Bittersweet Candy Bowl

so, since there isnt exactly a thread for everyones poetry (just intermingled single artists doing something or other) ill make one.

everyone is free to post their poetry. form doesnt matter.

CONSTRUCTIVE CRITICISM ONLY

no one should be bashing each others stuff. this a friendly environment.

not my poem, but it inspired me.


Gods of the copybook headings: Rudyard Kipling

As I pass through my incarnations in every age and race, I make my proper
prostrations to the Gods of the Market-Place.
Peering through reverent fingers I watch them flourish and fall,
And the Gods of the Copybook Headings, I notice, outlast them all.

We were living in trees when they met us. They showed us each in turn.
That Water would certainly wet us, as Fire would certainly burn:
But we found them lacking in Uplift, Vision and Breath of Mind,
So we left them to teach the Gorillas while we followed the March of Mankind.

We moved as the Spirit listed. They never altered their pace,
Being neither cloud nor wind-borne like the Gods of the Market-Place;
But they always caught up with our progress, and presently word would come
That a tribe had been wiped off its icefield, or the lights had gone out in
Rome.

With the Hopes that our World is built on they were utterly out of touch.
They denied that the Moon was Stilton; they denied she was even Dutch.
They denied that Wishes were Horses; they denied that a Pig had Wings.
So we worshipped the Gods of the Market Who promised these beautiful things.

When the Cambrian measures were forming, They promised perpetual peace.
They swore, if we gave them our weapons, that the wars of the tribes would
cease.
But when we disarmed They sold us and delivered us bound to our foe,
And the Gods of the Copybook Headings said: “Stick to the Devil you know.”

On the first Feminian Sandstones we were promised the Fuller Life
(Which started by loving our neighbour and ended by loving his wife)
Till our women had no more children and the men lost reason and faith,
And the Gods of the Copybook Heading said: “The Wages of Sin is Death.”

In the Carboniferous Epoch we were promised abundance for all,
By robbing selected Peter to pay for collective Paul; But, though we had
plenty of money, there was nothing our money could buy,
And the Gods of the Copybook Heading said: “If you don’t work you die.”

Then the Gods of the Market tumbled, and their smooth-tongued wizards
withdrew,
And the hearts of the meanest were humbled and began to believe it was true
That All is not God that Glitters, and Two and Two make Four-
And the Gods of the Copybook Headings limped up to explain it once more.

As it will be in the future, it was at the birth of Man- There are only
four things certain since Social Progress began:-
That the Dog returns to his Vomit and the Sow returns to her Mire,

And the burnt Fool’s bandaged finger goes wobbling back to the Fire;
And that after this is accomplished, and the brave new world begins

When all men are paid for existing and no man must pay for his sins,
As surely as Water will wet us, as surely as Fire will burn,
The Gods of the Copybook Headings with terror and slaughter return!

I wrote a poem for an alternate ending of Draw With Me awhile ago.

Naive Child-

Back when we were younger
Do you remember what I told you?
That we’d be together, I’d find a way
So naive we were, believing it could be so

Back then, the glass was simply an obstacle
Something I had to overcome
A task, a test I had to take
And then, I could be with you

I tried to break it, and I almost passed through
But the glass did not shatter, and I had failed
The glass cut my hand, I had lost this battle
But we still believed there was a way

So then, I tried a ladder
You told me to stop, it wouldn’t work
But naive was I, and I tried to climb over
I had failed this test again, and I could hear no longer

After all these years, I am still that naive child
That thinks I can overcome any obstacle
But you, my dear, matured faster than I
And you began to see what I could not

The glass was not a test
It was not an obstacle
And it was not a villain
It was the protector

Our feelings were the villain
The glass wasn’t wrong, our love was
I was not meant to get over
I was not meant to get past this obstacle

Our feelings were pointless
There was nothing we could do
Too you, this was obvious
But for me, this naive, overgrown child…

All these years, you began to feel sorry for me
You knew that this was foolish
And you told me so, that it was impossible
But naive was I, and I still tried to overcome this obstacle

So, you decided what was best
That it was time to go
You left me that day, that cold, awful day
That naive child wept for you

You remember my first attempt, don’t you?
Of breaking this awful barrier
I’ve lost my hand, and my ear
But, I don’t want to lose you!

Crack. Come back, I called
Crack. You didn’t turn around
Crack, Crack, Crack…
Why wont you come back…?

I broke the barrier! Come back to me now—
Poor naive child, you seem to have forgotten
For now, you have not lost your hand, or your ear
But your life

You poor, naive child…

i guess i should also say this:
if the poem is not yours, cite it.

i did that on mine, right?

yah, you did. you just reminded me aboot plagerizm

k
good

some stuff i wrote the other day in a half dead stupor (lack of sleep)
it kind of sux… that, and its incoherent…


There is a small child. Alone and insignificant.
Born at a juncture in time, when children do not matter.
He is there, watching the child. Making him hate the world he’s in.
The child is smart, he notices the man. He hates the man.
The child watches as the world passes him by.
The child learns to manipulate the world as he sees fit.
Contorting it to better suit him.
The child grows, and so does the man.
The man passes on and the child takes his place.
The child stands by his wife, as his son is born.
The cycle is repeated.

GREAT,
little depressing though….

thats why i didnt want to post anything until others had… i find if its depressing of the bat, nobody does anything happy.

mmmm

im a writer and i find that its best if the emotions of the ending contradict the general emotions of the story to that point.
you might wanna try that.

hmm.. i have something like that… i think… wrote in the same day.. so its still depressing.


I am awake, forever dreaming.
He calls for me, he beckons.
I answer the call, and he speaks.
He speaks as if to a child, for I do not understand.
I do not understand because his tongue is foreign.
He try’s to make me understand, so I do.
He tells me things only I can understand.
He tells me things no one should know.

Because of him, I see things. Feel things. Hear things.
Things no one should ever experience.
As he leaves, he takes my conscience with him.
Leaving me alone. Alone and desperate.
Without anyone, without anything.
He takes what is mine and never returns.
Leaves me in the gutter with the dredges of society.

They accept me as there own.
I need them and they need me.
They teach me and I learn.
I am one of them.
He returns to me. He draws me to him with promises.
Promises I know he will not keep.
But I follow anyways.
He leads me away from my new friends.
To a new area. Where I must start anew.
And he leaves again. This time, never to return.

I am alone now. With no one here and no one coming back.
But he is still alive.
Still watching.
Still waiting.
Waiting for me to join him.

I am alone.
I can not sleep.
I fear that he will return.
So I flee. I run away.
Away from everything, everyone.
Nowhere is safe while he lives.
So I will remain awake.
Awake until he is gone.
And I will always be dreaming.
Dreaming of better days.

yeah thats kinda what i was talking about!
(also still great!)

and i have to ask, are you an unhappy person?

sometimes. recently i havnt been sleeping well. and ive been suffering from some form of insomnia/depression. it really sux. the other night, i decided to use the hours that i wasnt sleeping to write poetry. thats what happened.

i really think that your depression/insomnia has its roots in your mind.

meh, maybe im a hypocondriac, maybe im not. but i do know one thing. ive never been this inspired to write before…… its wierd, having a goal…

hmmmmm
do you feel fully fulfilled?
perhaps thats it, you need something to dedicate yourself to!

no. i dont feel fulfilled. just less tired. but i do agree. i need something to dedicate myself to. i just dont know what.

for me it was humanity.
if you havent already read it, in 9 years im going to north korea/all other rogue nucular countries to shut down their missiles and kill their insane leaders, replacing them with some of my allies.
you could choose to help my.

hmm…. is america included?

they are currently working on disarming they`re nucular weapons soooo, not unless they start producing them again.
and not killing they`re leaders because tey are already a democracy.

gah… i hate democracy… its so slow… and it never goes in your favor. (at least thats the case with me)

but its better then an insane dictatorship.

but if you can think of a better system, all suggestions welcome!

non insane dictatorship…. this is turning into a random chat…….

MORE POETRY!!!!

Communal anarchism? Umm…thinking of a poem
@Kazi: Hah! Your cause is utterly insane and I’d be glad to help it.

very well

The Shooting Of Dan Mcgrew; by robert w service

A bunch of the boys were whooping it up in the Malamute saloon;
The kid that handles the music-box was hitting a jag-time tune;
Back of the bar, in a solo game, sat Dangerous Dan McGrew,
And watching his luck was his light-o’-love, the lady that’s known as Lou.
When out of the night, which was fifty below, and into the din and glare,
There stumbled a miner fresh from the creeks, dog-dirty, and loaded for bear.
He looked like a man with a foot in the grave and scarcely the strength of a louse,
Yet he tilted a poke of dust on the bar, and he called for drinks for the house.
There was none could place the stranger’s face, though we searched ourselves for a clue;
But we drank his health, and the last to drink was Dangerous Dan McGrew.

There’s men that somehow just grip your eyes, and hold them hard like a spell;
And such was he, and he looked to me like a man who had lived in hell;
With a face most hair, and the dreary stare of a dog whose day is done,
As he watered the green stuff in his glass, and the drops fell one by one.
Then I got to figgering who he was, and wondering what he’d do,
And I turned my head—and there watching him was the lady that’s known as Lou.

His eyes went rubbering round the room, and he seemed in a kind of daze,
Till at last that old piano fell in the way of his wandering gaze.
The rag-time kid was having a drink; there was no one else on the stool,
So the stranger stumbles across the room, and flops down there like a fool.
In a buckskin shirt that was glazed with dirt he sat, and I saw him sway,
Then he clutched the keys with his talon hands—my God! but that man could play.

Were you ever out in the Great Alone, when the moon was awful clear,
And the icy mountains hemmed you in with a silence you most could hear;
With only the howl of a timber wolf, and you camped there in the cold,
A helf-dead thing in a stark, dead world, clean mad for the muck called gold;
While high overhead, green, yellow, and red, the North Lights swept in bars?—
Then you’ve a hunch what the music meant…hunger and might and the stars.

And hunger not of the belly kind, that’s banished with bacon and beans,
But the gnawing hunger of lonely men for a home and all that it means;
For a fireside far from the cares that are, four walls and a roof above;
But oh! so cramful of cosy joy, and crowded with a woman’s love—
A woman dearer than all the world, and true as Heaven is true—
(God! how ghastly she looks through her rouge,—the lady that’s known as Lou.)

Then on a sudden the music changed, so soft that you scarce could hear;
But you felt that your life had been looted clean of all that it once held dear;
That someone had stolen the woman you loved; that her love was a devil’s lie;
That your guts were gone, and the best for you was to crawl away and die.
‘Twas the crowning cry of a heart’s despair, and it thrilled you through and through—
“I guess I’ll make it a spread misere,” said Dangerous Dan McGrew.

The music almost dies away…then it burst like a pent-up flood;
And it seemed to say, “Repay, repay,” and my eyes were blind with blood.
The thought came back of an ancient wrong, and it stung like a frozen lash,
And the lust awoke to kill, to kill…then the music stopped with a crash,
And the stranger turned, and his eyes they burned in a most peculiar way;

In a buckskin shirt that was glazed with dirt he sat, and I saw him sway;
Then his lips went in in a kind of grin, and he spoke, and his voice was calm,
And “Boys,” says he, “you don’t know me, and none of you care a damn;
But I want to state, and my words are straight, and I’ll bet my poke they’re true,
That one of you is a hound of hell…and that one is Dan McGrew.”

Then I ducked my head and the lights went out, and two guns blazed in the dark;
And a woman screamed, and the lights went up, and two men lay stiff and stark.
Pitched on his head, and pumped full of lead, was Dangerous Dan McGrew,
While the man from the creeks lay clutched to the breast of the lady that’s known as Lou.

These are the simple facts of the case, and I guess I ought to know.
They say that the stranger was crazed with “hooch,” and I’m not denying it’s so.
I’m not so wise as the lawyer guys, but strictly between us two—
The woman that kissed him and—pinched his poke—was the lady known as Lou






but seriously, think about it, i had depression/insomnia for about a month before i came to my decision, and now i sleep fine.

and that decision would be?

im going to kill kim jong il, steal nucular weapons, and all around keep justice.

im the leader of the kazi

well then…

on another note, could we stick to poetry that was written by the poster (of the poetry)?

kk
i really love the poem up there, it is my all time favourite.

i like how it shows the hatred within everybody.
it is insanely awesome.
i like inner mind poetry.

its a good poem. (your talking about the one you posted right?)

I plan to major in english/literature, i write poems whenever, so i hope you enjoy this

Poem: One Shard

The snowflakes majestically falling,
as the lakes freeze over,
…the chill running down the spines of all the woodland critters,
as a gentle breeze collides against the trees,
the grass becoming too fragile and bitter.

I catch a glimsp of one, long beautiful icicle on an
age tree behind my yard.
Slowly, this reminds me of how i thought of you,
always looking-no, admiring- at a distance, wondering if
it was a good idea to walk up close, but always had a fear …of it
falling and shattering, so i just stood back, all the while
wishing i could come closer, to a point of no return

As the other shards melt or fall, you somehow still hang there,
as i waiting to be plucked like a plump apple in March,
as i always tried but could never figure out how i felt,
if it was a winter-only thing or if your beauty was always in
my mind, i tried my best to think,
to rethink,
to consider,
and to plan,
to wonder and to ponder,
slowly over time, my mind knew nothing but to finally come close up
with no fear of that shard falling…

But, after a while, good things must end, as winter ends oddly early,
as that shard loses its grip as the lands itself loses its grace,
and as i lose my train of thought, as i see the shard about to fall, to shatter,
and yet not caring.

…”Next Winter will be different”, as i tell myself,
every
single
year.

Not a poem, but poetic

‎”Love is like a butterfly. So beautiful, just soaring mid-air, landing on little lucky flowers. We do not notice it at times, yet others take the time to admire it, to treasure the small things. But, like a butterfly, love is fragile, and can be crushed so…easily…so, please, treasure it, and keep your butterfly safe.” -Gingin

(just read post right above shooting of dan mcgrew)
YAY!
another recruit!

Done a while ago….

A scepter, a soul
A cup, full of blood
Obtained by the sacrifice
Of young ladies that never return

Pot of greed
Tough battles where fight
Leather and a shied
Who protect the beloved ones

Scars on the hands
Marks on the face
The blood of a foreign
Enhaced in the kingdom plate

Bute force, tremedous fight
The sound of swords crashing in the night

One shall be victorius
A big pool of blood
One shall still remains
One tear of the sacred god

Tremendous and struggling sounds
A dragon across the land
Make hurracains with his wings
People drowned on they’re demise

The moon who stare all night
Watched in silcence all the slaughter
Tremendous battles in the field
The holy death, and the sound of her laughter

The kingdom is safe
The young men are dead
The invader is errased
The justice fall at the end

But, what kind of justice is that
What ominous doom fall over us
In where tousand of men died
The sorrow of our brothers, the shadow of the moon

There goes maria, crying for his son
Who has been slayed by the enemy’s sword

Her tears, of pure sadness, roll over her face
Like the creek on the mountain, that falls on the hell

A creek enerely made of blood
A creek who goes as the wind will
From those who they’re lives are down now
To the heaven, the shadow or the hell’s door

This field is corrupt now
Nothing will grow here again
Just the disgusting smell of cursed blood
That cover all the land

Empty victory, sadness of fools
Who they’re lives where wasted
On that field, of they’re doom


…Frustrated Writer…

why are you all so depressed!?!
JUST FIND FULFILLMENT ALREADY!
ITS NOT THAT HARD!

Not everyone is depressed. >> People can write depressing poems if they wanna. More emotion is poured into a depressing poem than a happy one. You don’t have to be happy to write a happy poem, and you don’t have to be depressed to write a depressing poem. Just like Taeshi doesn’t have to be angsty to do Lucy’s attitude in the comic, or be naive to do David’s, or be a pervert and do Paulo’s.

what tsu said

ok then, someone do a poem that isnt depressing plz

is semi-lovey-duvy-sexual-but-SFW-okay?

sure, but what does nsfw stand for anyway?

We walk foolishly along our way,
Always looking back at what has passed;
Regrets, guilts, what we wished to say.
But why regret what you cannot change?
Why be sad while there’s still time to play?
We may not be first, but we’re not yet last!
Look not back, but forward to the dawning day!

(NSFW= not safe for work)

Poem:Frozen Moment

Standing still in time
as the cosmos and stars
wait for no one-
and yet they find time
to wait for us

In this bitter cold
the warmth of all of our morals
and ideals, and hopes
cleansing the anger and doubt
from our minds
keeping me
and you
oh so warm

As the stars
glance down, in this
short
little
time,
we feel, love, embrace
for what feels like an eternity
in this small amount of time
we connect,
we grow
we become the very things
that old and young alike
wish to be, yearn to be

As the earth spins,
as the stars shine
so bright where the very
angels in the heavens sing a
song, a song of rejoice
and love, as
the comets pass by with that
feeling of compeletion,
as the essence of two
becomes one
in a frozen moment
we live an eterenitys worth
in a frozen moment
we reach the peek
of our dreams
in a frozen moment
there is no doubt
there is no hate
there is no second thoughts
there is only love

makes me think both of napolean, king of the world for a frozen moment, and kinda depresses me because im kinda in one of those funks about love.

AWESOME POEM
i actually saw things while reading that.
only happens when i get really into something.
best ive yet read. better then northwest passage.
(except for dan mcgrew and copybook headings)

Very good. No obvious rhyme scheme or easily traceable pattern, but who said you ever needed that stuff?

FREEVERSE!!

I cannot do this for you,
Though I will lend a hand.
I cannot fight your battles,
But with you I will stand.
Only you can make the decision,
I can merely give advice.
It is your life and your call,
So you must pay the price.
I will walk the miles with you,
Though I must follow and not lead.
I will not let you fall behind,
But you must set the speed.

“What help is this?”, you may say,
“To aid but never do?”
And to this I must respond,
“It has always been up to you.”

“What you have begun, you must end;
I cannot do this for you, friend.”





…meh