Poetry Corner

Okay, now for some serious poetry:

Who I am is not who I will be;

By Lorelei Moira / Alakaboom

What I was has never been right
A tale of two people caught in a fight
Never forget and never lose sight
For that which I am is different, alright.

Have a terrible father, and his trophy wife
Not much love given, not set for life
You'll have to go under the knife
But your success is now caught in strife

Why must it be difficult, like stuck laces
One body consisting of two or three faces
Your son was a myth, lost in all places
But there's hope now, coming in spaces

Oh son, show your old face and return
Not this new person who we'd likely burn
A new stranger, how did he learn?
He's never been true, its her turn.

She's scared, chock full of new fears
Yet, unafraid of showing her tears
She ventures out, shifting new gears
Trying to make right of these wasted years

There is a change coming unknown
Something to which we must own
A pair on the chest, for a small loan
A face like the rest, to hide from the stone

But most importantly, we have left out
The one thing she's constantly worried about
A face for sure, fitting breasts no doubt
And this important piece of which we shout

A new friend emerges, soft as down
Caring and loving, never a clown
A hair piece now, not quite a crown
Standing face to face in luxurious gown

Now no longer perplexed or stoned
Sure of herself, no longer mentally owned
She's amazing, beautiful, and well combed
For another she thought was also boned

The two swore to be the jewel of the crest
Against which nobody could ever attest
Loving and Learning, even at rest
Caring and Sharing, the worst and the best

So on and so forth, until the end
Peacefully off together they' send
No loose ends were left unpenned
Nothing was left needing a mend

Once they gave up, the last heartbeat had stopped
Celebration the whole day until the sun was cropped
At the funeral, not a single tear was dropped
Lorelei has overcome, the heroine never topped


_______________________

^_^

I hope you liked it.
 
Detourist said:
And so is this:

Still Will

Loving winter warmth in old cold-cast hearts
Wise evening tongues taste the less clever days
A requiem of solace for the buried restarts
Every dying light is wanted even from ash trays

Silver sheens on water's face above the drowning grace
Sucked below by twisting current in the midnight glow
It's sickening how finicky all nature runs in place
But vast and placid are the acres of the killing snow
And all the bridges in between are nifty with their base

A delicate diary of untold folds so fiery
By a bold liar eerily molded for the direly
All in whole we're here for the wire to be freed
With gold souls we peer past the mass greed
Click to expand...
Alakaboom said:
Okay, now for some serious poetry:

Who I am is not who I will be;

By Lorelei Moira / Alakaboom

What I was has never been right
A tale of two people caught in a fight
Never forget and never lose sight
For that which I am is different, alright.

Have a terrible father, and his trophy wife
Not much love given, not set for life
You'll have to go under the knife
But your success is now caught in strife

Why must it be difficult, like stuck laces
One body consisting of two or three faces
Your son was a myth, lost in all places
But there's hope now, coming in spaces

Oh son, show your old face and return
Not this new person who we'd likely burn
A new stranger, how did he learn?
He's never been true, its her turn.

She's scared, chock full of new fears
Yet, unafraid of showing her tears
She ventures out, shifting new gears
Trying to make right of these wasted years

There is a change coming unknown
Something to which we must own
A pair on the chest, for a small loan
A face like the rest, to hide from the stone

But most importantly, we have left out
The one thing she's constantly worried about
A face for sure, fitting breasts no doubt
And this important piece of which we shout

A new friend emerges, soft as down
Caring and loving, never a clown
A hair piece now, not quite a crown
Standing face to face in luxurious gown

Now no longer perplexed or stoned
Sure of herself, no longer mentally owned
She's amazing, beautiful, and well combed
For another she thought was also boned

The two swore to be the jewel of the crest
Against which nobody could ever attest
Loving and Learning, even at rest
Caring and Sharing, the worst and the best

So on and so forth, until the end
Peacefully off together they' send
No loose ends were left unpenned
Nothing was left needing a mend

Once they gave up, the last heartbeat had stopped
Celebration the whole day until the sun was cropped
At the funeral, not a single tear was dropped
Lorelei has overcome, the heroine never topped


_______________________

^_^

I hope you liked it.
Click to expand...
*Blinks away tears*......*Hugs...holds silently....squeezes* Lorelei's fight has only begun...But it's a Good start! <3!
 
I thought I had lost this one on my old, crushed phone but just now found that I had sent it to myself in an email.
It's obviously about the deadly freeways most of us are forced to traverse every now and then (or in my case, all the time)
I wrote it while listening to the never ending background hiss of the freeway I live about 180 meters away from.
¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤

Freeways
Unique is this beast that feasts on the furious
Natureless by nature it wagers the faceless
It feeds on our speed and the deeds of our greed
It needs us to bleed for its breed to be freed

It never forgives but always forgets
It brings out the worst between brothers
And it never sleeps but it always rests
Like the ocean, it's the dead who discover

It's ominous but spontaneous
It's autonomous but consciousless
Its low, eternal roar's relentless
As though it's Thor's, a yell so endless
 
This one still hurts and I debated on whether I should post it, but I figured if it still can make my eyes a bit wet every time I look at it, then somehow I feel it needs to be posted here. I think there're a lot of folks here who might benefit from hearing it. I'm not gonna name names, but just listen to some of the chatter in Fodra 01-01 late at night.
♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

All You Got
For David M. Ditty.
The boy with the quiet riot inside who I've always, and now more than ever, wished I would have known.
1990 - 2012

Name, age, location and date
That was all you got
A death notice in the news
That's all they showed for you
No story, no truth
Nothing to tell us what we lose
Another lost youth, no clues

The name your mother gave to you
From self blame she couldn't save you
When you came into her arms she craved you
Now her nights are drained of tears
She would have been brave for you
This mother who gave you this name
Now digs a grave for you

Your age was young, but not nearly done
The time it took for you to learn fun
To learn that you're a good son
To learn that your art can stun
To learn that you've already won
Wasn't enough time for you to learn
How to please not pick up that gun

This place you lived in I'll admit isn't pretty
Gray skies, cold rain, yes it is a bit gritty
Yet, there're better places you could've seen
But now you'll never be places more green
So far away you are you thought that day
You'll never see how close you were this way
Never stray from this city, for you I pray, I pity

And lastly, a time stamp, an expiration date
The day you chose to no longer debate
Weather life was worth it or you were worth life
You would have had a wife, a child, all this innate
A future was on your plate, something still small but great
You thought this innocuous, so miniscule so minor
But I bet you never imagined I'd never met a soul finer

A death notice in the news
That's all they showed for you
Name, age, location and date
That was all you got
But it wasn't all you were
And it wasn't all you were to be
If only I'd let you know me
 
Detourist said:
I thought I had lost this one on my old, crushed phone but just now found that I had sent it to myself in an email.
It's obviously about the deadly freeways most of us are forced to traverse every now and then (or in my case, all the time)
I wrote it while listening to the never ending background hiss of the freeway I live about 180 meters away from.
¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤

Freeways
Unique is this beast that feasts on the furious
Natureless by nature it wagers the faceless
It feeds on our speed and the deeds of our greed
It needs us to bleed for its breed to be freed

It never forgives but always forgets
It brings out the worst between brothers
And it never sleeps but it always rests
Like the ocean, it's the dead who discover

It's ominous but spontaneous
It's autonomous but consciousless
Its low, eternal roar's relentless
As though it's Thor's, a yell so endless
Click to expand...
If this were a riddle from a Sphinx before Eating someone...and it asks after citing it..."What am I?" Mew would have to say whilst dribbling teriyaki on herself before the drooing beast..... "RAGE?". =3
 
Detourist said:
This one still hurts and I debated on whether I should post it, but I figured if it still can make my eyes a bit wet every time I look at it, then somehow I feel it needs to be posted here. I think there're a lot of folks here who might benefit from hearing it. I'm not gonna name names, but just listen to some of the chatter in Fodra 01-01 late at night.
♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

All You Got
For David M. Ditty.
The boy with the quiet riot inside who I've always, and now more than ever, wished I would have known.
1990 - 2012

Name, age, location and date
That was all you got
A death notice in the news
That's all they showed for you
No story, no truth
Nothing to tell us what we lose
Another lost youth, no clues

The name your mother gave to you
From self blame she couldn't save you
When you came into her arms she craved you
Now her nights are drained of tears
She would have been brave for you
This mother who gave you this name
Now digs a grave for you

Your age was young, but not nearly done
The time it took for you to learn fun
To learn that you're a good son
To learn that your art can stun
To learn that you've already won
Wasn't enough time for you to learn
How to please not pick up that gun

This place you lived in I'll admit isn't pretty
Gray skies, cold rain, yes it is a bit gritty
Yet, there're better places you could've seen
But now you'll never be places more green
So far away you are you thought that day
You'll never see how close you were this way
Never stray from this city, for you I pray, I pity

And lastly, a time stamp, an expiration date
The day you chose to no longer debate
Weather life was worth it or you were worth life
You would have had a wife, a child, all this innate
A future was on your plate, something still small but great
You thought this innocuous, so miniscule so minor
But I bet you never imagined I'd never met a soul finer

A death notice in the news
That's all they showed for you
Name, age, location and date
That was all you got
But it wasn't all you were
And it wasn't all you were to be
If only I'd let you know me
Click to expand...
*Blink blink*....*softly claps with a sad smile* =')
 
Harborer of Hope said:
If this were a riddle from a Sphinx before Eating someone...and it asks after citing it..."What am I?" Mew would have to say whilst dribbling teriyaki on herself before the drooing beast..... "RAGE?". =3
Click to expand...
LOL!!! You always make me laugh (the kind that starts with a giant grin and then slowly pushes up from the sternum into something just barely audible over Tool playing in the background)!!
 
Not sure how it's looked at here to necro a thread, though I also didn't want to start a new one since one already existed, so I guess either way I risk getting chewed out for one thing or the other. Anyway, I just wanted to share something I wrote near the start of the year. It's not pretty, and I'm sure it's quite depressing since it comes from the heart, but here it is. I have about 19 or so I've written since 2016, all of them pretty much the same as this one, but this is my most recent one.

Heart broken in a million pieces, it didn't take much to shatter
I try to mend it back together, but I know that it doesn't matter
Can't heal the wound, I sit and watch as it continuously bleeds
So I deal with the pain and suffering that it continuously feeds
I still pray that somehow and some way it will be able to mend
Yet I know it's not possible, and so I just wait for it to end

Pick up my broken pieces and carry them to my end, the open grave
Put an end to this suffering to which I am nothing but a slave
Help me so that I can bring about a painless and fast death
Allow me the opportunity to finally take in my last breath
It's the only possible way I can see that will set me free
Free of this pain that extends deeper than the deepest sea

Once upon a time I thought for sure I could live up to my dreams
Though now everything has started to fall apart at the seams
Anything I look for, and anything I want, it just isn't there
At this point in my life, well, I just simply don't care
It didn't matter how hard I tried, or if I gave it my best
The fact remains that I failed, all I seek now is my eternal rest
 
spaceBORT said:
I managed to find some of my old stuff!

View attachment 11943
View attachment 11944
View attachment 11945

***

If, while the moon is beginning to slouch,
(Night is stepping into its lazy gait.)
and I choose to climb roofs and sing loud, scared—
well, who will dare to come and scream at me,
“Hey! Why don’t you drop down from there! Go on!
It’s only right!” And there I go dripping,
all the way down until I’m there, naked
under the glazed-window gaze of both the
moon and the man that yelled in the first place.
“I am incanting the great hawk spirit,”
I would say after my drippy bits had
gathered themselves up together again,
looking down at my feet, fingering my
belly button. Shamefully small I am,
pressed under just the colour of the night.

I want to say, “Je suis courageux,”
And to not feel like a fool.

***

View attachment 11946

***

Garnet Poem
we watch the dull wing of a mourning bird
puncture a span insistent on its blue.
dense, soon heavy with conversation—the
coffee is grey too, and words spill over
from nights where eyes were tinged with red. we know
that he masturbated before breakfast.
hands shake as he grasps at some mug or skin.
at this hour the air is deft, astringent;
pregnant for the wing or palm or other
to push and then speak adroitly through it.

at this height the vantage: unnatural,
unfamilar. there were two skies that day;
one is reflected vaguely off the hood
of a red car. we are at a junction—
the very notion of many of these
refuses us our imagination,
scares us, but the two skies—one blue, one red—
are also a reaffirmation. we
suffer the foxes, say what we hope.
we reveal ourselves through hesitant lips.

now a plum, the sky gives way to damp hair.
smoke steeps the skin under our fingernails,
seraphic as it dances in the still;
justified because we no longer have
to intuit what goes on between breaths.
i coax tannin from my throat to match yours
before the door to your harp-room slides shut.
from inside, you pluck your decrescendo
while, by the wan light of grape clusters,
i turn to watch the purple of your heart.
Click to expand...
Ooooo All these are EDGY!! Mew LIKES! Had gone out to Wendy's for an apple pecan chicken salad and was Happy to find This to read as mew chowed down~! <3! *Applaudes!* =3
 
Not sure how I really feel about this, but it's something I wrote last year not long after my birthday and even as I sit here now it's just how I feel. The few people I ever showed it to said they liked it, but honestly I feel they were just being nice. I apologize for a lack of proper grammar with this one, but this is just how I typically type and I merely copied and pasted my original. I don't typically name anything I write, but I did call the text file "jail".

trapped in this sadness and stuck in this hell
i've become locked in what is my own personal cell
i look for a way out though there's nothing i can see
the door is locked tight with apparently no key
it seems i'll just stay here and forever be alone
trapped in this hell for myself that i've sewn

hoping that the stitching on my bars will turn frail
so i can finally fight my way out of this jail
but it looks like what i've sewn is just way too strong
now i wonder if this was just my destiny all along
maybe some day those seams will start to fray
though i guess until then it seems i'm here to stay

as i sit here in my cage my mind falls to despair
then i wonder how much more of this pain i can bear
is it still possible i could some day be saved
or is it too late, and my road was already paved
hopefully some day i can look up and see the stars
for now it's all too cloudy, trapped here behind my bars
 
a couple more old pomes, found on a writing blog i used to keep:

Churches
Recall that darkness:
it was a terrible,
made distance
in which I only

thought your shape.
Until I forgot
what was your voice,
or why. Until

we had a talk.
I said many
very important-
sounding things,

I said nothing.
“I will never have a
child, only dogs.”
I broke a glass

in trying to break
you. “Please just
let me break you.”
That wasn’t said but

how I wanted to
the most, then,
as for you, I
could only listen

through a wall,
(O, the distance.)
chiseled, bristling
with white paint.

This is a great
mystic dread:
that for the paint
I will forget you.

***

have you seen the girl?
repeat after this: i am an island because.

i did not speak for hours because an island is silent and does not speak.

i did not stop and think about it because an island does not stop and think about it, it is mainly busy with being an island.

instead i searched for the prettiest face, because an island is ultimately concerned with boasting having the prettiest face.

i am an island, at once violent and alliterative. i will move or i will sink.

i am a planet.

i swell and groan because i am like a planet uniquely gravitied. i am probably the sum of all my distance and the distance of that which is close or moves close to me.

i am a far planet and therefore the glub and or swirl of my planet is harsh.

i am a planet because like a planet i will become heated, i will become glass and as glass i will shatter.

***

SWEAT RULES
It is because I cannot sleep. I am focused on the business of inhaling, the rhythm of it, the rise and fall of it. It is weighty.

I am struck full brunt by the angle of your legs. "Your eyes are like buckets," I want to say.

"What do you think of buckets," I say.

You answer like foam. It sounds like you are saying "I am thirsty."

I vest your ribs until my hand blanches. I trace the real life of you until my arms, they shake.

"What is your favorite type of fruit," I say.

The window is open but there is barely any outside.

***

Thanks for reading.
 
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Oh. Hello.
It's been a while since I've been around here. Here's a thing!



Again the dancers arrive
Stepping light in their mockery
Again I begin to dive
Not a cloud is stopping me

The wind whips my hair
Their cadence picks up its pace
It all is laid out so bare
And now they can begin their chase

A dance I know too well
I think as I land on the floor
Why again, do they bring this hell?
I stumble to sprint for the door

Trapped by their hateful gaze
Which way do I need to turn?
My mind, such a haze
Their dance begins to burn

The floor glows aflame
Consumed before a thought
Screaming won’t end the pain
The world is strewn in knots

They weep for my heart
Why, I’ll never know
The pain they brought from the start
The burning continues to grow

I roll, fight, and I gasp
I strive to find something more
My coughs turn to rasp
As I cannot locate the door
 
what can i say, i love to write. a few more i dug up:

BURBIA
where you learn to spit,
eat cereal for most meals,
and lose, um, something.


LAIKA
We left the day in buckets.
Built a tree out of us,
Decided on dogs then forgot.
I know now how a house feels:
Dense; heady with too-close breath.
The world is in a jar.


KING PREFECTURE
it's like a movie how i remember it:
a real chimera of a thing. i mean, god!
the sky was always right, blue and vast and painted there
some angels must've done it.
on a lucky day you could have a car to yourself in the ferris wheel,
yourself and a sweet girl that is, and have yourself a kiss.
the point though was being up 'round all that blueness;
the kiss was just a thing that happened because damn! we're alive!
you didn't need no drugs either — that was enough to make your tides rise.
come night that same wheel shone like a cold coke.
someone would dance fire and we'd all cheer in fizzy nihongonese: oo-rah! oo-rah!
or else you'd get the drums — everyone knows how to talk with those:
bom-bom-BOM-bom-bom! it ruled you — you had no choice.
you walked the Sunset Four and everywhere to its diction.
even when the moon pulls you, you've got that bom.
long-lived and royal, that bom is,
turtlebacked and they bow to it.
it hits through you like an arrow from a real-ass bow.
it's like a movie: voluptuous, apart —
and goddamn if you don't feel that blood pumping.


GARBAGE
theirs was a broke home. daddy pasted hush onto daughter’s face with red swinging. he talked violence, garish and iambic -- mother crushed biscuits in time to it. one of them yelled, “i’m making dirt!” son built himself resplendent in the shatters of their best crystal. sun-kissed and marvelous, he, little son, gummed with fruit-stick, broke a mirror. ouch! he knew, seven years and all, that that would be crypt of him. dad said something about a womb. mom (sprouting, suddenly, something new!) said, back turned to daddy, tummy to the biscuits: “get a grip.” daughter -- now pink, faded and drawn and small -- saw this new thing growing! through rooms (there wasn’t one without a hole) she ran to brother and sang, “there’s a new jungle in mother now! i saw it peek!” brother, as was always, kept busy with boy activities: brother, as king of his own palace, glued snips of garbage to his face. defenseless there, brother wrapped his time in itself tight -- otherwise daddy might break a mirror at him. the dad was flippant in his breaking. he would say things like “water damage isn’t art” and place fists about the house, mussing mother’s wonderful hair, causing missed appointments, forgotten homeworks. he would decorate the room of the son with potholes -- the son called it “playing construction workers.” king son wondered what the father’s knuckles (they looked so velvety and strong!) felt like. he asked the mother. that was what did it.

mother had grown slow but had been growing long and deep. mother soon left the crushed biscuits; the son: the road; daughter, tired and unred, all but brought a doll along. but here they were! she, mother, feeling like a newborn sheep, like a debutante she marched her and her little ones up sidewalks ripe in the hot. thought the mother, now this was something she could get behind! not a representation (like tuesday night’s burnt meat) but an action! she felt dizzy, fermented. she picked the boy and spun. daughter, sister, jumped into a shriveling pool of water, stagnant with bug eggs and little plants -- “the splash smells like brother’s garbage!” she whistled. brother was in love -- he laughed desperately, dislodging kingliest face in the act, depositing it in sister’s splash to lie there, seeping dark there on the side of the road, amongst the little eggs and little plants and they watched it, no longer homely, accusatory, no longer any rooms not without a hole but comely now, light and glorious and together like that. opposite the still stepped-in water, they all of them knew, deftly as they turned away -- even little brother knew this, though the words were quiet -- that there was much besides the brother’s decoration left to soak and darken there. frantic and drunk with it, they, the mother, the son, the daughter -- having turned, having become weightless, having finally debuted -- leapt and became the noon.


Thanks for reading ^^
 
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Softer than skin, sweeter than flowers
The feeling I get upon 5th Tower
I try to watch from another perspective
I try to observe life, like a detective
as I run past the lillies, my pompoms twirl
cheer and excitement fill the heart of this Fonewearl

No matter how hard I try to cast Shifta and Deband
There is no more room in my asphalt skull, for the brain to expand
Falling down, again and again
I see myself left for dead, by my friend.
The permanence of life is no longer of any matter
As the Insides of this run are swirled to cake batter.

The sun starts to rise upon a Moon Atomizer
Dropped by my body, as though I were none the wiser
My HUcast goes in to turn in the quest
He has received another lucky coin, I suppose it is for the best
perhaps it is I who have failed the test.

for in the end, all I see
Is an epsilon who has decided
this is the end of me.

A banner stretches across the world's screens
The death of a FOnewearl, level eighty.
 
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