Poetry, maybe?

[Flagg]

Here's a little something I wrote a few weeks ago... It doesn't really have a title, so I'll just call it...

Fun With Rhyming

No doubt be had or fact be found,
We’ll spend time jumping out of the ground.
Play little secrets with the whole world ‘round.
If you dig deep, you might pass the pound.
Banjo goldwheat making richest sound,
Folkier dancing atop the driest mound.

Plod the land in a well-worn boot,
Look low and high to score some loot.
Ranting for hours to point out moot,
Answers found on the strings of a flute.
Looking over shoulder to flee the hoot,
Looking underfoot to spot the newt.

Deep in the sand lays meager boon,
Try and try but don’t find it soon,
It all tastes better at half past noon.
Across the swamp is a calling loon,
Escaped from her cage using a spoon,
Now flapping white wings under a silver moon.

The smoky room reeks of haze,
Hiding secrets of long-gone days,
Never succumbing to the better ways,
Always finding out who plays.
In the distance a freemare neighs,
Sending the darkness into a maze.

Can you break but never bend?
Can you give but never send?
Can you play but not pretend?
Can you fix but never mend?
Can you tear but never rend?
Can you guard but never fend?

Burst forth at last with leap and bound!
Draw deep strength from fondest root,
Fly high above with bright balloon.
Weep for all who heed delays,
For them it’s already the end.

[Wolfy]

Oooooo...nice. But flutes don't have strings. ^_^ Very good, I like it!

[Flagg]

Oh, but don't they? ...OK, maybe not. But I can pretend! : D
Thanks, I'm glad you liked it.

[Awakened]

I liked it too! Good work Flagg. If you make more than please share.

[Flagg]

Well, if you insist. ; ) I wrote this one a few weeks ago.

Stormclouds


We sit still at the fireplace, telling tales told before.
The storm clouds drip down our high chimney, spilling ‘cross the floor.
Our tea is warm and faces bright, but there’s everything that’s not right.
We’re long delayed in flight, now sunk deep in thick plight.
Starlight seen by us so bright, we’ve gazed on it at our height.
Gave all we had for just a bite, trading in the tail of a kite.
How could we run into our night?

The storm clouds raise, soak us in thunder,
our misplaced hopes dashed, torn asunder.
Still we smile and turn our face from the woe;
We could strike to kill, yet ignore the foe.
When they are done with us, where will they go?
What horrors wait for others to know?
Who will stay safe in the sun’s soft glow?
Not us, not us, already low.
We can’t escape this stream’s still flow.

The sun is set, the night is near;
the storm clouds reach the chandelier,
Do not join, drawn by cheer.
Leave us dead, dying, dear.
It’s far too late I fear.
The storm clouds are all here.

[Awakened]

Neat! How long does it usually take you to write these poems? I used to write poetry a lot but fell out of the habit when my old computer crashed. I will start writing again and when I come up with something pretty good I will share.

[Flagg]

Hm... That's a tough question to answer. Usually I write the basic skeleton in about 15-20 minutes, which is mostly worried about rhymes and basic flow. But then I go back and mess with it a little, fixing syllable count and making sure the language is saying what I want it to say.
...I'd say I probably haven't spent more than 45 minutes on anything I've done.

Woo-hoo! The more poetry, the merrier. : D

[Flagg]

Senseless Oblivion

Rain drips down the gutter, drowns the lane below.
Where is its home?
Granted, we can’t all lock our doors,
But the stranger is always knocking.

Look both ways before you leap.
Lights off in the stairwell
Only adds to the mood.
Dead mystery waits at the bottom.

There is pressing fascination
With senseless oblivion.

Everyone can’t stop noiseless talking,
Digging deep into all the pores.
Let’s write a poem.
Maybe it will tell us where we can all go.

Called them out, did the same, a bum.
Self-serving attitude.
Pride brought out when they fell.
What I sow, I shall now reap.

If only oblivion
Could eat my fascination.


I wrote that one when I was pretty ticked at myself for something. One of the better times to write poetry, if ya' ask me. : )
Oh, and it does rhyme... You just have to read it right. ; D

[Dundee]

How the heck does 'leap' rhyme with 'mood'?! Pretty good, I think it translates the mood nicely, if only I understood what you were talking about.

[Flagg]

Oh fine, I'll explain it. : P The rhyming part, anyway!

A
B
C
D

E
F
G
H

Y
z

D
C
B
A

H
G
F
E

Z
Y


Not sure if I can explain exactly what it means myself, sorry!

[Flagg]

Rhapsody in Gray


Symphony of rustling leaf requiems freshest love.
Spring’s waxing blossom plucked short by autumn’s cold glove.

You are the girl in the gray mask, the one that I sought.
Who can count the stars we watched or fireflies we caught?

Our love was deep and melancholy, I drank deep every minute.
What’s better alone than having our dream is truly being in it.

We’d sit inches apart by moonlit stream,
sweet low mist playing its overture theme.

The masses will laugh, call our love a game.
But what we have, dear, doesn’t have a name.

Forever and always I will be your guide.
Forever and always you will be by my side.

Daylight births dreams of marriage, white gown walking down the aisle.
We’ll stand together, found guilty of love at our trial.

Lopsided walks beside, below sapphire.
Dance on the sand to paced lute and lyre.

Cocoa by the fire, safe in our chair, warmed by each log.
We’re protected from the outside and its crashing fog.

Your warm auburn locks spill softly through the ages.
A glance from your emeralds fills ten thousand pages.

I will write you poems, dear, and sing sweet serenade.
Our love, like the deep set ice, can never fade.

God above, only this I ask;
To see again Girl Graymask.

[Flagg]

Whoo, it's been awhile since I've written something. Well, something I feel like sharing, anyway. ; D Anywho, hope ya' like it.



Rat Race

Ever lost in the rush.
Never stopping, never breathing,
Never loving, never feeling.
To acquire a pile,
Amass a horde,
Pass Go and win it all,
All will be offered
To the bottomless trash god.

Without question the march is on.
Conquest is essential,
Conquest is impossible.
With each decapitation
Comes recapitulation
And mass augmentation
Of undying ambition
That all of earth’s lusts
Cannot hope to quench,
But only hope to laud.

Fearless soldier passes plastic,
Charges the company with the crime
Of giving a caffeine fix.
Countless hours of an unpushed swing
Given in reverence to the unattended meeting.
PowerPoint holds sway over the mind,
With charts and graphs cutting through all.
Zombies forever yawned.

And ever above,
So beautiful it hurts,
Blazes fearless blue.

[Milky the Man]

I got one:

I am a Poet.
And I know it.


HELL YEAH!

[aermis]

... I thought the line about finding answers on the strings of a flute was like saying 'you can't find the answers.' Beautiful poems, by the way. I really liked the first one. It had a folk-songy feel to it.

[Flagg]

Hm... Honestly, I can't remember what was going through my head when I wrote that, except that it rhymed. ; ) I suppose that since that's my "ramblin' man" stanza, the interpretation would make sense. One who rambles rarely has the answers they want, which is why they ramble! Not that they don't find answers... They just don't find the ones they expect, and the ones they find don't make sense.

Thanks for the compliment. : ) I suppose my stuff is bound to sound at least a bit folky, though not always conciously, since most of my exposure to poetry is via folk music.

[Flagg]

OK, OK, so I know I'm double posting, and I know this isn't about poetry, but I didn't want to make a whole new thread.

I was hoping to get some thoughts on a little something I wrote. It's in the June 27th update of wils-the-pirate.livejournal.com/ It's a little more than 4 pages long, so not too very long.
...You can also read the other story there, though it's a bit longer. Any thoughts on that would be nice too.

[Seth Asathi]

Flutes don't have strings, but what of lutes?

[Flagg]

Ah, but then I'd have to rhyme lute with loot. While techinically OK... I just don't know if I'd be able to sleep at night. I mean, that "lew" sound twice. *shudders* It'd haunt me all my days.

[Deraymou]

I wake each day and put on a mask
He rolls out of bed and into a cask
She combs her hair and slices her skin
We all turn up present, with an unyielding grin

I tear off my mask, gasping for breath.
He cracks open another, toasting his death
She screams at herself, Anger wards sorrow
Falling asleep, to start over tomarrow


Irnoically I got no reason to be on a morbid streak right now. Got nothing sad or upsetting.
Yet I can't seem to roll out a single joyous verse!

[Deraymou]

They say Love is a passionate fire.
I've always disagreed
I would think it's more like a block of ice.
Fire consumes, it draws energy from what's around it to grow.
Ice doesn't consume all around it, though it may take a little bit to help itself grow.
Fire is wild and uncontrolled, or if controlled, it soon dies if every effort isn't used to carefully and tediously care for it.
Ice is controlled by its own accord. Little is needed to keep it in tact; just a cool temperature.
Fire cannot be shaped, again, it is wild and uncontrollable
Ice can be carved into something more beautiful then it was.

A fire will always die at soem point. It may take an eternity, but all fire will burn out.
Ice can persist, for a million trillion eternities. It requires naught but its own form to persist.

And were a fire to die, what does it leave behind but ashes and desolace? A fertile ground, if you're lucky.
If ice is to melt, what does it leave behind? Life-giving waters...

(mreh, this was gonna be longer but the hour is young so i must retire to bed!)