Poets Unite!

POSTED BY: RiverFlan
UPDATED: Wednesday, June 10, 2009 17:36
VIEWED: 12587
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THATWEIRDGIRL

Tuesday, February 5, 2008 5:42 PM

Post here?
But there are poems...
not rants or tales
just words lined up:
User wares
Some rhyme,
Some wander.
Others are short,
many are longer.
Do we keep going
on and on and on
with poems by us?
For you.
For me.
For all postees.
Post here.

---
Sometimes I lie awake at night, and I ask, "Where have I gone wrong?" Then a voice says to me, "This is going to take more than one night."
-- Charlie Brown

STEAMER

Tuesday, February 5, 2008 6:47 PM

Well, there are plenty less aesthetically
Pleasing ways of speaking and writing poetically.
They who try to explain poetry like a science
Eventually will probably end up forming the founding government of the Alliance;
The free form of true poetry is just out of reach
Of them as like to prattle on and on about meter, rhyme, and figures of speech;
While they enjoy their prep-school curriculum credit,
So pontifical has their verbiage become that their imagination has altogether fled it.
That, RF, is the key -
Never permit your imagination to flee;
You'll never find your written word hitting the rocks
While you're willing and able to think outside the box.
If you wax metaphorical
Without letting your creations become utterly borical,
Or simply employ a bit of lingual whimsy -
You'll find that it never gets flimsy.
For one thing, did you have a good time at the D'Arbanvilles' ball last year?
Well, since we don't know anybody named D'Arbanville, I'm having a hard time judging whether we got to partake of that bit of high-class cheer.
Spontaneity
Can be a great poet's deity;
And, in a funny way, so can a fragmented reality matrix -
For we've all hung on the words of our favourite psych-chick, as from her tongue drips her curiosity when upon her eyes her mind starts to platrix.
NVG, damned decent of you to join in!
Looking forward to seeing what kinds of phrases you're plannin' on coinin'.
Well, me, I just hope Mr. Ogden Nash is not rolling over in his grave
At my indulgence in his new depth of free style that I've been trying on and off to imitate since before I could shave.

Say, RiverFlan, I just had a thought
As to a title for the next poets' thread to be wrought.
One day this one will undoubtedly grow long and populous enough for our share of notoriety
So how about the 'Live Poets Society'?

Captain of the New England Browncoats
http://www.myspace.com/nebrowncoats

HUGHFF

Tuesday, February 5, 2008 8:34 PM

There was a young actor named Huck
Who saw a hot babe in a truck...

www.cpfc.org - my life
www.nbhs.school.nz - my work

ALLIETHORN7

Tuesday, February 5, 2008 9:08 PM

Well well well...

It looks like fun,
This monster begun,
On our humble fan site-
But will it become,
In it's force and it's fun,
A monster to end all of our nights?
To come into being,
Though seldom well seen,
By eyes mortal or immortal both,
That which would become,
A center, like a sun,
Within our shiny boat?

-Danny

and every time I play with passion I start breaking strings,
and my voice cracks when I sing from my heart
guess that's the price I've got to pay to know that I'm alive
this melody is tearing me apart

THRICE RULES!!!!!!!!!
Gott weiß ich will kein Engel sein.
http://www.myspace.com/otherrandomdude

RIVERFLAN

Wednesday, February 6, 2008 2:25 AM

Steamer, that would indeed
Be a good designation
This first thread title
Was just an abnormality
To get everyone's attention
And invite people
To join in
And not feel like
They're breaking in
And, of course,
The furure threads
Would have poetic sub-titles.

I have, at last
Found my book of poems
So here is one
And more will follow
Later

Four-legged Contradiction:
Do you know
That cats can teleport?
I do
I saw one once
And I suspect
That they are psychic
(yes, like our beloved River)
And can read our minds
And understand our every word
Waht about, you ask
The times when I call my cat
And it doesn't come?
It's not that the cat doesn't
Understand you
It's just ignoring you
Because it is feeling ornery
The proof
That cats are psychic
Is in the times when you are feeling down
And your cat will come cuddle with you
Untill you feel better
So it might hurt you
When morning comes
And your cat is ignoring you again
But that is to keep the "cool cat" appearance
To other cats
And also
To keep you in your place
And remind you
That they are the ones in charge
Your cat still loves you
It just has a funny way of showing it, sonetimes.

#~%~~*~~~&~~~*~~%~#\/#~%~~*~~~&~~~*~~%~#

\~~~*~~^~~*~~~/$$\~~~*~~^~~*~~~/
98% of teens have smoked pot, if you are one of the 2% that haven't, copy this into your signature.

NVGHOSTRIDER

Wednesday, February 6, 2008 6:15 PM

Still more from elsewhere as another person:

Just back with a piece created a few months ago after waking. Sleeping on the floor for so long really messes with the head once you start longing for a warm bed and someone to share it with. Little did I know that I would long for the floor a short while after not gettng exactly what I wanted.

Shadow of Pomagranate Bloom

Needed rest from fitful dreaming

denied

Despite twilight haze to wakened eye

Breath in berth, deep and languid

warm slither and squeeze on soft low back

Slow pulse awaken spirit

For mornings cool touch spirit of earthen warmth

Reaching coils sharing the lost day

Resting sensual blindness upon shoulders

Alas

pulled to restless depth

Gots mad skillz, loves playing with matches.

GEE

Wednesday, February 6, 2008 10:45 PM

Red water drops fast
Rusting flesh creaks alone
Metal fades to dust

So I'd thought I would join in first with a an old Haiku, and then something else old because apart from not finishing my book I'm not writing that much poetry, or songs, or anything really except OU work. Sorry about the formatting, there should be some more visual impact but hopefully the words still work:

Yellow light reflects of magnolia walls
A new beginning? A blank slate for all
Thinking.

Does anybody just stop….

For a second,

One, and

The slow beat of time
A syncopated rhythm of life
Paradiddle,
Two drums, one beat
Why?
The simple question loved by kids
Looked down at for asking later
Why am I here?
What is my purpose?

Surprise!
You’ve work to do; you’ve reached the magic age
You have to vote, as it’s your duty
What do you mean it’s the least worst system?
Surely not a double negative
You’ve not time to waste, time is money
Even so called spare time as there is so little of it
Every second counts
You’re not a student anymore
Time is money
NO
Time is an illusion
Sixty seconds is a human construct
Chaos exists
Look around and what do you see
Lives
Who built the walls?
Who painted them?
Who made the paint?
Who invented the psychology of colour?
Who? What? Where? Why?
Especially why?

I see the faces of the old cursing their age
Their wasted youth and their lost time
I see the young wishing to be old
Putting away childhood earlier and earlier
Another construct
There wasn’t always a time for play
Only time when you can afford it

I sit here typing, wasting my time
Well you decide?
I exist
Why?
To be
How do you know?
I think therefore I am
But if you’re an illusion, sense can be fooled?
Then I am fooled and doesn’t matter

We come to a solution

IT DOESN’T MATTER

Scale is the key

Sorry?
Scale is the key
If you are not individually important or responsible what does it matter?
Answer=Everything
If not what then how
How you lead your life?
Are you responsible to God?
Who knows but why not act like it anyway?
Every action has an equal and opposite reaction
But do we?
In a time where people commit atrocities of such magnitude
But there have always been atrocities
Do we change?
Yes because life is change but only within boundaries we can comprehend
Balance
Ying and Yang
The greater good
Karma
Being
We do because we can
We chose when we can
We eat food from a damn can but that’s just semantics
A trick of language and a basis of humour
A flavour if you wish
So we eat from the banquet of the day only we don’t choose our food it just arrives
Sometimes sweet, sometimes sour but always…
Always?
No such thing
Tomorrow might not.
Who says today has to end
Who says these words
Will?
But
One
Day…

I see, people,
Smiling
An audience
Hearing the tap of rhythm
For a moment seeing the experience of life in a drumbeat
Of having all those thoughts in a seconds moment of complexity
Or perhaps simplicity
Like a paradiddle
Left Right Left Left
Right Left Right Right
Two Drums
One Beat
A single moment
Of …

STEAMER

Thursday, February 7, 2008 7:05 AM

I suppose there are problems nastier
Than the problem of wintertime driving becoming increasingly fastier.
Convinced that they must get everyplace yesterday
And in the process quite possibly ruin the restyerday,
They berate your snow-job driving habits
When it prevents them from hopping along faster than jackrabbits
Unless you step on it obediently
And end up speeding not only yourself, but your obnoxious tailgater and possibly every other cautious motorist within a quarter of a mile, to the emergency room quite expediently.
If the white stuff amounts to less than an inch
And allows you to avoid the mashed potatoes and follow the moose-tracks in a pinch,
The hasty will be happy to leave you alone
While they figure out how to blame the impending accident on you and relieve you of everything you own.
Myself, I'd like to see a little more respect
For the cautious wintertime motorist who is just trying to avoid getting wrecked.
He takes his time on the hills and curves, and keeps his headlights burning
(And his driveway shovelled and salted, so that his beloved wife and offspring won't break their necks when in-turning),
Keeps his chill'uns well versed in safe bad-weather driving habits and practises,
And is sure to stress the five-miles-from-home accident statistic so that they are keenly aware of what a well-known fact this is.
And what does he get for it? Tailgated and cursed,
For trying to make wintry roads a safer travel lane for every windbag trying to get to the drive-through first.
So, friends, Browncoats, countrymen, lend me your ears and eyes and when you're out there in the white,
Don't try to force the slowpoke ahead of you to fly like a kite.

Captain of the New England Browncoats
http://www.myspace.com/nebrowncoats

NVGHOSTRIDER

Thursday, February 7, 2008 9:57 PM

More from the twisty alter ego:

Very pissed an need to get something out before we decide, "Fuck it. I'm gettin' drunk."

Cheap tequilla?
Check.
Loosie?
Check.
Sanity?
(No reply)
Hello?

Kessler Wishes and Vicoden Dreams

"From on high music ethereal
Can you hear the horns?
The Seraphim song ringing throughout?
Can't you feel the warmth of his love upon your face,
his word hammering at your heart?"

But it begins. The burning and the clawing.
Dull nail digging then giving and folding beyond
Desperate fingers reaching my depth
Though without nail they still tear
And clutch
And squeeze

And I spill to their gleeful delight
Their shoes slipping and squeaking
Last bit of bile burning my throat
Why must that be it
'til all is dark?

But a flash is this a trick?
Light, cold and warm
the confusion
I am walking no falling
Why is there screaming, I have no voice?

Now the screams, the agony
Welling.
And as with the fire I burn
The sobs have given chase and won
There is no escape

We have burned and consumed
Tasted of fetid fountains
Fed upon the body that was not his

This is damnation
And we are its offspring

Gots mad skillz, loves playing with matches.

ASARIAN

Thursday, February 7, 2008 10:47 PM

Nice thread, Riverflan. :) I'd like to accomodate you, however....

I have this pet peeve of mine:
I really can't rhyme worth a dime.
And when I ask Book,
He just hints me to look
Close at "The end of the line."

--
"Mei-mei, everything I have is right here." -- Simon Tam

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