# The Writing/Poetry Thread (post your writing)



## Daemoniac (Jun 22, 2009)

EDIT: And somehow this thread seemed like a great idea when i started


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## ralphy1976 (Jun 22, 2009)

go on then..if someone uses these words for a song, let me know i'd be please to know that. cheers

Ralphy


*SORRY FOR YOUR BABY (KILLSWITCH )*​ 
For a fistful of dollar more
For the love of that black liquid gold
I&#8217;ll leave my mark on the world
Until I finally close the white door

There&#8217;s no pain no shame no gain 
Which will replace the adrenaline rush
This feeling of holding the world in my hand
This red button begging to be pushed

I&#8217;m sorry for your baby
Too bad he didn&#8217;t live to see
This brand new world which 
Emerged when I pressed the killswitch

Through the voices of those hurt
I will keep on ploughing
Preaching for a war on terror
Saying everyday the same thing

For those of you my detractors
I will just say this
Sometimes use your own justice
I am not a puppet but I will be THE master

I&#8217;m sorry for your baby
Too bad he didn&#8217;t live to see
This brand new world which 
Emerged when I pressed the killswitch

I live you my legacy
This is my final act
Why should I be sorry
If the world did not react

Tomorrow is the dawn of a new day
Do you know who your new god will be?
Are you convinced by his lyrical ecstasy?
Or you are just too afraid to say?

I&#8217;m sorry for you, baby
Too bad I will not live to see
This brand new world which 
You lived in after they pressed the killswitch


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## vampiregenocide (Jun 22, 2009)

Here are a couple I wrote some time ago
*

The Frail*

Human kind - a work of art
A work designed to work,
Designed to strive forwards,
At speeds that start to hurt.

And yet, with such complexity
Such unknown parasitism
We are hollow beings.

We are all born hating ourselves.  


*Ant*

I build, forever inspired,
No kingdom shall match my own,
Integrity or size.
I rule, forever enslaved,
Futile construction of insignificance,
Destined to fall.

And yet I long for more.
I look upon the man,
His nature conflicted.
Create or conquer?
He asks himself daily in his rape of nature
An ever consuming quest for his own indulgence.
If God be real, 
If God be just,
Why he store so much power in reckless frame?
The ant would create a clearer world.
Yet we sit, idle and awaiting
in our hole.
Our day will come.

I wait, forever impatient,
For the fall of the living Gods,
Time escapes me.
I die, heart that slows,
Hope in my children,
Save our planet
that dies with me.


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## caughtinamosh (Jun 22, 2009)

Let me finish my Advanced Higher English creative writing...

Should only be a matter of months...


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## Scar Symmetry (Jun 22, 2009)

I like snails
And sandwiches
Very very much
And sand between my toes
Sink into my woes
I like snails


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## Daemoniac (Jun 22, 2009)

Haikus are easy,
But sometimes they don't make sense,
Refrigerator.


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## xtrustisyoursx (Jun 22, 2009)

here is a link to my poetry blog. Some of it is serious effort, some of it is just goofy stuff.

joeyspoems


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## kung_fu (Jun 23, 2009)

Here is a song i've written. It's very poem like as there is no verse or chorus

History, it seems, is full of themes
a chord, a key, a melody composed
Thoughts take flight, then vanish out of sight
The train of thought moves quickly, then erodes

Music, art, and poetry combine to fill a hole,
The eye beholds their beauty, the beauty of the soul
A picture painted black and white is not simple as it seems
if the person who created it dreams technicolor dreams

A mountain of gold distorts the view in front of you, and tells you where to go
A veil of white it blurs your sight, the goal's so far away
Inspiration will arrive another day
Dream in colour, not just different shades of grey

The beauty of creation makes a man feel like a king,
soaring ever higher on his fabricated wings.
The view from his perspective is too beautiful for words
translate it to a melody that mankind has never heard.

A song is just a channel for emotional display,
a message to remind us that our dreams will not decay.


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## caughtinamosh (Jul 16, 2009)

Do not ask me how or when a mate and I wrote this...



> A Meating of Minds
> 
> Viceroy Lord Admiral Jim Dalton-Mackenzie IV unzipped his head. His brain spilled froth. Catching the translucent slime in a goblet, he quaffed and quaffed until he could snort no more. How tiring a day he had just observed. Leaning to Bethany the Walrus, parked like a detonating explosion on his left shoulder and twisting a dull Russian blade between his shoulder blades in a slow writhing motion, he mused upon his lack of comprehension regarding the situation with Andorra&#8217;s navy - oh how he craved those vast sweeping planes! How he longed to trip over the tree roots that hung from the crimson sky! Venturing forth from his Cabin of Indulgence, he paused for a moment, and then thought against it: why should he stop for thought, when thought stopped for no man; why cease his considerings, or put a sock in his ponderings? Neigh! Bethany had become a horse! Nose! A unicorn! Tuskless and exuberant, in full regalitude, with neither qualm nor quarrel to ignite the passions of a nation, she flew across the sea - this desecrated unicorn on the cob. Alas, a great sky kraken ate the Viceroy, putting a decisive end to his inane rambligs. But not over, the story, yet is was: that humblest of flying unikye did respawn into the Viceroy, absolving his immortal soul from the fester and tumult of the belly of the kraken. The kraken bellowed. It bellowed again. And then again for a fourth time. It&#8217;s tongue lolled in its great, pine, oaken mouth. Great sores grated in the side of her mouth, and her tentacles pointed towards the Heavens, where Viceroy Lord Admiral Jim Dalton-Mackenzie IV had now taken up third class VUP residency. &#8220;What am I doing in your belly, oaf? Loaf! Soaf-Ah I could use, a seat, or somesuch method of relieving my limbs from their feeble exertions!&#8221; The kraken mooed. &#8220;Do not set thy mooing, or mooeth again unto me, vile fiendish fiend! Your Oscrician tentacular orifi do not frighten me biy!&#8221; The kraken grew bored, and board sprouted from its ears, and it jumped aboard the boat, boring a hole in its bow, appealing to the Board of directors for permission to shoot a golden arrow from its quivering quiver and its bamboo bowing bow at a rampaging boar hurting through the whirlwoods. It bore its tusk at a local bear, in unbearable fury, bearing its anger for all to observe: at least all who habitated the underground observatory which had, by the way, a new on sweet. Caramel erupted from the kraken&#8217;s blow-hole as esque of a chimneypotholder. It caught ice: such was its angelic altitude. Oh for a log fire and a bitter, bitter - oh most bitter - mug of scalding, tepid, sinful, giraffe liquour. Jerry the giraffe, not always a harbringer of dissolution, chastised his own chastity, and launched a tirade upon the monstrousless kraken. But it got as far as &#8216;e pile &#8216;o caramel - which wisna far at all biy - before forgetting that it wasn&#8217;t hallowe&#8217;en. What do I mean? I mean hallowe&#8217;en, kind sirz! Consider the following - my question to be. What is my question? I shall expand! Consider my expansion thusly: where are my keys? Why! Inside the very belly of that happy kraken - you know, the one from earlier, dear reader of these most wisdomless words! I believe the Viceroy to have partook in some conspiratory action to accumulate my unlocking utensils! For that, I wish him disregard. Consider him disregardable.
> 
> Anyway, Chuck chucked as he boked on the dung. Kraken dung. Very old kraken dung. Indeed, the very bestest kind of faeces. This before the past had occurred: the land they call the future. He had reached the point in his tale where it was connected to his lower back. His back ached from wearinng the great kraken&#8217;s belly like a tunic. Oh, how it weighed and weighed and wieghed and waged war upon his very soul. Indubidably. Bad, innit? I think we&#8217;ll have to agree to disunagree on that one, mite. Anyway, the Viceroy. After being duplicated by a most disagreeable cloning facilitationary unit which he unfortunately saw as a walrus, or upon occasion a horse or a unikorn (a member of the MENSA organisation: unikye unite under a misleading acronym) because, or rather due to, or as a result of - nay! tis directly produced and furthermore procured from his majestical ashes (remains), now held in eh country - another name for E3 - Viceroy Lord Admiral Jim Dalton-Mackenzie IV was predisposed towards a certain, some may say, &#8220;unethical&#8221; form of lifestyle - you see where I&#8217;m headin&#8217; wi&#8217; &#8216;is biy - involving the sincere and fragrant unwillingness of several - nay! many - youthful, sleek, agile, tender, athletic, smokin&#8217; hot, repugnant weasels. Nay! &#8216;twere more like camel- nay twice! whales! But I digress - what do I mean by this most unneccesary interjection? Nothing. Sweet FA. But I redigress. I mean nothing by that, either, biy. Picking up his upper jaw from the floor, Chuck turned to face his pi children, who were finished their pie. His muted collection of guff, which he branded &#8220;story&#8221; although this Writer would like to have acknowledged that no magic mushroom were harmed in the production of the characters represented in this - and only this - sentence. Other sentences remain exempt but for the following tax years: 1274, 1803, 1452, and the birthday of the kraken, unknown to all but the kraken, who in fact gave birth to herself. So. Do Ray, Me - do me Ray, so far, on the Soaf-Arm. Never mind the kraken, it&#8217;s only a literary distraction from the real moral of this abomination: to thine own self, give nothing. To the kraken, submit, dear Reader, a futrther few moments of your attention, while he composes both himself, and the rest of this story.


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## Unknown Doodl3.2 (Jul 16, 2009)

My poetry isn't very good. But it's fun to write and it's the only physical evidence of my daydreams haha.

My latest one is called "Actors" and it doesn't really follow any structure. None of my writing does 

_Let not the deceiver convince you of his act
but convince him that he isn't acting
Either way, if one acts long enough
one becomes a victim of his very own act
The best actor is therefore not acting
thus unwillingly staining his portrait
and merely surviving the existance
of his own surface, lifeless

The trees never flinch
their flesh so true and lively
Actors of their own right
they prentend to die every winter
and renew themselves in the solstice of optimism

how many times must a man die
to apreciate his role in existance_

This one is a bit older. I wrote it when I was angry and blue and it's called "Cemetery Dance"

_Follow me through the iron gates
walk with me on this sacred land
the divine light of your presence
disjoints me from the fallen

the autumn winds carrying on
singing that never-ending melody
which brought us together,
gave bloom to the roses
and made mortals of us all

she sings the psalm of the living
a window of opportunity
to share our moment of love
in this garden of epitaphs

The dead are nothing but forgotten
tombstones branded with a eulogy
If only they could see into your gaze
no less then I would they be granted

As our heart beats to the same tune
and weaves a rhythmic figure
every step you take
carries me into your heavenly trance

I hold on to you forever
And lose myself in our cemetery dance_


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## JeffFromMtl (Jul 18, 2009)

since I am a creative writing major, I might as well contribute a little something at least...



> She lay there, between the rickety bedposts. The low light made the room feel like a sleazy motel but still, her eyes were oceanic; large, blue and empty. They were all over me. Her delicate fingers took turns in between her lips and her legs as I drew nearer to her. "You're still young", she began, "you'll find what it is you're looking for." as she wrapped her arms around my neck and pulled herself against me. Her lips were on me, mine all over her, across fragile, paper-white skin, interrupted violently by the scars left by something more tragic than anything I could probably ever know. The photos from her childhood broke my heart. She was so damaged, and I, no handy man.



I posted it on my myspace when I still used it a while back, just a little spontaneous piece, and the first person to comment on it was a good friend I used to play in a band with. I didn't have the heart to tell him that it was about his cousin.


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## DrakkarTyrannis (Jul 21, 2009)

Alright..I'll throw some poetry on here..These aren't what one would expect of me..but if it's floating around in my head it's bound to come out somehow..enjoy


*Blackbird Love*
When a mere smirk hides the secrets of a unity of souls 
When in eye contact our eyes tell the story of a passion so strong, shade is needed to shield it's flames
When our words to one another go unspoken, but our hearts speak to one another loud and clear 
This is truly a blackbird kinda love

Our energy is powerful, so much so that it lights a room, yet some are unaware of it and remain in the darkness
Our handshake is a caress
Our friendship is a foreplay
There's history and so much more behind a simple "What's up"
For this is truly and blackbird kinda love

We are the love which dare not speak it's name
A thing of honest beauty cast as an omen of evil
We'll win because we have each other 
With strength of "us" we fight, yet we fight because of the strength of "us"
Quintessential beauty hidden by the ugliness put upon it
The true definition of Blackbird Love










* Epiphany (Harlem Child)*
I stand at the steps, the steps that were built, forged from the blood, sweat, and tears of the ones who did me..before me.

I am a child of the words, acts, and wisdom of those who fought a double and triple slight, the minority in a minority, their legends etched in my mind becoming the colors in which I paint my world.

I am a child of Bayard and Angela, Zora and Richard, Langston and Wallace.

I am a child of the staples of the underground's underground..the movement in the movement ...their words are the fuel for the fire...the keys to liberation...the "right" to speak of pride.

I am a child of revolution...I am a child of creativity...I am a child of verbal alchemy

I hold the seeds of change, I am a seed of change.

I am the child of a knowledge that's just beneath the surface.

I am the child of revolution..I am the child of revelation..

I am a Child Of Harlem


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## Daemoniac (Jul 21, 2009)

*Addict.*

Manic, ecstatic, a reaction so high,
Blurring the visions, my feelings, mine eyes,
Subconscious explosion, my mind did elate,
A whitewash emotion,
A sordid escape,

Rise up to witness the fissures of crime,
Exacting a vengeance, a justice in kind,
Demonic repentance, lucid and blind,
A whiplash exultion,
An ashen design,

Chronic abstraction, the fate of such lies,
Wilting intention, awake to these cries,
Folding and crushing such hitherto wry,
A sinful excursion,
Over angelic cries

Vigilant refrain, realisation of caste,
Rank disposition, arrant regrets for what's past,
Face now exposed in this, the end of the masque,
Such pallid intention,
This buckled discord,

Witness the sickness, compulsion so raw,
Confusing reality, my senses, my core,
Rabid eruption, my mind left so sore,
Await an emotion,
Such a belated encore.


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## vampiregenocide (Nov 4, 2009)

Had a bad day, wrote this snippet.




 *Theres a test for ever one of us
Not set in stone
Not vulnerable to time
Like a race you thought you could never run
It catches up with you
Only if you lead the way*


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## samurai7drew (Dec 12, 2009)

*Less Is More*

What can be greater than a loss of inhibition?
My ideas flow with a lucid emancipation from rule.
I am not afraid to express the truth which my
subconscious will question or societies biased 
gravity should scoff. I am proud and unbound.
Such a great sight it is, to see the pure, cognitive 
vision in comfort.


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## soliloquy (Nov 27, 2010)

id be surprised if anyone can figure out what i'm talking about in this one. its loaded with similes and metaphors. so the end result can get a bit confusing...equally dark


*if you leave it, it will think...*

a few months ago
i was brought to this strange little dark town.
my house is located in this dark little alley
that hardly anyone went to.
to the north of me lay 2 snow covered mountains
the snow melted and formed a tiny stream
which flow straight to my town. 

shortly after i moved to the town,
the construction man made a well.
t'was oddly situated south of me.
shortly after its construction, i started thinking
if i was going crazy.

in my sleep, i hear a strange womans voice.
strange she was, as
she sang strange Scandinavian sorrowful songs. 
most likely in Scandinavian. could have been
in Norwegian, German, or Swedish. 
either way, i dont understand it.
when i wake up, strange lady stops singing,
and her voice is replaced by a strange
old mans voice.

during the night, while i'm awake, i run around the town.
that old mans voice is what i'm usually after.
he keeps calling me, sometimes he asks for my help, 
while other times he swears at me.
i still try locating him out of curiosity...

i was never able to make any friends, as i was awake
while the world slept. so, alone at night, i walk-searching.
oh, wait, thats a lie. i made a friend named Edward. 
Edward is a cat- and like the city at night, is also
painted black. Edward has a strange habit of
running around the well.
and that strange old mans voice also comes from
the general area of the well.
Now that i think about it, perhaps Edward
isn't my friend after all...

I only see him at night - and only occasionally.
and always saw him around the well.
he never said hi to me. but right before saying
good bye, he spat at me, and grinned- before leaving. 

that well was a strange mystery to me.
every time i threw a stone down the well,
my action was always responded by cries.
and every time i looked down it,
someone tried throwing knives and needles at me.

winter was approaching. the mountains in the north
were covered, and the sky started turning red.
i started worrying about the man down the well,
so i started spedning more and more time with him.
i heard him coughing and sneezing, so i threw some
medicine down the well. the old man never thanked 
me for it. i threw a light down the well, only to see the 
old mans legs were stuck in water 
that was frozen. he seemed frightened by the light,
so he broke it, and threw a knife up the well, at me.
i put a blanket over the well, just to keep the snow away
from the old man.

that night, it snowed so much, 
that the blanket fell into the well.
i ran over to see if the old man was doing well.
some how the old man had constructed a long tool,
with which he succeeded in catching me. my neck strated
poisoning the well. the man pulled me towards him,
and continued stabbing me for some reason. i meant him no harm,
and yet i wasn't enraged by his actions either. but i wonder, why doesn't he love me

the next day, that little town didn't seem so little anymore. the town saw me
in daylight for the first time. apparently my birthday came early...

















Working Titles: *if i were a leaf / my lost brenard / abandoned puzzles* 

its been quiet a many weeks
since i spoke to that wretched man in white...
i still refuse to believe his words about you
how can they be true?

can you feel my hands trying to keep yours warm?
i've given all i can
yet your hands remain cold
like the rest of you...

blue never was a color i liked on you
yet helpless here i kneel
where i've been praying for so long
for your lips to return to their former self!

now i dont want to learn
how it feels to be alone
for you've always been there for me
you've always been there waiting...on the other side

i used to adore the 5p.m. commutes home
the three hour train ride,
an hours worth of driving
so long as i was coming home to you

but now i come home and i miss your face so
that smile, that long hug
those kisses that made me tremble
your eyes staring down at mine
i miss your celebrations

the many puzzels you created around you (like me)
seem to last and last
yet the only one i've ever made
crumbled when you left

my purse gets hevier by the day
for its filled with your belongings
that i cherish so much
i miss having you around me

i never leave our home
with out your jacket and your cologne
it keeps them predators at bay
or i tell 'em you're on your way

my love, my lost Brenard,
i hope you can find it in you
to forgive me for i wasted time
when i didn't have you in my thoughts.

is there someone here beside me?
i hear your voice call to me
i've felt you in the winter breeze
i've felt you all around

i feel your pressense all around me
these shadows on the wall, i feel you in the wind
your accompanying voice in my sleep
you guide me constantly

bet when you touch me through the wind
it reminds me of you treating me like a leaf
with your tree trunk like arms hoisting me sky high
only to reach the top cabinette, which you could have done yourself
you rose me to higher heights than i deserved 
.....

it tore me to see the strongest man i ever knew
lying there stoic in the dimly lit room
to quote that wretched man who was dressed in white
"like that stubborn leaf during a winter storm, holding onto its brand,
you keep testing his stenght, as he hangs on for you"
as i curled up beside you
one last time.

i miss your warmth breathing down my spine
those soft kisses to my stomach
your thunderous strong voice
thank you for trying to keep me warm
you were as kind as the world allowed

my lost Brenard, i beg for forgiveness-
for i was being selfish
just to keep you hanging on for me
i prolonged sending my farewell.

the hardest words i ever spoke
still haunt me to this day
before i said i loved you
i whispered by your ear

"sweet leaf, my Brenard,
you can let go now, my love-
you can let go. fly- my leaf
you are free to land wherever you wish
but you'll always be deeply rooted into my life..."


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