209 replies to this topic

[Pawnator]

I like the fact you can use poetry to describe thing interesting ways. this is how I describe a polalitoin:

put a bullet in their head
because they are a wanka doodle wat wat
they have nothing much to say
with their droll dripping down
kissing the ground

i know it a bit blunt but it the way i want so people get where im coming from and how they pisses me of it still need some work on it.

Lmao.

[Alandriel1138]

You, My Fortitude
I owe you...
my sanity
After all those years past,
you still offer your heart
I owe you...
my love
You always supported me
always helped me
always held my weight
and never buckled
You read my pain like a tattered book
You flattened my pages
You helped me find my place
My place is with you
returning what help & compassion
you gave me
I owe you...
sturdiness
I owe you...
a shelf of your own

this is a metaphysical poem that i wrote for extra credit in a British lit class. This poem has a few places tha want to publish it and other things, but whatever...
can't show the form in which i wrote it and would like for it to be seen

[MaxDamage]

Kind of an ode to the cherry-blossom tree outside my old house,

Sakura Steel

Tainted brown water, thick and hot,
Sickly American taste searing my lips and deeper still.
Parted curtains present aqua glass,
Blue light mythical, cloud-crawl rhythmical.

In bloom, outside;
Sakura, against steel sky.

Alien captured to tame grey tide;
Sakura, against steel sky.

Your wounds cry sap for native lands,
Roots bound helpless in asphalt, black;
You don't belong here,
You cannot go back.

Your Mother - a distant land,
Serene and savage;
Her beauty sold cheap
And innocence - ravaged.

On her hills:
If you'd meat, you'd be eaten.
A will; beaten.

But you've neither.

Your finest gifts are your hues -
And yet when Sun falls, basking City in native light;
The world resigned to a dim pink,
Exposed, you appear your true, virgin white.

-

In your time you've won a thousand hearts or more,
Adoration of the petals and bark you adorn;
But I know Sakura's secret, from the moment I kissed her soft, firm brow.

Beneath the rugged bark, beneath your remorseless beauty,
Beneath your bloom's wild eye;
Without tender care, love and more,
Good soil and ample room to soar -

Sakura is as cold as the steel,
The steel of my sky.

Curtains and eyes close,
Trails of your memory under each;
Coffee stain circles,
And the visible burdens of another sleepless night.

An idle flick of the button
And the TV screen flickers to life,
Yet another re-run of Star Trek: The Next Generation.
Sit back, put your feet up; that big, bald, bastard
Will make everything alright.

[MaxDamage]

Curves

To my sides, dark,
Ahead of me fog, deep, dark -
But something vague, some blurred image is behind the thick mist.
It used to be clear, it used to be mine,
But it changed over time - and it's somebody else's now.

I chase it, I run, because it's what I'm used to,
What I've always done;
Until it occurs to me that I'm far beyond exhausted.

I stop.

But it's the damnedest thing,
I'm still at the same pace,
Trapped unwilling, in some absurd race.

I turn behind me,
At full pelt still hurtling towards the small blurred light in the distance,
A light that I thought would one day be home.

And there's nothing behind me,
No trail, not a sound, no whisper nor echo.
Whatever is pulling me refuses to let go.

Looking ahead once more, the blurred light is gone,
My direction shifts without compass now,
Swerves;
Where there were once straight lines, now curves.

Spirals.

[VulgaritySocks]

Hmm... the thing I like about poetry is, among other things, its ability to flow around any form. As long as the author has some style...
It's strange to admit to writing poetry in this doomed anti-intellectual culture. I haven't really done it much, mainly while high and mainly for a class at school. But there is something cathartic about it when it's all said and done. An expression of a massive theme in a few words can be extremely satisfying if done correctly...
I have a very strange style, and I haven't really mastered the thing yet. But I figure there's a learning curve to everything. And I have to read these if I take this class anyway, so I suppose I shouldn't be worried about showing them in public. Poetry is similar to writing a song to be honest. And all my favorite poets have been the antithesis of the traditional "poet" image. Bukowski wrote about a particular form of love, true, and he wrote with what could be called beauty... but a smashed beer bottle covered in blood can be beautiful in the right light...



There they are in their weird glory. And about grammar... some of the best poets of all time (I'm thinking mainly e.e. cummings as the chief example) used grammar in very untraditional manners to create an effect. So incorrect grammar, when used correctly, is entirely appropriate. If you don't agree, then your life is far too contained to be writing poetry. To be frank. Poetry in its base sense is more natural than human anyway, like most of the "arts." And the English language is infinitely fallible and inconsistent. So to change it around to suit your own needs, like in music, should work fine. If, like in music, you know what is possible.
Also, MaxDamage... I like your stuff man. Moar?

[MaxDamage]

Nice Vulg, dig your 'Father Night' piece.
First one's cool, it's a great image you paint - though I think 'what a miracle is life' is probably a bit extreme.

Got caught up playing an MMOTPS in the past 3 weeks, which I just ended. S'my current gripe.
But this one's about so many things, about whatever or whoever drags you down.


Enraged, encaged,
Open, broken,
Soulless, spineless,
Ball-less, brainless,
Hopeless, helpless,
Useless;
And getting used to this.

These are all the things you are;
All the things you gave me.

Parasite.
Fucking Parasite.

I'm rid of you.

[moor w rot]

Lmao.

what it is not as lame as saying they are wanker straight up. i like to see you come up with a creative insult. rather than lmoa. it just suppose to be slightly funny.

[moor w rot]

Enraged, encaged,
Open, broken,
Soulless, spineless,
Ball-less, brainless,
Hopeless, helpless,
Useless;
And getting used to this.

These are all the things you are;
All the things you gave me.

Parasite.
Fucking Parasite.

I'm rid of you.

straight the grim depressing point. i cant understand why people like to be sheep either. heres my own the topic it is sonnet i think.

survival in the shadow of an idol

Wondering aimlessly amongst the trees
Chasing after a menacing idol
This is believed to be survival
Reinforced by the barbaric breeze
Causing all soul to freeze
Making us in a sense suicidal
Yet still in a illusion this is delightful
Because it puts your mind at ease
All this robbing you from your identity
Breaking every bone that lies in your spine
Digging your own grave in the cemetery
I stand here and watch your reality unwind

[VulgaritySocks]

Shitcha this thread is back, where we can all be a little bit manlier by shedding excess hatred in the form of poignant verse. And it's weird to me, Mr. Damage, if I can be selfish and discuss your critiques right off the bat, that you chose that part of that bus lady bit to label "too extreme." I always liked that one because it got the point across with the last line.
She's at a bus-stop and life generally sucks. The end.
But each to their own, individual interpretation and all that.
How about...



Yeah... I'm on vacation in Mexico right now... figures... must be the sun-burn.

[MaxDamage]

Noice.

Shitcha this thread is back, where we can all be a little bit manlier by shedding excess hatred in the form of poignant verse.

Maybe I come across that way in written word but I personally don't do 'hatred'.
I'm the most chilled mufugger you could hope to meet.

I've a belief in the power of anger to counter oppression and injustice; but to me hatred itself is a seperate thing that seeks no justice but instead vengeance ten-fold; to annihilate, to destroy, to be merciless beyond justification.

Two different creatures.
I gave up anything resembling outward 'hate' a very long time ago.

Anyway I was working on this one at work today;
I call it:

'Colours of Summer'

Blue, green,
Yellow, white.
Red.

Kill me. Kill me.
Kill me. Kill me.
Kill me. Kill me.
Kill me. Kill me.

Orange.

[Verrückter]

Bump! FOR GREAT JUSTICE ARGHH!

Here's an untitled one I made quickly:

Tormenting treachery unveils,
as I stumble upon the eye-hidden.
In the pale darkness of a concealing dawn
and as unexpecting scoundrels mind their buisness,
like the shadowed face of the moon
and its tender completing smile,
I am granted true sight to the value of my bond.

Regrets flow by my spyglass,
Scrupules of forfeited fortune,
a perforated flag now turned to white.
I surrendered to my own demise.

But you, headless harvester,
You are worth but the weight of your own lies,
Within which you hid malvolently
Lurking for the loot of longings.
Not me.

[MaxDamage]

Kinda classical language Verr, but cool.

My head is simplifying/diminishing lately:

/

This one isn't so much poetry as it is reality in verse.

Two nights ago:

'Take a picture of us?'
Said the whore on the bus, thinking me tame.

She leaned, nearly fell, backwards, grasping the pole.
Revealing more than I care to fucking see.

'Say 'hail the penis''.
A chorus of 'HAHAHAH HAIL THE PENIS!'

I snapped.
One for the family album.

She fell back into place,
Over-powdered, over-painted, smelling the sweet smell
of dead animals tested.

She rang the bell,
She and her friend got up.
It was a red light.

'Sorreeeeee, NEXT ONE, NEXT ONE'
They screamed impatiently.

It was a red light.

Fucking idiots.

///

Art fart:

Dear Friend,

Fuck you, Fuck you, Fuck you, Fuck you,
Fuck you, Fuck you, Fuck you, Fuck you,
Fuck you, Fuck you, Fuck you, Fuck you,
Fuck you, Fuck you, Fuck you, Fuck you,
Fuck you, Fuck you, Fuck you, Fuck you,
Fuck you, Fuck you.

Love,
Lust.

//

This Is Air.

This is air
Air is poison.
Floor fly.

Ceiling of concrete,
shelters me from the soil.

Doorframe is intermediary,
between two worlds of shit.

What it is to be misanthrope?
Every skull crushed under fist, under boot - is a point scored.

For Mother Nature!
..Who cheers us on in her drunk, masturbatory, fucking stupor.

These are not my scars,
This is my face.
This is not my coma,
This is my waking state.

[Verrückter]

Kinda classical language Verr, but cool.

Yeah, that's what I like in poetry. Diverse vocabulary and abusive figures of speech

[MaxDamage]

Untitled Autumn.

Warm slumber, the stereotypical Autumn cocoon that us mammals wrap around ourselves mid-sleep.
As if still instinctively bracing for another harsh Winter.

The memory takes shape in dream,
The dream takes shape in hope,
As sharp to me as iron splinter.
I finish kissing her and wake up.

Next to me she freaks the hell out of me,
She's already awake staring at me..
Not inches from my face.
'Eyes like thunder', I repeated from a line I'd heard somewhere before.

But the shock isn't enough to make my eyelids fully lift.
Again. I drift.

This time no dream,
Just a fuggin' sharp poke in the ribs.
A spark of lightning through nerves.

Still there she is.
A faded warmth, an echo,
The shape remains, like my lump two-fold.
Enough to feel, but not to hold.

'You have to get up'.

'I know', I reply.
I know.

I can't think of a damned good reason why, at 5am in the fucking morning.
There's no reasoning, just obedience to schedule.
I look at my other clock,
It died at midnight.

What I'd give to live in that moment,
5 hours ago you were there.
You'd be slipping off to sleep.. well,
If the thunder didn't keep you up.

The storm was violent,
As was my temper.
Goddamn my temper.
I'd apologise,
But you've no time for words,
And I've no gift for them.

Besides,
You could probably read it in my tired eyes.

Can't I just chase my dreams, one more time?
A head shakes no and leaves up the hall to take a shower.
Where, as I eat my breakfast,
She spends the best part of a bloody hour.

'The shower's a good place for thinking' she says,
She must have cured half the worlds ills by now in that secret place.

Women.
You love 'em, you h.. love 'em.

She sits at the table in a flourescent pink towel,
As if her nakedness alone wouldn't be enough to blind me.
She has to make sure.

I head up,

And though she may take her time,
I'm always glad she's had hers before mine..

I fuggin love the smell in there when she's done,
Floral, fruity and fresh, from whatever she puts in her hair.
When I've finished up
It smells like a fucking trolls' lair.

I come down, buttering a slice of toast for the road,
It seems she's not eating -
And suddenly her look makes my insides cold.

'You're wasting away' I whisper hoarsely, unable to shout,
Not just thinning away, but truly fading out.

I pick up my sketchpad and quickly take hold of my beloved 4B.
It's madness, but with a little time and graphite..
It's possible she won't slip out of sight.
I have to save her, I have to keep her breathing.

She'll come back to me.
It has to be.

'Sit still' I ask, 'don't strain'
Still thunder in her eyes,
But her inevitable reflection shows
On my cheek, rain.

I sketch her fine features,
And those less fine;
And that's all that remains
In five hours time.

[Mantrousse]

-

That was pretty interesting, nice.

[MaxDamage]

The crap I submit here (aside from Sakura Steel) is essentially 'freestyle writing',
trying to tame insomnia.
It's bananas but I enjoy it. xD

Pyroinsomniac

I walked this road before.

It's become a cliché
But the flames beneath and those around me,
Still do not bite timidly.

I hold my hand out and smile,
It's been a while;
The flames feed on my fingers like nervous blind tiger-pups,
Suckling on new flesh.

Ferocious, ravenous,
Cutting, slicing, tearing at every inch of exposed skin.

Playful little things,
It's hard to believe I once feared.

I look up at their master.

Yeah.
I remember you.

I beat you.

You've been watching, waiting,
Perhaps you broke the rules of non-interference,
Teasing, baiting.

Well you've led me in,
I'm here again..
Have to walk this line again.

Perhaps my indifference this time will be my undoing,
But I don't fear you anymore.
It's almost fun, almost a game.

I look inwards and see a fire enveloping me faster,
Than you ever could in your purposeful slow burn.

When it's taken me,
It will swallow you too,
I guarantee it.
I'm not the boy I once was, I've learnt a few tricks.

It won't break me,
It's The Crucible, The Purge,
The Grand Simplification before The Renewal.

Phoenix spreads it's enveloped wings,
Flails for it's goddamn life and cries out
Til it's final breath escapes through seared lungs.

Just like before.

Whoever comes after me, won't be me;
The heart beats the same.
The flesh is a little more charred.
But soul is reborn, unscarred.

A thousand layers of dead skin, shed.
Caked in a further thousand of arrogant tears bled.

As if I never was.

His parting gift to friends is a vicious blow,
Til none left will be sad to see him go.
Cursing every good soul who touched him with grace,
In rage, because he sees the familiar prison in their own faces.

I'd save you from yourself if I could,
But I can't - there's no way.
There's certainly no time,
If I regret anything, it's leaving you this way.

Instead I'll show you the real meaning of Hate.
A word you throw around like a toy.
So in your chest will grow a stronger flame,
A thicker skin, against willful sin;
Like myself now, you will never be tamed.

I will charge at you,
And run.
Til your blood runs cold in fear;
And when you can taste my sweat,
When my own black, mirrored eyes are just an inch from your own.

You'll see what I see -
And I will be gone.

[Lord Kabab]

Okay, this is from my depressed moment in my life.

When your all alone
With no lights to save you
You feel cold and dark,
Your mind, Lost in itself,
Your Heart Surrounded by Darkness
What is there left to do?

Growing in the depths of your heart,
You feel a sudden chill,
You wake up, Falling
As you fall,
your heart grows darker and darker
Until there is nothing left but black.

You wake up, feeling cold
You feel like your heart is Dissapearing
Your mind feels like it's killing itself
As the darkness leaves, you start to feel warm
The pain goes away, your mind finds itself
Your heart looses it's darkness.

When your all alone
You feel cold and dark,
Your mind, Lost in itself,
Your Heart Surrounded by Darkness
What do you do?
You wait, just wait.

[MaxDamage]

Waiting doesn't pay off.
Embrace the SUFFERING!

Moffs

Moths are fuckin awesome!
Fuckin ell! Look at em..
Lil tiny things..
Some of em look quite beastin',
Others are just small and kinda cute.
I've heard people say they're scared of them,
But the big ones just look like fluffy fuckin teddy bears to me.
They're all shiny and patterned
And thats pretty neat.
I can find myself staring at them for ages,
Shiny dots of eyes on black
Or lil black dots against creamy silver.
Moths really are awesome.
Plus they can fly,
And I can't.
So they've got one up on me;
The slags.

[MaxDamage]

A Boy Called Dog.

There once was a boy called Dog
Who sat on a log,
In a bog,
In the fog.
One day he got bored of the bog,
So he went for a jog -
And got hit by a truck on his first encounter with a motorway.
He was rushed to hospital but was eventually pronounced dead three weeks later.

[MaxDamage]

A Senseless Death.

I stepped out of my house,
No further had I gone in the dimlit street than my hedgerow-shouldered gate
And I was human.

Crushed shell.
Crushed life bridging the gap
Between Earth and boot.

Sometimes I wonder in equal futility
If one day with all our combined intelligence
We could save all life that we can see.

I was already a murderous swine,
A meat eater, carnivore of convenience;
And that wont change.
It's important to remember that beasts we too are.

But such a senseless death.
Not for sustenance,
Not even to tame malice with regret.

I console myself..
It was too dark to see..
My shoe-sole is so flat from labour that at least it died a quick death..
No lingering agony in the grip of hard rubber.

A mistake.
And in tune with misery - a choice I can't retake.

Perhaps if I were Frenchman I'd have scooped it up and made a little stew
In honour of you.

Alas not,
A stain of mucus you remain.

Today I am human.