Poetry by me
This is a pretty basic outline of outline for you what I think of when I'm editing one of my writings. The five basic qualities of which are:
(This used to be on my main page, so if you've read it already, you can skip it. You may want to read the second part that's new though.)
-Discovery of sanity: alot of people seem to think that me, my writing, and other poets are, to say the least, out of the realm of sanity. To me, however, these are my routes to keep me from that very thing. I'm not saying that without writing I would go crazy, it'd just be a bit more stressful for me.
-Microcosms: or very small worlds all of themselves. In a drop of water, there is a microcosm composed solely of single celled organisms. In my writings, I try to create a world in which nothing else matters. I don't always succeed, but I do try.
-Pith and Marrow- the heart and soul, I try and make the reader feel what I feel. I try and not be a detached spectator, like I did say, I try.
-The statistic of one- The statistic of one is speaking specifically. The reader cannot connect to the story if you are too vague.
-Contours and connections- this is when I journey out of my microcosms and make allusions and similies that have nothing to do with the rest of the small world that it resides in.
I've noticed that many people do not know how to read poetry to get the most out of it. The first thing is that poetry is a sound based structure, and to hear it, it must be spoken. Many teachers and poets that I've known suggest reading each one out loud to yourself, the only problem there is that if you're not alone, others may assume you don't have too much left in the upper room. The easy solution is to read it when you're alone, either that or learn not to care.
Also, do not pause at the end of each line unless there is punctuation. This doesn't always work as many poets (ee cummings...?) who could care less about the english language and it's restrictions. But, I won't get started there, the point here is to read each sentance as that, a sentance, a whole unit. Pause at punctuation, normally but not nessicarily at the end of a line. Thanks for stopping by, make sure to check out my other pages too.
Storm
Journey to Nowhere
Itinerant I presented this one to my teacher shortly after I wrote it; she told me I was a psycho. Oh well.
Untitled Just read it, will you?
Why do I care?
No Matter What There's no way out.
Sleep in the forgetfulness of all ills.
The Song of a Soul Sent On.
Enemy of the Mind.
Time
Life
My Father's House
Psuedo-Italian Sonnet
Storm
All creatures stir
A storm's about!
Feathers, skin, and fur
All ripple through a thunder shout.
Lightening strikes;
An oak tree falls.
Squirrels pounce
Upon thin air
And field mice dash
From here to there
Racing through limb and leaf,
The demon wind challenges belief.
Horses run their banners
In the race towards barn and home.
The clouds carry a liquid club;
Beating whole fields into submission.
They pray for mercy upon bended knee.
Soon, the moon shines bright.
The clouds' strings hum.
The silence would overwhelm,
But for the retreating war drums.
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Journey to Nowhere
On my way there,
I want to know everything that has never been discovered.
I want to do all that hasn't even been thought of.
I want to be all that is extinct.
I want to see everything that is invisible.
I want to unite all that is divided.
I want to love all that is evil.
I want to die by the hand of a friend.
I want to live with all which is not.
This, however, cannot happen,
On my journey to nowhere.
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Itinerant
I am this century's itinerant!
I will travel to tutor the world.
I will teach the children to fear and suspect.
I will show the skeptics that we are small.
We, as a race, have little to offer.
I will tell the disbelievers that we are weak.
We, as a species, have nothing to give.
We are essentially defenseless.
Live for the day! Be for the moment!
I am the professor to the wealthy;
I am the teacher to the indigent.
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Untitled
I shall neither speak nor breathe your name.
Within the act, within the sound, the prisoner is grief.
A single lonely tear burns a path full of shame.
Cold thoughts, warm feelings, dwell there in the silent heart of mine.
Our passion died quickly, our peace followed alone.
In our brief time together - can our joy or bitterness cease?
Pentinent are we, apologies flying with the wind's last drone.
Will we fly together again? Can you hear me? Do you care?
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Why do I care?
Why should I care
If I am stating
The correct academic thing?
Why should I care
If you are pentinent
Or just a pompus jerk?
Why should I care
If a catastrophie brings
The world to a violent crash?
Why do I care?
I care because
I have already forgiven,
No matter what you are.
I care because
I am a resident
As good as any other.
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No Matter What
Come, you will be smothered by shadows.
Go, you will be swallowed by swarms.
Stay, you will fall into a great abyss.
Whatever shall you do?
Look down, you will fall to your knees.
Look ahead, you will be murdered by lovers.
Look up, you will drown in your own tears.
Whatever shall you do?
Walk, you will walk away from life.
Run, you will run into trouble.
Crawl, you will be given a fate worse than death.
Whatever shall you do?
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Sleep in the Forgetfulness
Sleep in the forgetfulness of all ills.
Live without fear or regret.
Come and join me in the hills;
Come, run with the pack.
Run with me and make the kills.
Then lay to sleep, lay down,
And dream of love and thrills.
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The Song of a Soul Sent On
That pregnant moment
In which all is sublime
Where grey turns to gold
All which was known is now lost to time.
Pain turns to gentle carresses.
Lonliness will pass, the end will begin;
Words will not be present
Only the music, that of the 'cello and violin.
Melody will soar to beautiful heights,
Low 'cello rumbles, then sighs in the end.
All in a swift stroke, this turns to full orchestra.
Horns and then brass, strings and then wind.
It all flows to a climactic chord.
Cymbals crash just in time
For the oboe to take up a slow, sad solo.
Clarinets join hesitantly, adding metre and rhyme.
Last come the soprano voices,
Song's as the mockingbird's full throated.
Gently and triumphantly rising,
Then held to the end of the preformance forever noted.
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Enemy of the Mind
Burning of ice
Melts the inner core
A unique kind of fire
Only time can endure
Human, beast, and bird
Burnt to a crisp, sick thing.
For this there is no cure
Every moment a fresh sting.
Enveloped in fear
There's no survival
Here nor anywhere
Can you learn to love this rival.
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Time
Time Travels as the Battle Ship.
Slaughtering unmercifully each day,
One minute, second by second,
Tearing each out in a most torturous way.
The mighty army has never a battle lost.
Once they are opposed, no god dares to approach.
A mighty warrior, trampled as a flower.
More will be taken, no matter the cost.
Each battle is won with ferocity unmatched,
Stealing the youth from sinners and saviors,
In the night, troops are dispatched
To bring on the dawn and wage war in glory.
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Life
This life I've been born to
It's a jigsaw puzzle
Piece by piece, day by day
Uncovering the picture.
Celebrating my passion to dream,
My courage to succeed,
My power of creation
My ability to change the world.
Still mourning the passing of my childhood.
My anger at the one who stole my dream.
I still look at you and wish.
I wish that I'd gone the other way,
Or that you had taken the other road.
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My Father's House
God must live in a mountain,
Where the air is pure
And the water, clean.
So near the stars at night.
God lives on a mountain for sure.
God must live in a city.
A city so full of light
There's no one afraid of the dark
Close to many of His children.
God lives in a city alright.
God must live in a tenement slum.
Full of the downtrodden and poor.
Do to these and you would do unto Him
And the meek shall inherit the Earth.
The slums hold up God's front door.
God must live in a child.
Where innocence and trust are all you see.
All her heart shines as from each dream she awakens;
Her joy flies for every new friend.
Lord, please let that child be me.
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Psuedo-Italian Sonnet
How is it that you tell someone
What it can be like to die?
Body breathes but just to say goodbye
Your corpse walks still, but life is done.
So much pain, but soon there's none.
Chained to the Earth, oh but to fly!
Nothing's left, why bother to try?
How do you explain this to someone?
Your own soul dies as others burn.
Your eyes have run out of tears.
Father, brother, and friend all gone.
This feeling is not something one must learn
But what you are. You've no more fears
They've all been fulfilled. I'm dead and I'm gone.
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