Discussion in 'THREAD ARCHIVES' started by Jack Shade, Feb 13, 2010.

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  1. On Banks of Still and Deathly Chant

    On banks of still and deathly chant
    I hold your shoe in claws too hungry
    to let go.
    And though the river Styx roars its lullaby
    of croaking whispers,
    “Sleep, sleep, sleep.”
    I can only feel fingers, closed around my index.
    You pulled it then, and tugged away my heart
    to use as your coffin pillow.
    Did it lull to slumber with its steady beat?
    The Boatman stares his wooden eyes, his ferry paused for one last soul
    I give him your shoe which,
    in absent thoughts, you left at the edge of his river.
    I thought you might want
    your left foot to be warm down here.

    Math Class

    The tangent of y swims lazy circles, swindling the X from its spotlight debut. Hexagagons and vertices cross bareback pastures pointlessly. Commentary, possibly upon the waking consciousness. So spinning stars rise up from letters, harsh edged soldiers, members of a lawless order censored to an end result of equals. Brain throbbing, I spin stories of curves and twisted lines no Mathematician dare speak. Triangles neck with circles, squares too well behaved for polygons…a rhombus murders cylinders but I’m far too gone to care. The inverse of the status quo is too much logic, rightly so I spin an answer none could learn save those who see with colored eyes. But in the end I spell no words, they are only numbers on a board.

    An Arizona Highway

    The black river runs toward the distant sky.
    White snowflake stars are suspended,
    peppering the velvet heavens.
    Bright lights, like nocturnal eyes,
    blaze from my Stratus
    as I follow the onyx canal
    toward the hidden horizon.
    The radio
    whispers its static sentences
    in a monotone mantra
    while Sleep
    caresses my senses.
    Cacti stiffly signal me to stop,
    their prickly arms frozen in warning.
    But the taunting shadows ahead
    bid me chase them
    to find what lies beyond.
    So I drive,
    between worlds of gloom
    The midnight desert on either side,
    weary and worn with age,
    never changes. It is as if God
    had but one color left to paint.
    My eyes pity not the mundane sand,
    nor the cacti forever frozen here.
    They pity the laughing shadow,
    For though it plays
    Its game of chase with my car,
    Morning dawn shall stifle its life
    Before it had a chance to truly live
    And then the only darkness shall be this road
    This black river rising toward the distant sky

    The Fall of Love

    I asked Lust once,
    If he was Love, for I saw no other.
    And laughing, he proudly replied
    That he killed Love a long
    Time ago.
    When I did not believe, he
    Said to me,
    “The proof is all around you,
    Changing through history like
    ripples on a pond.”

    What once were sonnets,
    Serenaded to balconies
    By fire cheeked men
    To women whose hearts
    Beat in time to seconds
    are now a hallmark cards,
    valuable as cheap wine,
    and with all the poetry of a limerick

    What once was the devotion
    of knightly chivalry,
    Sword clutched in one hand,
    A lacey favor of
    Scented cloth in the other,
    Now are courtroom fiascos.
    Wars for possessions
    Like hungry dogs snapping
    At each others bones,
    Televised as comedy
    Broken bonds entertainment for the
    Gossiping masses.
    “Till death do us part,”
    possessing no power
    to the whims of desire and
    the corruption of conflict.

    Some wonder,
    Where Love has gone
    and if she abandoned
    this world.
    But I know. She
    was murdered long ago,
    feebly grasping at Lust’s
    dagger rising from her heart.
    And now, we cannot even remember
    what she looked like.

    Improvements for Paradise

    Heaven decided
    to upgrade its operations
    because the souls of today
    might find heaven too old-fashioned.

    Thus God decreed,
    He would no longer be known as God
    but God 6.0, an improved version of himself.
    ‘more omniscient and more omnipotent’
    then before.
    His angels followed next,
    heavenly swords sheathed
    to make way for stun batons
    of divine wrath.
    Wings were kept to impress the new souls
    with a fuel conservation transportation plan.
    Celestial trumpets were laid aside for electric guitars
    hooked up to sub woofers and amplifiers.
    Now instead of fanfare
    Righteous power cords echo throughout the skies

    The fashion code of heaven
    has been relaxed.
    Halos are now baseball caps
    White robes were traded for white power suits
    and leather sandals play second harp
    to sports shoes designed for style and flash.

    Mary wrote a book
    called How to Raise a Savior.
    It’s now the bestseller in heaven
    just under The Bible.
    Jesus picked up rapping
    converting ancient bible verse
    to hip hop rhythm.
    He says if it’s the Word
    it should at least be the rhythmic Word.

    Souls are asking, if there is more to come
    and God hints
    at a God 6.5
    but it’s still in developmental stages.
    The Yahwii is soon be released at gaming stores
    with the much awaited first person shooter
    based on the battle of heaven,

    Prayers are now answered
    via instant message system,
    but God 6.0’s away message
    always seems to be up.

    It declares in bold letters, “Out for the moment, don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

    The News this Morning

    Backwater traditions in the news of the future
    So-called preachers with their faith set in gold
    The lies and the slander of a world convoluted
    Ride’s piggyback to children’s attack on the old

    The lash aftermath is the wrath of the chastised
    A currency system of ideals for blood
    Screams of the sexual pent up in a bottle
    As the towers of forefathers are ground down to mud

    The prophet of Christians finds his flock all a scattered
    As government churches buy faith with their stocks
    An economy built on the backs of the homeless
    Spurred on by ticking from out of date clocks.

    The scythe of the reaper is the spin of the papers
    News now determines the right and the wrong
    Usurping the power from the reign of their kings
    As evolution finds science the brawn of the strong

    The pied piper pipes but his targets aren’t rats
    His puppets dance stupid to the tune of his flute
    He works for the network, he lives in your speakers
    The brain proven easy for his notes to pollute

    Dusk will rise sooner as the world is spun back
    The hamsters all turning the wheel wear ties
    Fed on the flesh of their dearly departed
    They run on forever, never pause to ask why

    Leopard fur coats are the hide of the trodden
    Roses on skin equal death in the lungs
    So the poor hold the color the rich never sighted
    Green in their flesh and blue in their tongues

    A planet takes cold pills and swallows down whisky
    Commercials assure it will wake up in peace
    As nuclear cancer pairs with aerosol measles
    And prepares the new corpse for the day of the feast

    A new dying horde eats to recall its purpose
    But find it too far and go back to the fold
    Ancestors bartered for brand name imposters
    A nation turned sour and covered in mold
  2. Elements

    You are familiar with my work I assume,
    The canyons and caves molded over countless years
    My pace was slow, but none can rival my art
    I live within the air you breath,
    The sky above and the land below your feet
    I am endlessly consumed, willingly I add,
    And am slow to anger
    But my wrath is terrible.
    I speak of relaxation, of sleep, and recovery
    I speak of healing and second chances
    I am the gentle parent, ever guiding
    Take comfort in my cool embrace
    For I am in no hurry.

    * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

    I destroy all by existing
    Born in brilliance I live in fury
    Do not test me or I will consume you as well!
    For my body is my mouth
    And I leave only ash in my wake
    I speak of adrenaline, instinct, and impulse.
    I speak of death, destruction, and doom
    I speak of anger and rage
    For I live within your blood
    I am your desire to live
    I am traitor and friend
    I do not regret
    As my lifetime is measured in moments

    * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

    My travel is endless
    I have leapt from painted rocks
    I have flown across deep oceans
    And descended into valleys like fingerprints in the earth
    I have dwelt in secret places
    Shrieked among your mountains of glass and steel
    And tousled your hair.
    I speak of curiosity like lightning in your mind
    I speak of joy and freedom echoed in your voice
    I speak of movement, your body never truly still
    I speak of mistakes worth making
    I am the glint in your gaze
    I am the intrigue in your smile
    Many have tried to tame me
    But one has yet to catch me

    * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

    I was old when life was young
    Eternally dancing, I spin
    I have been called Gaia, Mother, and the shell of a turtle
    I reside beneath the shadowy depths of seas
    Or high above your eyesight, reaching toward the sky
    I am the sand so hot and dry
    And the soil cold and damp
    I hide my secrets within my skin
    I am shaped into your statues, your buildings, and your tools
    But I am kind and voice no opposition.
    I speak of the silent power within your form.
    I speak of determination, of tenacity, of endurance
    I speak of beliefs held firm and tight
    I speak of friendship, of love,
    I speak of age and acceptance
    I speak of a quiet grave
    I am the granite in your clenched teeth
    I am the firmness of your bones
    I am the muscle of your stance
    I am your stubborn will
    Do not listen for me with your ears
    For I speak in rumbles through your feet

    * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

    We are the elements, ancient and eternal.
    We are the balance in your humanity
    We are the battle of your emotions
    We are the world around you
    Seek not to run from us
    But understand us
    Learn our ways
    and be whole.

    Late Night Musings

    Whimsical thoughts like errant clouds skitter across my mind,
    Painting my imagination shades of transparent pandemonium

    Eyes blink a rat tat tat drumbeat to fight the inevitable swarm
    Of shadows slithering like serpents take my sight.

    Heart never ceases his tireless tenacity but body sinks,
    A deflated balloon masquerading as a man and losing its illusion

    Bleak caress of silk to feather the air
    Between the height of the top and the bite of the turf

    Those who fear falling should never sleep
    Those who fear landing should never wake

    Intelligence leaks elaborate designs of kaleidoscope landscapes
    As camera recreates zebra colored memories on forced film long forgotten

    Deeper drift to depths much darker as eyes flutter
    Peaceful poison spreads like dark threads to bind my body down

    Sleeping is to die within the darkness
    And waking is to rise within light
  3. ...


    I WANT A GOD 6.0!!!!!!!
  4. I remember

    I remember the yellow table that cracked my head when I was six, we still used it to color pictures
    I remember my hermit crab, but not his name. His claw fell off and he lost the will to live
    I remember car rides that sunk into slumber
    I remember the time I hunted fireflies with my neighbor, it was dark in the copse of woods outside my house and so I did not see the hive. I remember the pain and fear I was being made into honey
    I remember Mary, the girl I went to play with on Tuesdays
    I remember rolly polly city, and how they all died
    I remember creek walks for miles and the giant goldfish we found in a swimming hole.
    I remember the albino beaver gnawing wood outside my window, he was taller than me.
    I remember greelyboos, and how I thought I saw them everywhere
    I remember third grade, but not second or fourth
    I remember the whale we made in seventh grade and how the helicopter circled it like a hungry hawk
    I remember aliens, they sped past my window late at night
    I remember Halloween but I don’t remember Easter
    I remember that time my dad hit me on the head with a rock and killed me…but I was fine the next morning
    I remember Christmas morning…but not the presents.
    I remember when I was invisible for a day and the days after
    I remember the kickball to my head, I had been reading a book too close to the ‘goal-line’
    I remember playing blacktop football and being passed the ball, I outran four kids and scored a touchdown. They called me Zig Zag after that
    I remember four square, but not playing it.
    I remember being slapped by that annoying twin Will…I slapped him back without thinking and ended up in trouble.
    I remember breaking the plate after dinner, Mom and Dad yelled at me…sharks were on the discovery channel.
    I don’t remember Disney Land… only the gum on the ground
    I remember Veera, our nanny, and how my brother locked us outside to eat Oreos. She always watched sitcoms and we watched cartoons.
    I remember football, and how I stepped over the line early and lost a champion game…Coach had told me I had one play to do well.
    I remember being invited to a birthday party, only I wasn’t…they made a mistake.
    I remember writing poems to the pretty girls in class, and I remember their smiles…but I don’t know why I stopped
    I remember my stories always went over six pages
    I remember the rabid mouse in eighth grade, and how it killed the gentle one. The teacher passed around its corpse so we could say something special. It was wrapped in tinfoil.
    I remember eighth grade, and seventh grade…but fifth and sixth seemed like one year on their own.
    I remember being taller than the Spanish teacher.
    I remember reading Richard the third for theater, but not knowing it was Shakespeare
    I remember the school campus, and how it seemed like a college
    I remember the fan club the upper classmen made for me, it lasted a week
    I remember the words to the song, but not the dance.

    Words (sonnet)

    Meaning bends over backwards to prepare for the end times
    Dictionaries change from literal truth to mere guidelines
    The mismatched toothed gangsters pause to spit slang in their word rhymes
    As the power of speaking frays at the seams and unwinds

    Gone now are mighty battalions of shattering speeches
    Slogans, mottos, and oaths once holding nations together
    Now but cast aside burning as youth learn what slang teaches
    Lessons built upon statutes of brevity measured

    Thus I call you for rampage, revolution uprising
    We’ll tear down these poorly built meanings and rebuild the Word
    For there’s nothing that triumphs without someone devising
    a plan of counter rebellion to combat the absurd

    Without definitions to fuel our debates and our calls
    We are not people or culture…we are nothing at all.

    Usurping God (Sestina)

    Old days, dead days we stood thirty strong on the thorns of an iron rose
    Long grown from nettle cradles we crawled past childhood to become a man
    “The land is barren” Preacher said “No good will come of it” but as he spoke
    a raven feather dusted his shoulder and we knew he spoke a lie
    We buried him with his religion, headstone wrought of shattered faith
    And expectations too shriveled to feed our sluggish dreams

    Some say God sits silent… asleep upon his alabaster throne and dreams
    of Adam, Eve, and Eden that was, a star plucked and planted, a rose
    to lay upon crafted world. But forked tongue sermons ruin faith
    and magic apples should never have been hung within the reach of man
    With gritted fangs of constellations, God bit his tongue and told a lie,
    banishing his progeny “To live and die in work and pain” or so he spoke

    Like God we conjure life from nothing, kissing crops to life from raindrops and so I spoke
    “This will be our Eden.” I said it and it was, a breath of hope within each man and dreams
    to soften any child’s fear. One hundred rows of seeds we thrust beneath the dirt to lie,
    to sleep as new life often does, before it knows it lived at all, We rose
    exhausted each dawn to dusk to prove that we were gods of man
    not some deific peeping Tom on which no man should place his faith

    With tiny fists of verdant emerald, we were rewarded for our faith
    And for shame we drank and spoke of harvest, spoke of riches, spoke
    of reaping. We thrust our expectations into the throats of thirty men
    and glut out hearts with indolence. We did not wake at dawn but rose at noon
    to sate our dragging pride and in two weeks we found the earth was apt to lie

    Before two weeks had passed creation crept to death, half our crops would lie
    upon their gravel beds and die without a sound, stillborn with their untested faith.
    Thirty men strong we stood upon those iron thorns to watch the genocide, this desert rose,
    Our Eden smote upon the ground. There was no dirge to mark their passing, no one spoke
    a word. Humbled to our nettle cribs we watched a raven feather drift to touch our dreams
    with fire hardened will, settle there and multiply within each and every man.

    Fear of hunger our Ambrosia, chipped ideals fed the earth anew and every man
    held in his heart the truth of God. Without monitoring creation, we only lie
    to ourselves, assuming trust is born of skin and flesh or that faith
    grows naturally. “This wasteland will be our home” I spoke
    with a cracked smile, “We will create in it the Paradise of our Dreams”
    Thirty men grinned and cheered, a lullaby for our sleeping infants, Our Iron Rose

    By sweat of man, not God, we grew our Eden in good faith
    Lies of wasteland wasted on our ears, we defied the words they spoke
    and dared to shod our spades with dreams, and we found life within the Iron Rose
  5. Whoa, I love all of this!

    I like "I Remember" a lot, it's very touching.
  6. Can you post more, please?
  7. Massacre in the Fields

    At dawn they stand ten hundred strong.
    Straight backs of golden vigor
    they watch their foe in solemn silence.
    As one they sway but move no inch
    And wind, their taskless master,
    Carries whispers in the ranks.
    Defending home with armless honor
    they fall to death’s cruel scythe.
    Discarded on the earth they knew as children.
    We pity not their broken bodies,
    their bravery unnoticed.
    We grind their bones to make our bread
    and wait for them to grow again.
  8. :3 In response to the latest poem, I love how you personified death and the wind. I also noticed some repetition with 's' and 'st' in the words stand, strong, straight, solemn, silence, sway, and scythe. Most of these words and the personification of death help enforce the seriousness of the poem. I thought "Massacre in the Field" was pretty good. I'm guessing you were talking about appreciating soldiers or martyrs in general who die for us?
  9. :P Actually I was talking about harvesting wheat XD

    But thank you for your helps to know what other people think of my poems, or the message they gain from it.
  10. I feel special now @.@;. I just realized it because of the whole make our bread. Whoopsy~. However, either way I get the message that things shouldn't just be taken for granted.
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