ReindeerRoger
Raven
Joined: Feb 19, 2012
Posts: 119
Location: Toronto, Canada
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 Posted: Mon Mar 19, 2012 1:16 am Post subject: |
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| Quote: | . . .
In the end
It does not matter
The mirror broke
Cracked in two
Long before you gazed longingly
In my direction
It was over
Before you ever had a chance
. . .
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Oh, I like that one. You could choose a couple of your favourite stanzas from it and they'd make good song lyrics.
I especially get the broken mirror line . . . because up until a point, people tend to be attracted to a version of themselves they can find in a new relationship, and if that image breaks it can really strain the relationship. And the role of the other person is alot like a mirror . . . like, they don't want to be interpreted, or commented on, they just want someone to bounce themselves of of to validate themselves. The 'mirror' person doesn't really become a person until they break this pattern, and suddenly the relationship is a different thing all together . . . there are suddenly two people in the room, nothing has been established. (I'm generally the self-centred as*hole in this situation TBH.)
Umm, the recognition made me sad for a bit so I knew it was a good poem. - R |
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TeaEarlGreyHot
Your Maya
Joined: Jul 05, 2010
Age: 30
Posts: 28106
Location: California
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| Posted: Mon Mar 19, 2012 2:00 am Post subject: |
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Thank you. This one actually is going to be a song. I just have to work out the melody and see how it fits together.
I find your interpretations of the cracked mirror interesting. 
_________________
Do you bury me when I'm gone?
Do you teach me while I'm here?
Just as soon as I belong
Then it's time I disappear |
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pete_dystopia
Tufted Titmouse
Joined: Mar 09, 2012
Posts: 29
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| Posted: Sun Mar 25, 2012 3:43 am Post subject: Words and sounds bleeding into each other |
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A ruthless pretense of kindness tricks me into believing,
That this is not an enforced intervention.
Wheeled along the polished floors,
A smothering sense of familiarity,
Embraces even the decay of poverty.
Images that warp our understanding of decency,
A silent propulsion of knowledge thrust into being,
The skin of a dream that breaks with embodiment,
Try to divert the knife even though it has already lascerated,
Discipline only sensitizes the pain we must inflict upon ourselves,
To seize the only power we are allowed to wield,
Simultaneous revolt and enslavement,
A delicate futility, both enchanting and deadly. |
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OuterBoroughGirl
Deinonychus
Joined: Oct 03, 2009
Age: 32
Posts: 356
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| Posted: Sun Mar 25, 2012 10:16 pm Post subject: |
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Vapor
A lone spiral of vapor
Making its slow, silent journey through the sky.
Drifting unnoticed past countless people and buildings.
The people hurry in and out of the buildings, each one more particle in an endless tide of human motion,
Not one stops to acknowledge the spiral of vapor in their midst.
Is there so much as a single person who sees that spiral,
Anyone who knows its there?
Will the subtle changes that vapor brings to its atmosphere one day be felt by others?
Or will it simply spread itself thinner and thinner, losing density until its existence ceases entirely?
_________________
"And I find it kind of funny, I find it kind of sad./ The dreams in which I'm dying are the best I've ever had."
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Feralucce
Phoenix
Joined: Feb 25, 2012
Age: 39
Posts: 864
Location: New Orleans, LA
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TeaEarlGreyHot
Your Maya
Joined: Jul 05, 2010
Age: 30
Posts: 28106
Location: California
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| Posted: Fri Mar 30, 2012 1:56 am Post subject: |
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Temptation
A bed of roses
Left to wilt
Springs to life
The thorns sharp and plentiful
As if seeking vengeance
The petals so vibrant
Soft and inviting
I am lured
Captivated
Temptation swells
Reaching out I am pricked
But do not pull away
A fire burns
Hot and heavy
Impossible to ignore
_________________
Do you bury me when I'm gone?
Do you teach me while I'm here?
Just as soon as I belong
Then it's time I disappear |
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Anarbaculardrop
Phoenix
Joined: Feb 01, 2012
Age: 16
Posts: 824
Location: Somewhere in the USA...which doesn't really help.
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| Posted: Fri Mar 30, 2012 6:37 pm Post subject: Story Intro |
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Here is the intro from the story I am writing:
Introduction: Dreams
Mormal, a female Jabbernak, who are one of the tallest humaniods of the surface that are not either monsters or immortals, was dreaming about herself walking through a sea of black mist as spiky spires stuck out like dark obelisks of evil gods of old. Rivers of blood flowed hideously from an evil stony mountain. Dead bodies hung in the air as if they were suspended by invisible ropes from invisible trees. Barbed wire was wrapped around their heads and the eyes replaced with glass ones. They made the land smell worse than even the sewers and felt like rough gravel.
Before we get any further into the description of what is about to happen in his dream-scape, we will describe how Jabbernaks look like. They are, on average, around six feet tall. Most have almost completely black eyes with a dot of color, but Mormal has almost completely blue eyes and only a dot of black. They have flat, tiny lips which are always the same color of their skin, rendering them completely invisible to the naked eye. Their skin color ranges from a pale blue to a maroon, and then to a pale gold. They have hoofed feet and long, pointed ears that are parral to the ground. Hair does not cover their body anywhere except for four whiskers, which are long and slightly thick. They have only three fingers, but one of those fingers is an opposable thumb, allowing them to grasp objects and use the same weapons as humans.Instead of nose they have twin nostrils set into the skin half of an inch above their lips.
Now they have been described, we can continue on to what Mormal is doing right now.
She then noticed a man in a conservative black suit with a grizzled face and red bandanna wrapped around his head standing next to her. He is armed with a katana of titanium. By her side as well is her fire druid friend Jalkat ,who is of the same race as her and had a nice dark red skin tone as well as green eye dots, carrying his staff of bronze and brownish red robes. A gaseous entity appeared. Then a figure arose from the mist; a woman wearing a black dress, with no hair and eyes aglow with yellow light. Four long tendrils sprouted from her back.
Then the others attacked with claw, magic, and sword. She herself took out her crossbow. The being seemed to glance off the attacks to her torso as if they did nothing and kept on fighting until Mormal got the courage to take out her crossbow and aim for the head of the evil being. She succeeded with the task but looked at the corpse in sudden horror. It fell with great vibrating tumors sprouting from it. Then the thing exploded in a mess of yellow, sulfuric ichor.
Then Mormal woke with a start. She looked around and then looked at the clock, a modern digital one. It was 3:00 am. She then relaxed. It was extremely early. She felt a pounding headache.
Her room was made of hazel wood and her bed had blue silk covers with yellow blankets of wool underneath. She has a dresser without doors, and lives on the second floor of a country house nearby the town she works in.
Her dress is green and has two rings that connect the front to the back that are below the neck. It is simple and pretty for daily wear. She chose it because it looked nice with her pale gold skin. Right now it was in the dresser.
Mormal then went back to sleep. It was not the right time to be awake anyway. Nobody wants to wake up that early in the morning. Especially someone who was her age, which is 18 years and half a seasons old. The date is November the twenty-sixth and her life is about to change.
What do you think? Good?
(BTW, is any one a good artist? I would love for some one to draw this dream as a comic.)
_________________
Respond please, I love comments. |
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Anarbaculardrop
Phoenix
Joined: Feb 01, 2012
Age: 16
Posts: 824
Location: Somewhere in the USA...which doesn't really help.
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| Posted: Sat Mar 31, 2012 12:57 pm Post subject: |
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| Feralucce wrote: | | Is anyone here interested in helping workshop a trilogy of urban fantasy novels? |
Hey, I might be able to help with that.
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Respond please, I love comments. |
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puddingmouse
exclamation mark!
Joined: Apr 25, 2010
Age: 26
Posts: 7321
Location: Cottonopolis
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| Posted: Wed Apr 04, 2012 9:17 am Post subject: |
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pond sparkles
ducks glide all day through
shards of sun
_________________
I'm written in a language even I don't understand - but I am learning. |
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puddingmouse
exclamation mark!
Joined: Apr 25, 2010
Age: 26
Posts: 7321
Location: Cottonopolis
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| Posted: Wed Apr 04, 2012 9:19 am Post subject: |
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| OuterBoroughGirl wrote: | Vapor
A lone spiral of vapor
Making its slow, silent journey through the sky.
Drifting unnoticed past countless people and buildings.
The people hurry in and out of the buildings, each one more particle in an endless tide of human motion,
Not one stops to acknowledge the spiral of vapor in their midst.
Is there so much as a single person who sees that spiral,
Anyone who knows its there?
Will the subtle changes that vapor brings to its atmosphere one day be felt by others?
Or will it simply spread itself thinner and thinner, losing density until its existence ceases entirely? |
That's good.
_________________
I'm written in a language even I don't understand - but I am learning. |
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OuterBoroughGirl
Deinonychus
Joined: Oct 03, 2009
Age: 32
Posts: 356
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| Posted: Wed Apr 04, 2012 8:20 pm Post subject: |
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| puddingmouse wrote: | | OuterBoroughGirl wrote: | Vapor
A lone spiral of vapor
Making its slow, silent journey through the sky.
Drifting unnoticed past countless people and buildings.
The people hurry in and out of the buildings, each one more particle in an endless tide of human motion,
Not one stops to acknowledge the spiral of vapor in their midst.
Is there so much as a single person who sees that spiral,
Anyone who knows its there?
Will the subtle changes that vapor brings to its atmosphere one day be felt by others?
Or will it simply spread itself thinner and thinner, losing density until its existence ceases entirely? |
That's good. |
Thank you. I used to write poetry more often. I've mostly fallen out of the habit, but every now and then, inspiration strikes. One of these days, I should try taking it up again for real. I enjoy reading what all of you share here.
_________________
"And I find it kind of funny, I find it kind of sad./ The dreams in which I'm dying are the best I've ever had."
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LennytheWicked
Phoenix
Joined: Oct 23, 2011
Posts: 516
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| Posted: Thu Apr 05, 2012 7:52 pm Post subject: |
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A thing I wrote to read in English class instead of presenting my actual story [which sounded like something that I said had happened]:
| Quote: | Baseball
There are flowers in a vase, a picture in a frame, and the picture is of Uncle Mike when he still had his mustache, before Aunt Pam told him to shave it off or else she wouldn’t kiss him. There are baseball hats and family photos, but it’s a different family every time. It’s not my family, it’s not Morgan’s family, it’s not even Dad’s family.
Dad says it’s because, as children, Mike and Bill and he were split up. They didn’t all live in the same house, because they didn’t all live with their parents. Bill got sent to a neighbor in Chicago, Dad got sent to Michigan with Uncle Jack on a farm. That’s why he says weird colloquialisms like “Pitch a fit” or “Holler.” But I don’t know anything about Mike, and I don’t think it would be proper to ask. Not while everyone’s still grieving.
I hear, in hushed tones, the word ‘suicide.’ I don’t know what it means. I hear them telling stories. “Mom, remember that one summer, when it was your birthday and we all pitched in to get you that porcelain doll, and the guy we bought it from broke it on the way here? Remember that? Mike was so upset...”
Because I can’t imagine that Uncle Mike was ever angry, I infer that he must have cried, and rocked back and forth, and bobbed his head like my brother does when he’s upset. Stepping towards the collection of pictures and objects, I start to touch the picture frames to feel the patterns. Do they have any significance, I wonder?
“Mom, how did Uncle Mike die?”
“He fell off of a building.”
I hear a few hushed groans, and see someone or another roll their eyes. It’s another gesture I don’t quite understand, but I know now that Mike didn’t just fall. I turn back to the pictures. In one of them, Mike is grinning ear-to-ear and wearing a baseball glove on his left hand, and in his left hand is a ball with some writing on it.
He was ecstatic that day - it was his first baseball game. He saw the Cubs play, and he learned about the man with the goat who cursed the Cubs. He would have told his dad, “I love you Daddy,” if ‘Daddy’ had been around for it. But he settled with hugging his prize close to his chest, even as they walked home. Even when he slept, the lights in his eyes never went out.
I look over to the side. I see a picture of Mike in a church, sitting on the pews. He’s a teenager now - he doesn’t do too well in school, but he’s athletic, and no one tries to beat him up, because he can twist their arms behind their back and flip them over his head, even though no one’s ever taught him how. He’s hardly a pedant - he doesn’t care for rules or for books. Some days, he’s not even sure he believes that there’s a god worth praying to. But at least in the church he has a few friends - the boys who joined the choir so they could use the gym every day, and not just on the weekends. He’s got a large, sphere-shaped lump in his pocket, the baseball he caught when he was six or seven. He hasn’t caught another one since, because he doesn’t have money for candy or popcorn or baseball games.
Now my eyes drift to a porcelain doll, with a little crack in her arm that’s been repaired with glue, and when I turn it over I see there’s a written apology on the bottom with Mike’s jagged signature. When Mike picked this out of a catalog, he did it because he thought she looked pretty, like a girl you’d see at a dance and you’d have to bow to before you could take her hand, and you’d have to stand at least an arm’s length away from her until she said it was OK to move closer, even though boys like Mike didn’t bow to girls at dances. Boys like Mike made idiots of themselves trying to impress girls like her. Boys like Mike would bust out moves they’d seen Elvis do, even though Elvis wasn’t popular anymore. He thought his mom deserved to be treated like Mike wanted to treat that doll, even if he wouldn’t actually be such a gentleman.
When the doll arrived with her arm on the wrong side of the box, Mike screamed, cupping his hands around his temples, and then he started to sob quietly. His brothers, reunited with him for Christmas break, called him a baby and slapped him on the back when they saw what was wrong - they thought he’d gotten a letter saying Aunt Susan was dead, or Uncle Jimmy had some sort of voodoo doll of Mike that he was poking with a needle because he didn’t actually know it was a voodoo doll. When Mike tackled Rick - Sorry, tackled Dad - Bill had to pry him off, pleading their contrition. They eventually settled on some super glue, and though there was a crack, Mom - Grandma - was happy for such a beautiful addition to her collection.
And Mom - Grandma - wasn’t easily pleased. She was distant and sometimes cold, and she had wanted a daughter but instead got three sons and a husband who was too drunk to care. My parents think I don’t know why they give separate cups to kids and adults at synagogue, or why I’m not allowed to go to that place near the library that advertises something called ‘Miller’ but I figured it out eventually.
I run my hands over the table to a picture of Mike holding Morgan. She has blond hair, like her mother, but blue eyes like him. And she’s smiling, and her teeth are a little crooked. She’s missing a front tooth, and Mike is wearing a raisin over his. He did this kind of thing a lot, where he would pretend things that happened to Morgan also happened to him. She got a big role in a ballet recital, he got a big role in the circus freak show. She stubbed her toe, gremlins stole Mike’s toe. And Pam rolled her eyes and hugged Morgan, assuring her that Mike would be OK as soon as the brain injury healed.
I come to a picture of Mike hugging a dog - he’s little in this picture. Now I pause as I try to think of this particular story. It’s his first dog, yes, and the dog is licking his face. But I can’t conjure up the dog’s name, or if it’s a beagle or a basset hound, because I can’t see his legs. Or maybe it’s that bad word that means it’s a girl dog, and I can’t see her legs.
For now, I have no choice but to ignore this picture. Instead I look at the baseball on a stand. I can’t read the signature, but now I know that there are a lot of signatures. As I move to touch it, there’s a hand on my shoulder.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to do anything bad,” I squeak, squirming beneath the hand, snapping my arms back to my sides.
“You didn’t do anything bad. You’re not supposed to touch those baseballs.”
I turn around, and I look up. “Why?”
He pauses, and I know that he’s searching for a way to answer this to a seven-year-old girl. Morgan saves him, coming towards me and answering, “Because if you smudge the signatures, you can rub off the magic.”
And even though I didn’t believe in magic, like the Tooth Fairy, or Santa Clause, I nodded solemnly and hugged Morgan. The man, I know now, is my Uncle Bill. And maybe, one day, I’ll learn about his life, at his funeral, through pictures and dolls and baseballs. Or maybe I’ll learn what really happened. |
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TeaEarlGreyHot
Your Maya
Joined: Jul 05, 2010
Age: 30
Posts: 28106
Location: California
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| Posted: Mon Apr 09, 2012 5:09 pm Post subject: |
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Paranoia
I smile through the sadness
Never talk of the pain
Get knocked down
Pick myself up again
I push
Shove
Claw my way
Through the crowd
An endless sea of vultures
Just waiting for their chance
A crack in the armor
A way in
To corrupt
Cause decay from within
I keep my sanity
Under lock and key
As I scratch away
Suppressing the urge to scream
_________________
Do you bury me when I'm gone?
Do you teach me while I'm here?
Just as soon as I belong
Then it's time I disappear |
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Joker
Sinn Fein
Joined: Mar 20, 2011
Age: 24
Posts: 7593
Location: North Carolina The Tar Heel State :)
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| Posted: Tue Apr 10, 2012 2:54 am Post subject: |
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| TeaEarlGreyHot wrote: | Paranoia
I smile through the sadness
Never talk of the pain
Get knocked down
Pick myself up again
I push
Shove
Claw my way
Through the crowd
An endless sea of vultures
Just waiting for their chance
A crack in the armor
A way in
To corrupt
Cause decay from within
I keep my sanity
Under lock and key
As I scratch away
Suppressing the urge to scream |
Wondabar I loved this poem. |
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TeaEarlGreyHot
Your Maya
Joined: Jul 05, 2010
Age: 30
Posts: 28106
Location: California
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| Posted: Wed Apr 11, 2012 6:02 am Post subject: |
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Thank you, Joker.
_________________
Do you bury me when I'm gone?
Do you teach me while I'm here?
Just as soon as I belong
Then it's time I disappear |
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