Do You Write Poetry?

[mirinda]

Endure it Leisha. If I didn't like something after the first line I wouldn't read it. It's not something to be endured like torture Leish it's something to gain something from.

[Leisha]

Oh, I don't know; one person I know of hates poetry that "is depressing".

But as long as it helps the author, who else matters?

[mirinda]

I agree. As long as it helps the author, and if it helps others BONUS!

[ragnarblackmane]

Heres a short poem that I may or may not be finished lengthening:

Depression and self-pity come naturally to my soul.
They are hungry and desire to devour my inherent defects
so that my miserable disposition may steadily worsen.

How can one be alone and at peace?
What is peace, if not some modicum of happiness or joy?
If that is the proper definition of peace, then I fear I am at war,
a bloody and violent war in which I will likely not persevere.


Do any of you like it and does anyone think it needs to be lengthened and added to?

[Nesacat]

I think it should be left as is. That adding anymore would lessen the impact like a too long horror movie or story. It's good, very good as it is. Let it be.

Oh ... I like it.

[mirinda]

You are ice where there was warmth. You are hate when there was love. You bring sadness when we are happy you bring pain where there was none.
Living to destroy you have no real purpose but to cause pain, never knowing real light, never feeling the sun again. Your breath is cold and ragged your skin is rough and pale. Eyes that once held light have only darkness there.
Trapped in your mind broken and twisted people scream when they see your face. Did anyone ever give you a chance to be a human with something to gain?


You said you were sorry, I don't care sorry is not enough. You don't know what it's like to always pretend to be tough. I may look normal, and mostly I am, but my heart is broken inside. My body aches as my mind creates every word on every line. I spinning 'round and 'round unable to stop or even slow down. Liquid seeps from my desert dry eyes. I cannot keep straight the truth and the lies. I want to be still, to walk a straight line, but my path's forever curving and I must walk it for it's mine.

[Leisha]

I think my favourite stanza is this:

You are ice where there was warmth. You are hate when there was love. You bring sadness when we are happy you bring pain where there was none.

And this line I think a lot of people can relate to:

You don't know what it's like to always pretend to be tough. I may look normal, and mostly I am, but my heart is broken inside.

You're poems are powerful, Mirinda. They have a purpose - they speak of pain and what it's like to struggle through life, love and relationships.

[mirinda]

Thank you Leisha.

[bullferret]

Originally Posted by ragnarblackmane

Heres a short poem that I may or may not be finished lengthening:

Depression and self-pity come naturally to my soul.
They are hungry and desire to devour my inherent defects
so that my miserable disposition may steadily worsen.

How can one be alone and at peace?
What is peace, if not some modicum of happiness or joy?
If that is the proper definition of peace, then I fear I am at war,
a bloody and violent war in which I will likely not persevere.

Some people conversely are happy being sad
It is empathy out of control
But if others can realise this trait
Then content can succour the overwhelmed soul.

Do any of you like it and does anyone think it needs to be lengthened and added to?

toby or not toby

[Jack7]

Three days ago I was visited by a Wanderer in the desert, who being asked his name replied, "What is spoken is not what is known, and what is known is not the question that you would know of me. Nevertheless if you answer me what I would not ask of you then I will tell you who I am."

So I asked him how he might best be known when all he is as nothing.

"Now I will tell you who I am, and after that, we will sit together and stare into the sky."

So I listened, and hearing nothing, sat down to wait.
The watch was long, and quiet...

But I am patient. And I can wait...

An Experiment in Multiplicity

Part the First: The Globe

“Post equitem sedet atra Cura”

Upon the table where I lay the object of desire

I came upon an ancient thing, a thing I could admire

A telescope of ages past, a compass lost to read

An experiment alone by which forsaken I accede

A glass that mirrored back my soul

A branching from the bole,
A secret whispered back from God
That guile could not enroll,

Upon the table where I lay the object of desire

I came upon an arcane thing, a thing I could acquire

A ruler steep, an astrolabe

For shooting at the sun
A promise long that I did crave
No matter when begun

And machinations, they did turn

Where assemblies did adjourn
Along the casement of facade
For by this did I learn,

No man has ever grown so tall

He ever stooped the sky,
Then when he topples, what a fall
That cracks the globe nearby

Upon the table where I lay the object of desire

I came upon an obscure thing, a thing which did conspire

For reaching up upon the mast, as tall as masts will grow

I found what I was searching for, then lost it down below,

The moral of this twisted tale, this song of last repent

Is that desire never sleeps, and never does relent

So if you come upon that thing which lingers in your heart

Be very careful what you take before you do depart…

For gaining we have caught it all, and grasping we will hold

Seceding we cannot let off, our end is thus foretold.

© JWG, Jr. 2007

[ragnarblackmane]

That is an excellent poem Jack, you utilize complex words to great effect.

Now here's a poem I just wrote today in about fifteen minutes or so:

Controlled

I am a man, as happy as can be and untouched by bitter sorrow.
Prancing and dancing I frequently engage in, for I am always happy.
The kids clap and laugh excitedly, enjoying my displays of unbridled
joy and how I dash and skip along the theatre in my brightly colored clothes.
How gleeful I make them, their smiles lighting up the room with a childlike splendor.

But then I fall, chipping my face on the wooden surface.
The kids look disappointed in me, but I retain my happy grin,
trying to cheer them up by standing and performing an awkward jig.
Soon enough I have them laughing and pointing at my ridiculous
dance, berating me for my stupidity.

Once again, I am happy.

I am a man, as happy as can be and untouched by bitter sorrow.
Prancing and dancing I frequently engage in, for I am always happy.
The kids clap and laugh excitedly, enjoying my displays of unbridled
joy and how I dash and skip along the theatre in my brightly colored clothes.

The strings that my limbs and body are connected to jerk me into movement.

I am a puppet, as happy as can be and untouched by bitter sorrow.
Prancing and dancing I frequently engage in, for I am always happy.
The kids clap and laugh excitedly, enjoying my displays of unbridled
joy and how I dash and skip along the theatre in my brightly colored clothes.

Smiling widely, I wonder why I feel so happy,
but the thought is fleeting and lasts barely a second
before being replaced by a sense of mindless happiness.

[Nesacat]

Jack ... it's a very good poem. I like the words and they way you've managed to make them fit to give it all a mellow melancholy. Like the verse of old.

Ragnar ... this goes a long way towards putting into words the way many feel about clowns and smiling puppets on a string ... always, always. always smiling.

[ragnarblackmane]

I also hinted in the poem that the puppet almost began to think for himself, but was unsuccessful and remained mindlessly happy.

Think about the puppet and who he may represent.

[Nik]

I've quoted from 'Venturer' in my reply to a comment on 'Soft Target' in 'Critique' section.

And, yes, I know I said I only write poetry when I have 'flu. But that's how 'Venturer' happened-- all 328 lines of it...

Anyhow, here's the opening...
---

'When the Exponent Drive opened Space' Upper Tier,
Twelve light-years became half a 'g', half a year.
Venturer, crewed by two hundred, all told,
First went and charted the sector we hold.'

A calm, precise statement from history book,
But now, at that time, I shall give you real look!

First, Ed 'Floater' Winters produced the 'SkyHook',
Whose single, crude 'Field Pole' defied the maths book.
Its 'Phased Tunnel Diode Array's quirky boast,
Gave wry Engineers 'Beyond Theory' toast!

A simple description then came within year,
'A bubble of Space-Time that Gravitons fear'.
After ten, modulate, and a Drive Field was found,
Yet Floaters and Flyers remained Einstein-bound.

'Til Jones, 'cross whose key-board a stray finger flew,
After which, his graph-plotter a double-bubble drew.
And he took one good look, and a Star Ship he planned,
For he saw Einstein's limits applied second hand !

By research ship 'Venture', the math was soon checked.
To go to the Stars, the Convention elect.
So, high at O'Neill -Eight, that ship-yard in space,
Swift grew our first Star Ship, the Black Plane to race!

[Jack7]

Thanks to everyone who complimented my poem.

I am indeed no modernist poet, and I don't particularly enjoy despondent or bleak poetry, but I do like melancholy poetry very much. And so I'm glad the difference showed in my verse.


I also liked Ragnar's poem, because of the juxtapositioning between appearance, mood, subject matter, and presentation.
It sort of reflected an animus upon the inanimate, and a sort of reverse reflection of that.

It kinda reminded me of a Noh play, and I like the fact that meter scheme, when it appears is, is sometimes broken, sometimes internalized, and sometimes scanable, making it inconsistent, which sort of very well reflects the confused nature of the consciousness of the subject. Or lack thereof.

I'm afraid I don't know enough about the subject matter of Nik's poem to really understand the background.