THWOTH wrote:Are these ode's to Brandy by any chance DvT?

Lust

I trace the contours
of your body
delicately
with my tongue
and drink the sweat between
your breasts
with such joy

I trace the contours
of your body
delicately
with my fingers
exploring
your warm moist inside
while you purr
in soft pleasure

Secrets

Like a proper Santa
I carry a bag
Filled not with presents
But secrets

Most are my own
But some are anonymous

So, hand me your secrets
If they are too heavy to hold

I carry them with ease
For I am the Keeper
of Secrets

So I've been reading Stephen Fry's The Ode Less Travelled and learning all about like meter and shit. And I finally learnt what Iambic Pentameter is! So, one of the exercises (yes, it has exercises) is to write something in Iambic Pentameter, and this is what I came up with:

The Riddler's Game

I've been around and seen it all, perhaps
You might indulge a gal a game I like
To play, a simple game, I give you clues
To try and guess my line of work, and should
Success be yours your prize is naught, but should
You lose I'll take my knife and take an ear.
I'm sure you'll guess correctly, think it through
Take your own time, I'll rush you not I have
The patience of a saint you know, but come
Along, we're wasting time so let's begin!

I might expand on it a bit or something. Like put an actual riddle in there.

Sticks and Stones

These words break backs
- I love you no more-
Make bones shudder.
Marrow leaks from vertebrae to hearts
-bleeds-
Life leaves, fire water draining
Drains lava flows from mouths opened.

Whispers can sound off like shotgun blasts
(this is over, I'm leaving)
Splits ribs, peppers tendered tendons,
Rips muscle, tears tears
From sockets agape.
Wide eyes speak
Volumes of saline solution
Downed flushed fleshed cheeks.

Teeth grind- dull chainsaw blades-
Chew emotion to dust.
These words that hurt:
(I'm seeing someone else)
Cut deeper than sticks or stones
Some syllables cleave like sledgehammers-
To kneecaps and elbows.
Usually land-

Right on the button.

When the smelling salt revives us
We lie

We are still

Never quite the same.

Wiðercora wrote:So I've been reading Stephen Fry's The Ode Less Travelled and learning all about like meter and shit. And I finally learnt what Iambic Pentameter is! So, one of the exercises (yes, it has exercises) is to write something in Iambic Pentameter, and this is what I came up with:

The Riddler's Game

I've been around and seen it all, perhaps
You might indulge a gal a game I like
To play, a simple game, I give you clues
To try and guess my line of work, and should
Success be yours your prize is naught, but should
You lose I'll take my knife and take an ear.
I'm sure you'll guess correctly, think it through
Take your own time, I'll rush you not I have
The patience of a saint you know, but come
Along, we're wasting time so let's begin!

I might expand on it a bit or something. Like put an actual riddle in there.

I think adding an actual riddle would be giving it away. As it is, it's about the character of the riddler, and that's what's interesting about it. Putting a riddle in it would be like calling your album "Frog" then putting a frog on the cover.

Love... the way I lie.

I lie-

Not from a beating heart, bleeding and breaking always
for the cynic in all of us, for the human spirit's relentless wane between birth and death,
but from the bottom of a mind unburdened by feelings of empathy or loss I

hide behind deep mahogany eyes, the ones you whispered
shone through to illuminate my soul which was a dinghy lost at sea, a quiet storm
or the full moon reflected off a placid lake at night.

If I were honest I'd tell you that I only see reflections of myself in others eyes, the world
a pallor shade of something not quite discernible and not quite good; I'd say
the lies I will never convince myself of are the truths you use to fall asleep at night.

You said I was enlightened. You said my mind was beautiful. You said
you wished you could see the world as I do.... The grass is not greener.
The scene from where I'm standing is dim and growing darker.

True love is... and it is truth, and my truth is a world of melancholy grays,
memories of all the things that have ever hurt and a forgiveness in which I hope to claim solace.

My love is: never forgetting that I've been undeserving; rising each morning
in a place devoid of hue or tint only to keep up appearances and expectations;

The beautiful lies I whisper as you drift off to sleep...

The lies I make you believe just to save you from the truth...

To to save you from me.

- because I love you.

felled.

The summer's day sun died; drenched, drowned, felled
beneath golden water of a past fall's horizon;
set. The trees' ephemeral amber leaves. To flames as it expired

autumn's bright seer burned the world a dark and chill,
ever failing to stay the approaching night
beneath. Golden water of a past fall's horizon

strained, swelled, rose to greet winter's ashen moon
who left earth- for a moment- a frozen visage.
Ever failing to stay, the approaching night  

ebbed, revealed spring rains and summer heat before flowing
again to autumn's golden twilight.  That harvest sun,
who left earth for a moment, a frozen visage

in the heavens now it seems, begins once more to wane.
The summer's day- sun-dyed drenched and drowned- felled
again to autumn's golden twilight.  That harvest sun
sets the trees' ephemeral amber leaves -to flame- as it expires.

Here's a wee tribute of sorts to a theory a few of us have been entertaining in the Pseudoscience forum. I hope ye don't mind me reposting it here. Anyway, here it is:

LucidFlight wrote:

EVOLUTION
by a poet

O evolution!
Everywhere I see;
I see it in the stars,
I see it in a tree.

It's written in our minds,
It's written on a bee,
I write it on a napkin,
It is my one decree.

It started with a bang,
One process through and through;
It is the only theory
I will present to you.

Write it with three chevrons,
Each represents a phase:
Physics then biology,
With mind its latest craze.

Worry not of detail,
I'll soon get round to that;
First let's have some rhetoric
While chewing bacon fat.

Lots of words so far, you say,
But where's the detailed science?
No, we're having none of that
Until you show compliance.

"Omnipresence"

Her omnipresence leaves me writhing
My face is numb from all the crying
A line, a laugh, a song we've shared
Thinking of the a time I thought she cared
A time I felt like I was flying
All I feel like now is crying

2 Haikus for Summertime (I don't care what the thread title says)

Butterflies
Flutter by.
Cut grass smell.

Wasps and bees
Sting as they please.
Hurts like hell.

THE VOYAGE HOME.



DUCKING, DIVING, PLUNGING FREE
WHITE TEETH BARED, GRINNING AT ME
FLUID POWER—IT SUCKS AND RAGES
AROUND MY FEEBLE BOAT IT WAGES
WAR -- WAR TO LEFT AND WAR TO RIGHT
SURROUNDING ME WITH LIQUID MIGHT

MY CRAFT OF LIFE IS TOSSED AND BLOWN
BUFFETED INTO SEAS UNKNOWN
I GLANCE BEHIND. I SEE THE ROCKS
OF MEMORY AND I FEEL THE SHOCKS
OF BYGONE SHORES THAT BROUGHT DESPAIR
I KNOW I MUST NOT LINGER THERE

TIDES ARE FICKLE, DRAGGING, GREEDY
GAPING JAWS ALIVE AND NEEDY
YET SOMETHING SURFACES INSIDE
FORTITUDE AND STUBBORN PRIDE
PURPOSE GUIDES MY TREMBLING HAND
AND, ROWING, BRINGS ME BACK TO LAND

WITH BEADED BROW AND PLUNDERED MIND
MY SOLITUDE AND PEACE I FIND
AT LAST ADVANCING YEARS HAVE BLESSED ME
STILL WATERS COMFORT AND CARESSE ME
THE RESTLESS OCEAN FADES FROM SIGHT
I DO NOT FEAR THE COMING NIGHT
FOR IN MY HEART I SURELY KNOW
I’VE WEATHERED STORM AND STRIFE AND WOE
LIFE’S BREAKERS HOLD NO FEAR FOR ME
HERE ON THE SANDS OF HARMONY

I VENTURE FURTHER INLAND YET
I REACH A WATERFALL, A JET
OF CLEANSING CRYSTAL, SPARKLING, BRIGHT
IT BATHES ME, DRAWS ME TO ITS LIGHT
I SURRENDER ALL MY BEING
TO ITS BEAUTY, TO ITS HEALING
POWERS. MY SPIRIT SOARS WITH JOY AND LOVE
CONJURING UP A PURE WHITE DOVE

I BLESS ALL CREATURES BOLD AND MEEK
GREAT AND SMALL, STRONG AND WEAK
PARALLEL ARE ALL OUR LIVES
SUBJECT TO THE FORCE THAT DRIVES
US FROM THE SOURCE THAT DWELLS WITHIN
TO RIDE THE STORM, SOMEHOW TO WIN

I GAZE DOWN FROM MY VANTAGE GROUND
IN GRATITUDE FOR WHAT I’VE FOUND
PEACE AND SWEET SERENITY
IN THIS—MY NEW REALITY.

16TH MARCH, 2012 Myra Shearer.

Michael Stipes: (losing our religion)

Life is bigger- than you; me-

you treading mire
choosing these heavy eyed tragedies over religion

me holding on
so tightly to that comforting distance always-
In my eyes the comedy is that I'm losing
these confessions once spoken-
I say so much under covers throwing
faith at empathetic shadows.

Can't we hear our better demons?

Feel sympathies?

God's abandoned as we protest
a dismal fantasy over Truth- and off our knees
we use cold notions of what's "real"... like fools-
Our ironic hint towards the centuries
as we lose our religion- trading flaws for other flaws

Pretending all the time

God was just a dream.

Hello there fellow writers. High time we dust off the ol' poetry thread I'd say!

I've recently taken a considerable liking toward the triolet. It's a French form, dating from the very exciting 13th century as far as we can tell. Its structure is so beautifully simple and concise, a perfect trap for fleeting thoughts. Anyhow, my attempts are below.


Leave fire to bless the bones
Of self-indulging fools,
Their baying and their groans;
Leave fire to bless the bones
Relented thus to hone 
Sweet martyrdom's salt jewels;
Leave fire to bless the bones
Of self-indulging fools

-

Desire mars the thoughts
Which reason would instill
And binds what sense love sought;
Desire mars those thoughts,
For patience lost its will:
This fever robbed it aught;
Desire mars the thoughts
Which reason would instill

-

Shall I profess to madness,
Little twinkle, little spark?
Could a lie lead me to prowess?
Shall I profess to madness?
Little one, you are so callous;
Shall I fumble in the dark?
Shall I profess to madness?
Could a lie lead me to prowess?

Forgot to post this one when I was still depressed about my ex:



The taste of bitter tears is a strange comfort
My palette is soothed by the remainder of her love
To hurt... to feel... the yearning keeps her half alive
Her ghost lingers
I shout into the void asking "Can I keep you?"
And she floats away; her cold presence lingering still
So I weep.

Life they say, is chemistry writ large
inclined am I, to firmly agree.
Not just for molecules, tiny and trillions
But far beyond, for you and me.

For we too do change, with passing of time
and display no semblance of stubborn sameness
stories we whisper, in ringing rhyme
of what we saw, in powerless witness

Chemistry, you see, has much to teach,
and placate fears of shaky footing,
For new bonds are made, old ones impeached
and time goes on, ticking and tocking.

Indifferent molecules, stuff of stars,
in momentary coalescence, come to be me
and come one fine day, I shall be no more,
but the molecules that made me, will be still.

And so goes the story, analogous still,
when from molecule to molecule, memories are forged
set neurons firing, in frenzy until
with indelibility some bonds are engorged.

And then they go on, hard do they cling
to vestiges of reactions they were once testament to
till they can cling no more, and do their thing,
disappearing forever, into an abyss of forgetfulness.

Constraints of time, constraints of chemistry,
impose futility on remembrance,
but there is hope, of chains of thought,
causing chains of thought, causing chains of thought…

That shall persist and please, push on and protect,
memories dear and impressions of fondness,
that’s all I can ask for
now and for evermore
for chemistry writ large, is what life still is.

Empty, so parched for light
I drink from the ray of yesterday's night
The residual shimmer soothes the restless Djinn
Pounding reserves from the prison within
It feeds from the best of me hidden inside
Promising acquiescence, it endlessly lies
"Come hither! Come forth!" the demon cries
My compliance means death and the time is nigh
"Don't try to resist, for the tiger is dead"
"I killed it, and rest soundly in bed"
The tiger was a cub, but put up a fight
But in the end, it took its life
So innocent and fragile
Yet so strong and agile
Still wasn't enough for the unholy blight

I have to write a poem for one of my assignments in "Communications"

I mean why do we even have Communications? What the flip does it have to do with Comp TIA+, Computer Programming or Computer Arcitecture?

Anyway, we were given a list of five things to bear in mind when writing and to answer before we set about the poem. So here's what I've got.

1) Purpose/Intention

To convey a worldview in the form of a poem ie. rational skepticism.

2) Topic

The triumph of science to the erosion of superstition, agency, anthropocentrism and design in living things.

3) Form

Sonnet.

4) Language

Ironically biblical, fire and brimstone, with a hint of lemon.

5) Personal style

A keen sense of irony, facetiousness and dubious wit.

I may have bitten off more than I could chew.

Anyway, I'll post here for lulz when done.

My pome.

Who thought that chucking rocks from a crooked tower
Would help shift a whole planet from its galactic centre?
As quick as a flash with descriptive, predictive power
A kettle takes longer to boil to a far flung observer.

Eve wasn't created by a guy with a great white beard,
But he neatly nestled her in a nested hierarchy
Though not as regal ruler rather a monkey's peer,
An elucidation so deeply disturbing it implies anarchy.

A proto-cyborg announces the demise of philosophy.
A fallen perfect world is the gods' delusion.
Or however above you want to affix the apostrophe,
Universal wonders are such profound profusion

I find it neither disheartening or embarrassing
Our blue-dot pales in signifigance in comparison.

Animavore wrote:My pome.

Who thought that chucking rocks from a crooked tower
Would help shift a whole planet from its galactic centre?
As quick as a flash with descriptive, predictive power
A kettle takes longer to boil to a far flung observer.

Eve wasn't created by a guy with a great white beard,
But he neatly nestled her in a nested hierarchy
Though not as regal ruler rather a monkey's peer,
An elucidation so deeply disturbing it implies anarchy.

A proto-cyborg announces the demise of philosophy.
A fallen perfect world is the gods' delusion.
Or however above you want to affix the apostrophe,
Universal wonders are such profound profusion

I find it neither disheartening or embarrassing
Our blue-dot pales in signifigance in comparison.