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TheDwarfyOne

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Sorry to double post, but I did a pretty serious revision to my poem from the last post, and I think it's actually quite good.

 

Infinity in the Space Between Matter

Four by four they gathered 'round
    and danced a merry jig.

Three by three they grabbed the spit
    And turned the suckl'ng pig

Two by two they wandered off
    showing no remorse

One by one we buried them
    in the stinking gorse

The no good laughing dirty dogs
    Were the only ones to dig

And when the poison burbled up,
    They made us take a swig.

Now four by four on Lethe's shore
    We wonder should we drink

Three by three some shamble in
    And we watchers watch them sink

'Til two by two we climb aboard
    the boatman's leaking skiff.

Then one by one we dissipate,
    Our feckless souls adrift.

Nothing in the nothingness-
    We have no eyes to close-

Trapped in abject abnegation
    This being we never chose.

Edited by Hoiditthroughthegrapevine
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  • 1 month later...

Hot off the presses. 

Even into Shade

Hear my voice stars whose glow is the merest flicker in shadow as ascendant walls of the most precious jewels light the whole of the world. Mountains gentle in their run race to speak of the coming of the empress. Song comes from the ocean waves and the birds in flight whose music spins magic that entrances the universe and forces even the divine to question whether they have ever known beauty or wisdom. The entirety of the cosmos is frozen and simply carried into a reverie. They remember the whole of history, even those moments that have not yet taken place. How the creatures of the mortal plane dance as creation seems to be rejoicing and yet trembling within as well. Gold hidden within the earth dulls and melts away into the rivers in shame while the highest mountains bow and allow their crowns to fall to the ground where they will never again be claimed. Willows weep their endless tears in joy now and sway in prayers that they cannot help but hope will be answered. Ruby, emerald, burnt orange, and all hues that can even be imagined are yielded by the natural realm for a tapestry meant for the most royal one. Night and day are not meaningful for even the merest instant before her arrival is too long to bear. Every breath is held as now she descends now from heights not of this place, but of a dimension more sublime than can be contained in a few weakened and lame words. A circlet aflame upon her brow. Tunes containing in them knowledge never bound fly from an uncorrupted spirit. Her throne is not in the crags nor even in the heart of the bejeweled fortress that spawned from the depths. She sits at the gates of the palace making treasures lose any perceived wealth. There is no coronation for she is and always has been the most regal goddess to be perceived by any and all faculties. Let sovereigns carry her name as their mistress until darkness ascends to take all else. 



 

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  • 2 weeks later...

More hot off the presses.

 

Forget No More

Stars spill from the very heights as if pulled from their perches on high by some monstrous hand and cover the world in their soft light. The great upper expanse grows darker as all of the radiance exposes the ways that even the most sacred of groves are being pillaged and the deities whose shrines are being defiled simply turn away to shed their tears instead of raising gauntleted hands to stem the corruption that is leeching peace from the realm. Cities are breached and their secrets are exposed to those who draw forth sword and shield in the name of wreaking bloody vengeance. Oceans are scarlet and those wild beasts that escape slaughter feed in a frenzy the stench of offal wafting up as a sign of what this wretched plane has become. Weeping so bitter is louder than even the clashes that so tear apart family and bond rending civilization itself until all that is left are the most frayed of threads drenched in tears and stained by lifeblood expended in vain. What now then can become of this broken place? None arise to act and crumbling walls appear to be all that will even be remembered.

From that place where the revelations have come one remains above that which was wrought upon her siblings. From her comes illumination of a different sort ever known before to the mortal souls that freeze in place. It is warm, but not destructive in nature cool waves fly forth and yet it does not still raging hearts. Calming music plays along the flowing waters that she rides down upon a barge of the most wondrous sounds. They weave together and are at the same time more beautiful than every work of art that human or divine hands ever wrought. Jewels are dead stones when brought up in comparison. Sleek and sinuous nothing of its like could even be thought of much less ever truly described without casting the worst of insults upon it. Where it goes rifts close as if an enchantment was rewriting the nature of reality itself. All of the carnage ceases when it faces this power and the corruption burns away with a shriek that shatters mountains. Those who descended rise again anew and more than they had been when they were set adrift. As all heals she returns on high and restores light to a place that forgot what illumination truly means.

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My poem:

What, what

What can you learn

From the squirrels that scurry so quickly to earn

The food to last through the cold

 

Nothing, nothing

There’s nothing to learn

The squirrels should realize that they’ll just get burned

For all things will die when they’re old

 

What, what

What can you know

From the flower that struggles so madly to grow

Fighting its way towards the light

 

Not much, not much

There’s not much to know

The flower is stupid, for winter says no

I’m sorry, the future’s not bright

 

What, what

What can you gain

From the soldier that fights his way through the pain

Knowing his reason to stand

 

Something, something

There’s something to gain

For the soldier has courage to see past the rain

Of sorrow fate holds in its hand

 

What, what

What do you see

In the nurture that comes from the hard-working bee

Hoping to brighten the earth

 

So, so

So much I can see 

In the frantic preparing of sweet, sweet honey

Scaring away any dearth.

 

The last verse is a little bit rough; honey doesn't quite fit the meter. But that's all I have.

 

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Alright I have to join in on the fun. I’m not great, but I can’t improve without some mistakes. I’m not good at long poems, but I try to make the most of a few words. 
 

Anyway, here’s Leto.

 

Leto

Leto, queen on none, cursed by Zeus and pursued by Hera, you keep running, but for how long? No mortal will help you, no god will shelter you. You hope for an island that will never come. Keep that hope, seek that flame. Bearer of gods, you will run far. You shall suffer and toil, but shall bring wonders to the world that has forsaken you. Leto, queen of none, child of two, you shall go far.

 

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  • 3 weeks later...
  • 8 months later...

Sometimes, when I don't understand my own thoughts/stance on something I write a poem. It's not intended to be technically accomplished, just... help me think? I'll probably edit this one, though, in search of clarity.

i

Calypso holds the tide, and with her laughter

Brings becalming weather, or thunder

When indifference swells

The seas.

 

See this ship, frosted by ice,

Prow leaking sea-salt tears,

Slaved from pole to pole

Upon the tide.

 

ii

Our words once caught on teeth,

Tucked between us

Close,

Closer than our breath,

Closest to anchor

I have ever known.

 

iii

Something sharp is borne

In faded imprints cut

Where her presence was.

My car, my home, my heart.

 

Thorns of memories, honed

Nostalgia.  She is become

A whispered text, a far-flung

Wave athwart the sea

 

Distant forever from me.

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  • 1 month later...

What’s up, been a long time since I last posted here. But I got a new poem to share. My inspiration was old folk songs and fables of mysterious creatures and strange happenings. My goal was to capture that eerie feeling. I’d love any feedback.


It’s titled “The Wanderin’ Man”

Do not call the Wanderin’ Man
Whose footsteps ever roam.
And if you come across his path
Don’t invite him to your home.

Do not call the Wanderin’ Man
Whose voice is soft and sure
And do not answer his beckoning call
When he comes knocking at your door

Do not call the Wanderin’ Man
Even when you are lost
For though he may know the way
He charges a dreadful cost.

Do not call the Wanderin’ Man
Don’t listen to his cries
He’ll draw you in with a quiet voice
And claim his awful prize.

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sounds like shel silverstein.

and because im bored, a quick freestyle poem

Rain

pitter patter

pitter patter

the rain falls

it soaks through the ground

onto a mound

to give those who have passed

life giving water

that does no effect

for they cannot live 

once dead.

Edited by TheRavenHasLanded
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  • 2 months later...
On 9/28/2023 at 6:15 AM, GeneralHZRD said:

What’s up, been a long time since I last posted here. But I got a new poem to share. My inspiration was old folk songs and fables of mysterious creatures and strange happenings. My goal was to capture that eerie feeling. I’d love any feedback.


It’s titled “The Wanderin’ Man”

Do not call the Wanderin’ Man
Whose footsteps ever roam.
And if you come across his path
Don’t invite him to your home.

Do not call the Wanderin’ Man
Whose voice is soft and sure
And do not answer his beckoning call
When he comes knocking at your door

Do not call the Wanderin’ Man
Even when you are lost
For though he may know the way
He charges a dreadful cost.

Do not call the Wanderin’ Man
Don’t listen to his cries
He’ll draw you in with a quiet voice
And claim his awful prize.

This reads really well, and captures the tone you were looking for. I have one issue. 'Whose voice is soft and sure / And do not answer his beckoning call.' These lines, firstly, go together awkwardly. The Man is giving a beckoning call and knocking at the same time? It's possible, but not thematically what you're looking for. 


Additionally, the second line breaks the flow. Suddenly the piece shoots from a 6, 7 or 8 syllables to 10. That's a good technique for bringing a line into the spotlight, but that probably wasn't your aim.

 

On further reflection, there's a similar issue with the last stanza. Don't listen to the Wandering Man's cries, but also.... he'll draw you in with a quiet voice? Which is it? Creepy quiet or bestial crying?

 

Overall, a good piece - but it needs to clarify what it hopes to convey, and a small amount of rewording in the second stanza.

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