fixated right on mine.
“Richard De Mande! What is the meaning of this!” slurred Captain Hugo.
“It is the fact that under your spell, we are forced to row into the salvations of a nightmare!” I said, looking right into his eyes.
The crew knew there was a fight brewing.
“How do you expect to get to England without me?” said Captain Hugo.
“By stopping you, you sad, moronic dog!” The cheers of the crew went wild, but whilst I was soaking up the cheers from my victorious sermon, Captain Hugo unsheathed his prized sword. I looked upon Alain’s starving face, deprived of nurture and sick from need. The look of weak innocence was not just present on the young Alain’s face, but the rest of the miserable crew.
“Put down your sword Hugo!” I bravely said.
The whole crew faced Hugo, each member donning their own sword, swords which would never touch true battle.
“Hugo, we will rid this ship of evil and pray to God we end up safe” I stammered. “We will never make it home anyway, whether we find England or not”.
The crew cheered with my gravely true address. Hugo gave up; he had lost the only battle we soldiers would ever, thankfully, come across. My words were a symbol of hope, a hope for land. The crew watched as Hugo settled into the back of the ship, silent like the night sky. That night all the crew slept in prosperity and question, hoping that someday they would set foot on land.
In the early hours of the morning, when the stars were reverting back from the fringes of darkness, Alain sighted land. A mass of green stood neutral on the horizon. Our prayers had been answered; the deed of ridding the ship of evil had been fulfilled. We had come across a new land, unbeknownst to Normans or English alike.
And as I looked at the forthcoming land, I did not see a crow, but a white dove, calling for us. Then it made me think, was my birthplace my home? Was it my passion with an axe, my zeal?
No.
The end

[jaycee]

I've always enjoyed writing... but if I shared any of my work of late on here I'd be banned! :laugh: (It's related to my latex fetish...)
I once wrote a new, comical version of "The Odyssey", based on Homer's "The Iliad" (or, more accurately, a synopsis of "The Iliad") about five years ago. I re-read it a few months ago and fell about laughing at my own obscure sense of humour! (Remember, I'm perfect in every way - check my profile! :lol:) Anyone interested can email me ([email protected]). As a side, it probably helps to watch the movie "Troy" first (a most enjoyable movie, as long as you like long movies like me) before reading the story...

[ButterCookie]

I write poetry, but there's only one I've ever posted online as yet. Patti Smith is my biggest inspiration :D


She walks towards him
Looking in his eyes
Staring in his face

She reaches out
To touch his perfect face
As wings unfold

Gasping for last breaths
Rolling, as leaves press into bare skin

Wind bites their faces
Locking their embraces

Still
They lie, heavily breathing
Hands touching
Finally, sitting upright to smooth their razorblade wings.

[StreetAngel95]

i'm in the process of writing a poem/song (not sure how it's gonna turn out)

what i have so far:

little mistakes make something beautiful
it sits there like a diamond in the rough
somehow i knew, my diamond was you
and our something beautiful was love

:o how is it?

[jaycee]

i'm in the process of writing a poem/song (not sure how it's gonna turn out)

what i have so far:

little mistakes make something beautiful
it sits there like a diamond in the rough
somehow i knew, my diamond was you
and our something beautiful was love

:o how is it?

Ooh, I'm expecting great things to come of this! :nod: Keep up the good work!

[jaycee]

This is some of the best poetry I've come across - "The WASP", by Jim Morrison:

I wanna tell you 'bout Texas Radio and the Big Beat
Comes out of the Virginia swamps
Cool and slow with plenty of precision
With a back beat narrow and hard to master

Some call it heavenly in it's brilliance
Others, mean and rueful of the Western dream
I love the friends I have gathered together on this thin raft
We have constructed pyramids in honor of our escaping
This is the land where the Pharaoh died

The Negroes in the forest brightly feathered
They are saying, "Forget the night.
Live with us in forests of azure.
Out here on the perimeter there are no stars
Out here we is stoned - immaculate."

Listen to this, and I'll tell you 'bout the heartache
I'll tell you 'bout the heartache and the loss of God
I'll tell you 'bout the hopeless night
The meager food for souls forgot
I'll tell you 'bout the maiden with wrought iron soul

I'll tell you this
No eternal reward will forgive us now for wasting the dawn

I'll tell you 'bout Texas Radio and the Big Beat
Soft drivin', slow and mad, like some new language

Now, listen to this, and I'll tell you 'bout the Texas
I'll tell you 'bout the Texas Radio
I'll tell you 'bout the hopeless night
Wandering the Western dream
Tell you 'bout the maiden with wrought iron soul

Here's the song, from L.A. Woman - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3zayq41CZhc. Enjoy!

[tilthefirefades]

I love writing!!! :D

Here is a poem I wrote about a year ago:


Summer has left in more ways than one
It has left my soul which now remains cold
And it has left my bones which shiver for none
I feel much too empty to be breathing
And so I must find something to be filled with
I thought it could have been you
So wrong I was
As a fool would be believing that for once
Just once
The leaves would stay the same
And not fall into all familiar shades
As I once hoped
But still they turn
Becoming the same they were last year
As I am
Every year I attempt to not change
And still I do
Every year I hope to not find someone like you
And still I do
Every year I become something I’m not
And still I want to be with you
Like I never had before
Because I’ve always chased defeat
But how else can you expect someone like me
To get a taste of victory?

[Aussie W/Heart]

I LOOOVE Jim Morrison, such a weird & wonderful poet, I remember listening to An American Prayer & thinking this is soooo cool, so I bought both Weird scene's inside the goldmine LP's back in the late 70's.. Jim Morrison , Jimi Hendrix, Fleetwood Mac Rumour's & Tusk is what I listened to mostly:thumbsup:

[Sleepless-Child]

Jim was a weird genius. I think that writing is really a good thing, to express yourself, and to share things you can't say, actually. That's why I love writing, but I write in french so you'll never know! They're some pretty good writers here, and I'd like to read the "Iliad" parody :laugh:. Keep writing everybody :thumbsup:


Summer has left in more ways than one
It has left my soul which now remains cold
And it has left my bones which shiver for none
I feel much too empty to be breathing
And so I must find something to be filled with
I thought it could have been you
So wrong I was
As a fool would be believing that for once
Just once
The leaves would stay the same
And not fall into all familiar shades
As I once hoped
But still they turn
Becoming the same they were last year
As I am
Every year I attempt to not change
And still I do
Every year I hope to not find someone like you
And still I do
Every year I become something I’m not
And still I want to be with you
Like I never had before
Because I’ve always chased defeat
But how else can you expect someone like me
To get a taste of victory?

Love that. The beginning reminds me of "Nightbird".

[tilthefirefades]

Jim was a weird genius. I think that writing is really a good thing, to express yourself, and to share things you can't say, actually. That's why I love writing, but I write in french so you'll never know! They're some pretty good writers here, and I'd like to read the "Iliad" parody :laugh:. Keep writing everybody :thumbsup:



Love that. The beginning reminds me of "Nightbird".

Thanks! :D I never thought about that, but it does resemble it haha

[TrueFaith77]

great idea for a thread :thumbsup:

[Musicman408]

Great writing all!

I'm waiting for Danielle to come and take this thread by storm. She is a great writer! :nod:

[ButterCookie]

I love the beginning of your song, StreetAngel95!

I just found this that I wrote for an exam about two years ago. The Question was Describe a Person you admire.

The lights dipped into a haze of cigarette smoke and the bright, peeling posters were hidden, almost as if tins of black paint had been thrown at the walls. The air was thick with the smell of sweat and beer in the auditorium. Cigarette smoke stuck to clothing and skin, causing the noses that weren’t accustomed to it to wrinkle slightly.

When the spotlights flicked and blinked on, Chris Stein, Nigel Harrison, Jimmy Destri, Frank Infante and Clem Burke seemed to have materialised magically in their positions beside a guitar, bass, keyboard and a huge drum kit surrounded by at least 10 cymbals, ranging in size from those as small as a vinyl record to one as big as a serving platter.

The crowd were like wild dogs. New Years Eve, 1978, and the Oakland Coliseum Arena was packed. Eager fans desperate for the show to commence. Then, the general buzz of the crowd erupted, starting by a single wolf whistle, into a roaring pit of testosterone and adrenaline as Debbie Harry strutted, sexily, to her microphone. For those in the front row, her sweet perfume, like honey mixed and mingled with the hot metallic smell from the overdriven amplifiers. A huge grin stretched across her face, revealing a row of straight white teeth from behind her perfectly crimson, heart-shaped pout.

In a voice like liquid, she addressed the crowd,
“All right you cheeky monkeys, who’s ready to party like it’s 1979?!!” The crowd roared, some men wolf whistled while others stared, open mouthed.
“Okay then,” she continued seductively, “this one’s called Pretty Baby”

The first bars began to ring out and Debbie turned, sweeping her one shouldered blue dress behind her, flashing her toned calves to the front row, momentarily overpowering the metallic smell with her sweet feminine scent.

In turning, her thick, backcombed, two toned – peroxide blonde and naturally dark brown – hair bounced around her shoulders, brushing her neck and exposed back. She reached up to flick it out of her eyes.

Just notes before she had to sing, she spun gracefully back round on the ball of her blue, slip on heels, clenching her painted toes to steady herself as dress, scarf and hair whipped around behind her, causing a refreshing gust around her ankles.

Underneath her neatly shaped, arched, brown eyebrows, she batted her eyelids over sparkling green eyes, lined with thick, smudged black eyeliner and copious amounts of shimmering purple and cream eye shadow and lashings of mascara.

“Stars live in the evening, but the very young need the sun, uh-huh...”

Her rosy cheeks highlighted her high cheekbones and neat jaw line as she sang. The men and women alike were uncontrollable, whistling, dancing and jumping all at once. One man in particular was overly enthusiastic. Clad in a Sex Pistols ‘God Save the Queen’ shirt, black drainpipe jeans and red converse sneakers, he moved his head madly to the music, his brown curls bouncing around his ears. He held a plastic pint glass above his head at arms length, every now and then, spilling amber drops.
Before he knew what was happening, Debbie had reached down and taken the beer from his hand. Raising it to her red lips a small drop spilled and rolled down her right breast.

The excitement still hung in the air as the last bars of the final song faded out, Debbie Harry addressed the crowd for one last time, in her smooth Jersey accent,
“Thank you so much guys. I’ve been Debbie and we’ve been Blondie. I hope you enjoyed yourselves and much as we did!”
And all was black.

[StreetAngel95]

I love the beginning of your song, StreetAngel95!


thank you so much!:] unfortunately, i'm pretty stuck here. found it's been hard writing about love if you've never had a boyfriend....

[chelluversu]

thank you so much!:] unfortunately, i'm pretty stuck here. found it's been hard writing about love if you've never had a boyfriend....

haha i know what you mean..

here's one that i did for school..its a found poem that i made from Night by Elie Wiesel its called Shattered Alters but i made it a little different by adding lines that aren't in the book (guess its not a found poem then)

Why do you wear the yellow star?
I don't know.
It's not lethal...
Of what then did you die?
Why did i live?
I don't know.

In a world frought with peril
the joy in his eyes, gone...
He no longer sang.
They refused to listen.
Why didn't they listen?
I don't know.

He walks with his eyes cast down,
avoiding people's gaze.
Why do you pray?
Why do I pray? Strange question...
I don't know.

Oh God, master of the universe,
in you infinite compassion
have mercy on us.

Why did he do nothing?
Does he not love us too?
I don't know.

The alter was shattered.
The wall coverings shredded.
the walls themselves bare.
What happened here?
I don't know.

[daniellaaarisen]

.....I was gonna just keep lurking around here for a while and not post, but I absolutely cannot resist this thread. My blog, for anyone who is interested: http://danidennis.blogspot.com

Some recent stuff (no idea why they both end with "hour", but hey...):

_________________________________________________

My Eleventh Hour

I caught my own breath in my hands
and took the time to breathe it back in--
sweet and satisfied, stale and strangled,
spangled with lavender and sour milk
and what it means to be nationless.

Tell me you smell something different.

Tell me I'm bound to what I give
but never to what I am given;
that I can choose when the balloon pops,
when my corpse falls earthbound;
that the rushed and eager touches
I collect under my bed
can be quilted into
a sickening new height of love.

I can't remember who told me
that I wasn't young anymore.
It might've been the stout cashier woman
who proclaimed me a thief when I
slid a Snickers bar into my pocket.
It might've been my Playboy Mommy:
she warned me of the sins in my blood,
of her own obsession
with a woman's power to unveil.
Or maybe God told me on the day
when he made me suddenly
wretchedly
unequivocally alone.

On this ancient earth, I'm rarely glad to seem young--
until I'm tangled in sheets
and limbs I can't get out of,
until the simplest mechanisms of
a beating heart lose their intrigue
in my stoic desperation for blood.

Tell me you smell something different on my breath;
Tell me I can choose to be boundless.

_________________________________________________

Witching Hour

In September, he found his witching hour,
while the rest of the house was asleep
and I was the only one left
to switch out the records for him—

To sing “teenage wasteland” with him,
to top off his rum for him,
to light his cigars.

In September, it was cool outside
but his body stayed warm.
I sat in the cold with him,
rocked in the wind with him,
my eyes following the furious sway
of his body with him.

But he wasn’t furious with me.

Baba o’Riley excited my father.
“Doesn’t this get your blood going, honey?
“Don’t you just need to hit something?”

I watched him dance with it,
the heavyweight bag flying seamlessly
between his fists.
I watched him with frozen veins,
with all the need in the world
to sit still, to never hit anything
like he could.

He took his last swaggered punch
and I jumped to break his fall—
clinging to hands that know
my blood all too well;
haunted by a breath
that once kissed me goodnight.

[daniellaaarisen]

I love writing!!! :D

Here is a poem I wrote about a year ago:

Summer has left in more ways than one
It has left my soul which now remains cold
And it has left my bones which shiver for none
I feel much too empty to be breathing
And so I must find something to be filled with
I thought it could have been you
So wrong I was
As a fool would be believing that for once
Just once
The leaves would stay the same
And not fall into all familiar shades
As I once hoped
But still they turn
Becoming the same they were last year
As I am
Every year I attempt to not change
And still I do
Every year I hope to not find someone like you
And still I do
Every year I become something I’m not
And still I want to be with you
Like I never had before
Because I’ve always chased defeat
But how else can you expect someone like me
To get a taste of victory?

I really like parts of this. You're an intensely emotional writer, which I LOVE (probably because I write the same way.... :laugh:).

[Sleepless-Child]

Witching Hour

In September, he found his witching hour,
while the rest of the house was asleep
and I was the only one left
to switch out the records for him—

To sing “teenage wasteland” with him,
to top off his rum for him,
to light his cigars.

In September, it was cool outside
but his body stayed warm.
I sat in the cold with him,
rocked in the wind with him,
my eyes following the furious sway
of his body with him.

But he wasn’t furious with me.

Baba o’Riley excited my father.
“Doesn’t this get your blood going, honey?
“Don’t you just need to hit something?”

I watched him dance with it,
the heavyweight bag flying seamlessly
between his fists.
I watched him with frozen veins,
with all the need in the world
to sit still, to never hit anything
like he could.

He took his last swaggered punch
and I jumped to break his fall—
clinging to hands that know
my blood all too well;
haunted by a breath
that once kissed me goodnight.

Well...I'm just impressed. (The first one was kind of complicated for me :D)

[jaycee]

Well...I'm just impressed. (The first one was kind of complicated for me :D)

The second one was excellent, but the first... just absolutely fabulous! :nod: I'm all envious of her abilities now! :D

[tilthefirefades]

I really like parts of this. You're an intensely emotional writer, which I LOVE (probably because I write the same way.... :laugh:).

Thank you so much! I was thinking of that while reading your first poem, that we have a similar writing style. I can't wait to read more of yours :thumbsup:

[Sleepless-Child]

The second one was excellent, but the first... just absolutely fabulous! I'm all envious of her abilities now!

-_-'. If only I could understand everything in this beautiful English language. Reading English Poetry takes too much of my energy. Come on, Danielle, you're almost French, you could translate it to me :D

[daniellaaarisen]

Thanks you guys-- you flatter me. :p

I love this thread, though, and I wish more people would post stuff!

[iamnotafraid]

Thanks you guys-- you flatter me. :p

I love this thread, though, and I wish more people would post stuff!

Keep posting your material Daniell.

[daniellaaarisen]

Invisible Blood

I was never fully satisfied, chasing you
on heels that weren’t yet broken,
dodging the defenselessness you allowed me to feel
like it was a bullet soaked in a plague.

But this Achilles found her weakness
when something in her ankles snapped
and she surrendered to the ground
apologetically.
I clung to you in spite of myself,
a tendril clasped for dear life
to the understated softness
I never thought you’d unveil.

You work only by the moonlight,
working only with your hands:
silently, I watch you wrap your fingers
around my limbs
like an irrepressible vine,
attend to my reservations
like they belong to your own blood.

Blood—
an indelible tie of which
we can never be fully conscious;
the endless space we make in our womb
where ends don’t ever have to meet.

I’m on this earth to share the bonds
that warm my aching body,
here in skin and bones to watch
all of these bones break,
absorbing all the life you have to give
so that I may one day
give it back to you.

[iamnotafraid]

Blind Blood

she surrendered to the ground
apologetically.
I clung to you in spite of myself,
a tendril clasped for dear life
around the stoic woman
who found so much warmth to give
when needed in another’s darkness.
.

Dani, for some reason I thought of Stevie at the end of singing
Rhiannon on the Mirage video when she surrenders to the ground.

[jaycee]

Blind Blood

I was never fully satisfied, chasing you
on heels that weren’t yet broken,
dodging the defenselessness you allowed me to feel
like it was a bullet soaked in a plague.

But this Achilles found her weakness
when something in her ankles snapped
and she surrendered to the ground
apologetically.
I clung to you in spite of myself,
a tendril clasped for dear life
around the stoic woman
who found so much warmth to give
when needed in another’s darkness.

You work only by the moonlight,
working only with your hands:
silently, I watch you wrap your fingers
around my limbs
like an irrepressible vine,
attend to my reservations
like they belong to your own blood.

Blood—
an indelible tie of which
we can never be fully conscious;
the endless space we make in our womb
where ends don’t ever have to meet.

I’m on this earth to share the bonds
that warm my aching body,
here in skin and bones to watch
all of these bones break,
absorbing all the life you have to give
so that I may one day
give it back to you.

You're just showing off now! :p
Seriously, though, that was absolutely brilliant! :nod: I can hardly wait for the next piece!

[ButterCookie]

To fight or to fly?

Ethereal light breaks the dark canopy
as she glides between the claws of bracken.
Her babe, a rag doll, limp in florals
thorns - chestnut as the horse she left aside the brook-
tearing delicate silk, floral and chiffon.

To fight or to fly?
She flies.

Streamers whip her calves as her feet tear the undergrowth
she glides no more.
Stumbling through tendrils, she clings to her babe,
Both too silent to hear one another’s last fleeting breath.

As they float to the carpeted ground,
Skeletal leaves break their final fall.

[jaycee]

To fight or to fly?

Ethereal light breaks the dark canopy
as she glides between the claws of bracken.
Her babe, a rag doll, limp in florals
thorns - chestnut as the horse she left aside the brook-
tearing delicate silk, floral and chiffon.

To fight or to fly?
She flies.

Streamers whip her calves as her feet tear the undergrowth
she glides no more.
Stumbling through tendrils, she clings to her babe,
Both too silent to hear one another’s last fleeting breath.

As they float to the carpeted ground,
Skeletal leaves break their final fall.

Oh how I wish I could write like this... envy is written all over me at the moment...

[daniellaaarisen]

To fight or to fly?

Ethereal light breaks the dark canopy
as she glides between the claws of bracken.
Her babe, a rag doll, limp in florals
thorns - chestnut as the horse she left aside the brook-
tearing delicate silk, floral and chiffon.

To fight or to fly?
She flies.

Streamers whip her calves as her feet tear the undergrowth
she glides no more.
Stumbling through tendrils, she clings to her babe,
Both too silent to hear one another’s last fleeting breath.

As they float to the carpeted ground,
Skeletal leaves break their final fall.

Yay tendrils!

I bolded the phrases that I really like.

[daniellaaarisen]

Also, thanks you guys. :) That was a really hard piece for me to write for emotional reasons and I was worried that it would only make sense to me!

[StreetAngel95]

Well, we just started the poetry unit in LA Honors - YAY!

and our homework tonight was to write two free verse, short poems::

what i got::

A melodic enchantment
Fills her soul
As hope, magic
Fill her heart
“Dreams unwind, love’s a state of mind”
The Gypsy Woman sings to her,
And then that simple harmony is all she wants –
a luminescent sparkle in a crystalline night.


AND....


Death, the cruelest of plagues,
a blanket fading into the dawn, for days and days.
I cried alone, a time ago
and of the terror, silent bodies would not know



as i said, they were supposed to be short and sweet. they're not my best, but whatever

[chelluversu]

I try to write something whenever i can..or whenever something pops in my head
I wrote this one yesterday morning at 2am because i was sad mixed with a few other emotions..

My head's above ground
there's rocks all around.
grab one
make it count...
I wont scream
and i wont shout.
just take me out..

[Zombie]

Well done, all of you. It's hard to write, but for those that can, you kinda must. And poetry is such a dying art. Please keep it up!

I write for a living, which doesn't leave as much time for my own creative stuff as I'd like.

I am working on an essay right now about my mother's death that I think is turning out well. I can post it here when it's done, but only if y'all want to read it, since it's not a poem or a song.

[David]

I'm writing a book. I'm the ghostwriter. It's the true story of a woman who was married to a serial rapist. She didn't know this until after their divorce. It's a fascinating story, filled with shocking elements, vengeance, fear, psychopathology, & stupidity.

I hope she & I can get most if not all of the book written by the end of this summer.

[daniellaaarisen]

I am working on an essay right now about my mother's death that I think is turning out well. I can post it here when it's done, but only if y'all want to read it, since it's not a poem or a song.

You better post it. :)



I'm writing a book. I'm the ghostwriter. It's the true story of a woman who was married to a serial rapist. She didn't know this until after their divorce. It's a fascinating story, filled with shocking elements, vengeance, fear, psychopathology, & stupidity.

I hope she & I can get most if not all of the book written by the end of this summer.

I love how 11,000 posts later, you still pull **** like this out of your sleeve... :)

[iamnotafraid]

I'm writing a book. It's the true story of a woman who was married to a serial rapist. It's a fascinating story, filled with shocking elements, vengeance, fear, psychopathology, & stupidity.

What about international intrigue, is that in the book?

Don't get too close to this project brother.

[Zombie]

You better post it. :)

I may do, I may do. We'll see how feel about it when it's done. I've rewritten it way too many times already, haha.

[SapphireSister]

Feeling kind of sad
But is it all really that bad?
Someone told me to smile more today
I wish the pain would go away
It's hard for me to hide
You can see it in my eyes
My face says it all
I feel so small
Thank God Stevie can make me smile
Tho I haven't seen her live in a while
She'll never leave me or go away
In my heart she'll always stay :nod:

Just now made that up...

[David]

What about international intrigue, is that in the book?

Don't get too close to this project brother.No seriously!!! I am going to be working on this project. We hope it's a tawdry best-seller!

[Meowi]

I am writing a haunting short story.
It's about this young, workaholic woman who acquires a house from her millionaire father's will. It turns out, that the house was for the young womans mother, whose husband was an unfaithful scammer (the millionaire). Only in the end - she realises that it is the ghost of her mother.

[David]

I am writing a haunting short story.
It's about this young, workaholic woman who acquires a house from her millionaire father's will. It turns out, that the house was for the young womans mother, whose husband was an unfaithful scammer (the millionaire). Only in the end - she realises that it is the ghost of her mother.
That sounds eerie & haunting, like Saki's "The Open Window" or Hoffmann's "The Sandman."

[Zombie]

An Open Letter to All Potential Clients from Hades

Dear Potential Client from Hades,

Hi! I'm Zombie. I am a writer, Internet marketing consultant, sometime web designer and sometime programmer. I have nigh on a decade of experience in doing this, first for an established marketing firm and now as a freelancer. And yes, I do actually make a decent living off of the writing and the consulting, which means that I do, in fact, actually know what I'm doing. After all, that is what people pay me for.

Now, let's you and me have a chat. You have work that needs doing. I know how to do that work. It's a potential match made in heaven just as long as you can avoid turning into the client from Hades. Luckily for you, I am here to tell you how to do just that before we get embroiled in a long struggle that inevitably results in me looking around for something sharp to shove in my ear.

So with that in mind and now that you know a little about what I am, here is a little about what I am NOT:

1.) From India/Russia/any of the various 'stan countries/the Phillipines. I am a native English speaker. When you hire me to write, you get grammatically-correct, high-quality content. Since I am also a marketing consultant, your content will be crafted with that in mind - content that also makes use of SEO and other marketing fundamentals without resorting to keyword stuffing or other stupid Black Hat tricks that get you Google Slapped. That's why they pay me the big bucks - I'm a writer that understands the unique needs of web content and how to make it work for your website.

2.) Free. Yeah, I know. But "freelancer?" I don't think that word means what you apparently think it means.

2.) Super cheap. Yes, I know the "writer" you found on Craigslist that lives in India/Russia/any of the various 'stan countries/the Phillipines only wanted $100 for a 40,000 word ebook on AdSense strategy. Yes, I will redo the work you only paid that guy $100 for, but it's going to cost you MY regular rate. No, I don't care that you think that's unfair because you have to pay for the same work twice, but you're the one that tried to get something good for nearly nothing. If $100 actually bought you quality work, you wouldn't be here talking to me now, would you?

3.) Going to lower my fees for you just because you think I charge too much. If you plan on becoming a regular, we'll talk price breaks later after I've determined that you're actually going to pay the first time around. I don't give a damn if you don't see why you should have to pay me so much for the work because you figure you could do just as good a job on your own if only you weren't so busy all the time. If you're such an expert, then do it yourself. Good luck with that.

4.) Your podiatrist's cousin's 16 year old nephew that took AP English and a semester of Visual Basic in 1997. I don't care if he thinks I'm doing it wrong. I don't care if he has helpful advice, like how the site needs more animated flaming torch .gifs and one of those cute little animated mailboxes with the eyeballs that peek out of the slot for a contact button, y'know, to REALLY make it pop. If he's such an expert, then go hire him instead. PS - Geocities called. They want their fancy-dancy innovations back.

5.) Your dog. I'm a professional. Work will be done by deadline and I will take reasonable suggestions and direction. I will also make reasonable changes for you. I will not, however, jump at your every whim, answer the phone at 4 AM because you got a wild hair up your ass after a night of Boone's Farm Strawberry Hill and bowling alley revelry, or redo an entire project for no reason without proper additional compensation.

6.) A mind reader. This is your project. You tell me what you want me to do and I will do it exactly as you ask. If what you ask for is completely pants-on-head retarded (and let's face it: it probably is) or just not possible anywhere outside of your imagination, I will make friendly and helpful suggestions, but in the end, I can only work with what you give me. You have to tell me what you want.

7.) An idiot. I learned early on in my illustrious career that when a client says, "Do what you think is best, you're the expert," said client will invariably go bugf*ck crazy over the finished project and proclaim it not at all what he/she really wanted. Oh yeah, clownboat? I seem to remember you telling me to do what I thought was best, because, after all, I am the expert here, right? Riiiiight.

Again, I can (and will) only work with what you give me, so if you want something specific, tell me. If you don't know what you want, GTFO and come back later once you've quit wearing your ass as an attractive and fashion-forward chapeau. Then we'll talk. I promise.

8.) Interested in your awesome business model that's going to take the world by storm on account of it's an awesome business model which clearly means I should be willing to work for free because it's such an awesome business model that will totes make you a TON of money like 18 months from now if you can just get me to put the website up for free NOW and then pay me when you're TOTES making a ton of money from your awesome business model. Oh, and by the by, did you mention it was an awesome business model already, because it TOTES IS AN AWESOME BUSINESS MODEL OMG?

Yes. Yes, you did. And no. No, I won't.

9.) Your pushover mama that will give you 20 bucks for ramen when you blew your entire paycheck on Doritos and hookers (again). You didn't budget enough money for that elaborate brand identity revamp you had me do, even though I gave you a quote up front and you said it was acceptable? And, wait... you want it anyway? Well, you can't have it. Also? You're grounded.

And finally on this little list of Ten Things I Am Not, I am not...

10.) Zeus. Websites are not children that instantly spring full-blown from my forehead. Nor is content. I will work quickly to get your stuff to you by your deadline - sometimes even if it's a short deadline, because I am a great humanitarian like that - but these things do take time. I don't care if you don't think it looks complicated or not. It is and it takes time.

There! I think we're mostly on the same page here.

After all of that, though, you might be wondering, "What's MY role here, then, as the client? What should I be doing in order to make sure my project is completed on time and just the way I want it?"

I am SO glad you asked. It's really simple. Look:

1.) Pay on time.

2.) Don't ask for the sun and the moon when you can only afford Pop Rocks.

3.) Know what you want. I don't expect you to be a genius or know absolutely everything, but you should have a good idea of what you want and be able to express it clearly.

4.) Don't use that awesome jargony jargon you learned at that weekend seminar at the Motel 6 last week on how to become a millionaire on the Interwebs in 5 easy steps. The first time you spout off something about how we need to "make it more Web 2.0!" or "think outside the box!" or "make it go viral!" I am so going to kick you in a punch-fight just as soon as I finish building this here machine that lets me do that through the monitor and/or phone line.

And that brings us to...

5.) Use your words. No, I mean real words that have a real meaning. "Can you make it more wow?" does not mean anything to me. "Can you make it, I dunno, more...ooooo?" doesn't, either.

Whew. I don't know about you, but I certainly feel better. I think we've all learned something here today. Please feel free to contact me to discuss your project!

Unless, y'know, you fail at reading and are planning on pulling any stunts. If this is the case, I will give you a No. 6 for your list of things to do, you special snowflake, you:

6.) STFU.

You're welcome,
Zombie

[BrokenHearted]

^^^ Zombie that is the most hilarious thing I've read in a looooooong time!! :nod:

And wow, there's a lot of talented poeple on here






An Innocent

You found me when I was innocent
Things have changed since
You saved me from my innocence
But things have even changed since then

They tell me it is summer now
But it was summer long ago
They tell me to go underground
But I'll be too far below

The sleek concrete streets
The heat beneath my feet
And the young need to run
While I reclude the love
That I thought I'd never have again
That I never thought I'd have again

They say that it is over now
They say that we're not strong
But over time I've found
That they are always wrong

And when I call you,
Would you come for me
And when I call you,
Would you come to me
And when I call you,
Would you believe

You found me
When I was innocent
Things have changed since then...
Things have changed since then...

The sleek concrete streets
The heat beneath my feet
And the young need to run
While I reclude the love
That I thought I'd never have again
That I never thought I'd have again

[Zombie]

^^^ Zombie that is the most hilarious thing I've read in a looooooong time!! :nod:


First, lovely poem. You have a great sense of rhythm.

Also, thank you. Oh, the stories I could tell about the dumb crap clients have tried to pull on me.

I'm also thinking about making this video required watching before any potential client even THINKS about emailing me about a job:

<object width="480" height="295"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/R2a8TRSgzZY&hl=en_US&fs=1&"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/R2a8TRSgzZY&hl=en_US&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="295"></embed></object>

I have heard - word for freaking word - each and every one of those lines. The mind boggles.

There's also a lot of fun stuff here: http://clientsfromhell.tumblr.com/

[Meowi]

That sounds eerie & haunting, like Saki's "The Open Window" or Hoffmann's "The Sandman."

Well as a kid I wrote Sci-Fi and Fantasy, but now that I am getting older - I have been writing more physcological themed stories.

Here it is, in a very raw, unedited version:

The Previous Owner

Vermont, New York State -1977

Mindy looked out the frost covered window, her hand pressing against the glass. She was a lonely soul, living in a world that was far too fast to yield friends or love. At least she had a new home, a home of somewhat grand character. It was a classic country home, one that was built for laughter and love. But there was to be no laughter or love in the ‘Big Blue House on the Hill’ for she was a woman of spitefulness.
The blue house was the latest acquisition from her father’s death. It seemed like a perfectly normal house, which was situated on a huge hill covered in fine maple trees.
Mindy’s brown hair and dark brown eyes could tell many a story, and it was these stories of sadness that molded the young woman’s entirety. She seemed so very bitter, but she only a woman of young age. You could it through her stressed smile, or her daunting presence. Mindy never had a childhood, to any extent. She was a pawn in an endless world of typewriters and cold coffee. Her father, the towering businessman - was lost in a world of mistresses and scams. There was no time for a little girl, or even a wife. Mindy’s mother was long gone, and so Mindy brought herself up – in a very cruel world. There was no kiss goodnight, no home cooked meal.
At the window sill, she looked at the children playing. As she looked on to what she never hand she felt a chill inside the house. The chill tingled down her spine, aching slightly.
“Hello? Is anyone there?” She asked in an autonomous voice.
All that replied was the nectar of pure, virgin silence. However, it was a silence of cold fear – a symptom created by unknown factors.
After cursing and cussing the children wordlessly, she left and turned around. There was nothing, only boxed furniture - in an old musty room. Mindy was sure there was someone inside the house, or at least a presence.
“Do you still love me too?” cried a soft, somber sound. She cried in such a sad tone, in such a poignant mood.
Mindy faced silence again, who was in the house?
“Frightened Mindy?” the sweet voice asked. “What fears do you harbor?”
Mindy picked up the crowbar, from a pile of boxes. However, this was no robbery - or even a crime at all. In fact, Mindy hadn’t realized there was actually no intruder at all. But she was wrong.
“I’ve got the Sheriff on my telephone, intruder” shrieked Mindy.
There was no reply, nothing. In fright Mindy ran up creaky, wooden stairs in haste. Could it have been a phantom? That could not be possible; Mindy was a woman of knowledge and logic. There was no room for phobias or fear in her childhood.
Mindy was sure it was gone, and ran into an idle bedroom. She shut the door tight, and collapsed in fright and exhaustion. It was the damn kids!, Mindy thought to herself. She swiftly let go of the knob and turned around to find a woman sitting in a chair. She sat so quietly, her hair so perfect – a mirror image of something Mindy could not put her finger on. She was so beautiful though, but it was not the beauty of a siren – but something so different.
“You never came, not once to visit me” she swiftly with the wind, winding wildly out of her mouth.
Mindy stared at the woman in confusion.
“Visit you?” Mindy said out clear uncertainty. “Who are you?”
The woman stood up, prancing around the room in such a strange way. Was the woman a dancer?
“Oh, Mindy how I wished I could’ve have danced with you!” said the woman, her magical brunette hair curdling as she took another step.
“Who are you?” asked Mindy – certainly now it was no prank, but something of a supernatural event.
“I am the previous owner of the property” answered the woman. “Where else would I have gone, this was my place”
Mindy stared right back at the dancing ghost, “I still love you Ma”
FIN

[Meowi]

(Poem moved to the next page)
Thanks!

[jaycee]

Nice work Meowi! (And I love the dedication! :D)
I've recently discovered a liking for Edgar Allan Poe through the Alan Parsons Project. Here's the only story I've read (so far) - http://poestories.com/read/systemoftarr - and my favourite Alan Parsons Project song (at the moment) to go along with it - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MHNxBheFAt4. (Quite plainly, I discovered the story through the song - their album Tales Of Mystery And Imagination was a concept album based on Poe's works.)

[Meowi]

Nice work Meowi! (And I love the dedication! :D)

I acutally wrote it about Stevie and myself. Its about how I hear her voice, singing everday - but never once I have met her.

[daniellaaarisen]

So I wrote this a few weeks ago and I don't really like it.... but I think its something a little different from me so whatever, I can post it.




Untitled

I broke my wrists and broke my spine and
the entire time that I lay in that bed
I wondered how I’d bend—

I wondered if I could melt the lines
off the clock, or the ones
on my face that I saw
in a familiar nightmare. I wondered

if I could still write with my tongue
if my mouth became dry and my
hands became numb. I wondered

if I ever had anything worth writing about
at all. Or if

the fire in my veins and in-
between my legs would surpass the
time I don’t really have, if
the moments of truth
that I keep in my breast pocket
were all that true at all. I wondered

if love beat tirelessly when
the gentle beat of the world was gone, if
the seconds that turned into hours that turned into
days were really as
wasted
as I once thought. I wondered

if I’ll miss what it feels like
to rock a baby to sleep while I am
falling asleep in the arms of my own baby, if
the systematic sway of the numbers
and figures that carry our world
would carry me
to the world beyond this. I wondered

if this world is so great after all,
if beauty can breathe in its own precious life,
if I can outlive all of these moments
of wondering where to begin.

[daniellaaarisen]

Nice work Meowi! (And I love the dedication! :D)
I've recently discovered a liking for Edgar Allan Poe through the Alan Parsons Project. Here's the only story I've read (so far) - http://poestories.com/read/systemoftarr - and my favourite Alan Parsons Project song (at the moment) to go along with it - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MHNxBheFAt4. (Quite plainly, I discovered the story through the song - their album Tales Of Mystery And Imagination was a concept album based on Poe's works.)

Poe is so fantastic. I think my favorites by him would have to be "The Fall of the House of Usher" followed by "The Cask of Amontillado."

[David]

if love beat tirelessly when
the gentle beat of the world was goneBeautiful, just beautiful.

[equeen102289]

So I wrote this a few weeks ago and I don't really like it.... but I think its something a little different from me so whatever, I can post it.




Untitled

I broke my wrists and broke my spine and
the entire time that I lay in that bed
I wondered how I’d bend—

I wondered if I could melt the lines
off the clock, or the ones
on my face that I saw
in a familiar nightmare. I wondered

if I could still write with my tongue
if my mouth became dry and my
hands became numb. I wondered

if I ever had anything worth writing about
at all. Or if

the fire in my veins and in-
between my legs would surpass the
time I don’t really have, if
the moments of truth
that I keep in my breast pocket
were all that true at all. I wondered

if love beat tirelessly when
the gentle beat of the world was gone, if
the seconds that turned into hours that turned into
days were really as
wasted
as I once thought. I wondered

if I’ll miss what it feels like
to rock a baby to sleep while I am
falling asleep in the arms of my own baby, if
the systematic sway of the numbers
and figures that carry our world
would carry me
to the world beyond this. I wondered

if this world is so great after all,
if beauty can breathe in its own precious life,
if I can outlive all of these moments
of wondering where to begin.

I love this.

[Zombie]

^^^^

Seconded.

You've a gift, Dani. Don't stop writing, yeah?

[Sleepless-Child]

Untitled

I broke my wrists and broke my spine and
the entire time that I lay in that bed
I wondered how I’d bend—

I wondered if I could melt the lines
off the clock, or the ones
on my face that I saw
in a familiar nightmare. I wondered

if I could still write with my tongue
if my mouth became dry and my
hands became numb. I wondered

if I ever had anything worth writing about
at all. Or if

the fire in my veins and in-
between my legs would surpass the
time I don’t really have, if
the moments of truth
that I keep in my breast pocket
were all that true at all. I wondered

if love beat tirelessly when
the gentle beat of the world was gone, if
the seconds that turned into hours that turned into
days were really as
wasted
as I once thought. I wondered

if I’ll miss what it feels like
to rock a baby to sleep while I am
falling asleep in the arms of my own baby, if
the systematic sway of the numbers
and figures that carry our world
would carry me
to the world beyond this. I wondered

if this world is so great after all,
if beauty can breathe in its own precious life,
if I can outlive all of these moments
of wondering where to begin.


This is beautiful, I can't even believe you don't like it ! You really have a gift, but I think you already know that, right?
Makes me want to write. Thank you.

[daniellaaarisen]

Beautiful, just beautiful.

I'm glad I'm inspiring you to write some lovely poetry on my Facebook wall, David.



To everyone else: thank you. But seriously, you guys flatter me...

the frustrating thing about art is that I don't know if it's ever possible to be satisfied!

[David]

the frustrating thing about art is that I don't know if it's ever possible to be satisfied!Beethoven was often dissatisfied, especially with his early compositions; but was also often very satisfied, as he was with his Missa Solemnis.

[daniellaaarisen]

Beethoven was often dissatisfied, especially with his early compositions; but was also often very satisfied, as he was with his Missa Solemnis.

David, you ALMOST just compared me to Beethoven. The master of all compliments!

[Meowi]

Hi,
I really want to write a novel... But when I start one, I just stop writing. I'ts really annoying becuase I have a huge amount of ideas in my head.

Sometimes I think it's just becuase I am so young :cool:
But then, there is this kid I know who has written an novel and that gets me - jealous.

ARRGH! :] :mad::mad:

(Help much appreciated!)

[LittleCharmer]

Hi,
I really want to write a novel... But when I start one, I just stop writing. I'ts really annoying becuase I have a huge amount of ideas in my head.

Sometimes I think it's just becuase I am so young :cool:
But then, there is this kid I know who has written an novel and that gets me - jealous.

ARRGH! :] :mad::mad:

(Help much appreciated!)

When it comes down to it, writing is a discipline.. Like any other talent or hobby, you have to work at it to get better. It's a common misconception that talented writers are just able to sit down and write a novel, like *that*.. anyone who's ever tried will know it doesn't work that way and it's often genuinely difficult to even get started!
If you're really serious about writing a novel, why not set yourself a target? e.g. "I'm going to write 200 words a day". Even if what you write isn't for the novel, or it's just writing whatever pops into your head, it's still getting you into the writing frame of mind. Once you get into the habit of writing, the ideas should begin to come at that time every day and you can make your targets bigger and it might begin to take shape.
(I study creative writing at university.. this is pretty much all we do :p)

[daniellaaarisen]

I agree with everything that LittleCharmer said.

Honestly, literary inspiration just doesn't erupt out of you. I have to either wait around to feel inspired or go force inspiration onto myself. For instance, when I was writing my one and only short story, I went and stood on an overpass at night maybe ten different times. My story partially took place on an overpass, so I would literally just stand there at 10PM and talk to myself. I got a lot of weird looks but honestly? I never would have written that story without it, and I'm actually fairly happy with it now.

So writing IS a discipline-- it takes perseverance, motivation, resilliance. More than anything, it takes a genuine interest in your topic. I have never written about something I don't care about, although I have tried many times (and failed miserably).

With that in mind, if you're going to tackle a novel, don't go into it blindly. Plan out the intimate details of the plotline before you start writing. Know everything you want to eventually happen within the story and get yourself excited! If you have a strong sense of where your story will eventually go, you'll be more excited to eventually finish it. Have direction, and then you will build focus.

Good luck!

[tilthefirefades]

I have tried so many times to write a novel, but they always end up being short stories. I just don't have that kind of discipline, I would rather write 30 poems than a novel. Speaking of which, here's a few that I wrote recently.

Grey
Have we became so endeavored into a void of kindred love
That we become loosely involved with false hate
Such a bitter taste lingers on your lips
And I feel it coursing through my veins
I want to become purged of my freedoms
Engrossed in many chains
Feeling something other than anything
Wanting something other than everything
How strange for my colors to change at this point
For after many years of black & white
I just noticed something grey

Practically Speaking
Practically speaking,
And in all seriousness,
Who do you think you are?
As if I would be nothing without you
As if I think about you all the time
As if I miss you the second we depart
As if the world is on fire when you are gone
As if you possess me entirely
As if…
Its as if any of this wasn’t true
Because being alone used to be just fine
But I’m simply lost without you

Assertion
I think that now would be the time
For me to assert the truths
That I have found within my life
If one could love another so
This poem would be worthless
Because I hate having to relive these things
So timeless, so perfect
Until the imperfection became limited
So how am I supposed to know
Who to want, and who to desire
While all the world hangs loosely
Onto the choice made indifferently between the two
When we had that fateful conversation
I thought to myself
"Isn't eternity supposed to last longer than days?"
But if it isn't quite clear
Maybe I should make it very understood
You were the only truth worth asserting.

[Ghost_Tracker]

I have tried so many times to write a novel, but they always end up being short stories. I just don't have that kind of discipline, I would rather write 30 poems than a novel. Speaking of which, here's a few that I wrote recently.
Feeling something other than anything
Wanting something other than everything
.

I like the line "Wanting something other than everything";
that's very good! ..... :)

[bucklind17]

I completed NaNoWriMo this year, which I was pretty proud of if only because my biggest challenge in writing is getting myself to do it. It's not a finished novel or the best thing ever, but it's a 50,000 word manuscript, which is not something I really thought I'd ever get done, let alone in a month. Ironically, part of the purpose of NaNo is to go into it with just the goal of completing the manuscript and too much prior planning, while allowed, isn't considered a necessity or even encouraged (and any previous writing is not allowed to be incorporated). While a few of my character ideas found their way into my manuscript, I think the blank slate idea helped more than hindered reaching the goal.

I definitely prefer prose over poetry. I tend to write fiction in blurbs, when I'm bored mostly, so I have a bunch of characters created and they kind of come out every now and then and get dealt with and then put away. I always am tempted to share little bits of it here and there but then I wonder if they would even make sense outside of my head without other bits to give it context? Who knows. If I ever stop being so lazy, I could probably make something nice out of all of it, but that day has yet to come.

[Zombie]

Writing is definitely a discipline. It's freakin' hard work.

Well, good writing is, anyway.

Anyone that tries to tell you otherwise is either lying or stupid or just not very good at it. Even those that have "made it" will tell you, in my experience, that writing is pretty much a cruel mistress.

Whether you write for yourself or for an audience, whether you want to get paid to do it or you want it to just be a hobby, you have to work at it every day. This is something I struggle with constantly - I spend so much of my day writing things for other people, using their topics and ideas, to their specs, that by the end of the day, I don't have much in the way of energy left over for my own topics and ideas.

I've never really wanted to do anything other than write, and when I was younger, I thought writing for a living would be something resembling the easy life. HAH. The idiocy of youth. I had no idea how much I'd have to bust my ass to get exactly nowhere that's discernable to anyone but myself. :laugh:

I know that what I am doing now is putting the first floor on the foundation of my writing career (dug the cellar with my old job, laid the foundation when I took the leap to freelance about 2 years ago), so I am okay with that, but it's still damn hard a lot of the time and I often wonder if I shouldn't just quit and go flip burgers.

But I don't. I just keep on keepin' on, because I know that's just what you have to do.

[jaycee]

So I wrote this a few weeks ago and I don't really like it.... but I think its something a little different from me so whatever, I can post it.




Untitled

I broke my wrists and broke my spine and
the entire time that I lay in that bed
I wondered how I’d bend—

I wondered if I could melt the lines
off the clock, or the ones
on my face that I saw
in a familiar nightmare. I wondered

if I could still write with my tongue
if my mouth became dry and my
hands became numb. I wondered

if I ever had anything worth writing about
at all. Or if

the fire in my veins and in-
between my legs would surpass the
time I don’t really have, if
the moments of truth
that I keep in my breast pocket
were all that true at all. I wondered

if love beat tirelessly when
the gentle beat of the world was gone, if
the seconds that turned into hours that turned into
days were really as
wasted
as I once thought. I wondered

if I’ll miss what it feels like
to rock a baby to sleep while I am
falling asleep in the arms of my own baby, if
the systematic sway of the numbers
and figures that carry our world
would carry me
to the world beyond this. I wondered

if this world is so great after all,
if beauty can breathe in its own precious life,
if I can outlive all of these moments
of wondering where to begin.

Well, this may not be your best work, but it's so far and away above anything most people will ever write in their entire lives that it doesn't really matter - yet another pleasurable read from The Ledge's most talented writer! :nod:
As a side, I posted Jim Morrison's "The WASP" a while back, which often garners very mixed reactions (unsurprisingly). Would you ever consider doing a poem as erratic as that?
(Oh, and I'm glad to have found a Poe fan on this thread! :) I'll get right onto those stories you suggested - and "The Raven", for that matter!)

[tilthefirefades]

I like the line "Wanting something other than everything";
that's very good! ..... :)

thank you so much :D

[Meowi]

You guys have encouraged me to write again!
I have decided to write a novel again.

[jaycee]

You guys have encouraged me to write again!
I have decided to write a novel again.

Well, you be sure to keep us updated on all the progress you make! :) Good luck with it all! (Not that you need it, you talented writer you! :nod:)

[Meowi]

Well, you be sure to keep us updated on all the progress you make! :) Good luck with it all! (Not that you need it, you talented writer you! :nod:)

Thanks!
Anyway -
My story is set in a small american town in the late 60's. The story is about the lives of five to-be high-school graduates and there choices in life.

It's really strange, becuase I never lived in the 60's, infact I'm only 14!

[jaycee]

Thanks!
Anyway -
My story is set in a small american town in the late 60's. The story is about the lives of five to-be high-school graduates and there choices in life.

It's really strange, becuase I never lived in the 60's, infact I'm only 14!

Well, the sixties isn't hard to imagine - just think of it as the time when everybody was like Jim Morrison! :laugh:

[Meowi]

^^
I'll get writing!:laugh:

[daniellaaarisen]

Well, this may not be your best work, but it's so far and away above anything most people will ever write in their entire lives that it doesn't really matter - yet another pleasurable read from The Ledge's most talented writer! :nod:
As a side, I posted Jim Morrison's "The WASP" a while back, which often garners very mixed reactions (unsurprisingly). Would you ever consider doing a poem as erratic as that?
(Oh, and I'm glad to have found a Poe fan on this thread! :) I'll get right onto those stories you suggested - and "The Raven", for that matter!)

Well thank you for such a huge compliment! :) I've said it before and I'll say it again... you guys flatter me.

I'm actually going to start doing some really experimental stuff within my writing. I'm starting to bore myself so I need to get creative!

[Meowi]

Well thank you for such a huge compliment! :) I've said it before and I'll say it again... you guys flatter me.

I'm actually going to start doing some really experimental stuff within my writing. I'm starting to bore myself so I need to get creative!

Doing the Lindsey? I presume :lol:
TUSK!

[Meowi]

Ok, I did a little bit of editing to my Stevie Poem.

For you, my singer
You and I sat beside the storms of grey,
We sat and talked, but you were only there in partial.
I’d wait for you in the hall – but you never came.
“I miss you!” I cried, as I felt the pain.
As we watched the rain patter, I remembered.
“Do you hear me?” I asked.
But there was no answer, only sound.
“Wouldn’t you love to love her” she said.
And, as we watched the lightning spark – you sang.
“But you sing for me everyday” I whispered.
Again, there was no answer.
“Why!” I shouted as we heard the thunder roar.
Still, she sang and still she danced in her world of chiffon.

“For you!” I cried
“For you!” I cried
“For you!” I cried

When the storm had finished, we had left for now.
While she disappeared, I went home.
As I lay down – I felt the tears upon my cheek.
And yet – I heard her again, singing to me.
I knew it would never be.
You have given me something, that I must give back.

“For you!” I cried
“For you!” I cried
“For you!” I cried

I cried for you-
(Dedicated to Stevie Nicks, my singer)

[BrokenHearted]

I didn't wanna let this thread die... I love reading everything you guys write, Stevie fans are so talented :D



Anyway, I wrote this about a boy I fell in love with, but it's also largely about my cocaine addiction


Paint

My heart races
I pace across this room
My heart is a room...
My body is a house with empty spaces
Long ago, I gave my heart to you
And never really got it back, only traces...

I wish I could paint what I'm feeling
But the canvas would be all black
I wish I could paint myself on you
So I could remember what I've been through
And remind myself to not go back
Not to give myself again to you...

The night lies still
But I can't sleep again
Not even in my dreams, my friend
You're only a ghost, lonely... unreal
And I wish this emptiness would heal
And I wish this emptiness would end

I wish I could paint what I'm feeling
But the canvas would be all black
I wish I could paint myself on you
So I could remember what I've been through
And remind myself not to go back
Not to give myself up for you...

I'm only a ghost
Of the person I used to be
I remember the day, I prayed...
That I could return to those days
And, now, here I am in those same shoes
Walking in the shadows of truth

I wish I could paint what I'm feeling
But the canvas would be all black
I wish I could paint myself on you
So I could remember what I've been through
And remind myself to not go back
Not to give myself to you...

[Musicman408]

I'll tell you what guys- this morning I was going through my computer, trying to figure out which saved file of my novel was the most recent, and I think I've determined that I stopped on a round page 250. I haven't written on it in over a year I think, but I was realizing that I would really like to start working on it again, since I've started working toward the climax at this point. Writing is such tedious work, but I think I'm up for it again!! Here's to hoping!!

Maybe once I finish, it'll get published and make it big! ;)
That would be a dream and a half.

Good luck to all!

[vivfox]

I'll tell you what guys- this morning I was going through my computer, trying to figure out which saved file of my novel was the most recent, and I think I've determined that I stopped on a round page 250. I haven't written on it in over a year I think, but I was realizing that I would really like to start working on it again, since I've started working toward the climax at this point. Writing is such tedious work, but I think I'm up for it again!! Here's to hoping!!

Maybe once I finish, it'll get published and make it big! ;)
That would be a dream and a half.



And once you do make it big, all the Ledgie's who treat you like garbage will be licking the bottom of your shoes. And, you'll get to meet Stevie. :D

[daniellaaarisen]

I didn't wanna let this thread die... I love reading everything you guys write, Stevie fans are so talented :D



Anyway, I wrote this about a boy I fell in love with, but it's also largely about my cocaine addiction



I really dig the double meaning..... and I can relate which makes me like it even more. It was cool to read with that in mind.

[Musicman408]

Here's The Last Lyric I wrote:

Rose
Written: 3/18/10

Lay it on the line,
as you go cross the borders.
Torn edges surround your world now.
For you can gain yourself,
while walking with him.

The two of you together- the world of friends.
Now you come besides another- closer than you've been.
If so, he's leaving herself what could have been a future.
So now you ride away.

Chorus:
You simply stand and everything comes running.
Of everything you get, there is no more shunning.
Now the grace sky rains down.
But she's someone that always know,
the taint of her name, Rose.

Months and ages, the distance put pause.
Look, you're together- not giving a cause.
You left behind what was more than something.
In a year, you'll end up with nothing.

Chorus

Bridge: When you two arrive, will things change within?
Or will she go on- looking for her long lost men?
You can view through the screen.

Chorus



Looking back at this- I can't remember what I wrote this about. I really don't..... at all.... which is not usual!

[jannieC]

Looking back at this- I can't remember what I wrote this about. I really don't..... at all.... which is not usual!
Well, HELLO, it was written almost a whole month ago!

[Meowi]

Furthermore
You were the shadow who greeted me.
You were the shadow to say goodbye
And so, I left you gift, by the sea.
But the sea swelled down, down.
And when the sea was no more, you left.

So as the tide comes back, I see you again.
But you are only a shadow still; you are a shadow of blue smoke.
“Please come back!” I asked, as you stood in the sand.
But you did not respond. You were only shadow

No power could bring you from the sea.
No power could save us.
This was it for now – you were stranded.
A dark shadow in the sand, no light.

I knew you were sad, but why?
Your tears only swelled the sea furthermore.

Furthermore, as the sea rose
Furthermore, as the waves crashed
Furthermore, as you drown

Stubborn shadow,
Stubborn lover,
Stubborn Sea,

Furthermore, as you go below the ocean
Furthermore, as you fall
Furthermore, as you leave.

[daniellaaarisen]

PLEASE give me feedback on this. I'm sure you guys don't like every single word of this thing so if there's ANYTHING you would change, let me know. I literally just finished this five minutes ago so it hasn't gone through any editing phases.


Untitled


I want to howl—
to wake you from your half-masted sleep
and force your white flag up or down.

I want to peel away the sky
and find an unwritten metaphor
for everything I could never explain,
and then maybe re-carve all
the lines on my face so that
you could help chisel [or carve?] them away.

But I’m tinged red
from the numbers on the clock,
binding me to the sadness I never feel
from the look on your faces
when there’s nothing left to say.
I’m bound to the familiarity a child feels
while clinging to her new mother’s skin,
and to all of the sickening sweetness
that chains me to vacantly belonging.

I have never felt bound to you.

I want to howl to the moon and the earth
and the stars
and I want them all to howl back at me

because one idle moment and I’m
howling at the sea,
wishing it had worked
to keep us from the shore.

[jaycee]

PLEASE give me feedback on this. I'm sure you guys don't like every single word of this thing so if there's ANYTHING you would change, let me know. I literally just finished this five minutes ago so it hasn't gone through any editing phases.


Tick

I want to howl—
to wake you all from your half-masted sleep
and force your white flag up or down.

I want to peel away the sky
and find an unwritten metaphor
for everything I could never explain,
and then maybe carve out all
the lines on my face so that
you could help me carve them away.

But I’m tinged red
from the numbers on the clock,
binding me to the sadness I never feel
from the look on your face
when there’s nothing left to say.
I’m bound to the sweet familiarity of a child
clinging to her new mother’s skin.

But I’ve never been bound to you.

I want to howl to the moon and the earth
and the stars
and I want them all to howl back to me

because one idle moment and I’m
howling at that clock,
wishing our last moment
never ticked.

Ooh, goodie! Another piece from Dani! :blob2:
Yeah, this is pretty awesome... :D However, I'm confused by the second paragraph - shouldn't that read as "...a written metaphor"? Otherwise you wouldn't find any explanations, right? The second part of that paragraph also seems contradictory - if you've already carved out the lines from your face, how can a second person then carve them away?
:shrug: I'll admit that I've never been that good at interpreting poetry, so it may just be me. :) Nonetheless I love all of your poetry! :blob2:
Btw, whatever happened to all the fighting over you? Did everyone else give up? If so, we're together now, I guess... :lol:

[daniellaaarisen]

Ooh, goodie! Another piece from Dani! :blob2:
Yeah, this is pretty awesome... :D However, I'm confused by the second paragraph - shouldn't that read as "...a written metaphor"? Otherwise you wouldn't find any explanations, right? The second part of that paragraph also seems contradictory - if you've already carved out the lines from your face, how can a second person then carve them away?
:shrug: I'll admit that I've never been that good at interpreting poetry, so it may just be me. :) Nonetheless I love all of your poetry! :blob2:
Btw, whatever happened to all the fighting over you? Did everyone else give up? If so, we're together now, I guess... :lol:

I just posted an updated version of the poem... I did a lot of editing today. I think it addressed everything you mentioned but I'm not sure! I'll read over it again and see.

I guess the fighting did stop! But seriously... flattering...

[Ghost_Tracker]

PLEASE give me feedback on this. I'm sure you guys don't like every single word of this thing so if there's ANYTHING you would change, let me know. I literally just finished this five minutes ago so it hasn't gone through any editing phases.


Untitled


I,
and then maybe re-carve all
the lines on my face so that
you could help chisel [or carve?] them away.

...wishing it had worked
to keep us from the shore.

I would get rid of, "[or carve?]", personally.

i.m.o.,

"re-carve all
the lines on my face so that
you could help chisel them away" is more "direct."
I feel that the other way just disrupts the chain of thought.

I also don't quite get the last line,
"wishing it had worked
to keep us from the shore."

I mean, I understand the meaning, but it just doesn't seem right to me. I think it needs to be a little more correct from an "English" point-of-view. Maybe something like,

"wishing it had worked -
I wish I could have kept us . . .
from the shore."

:)

[daniellaaarisen]

I would get rid of, "[or carve?]", personally.

i.m.o.,

"re-carve all
the lines on my face so that
you could help chisel them away" is more "direct."
I feel that the other way just disrupts the chain of thought.

I also don't quite get the last line,
"wishing it had worked
to keep us from the shore."

I mean, I understand the meaning, but it just doesn't seem right to me. I think it needs to be a little more correct from an "English" point-of-view. Maybe something like,

"wishing it had worked -
I wish I could have kept us . . .
from the shore."

:)

Hahahahaha, I was debating whether or not I should use "carve" or "chisel." I wasn't sure.... I definitely didn't want the parenthesis in the poem.

Thank you for your opinions Tim! I was worried about the last line too.

[Meowi]

Furthermore
You were the shadow who greeted me.
You were the shadow to say goodbye
And so, I left you gift, by the sea.
But the sea swelled down, down.
And when the sea was no more, you left.

So as the tide comes back, I see you again.
But you are only a shadow still; you are a shadow of blue smoke.
“Please come back!” I asked, as you stood in the sand.
But you did not respond. You were only shadow

No power could bring you from the sea.
No power could save us.
This was it for now – you were stranded.
A dark shadow in the sand, no light.

I knew you were sad, but why?
Your tears only swelled the sea furthermore.

Furthermore, as the sea rose
Furthermore, as the waves crashed
Furthermore, as you drown

Stubborn shadow,
Stubborn lover,
Stubborn Sea,

Furthermore, as you go below the ocean
Furthermore, as you fall
Furthermore, as you leave.

Love to hear some feeback! :D

[jaycee]

Love to hear some feeback! :D

Sorry Meowi! I'm not sure how this one slipped past me! :distress:
This is an excellent poem! :nod: I'm not sure if I can really criticise it actually! :D I love the overall structure - having the long paragraphs at the start during the sad reminiscence, and the shorter, repetitive paragraphs at the end during the despairing resentment of having lost the loved one. It suits the changing mood perfectly! :nod:
(I'm not sure I conveyed what I meant to properly here - it's like I can't find the most suitable words for my ideas. I can't seem to improve what I said though... I hope it makes sense! :))

[Musicman408]

On facebook, someone posted a video of a Robert Plant/ Krauss song, which I love (the whole album). That album has always been my rainy day album novel writing album, as when I was in the heat of my novel writing a couple of years ago, that CD would CONSTANTLY be on. Once I get done with school this year, and hopefully end up on some sort of family vacation, I'll have to pop that album in and start the juices again, as they got stirred by listening to that song! I'll keep you posted!

[Ghost_Tracker]

PLEASE give me feedback on this. I'm sure you guys don't like every single word of this thing so if there's ANYTHING you would change, let me know. I literally just finished this five minutes ago so it hasn't gone through any editing phases.


Untitled


I want to howl—
.

Is it my imagination or is this a nod to you-know-what by you-know-who? ;)

Hahahahaha, I was debating whether or not I should use "carve" or "chisel." I wasn't sure.... I definitely didn't want the parenthesis in the poem.

.

Oh. LOL!

I personally would pick "chisel." Takes longer - - - More excruciating - - - More uhm . . . thought involved, if 'ya see what I mean. Kind of a "dark" interpretation but . . . well, it implies that the one doing the "chiselling" is paying attention, in spades - 'ya see what I mean? But also - - - when one is "chiseling," one is creating a work or art - - - one which may or may not be appreciated. "Carving" is more wholesale, i.m.o. Doesn't take as much effort or attention.

[tilthefirefades]

I may not have been crowned the Ledge's best writer, but I love poetry with everything in me, so here's a lil somethin somethin.

The Rise

Riding beneath the sun
I turn to run towards the rise
Feeling anew and full of breath
Yet the rise overturns the run
And it's midnight again
Which wouldn't matter
But I'm home alone in the dark
And you are my life once more
Everything you said,
"I will miss you"
And such like that,
Leads me to believe the rise
Will never exist again
And I'm singing to my own tune
As they say
And I'm feeling ashamed and down,
Town from this view looks experienced
In its own fashion of loss
And the rise looks dirty
And I feel dirty
Cause I'm so checked by the supreme
That I don't even exist
But existence is the goal
For the rise gives way to life,
Times spent looking out the window
At that which I want
Which I will never have
And it's still midnight
And the rise will never become
A rise worth watching.

[ButterCookie]

This is the craziest piece I've ever done. The product of too much Kate Nash and too many jelly babies, yet probably the beginning of my autobiography :)

Tea and TV
Do you want milk and sugar with that?
Love, you've got crumbs from your scone on your top.
Keep telling me your stupid stories, you're quite a bit of a prat.
Oh, so now you've thrown your beer on the cat? Wise-ass, go and get a mop.

Sometimes I like to waaaalk by myself
Sometimes I like to Pa-i-int
Other times I just like to throw things
And then I just run about a bit, screaming

Occasionally, I'll be daring and have my tea without sugar
And once I ate an egg that wasn't cooked.
I tried to get on the train for free but just got called a cheeky bugger.
Then I was going to go see batman but the bloke was like, 'Sorry love, you ain't booked'


I sit alone a lot just listening to Blondie
And a lot of people think I'm weird.
I like to sit staring at the TV until the screen goes all blurry.
Last week I just sat watching the share prices waver

Sometimes I like to waaaalk by myself
Sometimes I like to Pa-i-int
Other times I just like to throw things
And then I just run about a bit, screaming

I read magazines back to front
And once in a while I take my rabbit for a walk.
When people ask my opinion I often am a bit blunt
If I say I don't like your dress, like, don't keep trying to talk.

Lets bring this back from me to you,
I've slipped off track by accident.
When we were out last night, I hated you and your ****ty white shoes.
If I could, I'd have run away and hidden from your dirty accent.

Sometimes I like to waaaalk by myself
Sometimes I like to Pa-i-int
Other times I just like to throw things
And then I just run about a bit, screaming

Will you please get that beer off the cat, he's starting to smell like ****.
I don't care if you've wasted a pint, you're still acting like a jerk.
My Mum and Gran secretly call you twit
and my Dad reckons you just do undercover electrical work
fin.

[daniellaaarisen]

Georgie, I'm going to read yours when I have more time. I'm just running out the door now.

Here's my latest piece.



To Drink

The stains it left on my body leech
the artistry out of me, chafe
at my skin from the inside, brand
my face with a number, leave me
here for dead. And while

suspended between life and
the chance to live without you, I
ricochet between your palms
with no life at all. There’s
nothing here to excavate, no breath.

No lips, no lies, no justification
for the way these words rise up
to my chest and stop when
you give me a few foreign tears
to swallow. “Rub your throat,
baby, gulp down your pride
and let the breath and the heartbeat
drown with them.”

So I drink you in with half-assed prayers.

I drink for the way the house sounds
when the sound of your unease
floats away. I drink for the smell
of your skin in the morning
before you have the chance to
come clean. I drink when
you need me to, when I can feel
your cries swell up in my lungs
and escape my body in sighs—
I drink until I can’t drink any longer.

[jaycee]

This is the craziest piece I've ever done. The product of too much Kate Nash and too many jelly babies, yet probably the beginning of my autobiography :)

Tea and TV
Do you want milk and sugar with that?
Love, you've got crumbs from your scone on your top.
Keep telling me your stupid stories, you're quite a bit of a prat.
Oh, so now you've thrown your beer on the cat? Wise-ass, go and get a mop.

Sometimes I like to waaaalk by myself
Sometimes I like to Pa-i-int
Other times I just like to throw things
And then I just run about a bit, screaming

Occasionally, I'll be daring and have my tea without sugar
And once I ate an egg that wasn't cooked.
I tried to get on the train for free but just got called a cheeky bugger.
Then I was going to go see batman but the bloke was like, 'Sorry love, you ain't booked'


I sit alone a lot just listening to Blondie
And a lot of people think I'm weird.
I like to sit staring at the TV until the screen goes all blurry.
Last week I just sat watching the share prices waver

Sometimes I like to waaaalk by myself
Sometimes I like to Pa-i-int
Other times I just like to throw things
And then I just run about a bit, screaming

I read magazines back to front
And once in a while I take my rabbit for a walk.
When people ask my opinion I often am a bit blunt
If I say I don't like your dress, like, don't keep trying to talk.

Lets bring this back from me to you,
I've slipped off track by accident.
When we were out last night, I hated you and your ****ty white shoes.
If I could, I'd have run away and hidden from your dirty accent.

Sometimes I like to waaaalk by myself
Sometimes I like to Pa-i-int
Other times I just like to throw things
And then I just run about a bit, screaming

Will you please get that beer off the cat, he's starting to smell like ****.
I don't care if you've wasted a pint, you're still acting like a jerk.
My Mum and Gran secretly call you twit
and my Dad reckons you just do undercover electrical work
fin.

I love it! It's so eccentric, just the way I like it! :D
(I'm currently trying to imagine these lyrics being set to the sounds of "The WASP (Texas Radio And The Big Beat)", as both are such unusual poems...)

[jaycee]

Georgie, I'm going to read yours when I have more time. I'm just running out the door now.

Here's my latest piece.



To Drink

The stains it left on my body leech
the artistry out of me, chafe
at my skin from the inside, brand
my face with a number, leave me
here for dead. And while

suspended between life and
the chance to live without you, I
ricochet between your palms
with no life at all. There’s
nothing here to excavate, no breath.

No lips, no lies, no justification
for the way these words rise up
to my chest and stop when
you give me a few foreign tears
to swallow. “Rub your throat,
baby, gulp down your pride
and let the breath and the heartbeat
drown with them.”

So I drink you in with half-assed prayers.

I drink for the way the house sounds
when the sound of your unease
floats away. I drink for the smell
of your skin in the morning
before you have the chance to
come clean. I drink when
you need me to, when I can feel
your cries swell up in my lungs
and escape my body in sighs—
I drink until I can’t drink any longer.

You're just too good, aren't you? :D Thanks for yet another excellent addition!

[daniellaaarisen]

You're just too good, aren't you? :D Thanks for yet another excellent addition!

Thank you so much! :) It's really depressing though...


Georgie-- I think that poem really summarizes your personality, from the little I know of it. As Jaycee said, I love the eccentricity/sassiness of it.

[Meowi]

So anyway, I'm writing this novel about 5 teenagers in 1969 -
A 21 year old Stevie Nicks may make an appearance.

[jaycee]

So anyway, I'm writing this novel about 5 teenagers in 1969 -
A 21 year old Stevie Nicks may make an appearance.

Oh, you're such a tease! :p Write her into it already! :D

[Meowi]

Oh, you're such a tease! :p Write her into it already! :D

Yeah, I kind of want the story to feature 'cameo' appearances from some familliar faces, before they were famous.

[chelluversu]

ok so...this one I don't really like all that much but..I dunno. It's a little bit different than in my journal by only like a few lines and phrases... but anyway let me know what you think:


Gunpowder and Lead

When I haven't seen you for days on end,
I can't worry about you from years of you being an inconsiderate bitch...
So I'll grab my gunpowder, while I wait,
that's wet from years of rain--
which sucks 'cause now
I can't shoot away the pain.
So I sniff the chipped paint that has accumulated
in the corners of my room to wipe my brain--
or possibly that of my unborn child's;
you've rubbed off on me.
My child will be made of gunpowder and lead.

I stay locked, by choice, in my four wall prison...
I failed to make it to the loo, so guess where I'll be pissin'?
Try to make up for it by checking my vital signs every twenty-four hours.
I'm starving and you wonder why I'm short?
In the meantime, while I wait,
I'll clean my gun and wet these brushes with turpentine,
and I'll set my gunpowder out to dry, and watch the paint chip from the walls...
just for the options...


:shrug:

[BrokenHearted]

Father

I bit my tongue
He beat me up
He cut my chord
When I was born

He made me from himself
Should I call him "God"?
He buried me in the sod
He let me rot

He fed me from bottles when I was five
He bled me of a life
I was up all night
Staring at the white's of cows' eyes

I'm too young for you
I'm too old for sucking thumbs
I'm so ****ing dumb
I've become a bum

He copied me with his ink
I'm a copycat, copy written
He slopily left a stink
Once shy, twice bitten

He fed me from hoses when I was five
He fed me his lies
I stayed up all night
Staring at the white's of his eyes

[bucklind17]

A bit of a fic-let I wrote recently, when I wasn't actually trying. I'm usually happiest with what comes out when I just let my fingers go and don't think too much. I like reading poems, but I'm definitely more of a prose writer.

--

Four weeks ago, something like this would have barely made a dent. I would have shook it off or just found it sweet or another reason to adore him and then it would have fallen back to where it came from. That person seems far away tonight. I can only think of the things that hurt. The tension of late, the unsaid words, the uncertainty and knowing that despite it all, we’re all still here together, unable to get away.

I stand alone in the hall, outside of the door that leads to the stage. Twenty minutes ago, the air was full with the sounds of the end of the show but now, it’s the emptiness feels like it's hanging in the air, suffocating me with loud silence. Before I realize it's happening, my back is sliding along the wall until I hit the floor, my knees tucking themselves under my chin, my head falling down to meet them. I don’t stop the tears when they come. They hurt my eyes and burn my cheeks but the relief of the release is worth it.

It doesn’t surprise me when I hear footsteps start their way down the hall but I refuse to acknowledge them. Not by quieting my sobs or unfolding out of myself. I just sit there, hoping they’ll pass. That it’s some random venue employee who chose the wrong moment to walk down the wrong hall. That it’s someone who will see me and know enough to just let me be. As the sound comes nearer, I’m able to calm myself enough only to try and will it away. They come to stop in front of me and I wait for the words. It’s not until I feel the body next to me that I realize that whoever it is that decided to insert themselves into my issues has joined me on the floor. The silence remains. The only proof that there is another being there is the warmth I feel from the body that's suddenly so close to mine.

“It’s always the hardest around now.”

It’s not a voice I’m expecting. The way things have gone the past few days, I'm not really even sure whose I would but when I hear the one coming from next to me, it starts my tears fresh. I look up to meet Ethan’s eyes but they’re not there. His head is leaned back against the wall, tilted up so that he's staring at the ceiling. His hand has found its way to my knee.

“The excitement of the first few weeks is worn off,” he continues. “The bus rides feel like they last for days instead of hours. You don’t have enough space even when you’re alone. You feel lonely even when you’re surrounded by people.”

My shoulders start to shake. How could it be that all this time, Ethan had just been another person sharing the same space that I did? Cory and Jake’s older brother, another of Sammie and Drew's seemingly endless list of relatives. The guy who played guitar. How had I never gotten to know him at all? How long had he been watching? Had he sensed this was my next step or did he just happen upon it?

“You never really get used to it.” His voice is soothing, deep and calming and a little bit like a radio deejay. “You come to accept it. The schedule it tends to take. The elation of the first few weeks, the desperation of the middle. It does get better.”

I sniffle, my head still buried in my knees, grateful that he doesn’t seem to expect anything from me.

“The light at the end of the tunnel starts to make an appearance and when it does, you realize that it’s going to be over soon. The hectic schedule, the long rides, the people. You go back to that place you were in at the beginning. The one that loved it and savored it so that by the last week, this will feel far, far away. You won’t want it to end. You might even forget how hard it got. It doesn’t scar you. It doesn’t take away the love. It becomes one more thing you’re willing to go through because of how much you need it in your life.”

I look up again, just as he’s looking down. My eyes settle into his, light brown and small. They're comforting in their wisdom and care, things I've never thought to seek from them before. He takes my hand in his and gives it a squeeze.

“We've all been here. It’s not just you. You’ll get through this. Somehow, you find a way.” I smile at him, my drying tears making my face feel tight. He returns it, his eyes still in mine. He leans in and kisses the top of my head before he gets up and walks back the way he came. I release myself from my own hold, stand up and go onto the stage to see about packing up Jake’s kit.

[jaycee]

Father

I bit my tongue
He beat me up
He cut my chord
When I was born

He made me from himself
Should I call him "God"?
He buried me in the sod
He let me rot

He fed me from bottles when I was five
He bled me of a life
I was up all night
Staring at the white's of cows' eyes

I'm too young for you
I'm too old for sucking thumbs
I'm so ****ing dumb
I've become a bum

He copied me with his ink
I'm a copycat, copy written
He slopily left a stink
Once shy, twice bitten

He fed me from hoses when I was five
He fed me his lies
I stayed up all night
Staring at the white's of his eyes

That was a very dark poem, but nonetheless very well written! :) However, the fourth verse doesn't seem to fit well with the rest, although I can't quite articulate why... :shrug: Anyway, thanks for a great addition to the thread! :)

[gypsy4life]

It's not a masterpiece, but, it's true.

How easily I could have let you consume me,
Or, maybe you did consume me.
The phone rang with the music of a symphony, your voice the director.
I waited for each crescendo, listening for the key change,
For your voice was the beauty of a thousand harp strings,
Each one resonating the twang of your southern drawl.
I fell in love with you then, I love you now.
Only moments of your soul, shared across miles,
Yet, the distance seemed nothing, if I closed my eyes.
I tried to make you feel my love, to no avail.
You slipped away, no call, no symphony…
The hall was empty….
I, alone stood waiting, for you had managed to fill me somehow,
I, alone stood empty.
Congratulations, I could hear them all say,
One of them told me you were married today.

[BrokenHearted]

That was a very dark poem, but nonetheless very well written! :) However, the fourth verse doesn't seem to fit well with the rest, although I can't quite articulate why... :shrug: Anyway, thanks for a great addition to the thread! :)

Thank you for your compliment, and I agree about the fourth verse but not sure what to do with it yet.

[BrokenHearted]

Bump. I hate to keep reviving this thread, but I hate it seeing die, especially with all these very talented members sharing their work. Please, let me know if I'm beating a dead horse. :xoxo:



Like The Others Do

Don't make me
Don't make me think that...
I'm a waste
Don't break me...

Like the others do
I get a taste
Of what I'm faking
When I'm with you
I get a taste
Of what I'm taking
Of something new...

With your powders, your pills, and your pen and pad
You make me feel... not so bad
In a world gone mad, had up by us people
All I want is a needle
To be in the arms
Of an angel...

Like the others do
I get a sense
Of what I'm faking
When I'm with you
I get a taste
Of what I'm taking
To be not like I used to be

And all the empty
Melts away
And all misery
Doesn't need me today
Too selfish for company
And all the empty
Just melts away

Like the others do
I get a taste
Oh what I'm taking
To not be like I use to be
When I'm all blue
In a green, green world of taking
What didn't used to

And here is an apology
For who I used to be
And here is an apology
For who I am now
And here is an apology
It's all you can get from me

Now...

[Musicman408]

No need to apologize at ALL!!!! This is one of my favorite threads- fantastic writing by the way!!!

[Musicman408]

Just wrote this this morning, as of right now, the running title is "The Regathering"

Verse:
She speaks some slower,
so no one hears what she's thinking.
To playfully ride in the back,
of somebody's fulsome gray stagecoach.
The bar's been set above the Lancaster ceiling.
Yet she could only imagine where to begin.

He stares behind the stark white sand of September.
Pretending on why, for years it's been alone.
The handsome skies, are bleeding such crimson right now,
As he hands it all on the plaster wall.

Chorus:
The same old story's the show now.
With the same talented players, with the same parts.
Some stately man sits upon the window.
As he watches the glass reform after the fall.
Everyone else runs together, joining hands, laughing.
Two unmet lovers decide upon the regathering.

Her thoughts grow slower as she steps onto the stage.
She sets the pages down, the yellowing with age.
He's nearly on the other side of the Rudy long mile.
Sitting back at home- he begins to write awhile.

Chorus

The story transpires- like it's never been done before.
Mr. Rudy falls down, but then he meets Eleanor.
They run into each other like some pre planned meeting.
Then they hold hands atop the Lancaster ceiling.



So, what do we think??????

[daniellaaarisen]

Alright, two more.... in case you can't tell, I am currently jaded and pissed at every male I've ever known. Ever. :D




Syncopation

I told you to put your head there
on my chest
as we lay in our bed.

I wanted you to hear my heart beat
and seamlessly float into
its rhythm,
our rhythm
of delicate sways and boundless ease
with no name and face
and age, no
latitude and longitude.

I wanted your heart
to not be alone for a while,
to follow.

As you sleep, I collect
your snores and sighs
in a jar under our bed. I swallow them
like water, gulping you in
until morning, when
you insist to once again
become plottable.

We split, we multiply.
Into all of our moments
without one another, into all of our
feigned strengths,
embellished and worn,
adding distinct recognition
to each syllable of our names,
differentiating.

I climb into this bed—
our bed—
and watch the demarcation.
I watch you lean into
my body and consume
the smell of my skin, I feel
your palms stretch
underneath me, their
desperate hunger
for completion.

We have diverged and we
have merged, monogamous
in a moment, synonymous
in an experience.

I hate myself for loving
how you love me
the way you can.

[daniellaaarisen]

Untitled

The moon swayed against her bare back every time the wind pushed with enough vigor to weave her body left. Its light hugged the swell of her breast, swiveled down her side unevenly. For a moment, she was fully exposed in the paleness. Then the wind would rise up again and the broken pendulum would shift left like before, swallowing her body in darkness. She eluded both the dark and the light, unable to balance herself on the grass below her naked form. So she swung back and forth, left to center, dodging the shadows for the light before involuntarily swinging back into the black again.

She was used to this inconsistency; the artist in her could sense it from simple moments like this one. Everything became a metaphor once she acknowledged her thirst for one. She wanted to believe that her inability to stay still was somewhat uncontrollable, like the way the beads of a kaleidoscope fall with the slightest movement, like the wind that eased her sideways. So she spent a good part of her evenings on the grassy hill behind her house, rising and falling with each breath, swinging left to right inside of the evening's unpredictable beat.

This is the woman I fell in love with. A woman who defined herself by the world surrounding her, a woman who eased her way into the universe as precisely and delicately as I eased my way into her mind, into her open body. This woman was poetry that flowed in the perfect places-- her hips melodically dipped into her waist and rose up again, billowing into the fullness of her chest. Her eyes were the punch line that killed, that broke the immaculate curvature I knew so well. Sometimes, I'd find myself lost in her softness, wrapped in the overwhelming effect of such subtlety. I'd watch her write in bed, following her lips and her hair and her spine and her fingers until she'd catch me staring and stare right back, breaking her general sense of tenderness with something staccato and poignant. Her eyes reminded me that she had meaning; she had a distinct and riveting pulse. She existed beyond me; she existed beyond herself.

And then she fell in love with me in return. She let herself succumb to the warmth between us and melt, molding inside of my every breath. She abandoned each curve that she loved, slapped her arms lifelessly around my ribs, dropped the look in her eye that once kept me hungry. All of a sudden, her pulse walked in step with mine.

I was lost—slithering away from her on a buttery track that she had kneaded with her own hands. Each touch became a more and more obsessive attempt for completion; she searched my body with her fingers, frantically seeking any trace of herself in my skin. And as she slept, in her only gentle moments free of desperation, I realized that she had cascaded into the most beautiful loss of self that I had ever seen.

[Musicman408]

Dani, two pieces in a day? That's AWESOME!!! I'll read them tomorrow morning since I've been working on school work ALLL day today.

I'd posted this earlier, but thought I'd repost to get some feedback! :)

The Regathering
Verse:
She speaks some slower,
so no one hears what she's thinking.
To playfully ride in the back,
of somebody's fulsome gray stagecoach.
The bar's been set above the Lancaster ceiling.
Yet she could only imagine where to begin.

He stares behind the stark white sand of September.
Pretending on why, for years it's been alone.
The handsome skies, are bleeding such crimson right now,
As he hands it all on the plaster wall.

Chorus:
The same old story's the show now.
With the same talented players, with the same parts.
Some stately man sits upon the window.
As he watches the glass reform after the fall.
Everyone else runs together, joining hands, laughing.
Two unmet lovers decide upon the regathering.

Her thoughts grow slower as she steps onto the stage.
She sets the pages down, the yellowing with age.
He's nearly on the other side of the Rudy long mile.
Sitting back at home- he begins to write awhile.

Chorus

The story transpires- like it's never been done before.
Mr. Rudy falls down, but then he meets Eleanor.
They run into each other like some pre planned meeting.
Then they hold hands atop the Lancaster ceiling.



So, what do we think??????

[daniellaaarisen]

Dani, two pieces in a day? That's AWESOME!!!


Haha, sorry to burst your bubble but nope-- I just forgot about this thread until now.

[ButterCookie]

First pop at a sonnet.

So as I stop to tie my shoe,
The rain does fall upon my back.
I look up to the swing which I outgrew,
and then glance to mine own name carved upon a weathered plaque.
The wind whips my florals about my knees,
The tired old swing creaks and groans.
Whilst Mr. Wind whistles to a gentle breeze,
Yet still he rattles through my aching bones.
As I press on, my skin cracks,
My lips blister.
and I think of my kingdom and that which it lacks,
My mind wrought in a deep, gray twister.
I wish for a bed under the stars, on which Mr. Wind can steal my woes,
calmness upon me, he bestows.

[daniellaaarisen]

A Nautical Room

Your sweet breath swells
into mine, fills a sail
softly undulating as if
the winds of the world
waned away. So you

blow heavy on my back
when the sound of your
discomfort fills the room;
you slip into
my sheets and watch
them billow above us,
giving half-satisfying
direction towards a
horizon lost. So we

sail on, buck up,
tie our shoes and wait
while sea water slaps
against the hardwood floor
and the breathless coastal fog
hovers above our bed. So we

wait for the instant when
I can make you better, wait
for when ecstasy isn’t
a curse, wait for
the moment when you can
finally love me, wait
for the day
I raise mast by myself.

[GODDESS6]

A Nautical Room

Your sweet breath swells
into mine, fills a sail
softly undulating as if
the winds of the world
waned away. So you

blow heavy on my back
when the sound of your
discomfort fills the room;
you slip into
my sheets and watch
them billow above us,
giving half-satisfying
direction towards a
horizon lost. So we

sail on, buck up,
tie our shoes and wait
while sea water slaps
against the hardwood floor
and the breathless coastal fog
hovers above our bed. So we

wait for the instant when
I can make you better, wait
for when ecstasy isn’t
a curse, wait for
the moment when you can
finally love me, wait
for the day
I raise mast by myself.

that is beautiful~

[daniellaaarisen]

Glass Messiah


I have a crown of thorns twisted in my side, its
bleeding and festering
and somehow healing me from
the inside out, wrapping
its arms around each
muscle and vein, stretching
and squeezing until
I stop. I stop
fighting back, stop asking you to
make me holy again, stop
begging you to give
me a reason to pull
this tiara out of me, wash
it with some holy water and
wear it on my head
like the messiah
I was meant to be.
I stop bathing my own
feet, kissing my own
footsteps, weeping
in my own untimely death and all
because I’m not as satisfied
as Jesus was to be
naked and forsaken.
I can’t pretend to love myself
well enough for you
to love me, too. So please
leave me on a dirt road,
make sure I’m shoeless.
Break both my legs
and say, “walk.” Break me
beyond recognition,
enjoy the clamor of
the shatter. F*ck me up
so badly that I have no
choice but to start
from the ground up.
Douse me in self-loathing,
wrap me in the ugly truths,
believe that I shouldn’t
be believed in.
Because I’ll never make myself
into anything until
I’m absolutely nothing
to you.

[daniellaaarisen]

that is beautiful~

Thank you! :)

[daniellaaarisen]

First pop at a sonnet.

So as I stop to tie my shoe,
The rain does fall upon my back.
I look up to the swing which I outgrew,
and then glance to mine own name carved upon a weathered plaque.
The wind whips my florals about my knees,
The tired old swing creaks and groans.
Whilst Mr. Wind whistles to a gentle breeze,
Yet still he rattles through my aching bones.
As I press on, my skin cracks,
My lips blister.
and I think of my kingdom and that which it lacks,
My mind wrought in a deep, gray twister.
I wish for a bed under the stars, on which Mr. Wind can steal my woes,
calmness upon me, he bestows.

Well it's not really in sonnet form BUT I really like it anyway. Haha.

[ButterCookie]

Well it's not really in sonnet form BUT I really like it anyway. Haha.

Syllables confuse me so much it's actually embarrassing :(

[daniellaaarisen]

Syllables confuse me so much it's actually embarrassing :(

Clap them out! it's supposed to be 10 syllables, all in iambic pentameter. Seems like you understand iambic fairly well though. :)

[ButterCookie]

Clap them out! it's supposed to be 10 syllables, all in iambic pentameter. Seems like you understand iambic fairly well though. :)

I was taught to hold my hand under my chin while I spoke the words, counting how many times my chin hit my fingers :lol: It's the whole counting and reading at the same time that gets me :o

[APerfectLie]

A Ghost Amongst The Leaves

What did you want anyway?
Did you want to say you cared?
With all those unspoken words, I’m left here broken
Hopeless and shattered
And maybe these things have all been illusions
And maybe I am strangely alone
But I thought you were there
I thought someone cared
Now I wonder where this road ends
Or if it ever began
I’m lost in a sea of madness
A world of strangers
I look for your face
But all I see is emptiness
And unanswered questions in this place
I call out your name
But the screams are lost in the shadows
And the strangers tell me lies
While my heart slowly dies
Is anyone there?
Can anybody hear this?
Where are the words I need to hear?
Where is my elusive angel?
Is she hiding in the wind?
Stolen from the sky
Lost amongst the leaves
Waiting there to die
As the willows still weep in the darkness
Amongst the ghost of you and I

[chelluversu]

Anyone watch Brave New Voices??

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[nailatixela]

I've seen That Girl before. I went to my first poetry slam a couple weeks ago...they are SO amazing!

[chelluversu]

I've seen That Girl before. I went to my first poetry slam a couple weeks ago...they are SO amazing!

I would LOVE to go to one. Especially one for Brave New Voices.
I want to meet the whole Hawai'i team.

[LittleCharmer]

Dani, for some reason your poetry just screams at me to get my guitar and put your words to music! I really love your writing.

[daniellaaarisen]

Dani, for some reason your poetry just screams at me to get my guitar and put your words to music! I really love your writing.

Thank you SO MUCH! I've always wanted to try that.

[chelluversu]

Glass Messiah


I have a crown of thorns twisted in my side, its
bleeding and festering
and somehow healing me from
the inside out, wrapping
its arms around each
muscle and vein, stretching
and squeezing until
I stop. I stop
fighting back, stop asking you to
make me holy again, stop
begging you to give
me a reason to pull
this tiara out of me, wash
it with some holy water and
wear it on my head
like the messiah
I was meant to be.
I stop bathing my own
feet, kissing my own
footsteps, weeping
in my own untimely death and all
because I’m not as satisfied
as Jesus was to be
naked and forsaken.
I can’t pretend to love myself
well enough for you
to love me, too. So please
leave me on a dirt road,
make sure I’m shoeless.
Break both my legs
and say, “walk.” Break me
beyond recognition,
enjoy the clamor of
the shatter. F*ck me up
so badly that I have no
choice but to start
from the ground up.
Douse me in self-loathing,
wrap me in the ugly truths,
believe that I shouldn’t
be believed in.
Because I’ll never make myself
into anything until
I’m absolutely nothing
to you.

My God woman. I love this.

[daniellaaarisen]

My God woman. I love this.

Thanks Michelle! :)

[daniellaaarisen]

A Kiss For a Kingdom

I can never know the art
of loving you when
I keep molding all love
into art. I bleed
on these pages until
my pulse whimpers
and stops, until my heart
will kill for each little
breath it lost when
I spilled on your lap
this red ink.

I’ll keep writing, I’ll keep carving
in bitter fool’s blood.
It keeps me alive
in my desperate hunt
to haunt you, reminds me
of all I’m willing to give
to sculpt you into
what I need you to be,
to somehow create
my own divine control.

And it all starts again
(with this same paper and pen) —
I take the kiss that you give me
and weave our new kingdom,
I take all this self-loathing
and give it your name.



*Very iffy on this one. Any comments welcome!*

[LittleCharmer]

And it all starts again
(with this same paper and pen) —
I take the kiss that you give me
and weave our new kingdom,
I take all this self-loathing
and give it your name.


Looooooooooveeeeee! Especially the bold bit

[chelluversu]

A Kiss For a Kingdom

I can never know the art
of loving you when
I keep molding all love
into art. I bleed
on these pages until
my pulse whimpers
and stops, until my heart
will kill for each little
breath it lost when
I spilled on your lap
this red ink.

I’ll keep writing, I’ll keep carving
in bitter fool’s blood.
It keeps me alive
in my desperate hunt
to haunt you, reminds me
of all I’m willing to give
to sculpt you into
what I need you to be,
to somehow create
my own divine control.

And it all starts again
(with this same paper and pen) —
I take the kiss that you give me
and weave our new kingdom,
I take all this self-loathing
and give it your name.



*Very iffy on this one. Any comments welcome!*

This whole thing is pretty much amazing to me,
but I love the last two lines the most.

[bucklind17]

Is anyone here doing NaNoWriMo this year? I am so eager to get started, I've essentially not written for about two weeks just so that I can roll and roll when it counts.

[daniellaaarisen]

Is anyone here doing NaNoWriMo this year? I am so eager to get started, I've essentially not written for about two weeks just so that I can roll and roll when it counts.

I'm deathly afraid of ****ty writing. And since NaNoWriMo is kinda about getting 50,000 words down no matter what the quality, I'm deathly afraid of NaNoWriMo.

[APerfectLie]

For The Best

Step outside of your chambers
And break to pieces with the day
Why are you hiding?
What is chasing you anyway?

Up and spinning circles
Lost amongst your world
Castles built on lies
Silly little girl

Embers burning in the distance
The fire is coming close
The world is crashing down
Soon you’ll be nothing but a ghost

And this is where you are
A shadow in the dark
Swings slowing to a stop
And leaves blowing in the park

Shallow seas rush in
And the beach begins to disappear
And in a flash of light
No one will be here

And in the distance there’s a call
Not a call, but a scream
A scream that shatters the silence
With nothing left to redeem

And in an endless search for salvation
You run down haunted streets
And the demons chase you down
To where sea and city meet

Drowning in your lies
Water filling up your chest
The breathing’s getting harder
And all of this was for the best

[APerfectLie]

A Kiss For a Kingdom


I’ll keep writing, I’ll keep carving
in bitter fool’s blood.
It keeps me alive
in my desperate hunt
to haunt you, reminds me
of all I’m willing to give
to sculpt you into
what I need you to be,
to somehow create
my own divine control.


OMG. Amazing!

[bucklind17]

I'm deathly afraid of ****ty writing. And since NaNoWriMo is kinda about getting 50,000 words down no matter what the quality, I'm deathly afraid of NaNoWriMo.

Ah. I did it last year for the challenge aspect. Mostly because I tend to flesh out ideas and then that's it, nothing ever happens with them. It was really exciting and refreshing for me to see that I could write a long manuscript with a solid beginning, middle and end. Was it perfect? Absolutely not and no one but myself has read it even to this day, but I've been working on it since last year and it may turn into something more eventually. It also might not. But either way, I know I wrote a pretty hefty piece that, in my opinion, is pretty okay in quality and is something I never actually thought I'd manage to do. This year, I've planned better and have a better idea of what I want to write (part of why I'm resisting writing too much prior to starting) and am hoping that my manuscript at the end of the 30 days is something even more solid and perhaps something I can and want to continue to improve over time. We shall see.

[daniellaaarisen]

Forgotten, Awake

I fell through the world and landed
in a poorly lit dream, where androgynous
shadows dared I sort them from the rest
through my kaleidoscope eyes, with
bated breath. This is where
I found you, in a world
where the negative spaces do
the talking and all the figures
with no mouths smirk in the dark—
knowing I am blind behind
vanity’s pleading eyes, knowing
that the beauty had a youthful beast.
This is where I found you and
this is where you’ll stay, once I
grow up, grow away from this
self-loathing sin and begin to
be forgotten, begin to
fall awake.

[jaycee]

Forgotten, Awake

I fell through the world and landed
in a poorly lit dream, where androgynous
shadows dared I sort them from the rest
through my kaleidoscope eyes, with
bated breath. This is where
I found you, in a world
where the negative spaces do
the talking and all the figures
with no mouths smirk in the dark—
knowing I am blind behind
vanity’s pleading eyes, knowing
that the beauty had a youthful beast.
This is where I found you and
this is where you’ll stay, once I
grow up, grow away from this
self-loathing sin and begin to
be forgotten, begin to
fall awake.

Dani, you're one of a kind! :nod: Have you ever considered compiling your poetry into a book?

[daniellaaarisen]

Dani, you're one of a kind! :nod: Have you ever considered compiling your poetry into a book?

Why thank you! I'm considering that-- I want to compile everything I write in college, I think. I'm definitely not good enough now but maybe in three years...

[jaycee]

Why thank you! I'm considering that-- I want to compile everything I write in college, I think. I'm definitely not good enough now but maybe in three years...

Well, I disagree with your latter sentiment - you're more talented than you realise. Still, you could compile your high school works, but publish them after your college works if you think you'd be more comfortable publishing your most experienced work first... :shrug:

[LittleCharmer]

Why thank you! I'm considering that-- I want to compile everything I write in college, I think. I'm definitely not good enough now but maybe in three years...

Do it. Really, I've seen far worse writing than yours published. You have a really unique, beautiful style and since your poems condense a lot of meaning into short passages, they can be interpreted in so many ways.
I'd buy your anthology!

[daniellaaarisen]

You guys are amazing-- can't tell you how much I appreciate the comments. I don't really know how to go about getting published in that serious of a way, but as I said, it's a nice thought... maybe when I get more knowledge/confidence.

[Meowi]

For benefit of my sanity
I thought you were the knights in shining armor,
Told by the great King of Sanity to collect me,
You were to make me whole again…

The least to say, I am a lonely man,
The one who sits a seat down from the left of his own father.
When they say I’m not all there,
Whose there to notice –

Was it something I did out of adoration?
Was it he, the one who lives under the rusty bridge?

Answers that I’ll never know.
Haunted by the same notion of what could have been.
This was supposed to be the end,
But it became the start.

Please, for the benefit of my sanity:

Understand,
Understand,
Understand,

What I have become.
Please, for the benefit of my sanity.

[daniellaaarisen]

I think this poem was the hardest to write out of everything I've ever written.

Landing

I came to you many miles above the world,
caved into your touch, shuddering in the wonder
of merging with another, of the nuances of fate—
flying intertwined for a reason.

Miles above the world, your heart beat
as you watched me. I could feel it through
your chest, pressed against you in our seats
molding to your body more and more
with every sigh, wishing that we never had
our separate destinations.

We weren’t ready for the divergence. To pass
through the barrier between earth and sky,
to touch firm ground, marked dark with borders
and names, the ground where you were known
as one distinct life and I was known to be
distinctly, painfully another.

You’d later haunt me with your softness.
I remembered you while in the grip of another,
tossing my body exactly where he wanted it,
pushing and pulling for his selfish release.

I thought of you, of the way you loved how I blush,
of the way I eased into you and you eased
back into me, of the satisfaction it brought you
to gently bring me higher. In your lips,
I briefly tasted what’s as bitter as is sweet—
recognition beyond my bare body in a bed,
awareness of how little my silhouette really says.

I crave you, the way your eyes drank me in.
I crave the tinge of fear in your voice
that reminds me I am loveable, I crave your
endless questions that remind me
you can hurt. I know I could’ve touched you
with the same care you touched me, I know
how much I could’ve given you
in the fewest precious hours.

But you stopped the fight we once believed in
for us, for the coming together in whatever
way we could. I understand it, all your caution,
our one heartbreaking difference:

I wanted you, to escape my lonely for a while,
and you don’t want me so your lonely never comes.

[daniellaaarisen]

The Lover of a Ghost

I’m the lover of a ghost swallowed
by Arachne’s famished aspirations,

by her beguiling professions, her
ever-soft asphyxiation
her sweet gossamer grip, the shackles
seeking love requited. I have

heard his faded testimony, I have seen
him take the choke. I fell upon him
with my midnight veil, and in the center
stood my eye— waxing, approaching full

bleeding out my soul’s conviction.
And in my lightness shone his chains—
his spider’s art, her labyrinth web
and spoke the moon to a dying man,
“I promise to help you live.”

He begged for me to wane, he pushed me
through the velvet night. He almost loved
Arachne’s bites and chains, sweet throbs
of fruitless guarantee.

Yet I’m the lover of a ghost who spins
his own web of indecision, I’m the lover
of a man who can save anyone but
himself.

[Sahara]

It's been on my mind to go back and read through this thread properly. This is beautiful, Dani, the creative dry spell appears to be well and truly over :) I love reading your poetry, it always encourages me to go and continue with my own -- and very few things do that any more! Keep it up, sweet girl :xoxo:

[daniellaaarisen]

It's been on my mind to go back and read through this thread properly. This is beautiful, Dani, the creative dry spell appears to be well and truly over :) I love reading your poetry, it always encourages me to go and continue with my own -- and very few things do that any more! Keep it up, sweet girl :xoxo:

Kathryn, thank you SO MUCH. That's the ultimate compliment to me, and I'm so glad to be motivational to you in whatever way I can.

[iamnotafraid]

The Lover of a Ghost


Little ghost, little ghost
One I'm scared of the most
Can you scare me up a little bit of love?
I'm the only one that sees you,
And I can't do much to please you
And it not yet time to meet the Lord above

The first moment that I met her
I did not expect a specter
When I shook her hand I really shook a glove
She looked into me so sweetly
And we left the room discreetly
No one else could know the secret of our love

Every morning that I awoke
And I see my little ghost
Wond'rin' if it's her that's really lying there
I lean to touch her and I whisper
But not brave enough to kiss her
When I held her I was really holding air...

[daniellaaarisen]

Little ghost, little ghost
One I'm scared of the most
Can you scare me up a little bit of love?
I'm the only one that sees you,
And I can't do much to please you
And it not yet time to meet the Lord above

The first moment that I met her
I did not expect a specter
When I shook her hand I really shook a glove
She looked into me so sweetly
And we left the room discreetly
No one else could know the secret of our love

Every morning that I awoke
And I see my little ghost
Wond'rin' if it's her that's really lying there
I lean to touch her and I whisper
But not brave enough to kiss her
When I held her I was really holding air...

I love you. And this song.

[ButterCookie]

Pounding paws crack our fragile roof.
These paws should be familiar, yet
they live and work too close to hoof.
You and I, we are the bleeding end of a rich man's bet.

They'll sell our bones,
Char our flesh,
Thrive off our pained moans and
Display us, hanging. Dripping. Fresh.

Don't make a sound,
Clasp your china through my iron
claws. Pretend that with gold thread you are bound,
tight and fragile. Fight your urge to banish the demon
hounds of hell and middle class. Neither you or I, little one, can distinguish
between the masters and their whipped... hollowed... effigies... mutts.

They'll strip our dignity
then strip our fur, our beauty.
Wear our integrity
as trimming. Bloodthirsty cruelty.

[daniellaaarisen]

"You and I, we are the bleeding end of a rich man's bet."

^^ love.

[daniellaaarisen]

Hey guys, I need your help. A few of the schools I applied to in the UK want a portfolio of my writing. They are asking for six poems. I'm going to post a few favorites on here.... what six would you choose? The choices need to convey different elements of my writing. If you only have the time/energy to read a few, tell me if you'd include the ones you read or not-- I know it's not reasonable to assume anyone will read all this!


The Lover of a Ghost

I’m the lover of a ghost swallowed
by Arachne’s famished aspirations,

by her beguiling professions, her
ever-soft asphyxiation
her sweet gossamer grip, the shackles
seeking love requited. I have

heard his faded testimony, I have seen
him take the choke. I fell upon him
with my midnight veil, and in the center
stood my eye— waxing, approaching full

bleeding out my soul’s conviction.
And in my lightness shone his chains—
his spider’s art, her labyrinth web
and spoke the moon to a dying man,
“I promise to help you live.”

He begged for me to wane, he pushed me
through the velvet night. He almost loved
Arachne’s bites and chains, sweet throbs
of fruitless guarantee.

Yet I’m the lover of a ghost who spins
his own web of indecision, I’m the lover
of a man who can save anyone but
himself.



Forgotten, Awake

I fell through the world and landed
in a poorly lit dream, where androgynous
shadows dared I sort them from the rest
through my kaleidoscope eyes, with
bated breath. This is where
I found you, in a world
where the negative spaces do
the talking and all the figures
with no mouths smirk in the dark—
knowing I am blind behind
vanity’s pleading eyes, knowing
that the beauty had a youthful beast.
This is where I found you and
this is where you’ll stay, once I
grow up, grow away from this
self-loathing sin and begin to
be forgotten, begin to
fall awake.



A Nautical Room

Your sweet breath swells
into mine, fills a sail
softly undulating as if
the winds of the world
waned away. You blow

heavy on my back when
the sound of your
discomfort fills the room;
you slip into
my sheets and watch
them billow above us,
giving half-satisfying
direction towards a
horizon lost. So we

sail on, buck up,
tie our shoes and wait
while sea water slaps
against the hardwood floor
and the breathless coastal fog
hovers above our bed. So we

wait for the instant when
I can make you better, wait
for when ecstasy isn’t
a curse, wait for
the moment when you can
finally love me, wait
for the day
I raise mast by myself.


Untitled Prose Piece (I don't think I've ever posted this here)

The moon swayed against her bare back every time the wind pushed with enough vigor to weave her body left. Its light hugged the swell of her breast, swiveled down her side unevenly. For a moment, she was fully exposed in the paleness. Then the wind would rise up again and the broken pendulum would shift left like before, swallowing her body in darkness. She eluded both the dark and the light, unable to balance herself on the grass below her naked form. So she swung back and forth, left to center, dodging the shadows for the light before involuntarily swinging back into the black again.

She was used to this inconsistency; the artist in her could sense it from simple moments like this one. Everything became a metaphor once she acknowledged her thirst for one. She wanted to believe that her inability to stay still was somewhat uncontrollable, like the way the beads of a kaleidoscope fall with the slightest movement, like the wind that eased her sideways. So she spent a good part of her evenings on the grassy hill behind her house, rising and falling with each breath, swinging left to right inside of the evening's unpredictable beat.

This is the woman I fell in love with. A woman who defined herself by the world surrounding her, a woman who eased her way into the universe as precisely and delicately as I eased my way into her mind, into her open body. This woman was poetry that flowed in the perfect places-- her hips melodically dipped into her waist and rose up again, billowing into the fullness of her chest. Her eyes were the punch line that killed, that broke the immaculate curvature I knew so well. Sometimes, I'd find myself lost in her softness, wrapped in the overwhelming effect of such subtlety. I'd watch her write in bed, following her lips and her hair and her spine and her fingers until she'd catch me staring and stare right back, breaking her general sense of tenderness with something staccato and poignant. Her eyes reminded me that she had meaning; she had a distinct and riveting pulse. She existed beyond me; she existed beyond herself.

And then she fell in love with me in return. She let herself succumb to the warmth between us and melt, molding inside of my every breath. She abandoned each curve that she loved, slapped her arms lifelessly around my ribs, dropped the look in her eye that once kept me hungry. All of a sudden, her pulse walked in step with mine.

I was lost—slithering away from her on a buttery track that she had kneaded with her own hands. Each touch became a more and more obsessive attempt for completion; she searched my body with her fingers, frantically seeking any trace of herself in my skin. And as she slept, in her only gentle moments free of desperation, I realized that she had cascaded into the most beautiful loss of self that I had ever seen.

[daniellaaarisen]

Syncopation

I told you to put your head there
on my chest
as we lay in our bed.

I wanted you to hear my heart beat
and seamlessly float into
its rhythm,
our rhythm
of delicate sways and boundless ease
with no name and face
and age, no
latitude and longitude.

I wanted your heart
to not be alone for a while,
to follow.

As you sleep, I collect
your snores and sighs
in a jar under our bed. I swallow them
like water, gulping you in
until morning, when
you insist to once again
become plottable.

We split, we multiply.
Into all of our moments
without one another, into all of our
feigned strengths,
embellished and worn,
adding distinct recognition
to each syllable of our names,
differentiating.

I climb into this bed—
our bed—
and watch the demarcation.
I watch you lean into
my body and consume
the smell of my skin, I feel
your palms stretch
underneath me, their
desperate hunger
for completion.

We have diverged and we
have merged, monogamous
in a moment, synonymous
in an experience.

I hate myself for loving
how you love me
whatever way you can.



Invisible Blood

I was never fully satisfied, chasing you
on heels that weren’t yet broken,
dodging the defenselessness you allowed me to feel
like it was a bullet soaked in a plague.

But this Achilles found her weakness
when something in her ankles snapped
and she surrendered to the ground
apologetically.
I clung to you in spite of myself,
a tendril clasped for dear life
around the stoic woman
who found so much warmth to give
when needed in another’s darkness.

You work only by the moonlight,
working only with your hands:
silently, I watch you wrap your fingers
around my limbs
like an irrepressible vine,
attend to my reservations
like they belong to your own blood.

Blood—
an indelible tie of which
we can never be fully conscious;
the endless space we make in our womb
where ends don’t ever have to meet.

I’m on this earth to share the bonds
that warm my aching body,
here in skin and bones to watch
all of these bones break,
absorbing all the life you have to give
so that I may one day
give it back to you.



Witching Hour

In September, he found his witching hour,
while the rest of the house was asleep
and I was the only one left
to switch out the records for him—

To sing “teenage wasteland” with him,
to top off his rum for him,
to light his cigars.

In September, it was cool outside
but his body stayed warm.
I sat in the cold with him,
rocked in the wind with him,
my eyes following the furious sway
of his body with him.

But he wasn’t furious with me.

Baba o’Riley excited my father.
“Doesn’t this get your blood going, honey?
“Don’t you just need to hit something?”

I watched him dance with it,
the heavyweight bag flying seamlessly
between his drunken fists.
I watched him with frozen veins,
with all the need in the world
to sit still, to never hit anything
like he could.

He took his last swaggered punch
and I jumped to break his fall—
clinging to hands that know
my blood all too well;
haunted by a breath
that once kissed me goodnight.



My Eleventh Hour

I caught my own breath in my hands
and took the time to breathe it back in--
sweet and satisfied, stale and strangled,
spangled with lavender and sour milk
and what it means to be nationless.

Tell me you smell something different.

Tell me I'm bound to what I give
but never to what I am given;
that I can choose when the balloon pops,
when my corpse falls earthbound;
that the rushed and eager touches
I collect under my bed
can be quilted into
a sickening new height of love.

I can't remember who told me
that I wasn't young anymore.
It might've been the stout cashier woman
who proclaimed me a thief when I
slid a Snickers bar into my pocket.
It might've been my Playboy Mommy:
she warned me of the sins in my blood,
of her own obsession
with a woman's power to unveil.
Or maybe God told me on the day
when he made me suddenly
wretchedly
unequivocally alone.

On this ancient earth, I'm rarely glad to seem young--
until I'm tangled in sheets
and limbs I can't get out of,
until the simplest mechanisms of
a beating heart lose their intrigue
in my stoic desperation for blood.

Tell me you smell something different on my breath;
Tell me I can choose to be boundless.



Gold Dust

It makes the pocketwatch far from
My pocket
Tick against my thigh
At the type of speed
My heartbeat misses. It's like
The rain can't be wrong today
If it's dropping gold for me
From the hands of a man
Birthed in foreign fields--
Expelled from a womb
That still tells her wives' tales
In terms of pasos and siestas.
It's "adios" to that
For the man
Who now loans me the dollar
So I forget how to nap--
Forget how to eat in a world
Taking it too easy
In a world
That won't stop moving
In a world
Bound to a clock
From some world
That can't tell when time's up.
I choose to roll in gold dust
In a world
Where I can't be golden.

[Sahara]

Hey Dani,

It's a reasonable assumption with writing this good :)

My choices are:

Syncopation
The Lover of a Ghost
My Eleventh Hour
Forgotten, Awake
A Nautical Room
Untitled Prose Piece

I found it very hard to choose! I feel that the first four are your very best work and the last two really demonstrate the breadth of what you can do with words (not that I didn't thoroughly enjoy those too).

Incidentally, I don't think I've read Forgotten, Awake before, and it just knocked me over. There's an incredible dense claustrophobia to it. (It reminded me very powerfully of the feelings in the scene in Snow White where she's running through the wood and it seems to be attacking her. I don't know if that makes sense! I haven't thought about it in years but there's the same oppressive fear and creative use of the dark about it.)

You're dealing in shades of black but there's much more richness to it than just the tired old notions of shadows and dark figures. The negative spaces image is so striking. Your words are careful but not analytic or bloodless. Love it love it love it.

Best of luck with your application! :thumbsup:

[daniellaaarisen]

Kathryn, I cannot thank you enough for your detailed and complimentary feedback. Seriously, I owe you one. Dinner when I come visit Dublin! ;)

[Musicman408]

Kathryn, I cannot thank you enough for your detailed and complimentary feedback. Seriously, I owe you one. Dinner when I come visit Dublin! ;)

Dani, this weekend I'll go through these and make my recommendations. Upon first glance though, they sound beautiful, just like you! ;)

[-Lillith-]

Wow i read in here for like over an hour the last days.
Some of you have written amazing stuff. :blob2:
Even thou some parts are hard to understand , because i am german and dont know some word. :( Especially Danielle s poems, but its a good way to learn more vocabulary.
There are alot of pretty inspiring poems around here :)

I wanted to share some of my stuff


Alone in the middle of nowhere,
Could you take my Hand?
There s some nightmare
on that i stare.
Can`t you be here ?
help me thru the fear !


Theres no ground under my feet,
i feel.
Everything is fading
so fast away.
It doesnt seem real.

A weird film behind my blind eyes.
A scream that makes my ears def.
I dont reach the higher hights.


Its empty here,
its empty there,
And it seems as no one cares.
I reach out for everyone around,
Not the strong woman ,
I ve always shown.

Just a little girl,
living in her shadow world.

Runs to the basement
as fast as she can,
holds the key,
Oh ! she is shivering.
Afraid of what is right behind
Aware ! Lillith,
dont be so blind!

She opens the door as fast as she can,
Closes even faster then.
The key she found,
turns twice around.
A secure place ,
she might have found?

Under the table,
little women,
she sits alone and cries.
Shivers. Panic.
Wet and scared.

But then tehre s something
that she heard.
A melody so clear and bright,
makes her feel
„I ll win the fight“

Her breathe calms down,
a voice around,
a spark of hope,
that she had found.

The walls , they fade,
so does the rest.
„ has this been a cruel test?“

Now she wakes up,
all alone.
Its all right ,
she is at home...


The next ....

This time she was going to die,
it wasnt even worth the try.
She thought the end was near,
saw an unfulfilled life disappear.

She runs thou everything is lost,
she still wants no matter what it costs.
Bursted into tears,
she herself disappears.

Helpless in fears , burt into tears,
that moment she woke up,
she was lying in her bed ,
but it still turned `round in her head,
afraid of life , afraid of death.

No one knows.
ist goes just the way it goes,
suddenly her eyes lit up.
She turnes around to look at the moon, suddenly ,
there was someone in her room.


This is something i have written about some nightmares a while ago.

[ryguy2010]

ok everybody. Just dismiss my typos if I have any. Most of you already know all of the letters on my keyboard are broken but wanted to add to this Amazing thread!

Manor Child.
My child still swims around inside
My child has yet to learn to glide
Swimming in the upper terrace of fright
It doesn't have to be darkness to search the light
As my child swam down the stairs
Nothing had changed just astonished glares
If the currents enveloped all of my fears
"he'd" soon drown inside those tears
Swept away with such inundation
My child rowed on without hesitation
Perhaps my child would never surrender
After all he was my defender

[-Lillith-]

Can you tell me what it is about exactly.. or better what you wrote it about?

I wrote something about a long deep friendship beeing over,..My english is not that good as the most of your poems, sometimes i wish i had more words to describe in english. But i ll keep learning. :rolleyes:
All in all this is a try to describe my feelings about what was or is happening... :distress:

Summer is back,
in every way,
brightest light,
i know you ll stay

My darkness went with you,
away,
I ve let you go,
it hurts to say.
You leave a whole inside my heart,
always a place,
inside my art.

But its much too late,
to get back those times,
thats the sad reason,
i am writing these lines.

I miss you now,
i ll miss yoou when,
the sun shines so very bright again.
I cant keep you on this way,
long time friend,
you lost your play.

I was your friend for years and years,
we even shared the deepest fears,
cried and cried so many tears.

I feel now,
it is time to let you go.
You lost yourself,
i see it in your eyes.
And then i know
too many lies.

The times i remember so long ago,
it was so much fun.
Oh no.

But now its tme to say goodbye,
why did this time come,
tell me why ?

One day i might understand.
But its another route i ve planned,
lies dont fit in there by now.
Get it!
Its time to let me go!

Thought i would mean much more,
but you are just a shadow,
of someone very dear,
the person that i used to know.

You ve let go my hand,
i saw you fading faster,
the i stood alone,
black,
in this disaster .

That moment i had realized,
the sprakling light has left your eyes.

A memory i try to hold,
remind me of those times,
colors orange, green and gold,
time for us to divine.

I miss who u used to be,
but it is the trhuth i see.

And now i know i will say goodbye,
this has ben my very last try.

[daniellaaarisen]

Le Premier

in the iron, we are clad
we were won by something mad
that drinks fools empty. in the earth
in the fire, in the wind, that
sweet, sweet water
we are still what we once were. in the

moments that I find you,
when I sink, dissolve inside you
i am breathing for
your name. but my wind
it cannot reach inside the part
of you that preaches
false desire

i can pick us up as ghosts
who left their entrails in the hallway
where i met you. i’ll show
the heart of every haunting
the beating of the drum
pounds soft inside you. but when

i crawl back in your bed, hold
your head between my hands
i’ll know i’m holding something less
than the man who reached inside me
grabbed my lungs and eyes to blind me
and ripped my air straight from
my chest. if you see me

softly ringing the bell that sculpts each
wasted second in your memory
get on your knees, say your hail mary’s
pray that i’ll still be here standing
in the ruins of our love. that love

erupted life inside me, built a fortress
from thin air, put the poetry in the words
that i once spoke, and as I stand
here stone in stone weezing heart
and broken bone i can’t help but think
that you might be the one

[Sleepless-Child]

Le Premier

in the iron, we are clad
we were won by something mad
that drinks fools empty. in the earth
in the fire, in the wind, that
sweet, sweet water
we are still what we once were. in the

moments that I find you,
when I sink, dissolve inside you
i am breathing for
your name. but my wind
it cannot reach inside the part
of you that preaches
false desire

i can pick us up as ghosts
who left their entrails in the hallway
where i met you. i’ll show
the heart of every haunting
the beating of the drum
pounds soft inside you. but when

i crawl back in your bed, hold
your head between my hands
i’ll know i’m holding something less
than the man who reached inside me
grabbed my lungs and eyes to blind me
and ripped my air straight from
my chest. if you see me

softly ringing the bell that sculpts each
wasted second in your memory
get on your knees, say your hail mary’s
pray that i’ll still be here standing
in the ruins of our love. that love

erupted life inside me, built a fortress
from thin air, put the poetry in the words
that i once spoke, and as I stand
here stone in stone weezing heart
and broken bone i can’t help but think
that you might be the one

I think it's more straight-forward than the other things you wrote, or a bit more simple, that might be the reason you don't like it.
I think you add an incredible melodic quality to it. You know, "the beating of the drums", "the wind", the bell ringing, and on and on. That, with a good melody, would make a great song. :)

Oh, and, "Le premier", in french, is "the first", not "the one". But that's maybe what you meant to say.

[daniellaaarisen]

I think it's more straight-forward than the other things you wrote, or a bit more simple, that might be the reason you don't like it.
I think you add an incredible melodic quality to it. You know, "the beating of the drums", "the wind", the bell ringing, and on and on. That, with a good melody, would make a great song. :)

Oh, and, "Le premier", in french, is "the first", not "the one". But that's maybe what you meant to say.

Yeah, I did mean to say "the first." :) It's sooooo much more lyrical than the poems I usually write, and I kinda like that about it. It's different for me and not necessarily in a bad way.

Thank you for your comments. :)

[Sleepless-Child]

Yeah, I did mean to say "the first." :) It's sooooo much more lyrical than the poems I usually write, and I kinda like that about it. It's different for me and not necessarily in a bad way.

Thank you for your comments. :)

Is the first always the one ? :)

Anyway, for some reason, your poem reminded of a poem by a great french author, Guillaume Apollinaire (check him out if you can, seriously great). They have this melodic and lyrical quality in common (though the topic isn't the same...at all. he's talking about Dionysos and german mythology to describe his undying love for a german girl :)) :

"My glass is full of a wine trembling like a flame
Listen to the slow song of a boat-man
That tells he's seen under the moonlight
Seven women with green hair till their feet

Stand up ! Sing louder and dance
So that i don't hear the boat-man song anymore
And put near me the blond girls
With motionless look and curly nats

The Rhine The Rhine is drunk where the grapevines look at themselves
All the nights gold reflects and stumbles in it
The voice still sings to death
Those fairies with green hair who celebrate the Summer

My glass broke like a burst of laughter."

Sounds way, way, way better in french, so you can actually take that as a compliment :).

[daniellaaarisen]

It was on this day that your Lord had made
that I reclaimed my tender mystery. My destiny
shook beneath me, settled itself between
each of your folds, shattering against the shore
as a collective sigh, one wave. And to think
you thought you were something
without me. To think
of a lover’s stroll along the coast
without the clamoring voice that I gave you,
of the angry release you inflict upon the earth
until I strip your high tide away.

I do it all with a whisper, what you attempt
in Triton’s scream. To dance our waltz
you chase the curvature of my hip,
navigate each intricate step through
desperate fingers in my hair. You take pride
in this slavery, swell with joy as the corners
of my mouth soften, a smile to break
the barrier between earth and sky –

my permission that molds us to one. So
with clasped hands, intertwined, with the hunger
of fiends – your sea foam illumed by my Luna’s light,
my moon, ever brighter, because it’s touched you.

But be wary, my seamen, when the smile fades,
when the moon woman wanes, retreats to her sky.
Be wary when I fade for your new stillness
will haunt you, left alone to your devices, nothing
in my wake.

[vivfox]

But be wary, my seamen, when the smile fades,
when the moon woman wanes, retreats to her sky.
Be wary when I fade for your new stillness
will haunt you, left alone to your devices, nothing
in my wake.


This sounds like something Stevie could have written. Me likes it.

[daniellaaarisen]

This sounds like something Stevie could have written. Me likes it.

THAT IS THE ULTIMATE COMPLIMENT OF COMPLIMENTS! Thank you Viv :xoxo:

[WildHearted]

I've been writing a lot lately.

Anyway, here's a song. Or a poem. That has a melody. Whichever.

So the moon becomes a sunrise,
Like the wind, I fly away.
Another night erased with passing light,
They're all the same.

Still I see your smiling faces,
But all my eyes can lend are tears.
What happened to the time we wasted?
A liftetime's passed us by in these four years.

So goodbye my friends,
Or so we'll call each other.
One day they say we'll meet again
But until then, we begin over...

A warm embrace makes me remember
The touches of the ones I love,
And come this time next September,
It's you I'll be thinking of.

When the truth is hard to weather,
Though we may be miles apart,
I'll think of music made together,
And melodies forever in my heart.

So goodbye my friends,
Or so we'll call each other.
One day they say we'll meet again
But until then, we begin over.

We begin over
We begin over
Over and over again
We begin

They say you're only hurting yourself...
No, you're hurting everyone else...
You're only hurting yourself....
You're only hurting yourself...

:shrug:

Edit to say: Dani, you're an incredible writer. Color me jealous.

[mylittledemon]

I wrote this on the 5 year anniversary of my father's death and sent it to my brother and sister...

COUNT ON ME

When did 'maybe one day' become today?
And here we all are
going our separate ways
But I love you both
more than my words can say

Looking back brings tears to my eyes, it's amazing
Silly games and sidewalk chalk
Those were the best summer days
weren't they?

Hey my sister, I love you
Hey my brother, I need you
Hey, I always miss you
And I know you miss me too

You can count on me
when the weight of the world is too heavy
How can I be more clear
listen to the words as I sing them here
Don't care if we're oceans apart, I see you every time I look into my heart
You can count on me

Can you believe we've made it this far
With wounds still like new
even as old as they are
Standing strong even when the light goes dark

Took a lot of wrong turns to make it all right
Up against the wall
we won't go down without a fight
Proud to say we are our father's children alright

Hey my sister, I love you
Hey my brother, I need you
Hey, I always miss you
And I know you miss me too

You can count on me
when the weight of the world is too heavy
How can I be more clear
listen to the words as I sing them here
Don't care if we're oceans apart
I see you every time I look into my heart
You can count on me

You can count on me brother
You can count on me sister
You can count on me

©Ponyboy-Productions ;)

[WildHearted]

^That was very sweet, gave me chills at a few points. I'm sure your siblings will be very appreciative and enjoy it a lot.

[WildHearted]

Why live a life you won't remember?
A dream forgotten soon as you awake
When my eyes reopen, will I be this same offender?
Or just a face without a name?

[Dove]

We got to write poems in English during the semester this year so this is one of the first 'legit' poems I've really ever written so it's nothing mind blowing or anything :p

Life can be free and easy
For me it’s far from done
I am like the wind, rolling freely
My dreams have just begun

Joy makes the heart ring
Love can make you this way
It can make a heart sing
Day after day after day

Once the sun sets on our time
and our colored strands turn grey
We can again be alive
The gates of heaven await us today

Angels will sing
Our souls will be freed
Angels will sing
Our souls will be freed~

[estranged4life]

I have filled up 3 journals as of late and I am working on the 4th - been writing alot lately. Been encouraged to write matter of fact...:thumbsup:

[Blueletter18]

Wow, I just discovered this thread! Love it:) I'll take a closer look at it when it's not quarter to four in the morning...but here are a couple of my pieces if anyone would like to read them!


Untitled
You,
the reason I am free—
Your CDs stacked, disorganized
have never told me any lies.
Verity suspended in the air
as smoke from the latest cigarette
(a Merit Ultra-lite)
wanders into the shallow night.
I have grown in knowing you,
as you have shown your flaws to me
because the dark can be only lies
told to shield my virgin eyes and because
you looked at me like I never knew—
But how could I forget?
Your eyes
have always been so blue
and I’m the only one to see them now.
So tell me what I cannot know
in that cloud of smoke you blow
because the night is long enough,
and I love you more than dawn.
So I write this for you, as we stumble
into smokeless light.


What the Night Says
There you go again, loving the light--
too bad it fades from view each night
like a storyteller who has died,
the tears spring back to your eyes.

They feed me, quench my thirst and
without them I’d have no life,
no sorrow teased from your days,
your tender heart, your tender ways.

This circle game of pleasure I play
forcing you to surrender the armor of day,
for only I have seen you in beauty,
your mind a jewel fallen astray

From the pommel of the sword you treasure,
the one object by which you’re measured,
the object that is always dark to me,
the gleaming one I’ll never see.

So go on, keep loving the light
until you too have lost all sight
of what matters, unclothed
by grace of the unyielding night.

Here is a song-like poem, and I have a melody in mind:
Driving into Night
So I go driving,
driving into the night
half out of anger,
half out of fright.

Searching for the answer
that I just won’t find
when you could come back
just about any time.

No, I won’t find it here,
racing into the dark
‘Neath raindrops like mirrors—
mirrors into your heart.

‘Cause you left for the clouds,
left me behind,
and I can’t get you out of
Out of my mind.

It’s been so hard to see
what lies beyond each streetlight,
but so easy to feel
when I’m caught in your sight.

So I drive past the park,
flooded past where it’s safe—
Safe for people to walk,
for you and me to talk.

I could drive into that river,
never to return.
Try to swim ‘till I drown,
but then I’d never learn.

Learn all you can teach,
learn all I can give,
learn those bitter lessons
that show me how to live.

So I simply stand by
as things come undone,
‘cause I know we’ll stay—
we’re the lonely ones.

And you look back to your home,
back to all of before,
to the laughter at night,
to the open door.

I know they’ll always
remain on our minds,
but you and me lately,
we’re two of a kind.

So as I keep driving,
driving home from tonight,
I realize maybe just us
could turn out alright.

[Chris_Lover]

This thread is GREAT, I love writing and you are all very good at it!
Blueletter, I loved so much your "Untitled" poem. Call me crazy, but it reminds me of Chris and this is another reason why I love it. Thank you very much for sharing it with us :)



Your CDs stacked, disorganized
have never told me any lies.
(..)
Your eyes
have always been so blue
and I’m the only one to see them now.
So tell me what I cannot know
in that cloud of smoke you blow

[TrueFaith77]

Here's my experiment in serial criticism on Oliver Stone's experiment in New Media advertising for his upcoming film Savages:

Stone Images - Part 1
http://cityarts.info/2012/06/21/stone-images/

Stone Images - Part 2: Nothing Personal
http://cityarts.info/2012/06/26/stone-images-part-2/

Stone Images - Part 3: Natural Born Capitalists
http://cityarts.info/2012/06/28/stone-images-part-3/

Stay tuned for Parts 4 & 5...

[Blueletter18]

This thread is GREAT, I love writing and you are all very good at it!
Blueletter, I loved so much your "Untitled" poem. Call me crazy, but it reminds me of Chris and this is another reason why I love it. Thank you very much for sharing it with us :)

Aw, thanks!!

[Blueletter18]

A Ghost Amongst The Leaves

What did you want anyway?
Did you want to say you cared?
With all those unspoken words, I’m left here broken
Hopeless and shattered
And maybe these things have all been illusions
And maybe I am strangely alone
But I thought you were there
I thought someone cared
Now I wonder where this road ends
Or if it ever began
I’m lost in a sea of madness
A world of strangers
I look for your face
But all I see is emptiness
And unanswered questions in this place
I call out your name
But the screams are lost in the shadows
And the strangers tell me lies
While my heart slowly dies
Is anyone there?
Can anybody hear this?
Where are the words I need to hear?
Where is my elusive angel?
Is she hiding in the wind?
Stolen from the sky
Lost amongst the leaves
Waiting there to die
As the willows still weep in the darkness
Amongst the ghost of you and I

Nice!! This is quite dark, but I like your imagery throughout.