The Poets Corner

[Badstench]

Art!

The most prominent thought that springs to mind when this word is used is.... anything of a pictorial nature, whether it be paintings or photographs or movies.

But 'art' can manifest in ways other than pictures.

I'm a published poet, and I think of my poetic endeavours as constituting an art form. In a sense, the abilty to 'paint' using words is no more or less worthy of the inclusion to the title, "art".

Poetry can be expressed by anyone, and you don't have to be a genius to embrace it. Poetry comes in many guises; to me, Shakespeare is poetry of the reading senses. I love that olde English way of phrasing things.

Haiku is a Japanese invention that has spawned societies.

There are many styles of poetry, but the most common is 'free'.

in a way, lyrics listened to in popular songs could be imagined as being poetry.

Rapping is a form of poetry!

And it doesn't have to rhyme. In fact, I don't particularly like rhymes; they smack of juvenile musings reminiscent of Dr Zeuss.

Ooer. That was a big call!

Anyway, this thread is open to aspiring poets who have something to share.

Go for it!

[Badstench]

I'm going to put my money where my mouth is and start this thread with a poem called, "Evergreen".

It is fantasy by content, but told from a real world perspective.

EVERGREEN
I

The Tower stood as a guardian,
Silent sentinel keeping the memory of Time within its darkened halls.
I felt that if I could close my eyes and see beyond the veiled mists of time,
Then I, too, might become immortal.

The cornerstones, cold to my touch,
Faintly sang of a distant age when things were far less complicated.
There were echoes of deep sorrow and such simplistic joy,
That I would laugh and cry in single moments.

A princess might have lived here once before,
Her golden hair flowing like a banner on the whim of a warmer breeze,
Her radiance shining to the four corners of a long forgotten kingdom,
her face resembling the picture I hold of you.

But the stones, as I have said, were cold.
And the wind that kept them company was colder still.
In that moment, I remembered how I'd come to be here,
And I was overcome with my own sorrow.

II

The forest giants paid their homage,
Bowing gently in the sway of a sighing breeze, and sighing too.
Even though their memories were as ancient as the roots of Time,
And their losses reached further than mine.

The vagaries of aeons were their playground,
A spread of history that saw the kingdoms of man rise and fall.
And the kingdom of this tower may have been the grandest of them all,
But even stone is ground to dust in the end.

Where now, the castles of yesterday?
Where now, the companion walls to the architect's lasting dream?
Where now does the princess dwell but in the halls of my heart,
And what road will carry me there?

III

I noticed, then, amidst the boughs of the forest,
The castle walls that lay in forlorn ruin as mute testament
To belie the fate that waits for the tower, and my memories.
I realise now... Nothing lasts Forever!

[Badstench]

We have a family bible. It's a big ol' thang with an ornate cover, and the first few pages record the births and deaths in my family.

There are also 'plates' inserted throughout, prints of famous paintings relevant to bible stories. One of the prints is a painting reminiscent of Michaelangelo's ceiling in the Cistene chapel. It depicts an angel emerging from a heavy cloud (a cumulo-nimbus, I suspect). He is reaching down to the world, but his stern expression belies the fact that he isn't about to 'give' anyone anything.

He is, in fact, a depiction of the angel of death.

That print has made a lasting impression on me, and I wrote this poem about it years later:

~~~~~~~~~~

ON THE WINGS OF AN ANGEL

I am the Angel of Death; you may fear me,
Yet, I'm merely fulfilling the purpose of God!
Your saviour am I;
I bring you the gift of eternal life,
On the end of a flaming blade.
Sharp am I;
The cutting edge of omnipotent gaze,
To fall on my prey from the heavens.
A spirit am I;
Where damnation is being able to fly,
On the wings of an angel so feared.
A prisoner am I;
Chained to a task for which I have no love,
But, for love do I reach and tear out your heart.
I'll rip you apart and feed on the flesh of your body,
Freeing your soul to fly on the wings of an angel.

~~~~~~~~~

[Badstench]

Edgar Allan Poe was a master of the horror genre.

This poem references him in a way that hints at homage, but that wasn;t where the poem came from.

I used a hint of the raven to supplement the telling of the tale within the poem.

~~~~~~~~~

THE WHITE ROOM

There is absolutely nothing going on inside my head.
What better place is there to start writing from?
White walls keep me company this day,
And I am free to expand in a world without seams.
A closed door hovers midway high,
Betrayed by symmetry and a handle of brass;
An exit to the clutter of my real life,
When I’m not writing amidst white walls.

Who knocks at windows’ yonder pane,
Insistent with their urgency to invade my white domain?
I have searched for enlightenment in solitude,
And for answers to questions only wisdom can attain.
Be still my beating heart and free my addled brain,
From all external sources so transparently mundane.
“Go away! Go away!” I cry to ghosts unseen.
Is that Edgar Allen out there?
Has your raven come to torture me?

The universe is cold at times, and silent as the stars.
As I sit inside my white room, I can contemplate at last,
Why the snowflakes try to sneak against the walls;
Why the dove attempts it’s game of hide and seek,
Why the leopard is outlined by pen from dot to dot;
Or, I could just think of what to eat for lunch.
Raven sandwiches for a starter?
Or, perhaps, to feed my mind on the reality outside.
Must needs to answer that knocking:

I am hungry!

[spencer]

I have read all three, Badstench, and will first say that you are very talented. I liked the first the best, as it is the one that I relate to the best. The pangs of sorrow resonate beautifully there.

[spencer]

Aaaaannnnd now....so BS won't feel so all alone, I will contribute a haiku

In the snow, green blade
Defiant, grows tall and straight
To herald the light

[wetheril]

Aaaaannnnd now....so BS won't feel so all alone, I will contribute a haiku

In the snow, green blade
Defiant, grows tall and straight
To herald the light

...Were you writing about grass? ;)

[spencer]

Yes, Wetheril, it is about a blade of grass, peeking through the snow

[Badstench]

Three Pieces of A Man's Heart

“Pieces of eight”, cried the voice from a birds mouth,
And I stood and stared in disbelief at this demon,
In green feathers,
With a wicked blink to it’s one eye.
Portents and omens speak against this day, and
I cannot say with certainty where I’ll be ere night falls.
Perhaps, to be lying in my lover's arms,
Or lying in the arms of another?
One after the other, faces peer upon my corpse,
With a shake of the head and a bittersweet smile,
As relief falls like a comforting cloak around them.

“I know not, this man”.

Pieces of a puzzle thrown together in mixed fashion,
With passion ruling in the place of common sense.
I danced on a thimble, and
The thread that held my fragile soul together,
Woven from a tapestry of sought after dreams,
Became a magic carpet ride to a distant realm.
As the guest of honour at the Fantasy Ball,
I’m not even sure if I can dance at all.
I’ll know when it’s 'Ladies Choice' to call,
And the parade has passed me by with the words:

“I know not this man”.

Pieces of a broken heart that scatter in the wind,
Drift among the clouds to fall as red rain,
And, once again, the sky is crying bloodied dreams.
Adrift and floating,
From here to nowhere and over the edge of the world.
The beauty of living lies within a three pieced heart:
One beat for the love of a woman.
One beat for a future hope.
One beat for a knock on Heaven’s door.
I can cry no more for the words of the gatekeeper,
Echoing among the soulless visitors:

“I know not, this man”.

[Badstench]

One of my all time favourite movies is "Alien" (The first one. The second was an excellent sequel. The third was shite). I'll come back to why I mention this in a minute.

The previous poem was basically about feeling lonely. A lot of my poems have this theme insinuated into the feeling.

I write a certain type of poem; it could be described as emotive (as opposed to being obejective or subjective). I draw on an emotion that wells up within my mind and must needs expel it through writing before it can overwhelm me. These strong emotions are triggered by stressful events or memories of stressful events. Not all such events need be sad ones, but sad ones reveal themselves more predominantly in my poems (don't ask me why... maybe I'm just a depressive personality?)

Regardless, "being lonely" and "being alone" are two different things. The idea of "loneliness" is something I consider relevant to me (again, don't ask me why). This is a state of mind which can be easily fixed if one decides to take action against it.

But, what about those poor unfortunates who, through mental impairment, can't make that decision, let alone act on it? What about the people who are (or have become) psychologically damaged to the point where their "loneliness" is a medical condition? They can't just turn their "loneliness" off and on like a switch

And that made me wonder about "loneliness" as a tangible and inescapeable concept. Truly frightening.

Back to "Alien"! When I watch this movie, I get a sense of overwhelming "loneliness", a stark realisation that the main character becomes, not just alone, but completely isolated from Humanity. As I penned the following poem, it started to mesh with flashes of the movie.

I wanted to explain this, because I have heard people make initial comments like, "Oh, it's about that sci-fi movie". It's not! I reference the sci-fi movie to help explain the theme of inescapable loneliness.

The Alien Within

In a space I reserved for you,
Only I can hear the screaming;
A tormented call gone pleading,
From beyond the physical universe,
To the infinite inner cosmos of the soul.
I’m out of control within myself,
Cast adrift on an endless void, and
Falling into a deep and spiraling hole,
To mad existence:
……………………Black resistance,
And an unknown laughter mocks me,
From all directions:
……………………Lone heartbeats,
Break, and are stilled to sudden silence,
Engulfed by the roar of insanity.
Gasping for fresh air:
……………………Breathing,
From a pair of lungs long ruptured,
I reach desperately for the light,
……………………Screaming,
As I slip into a darker night.

……………………Separated,
From umbilical survival,
I crawl into a corner of my mind,
And take up residence.

……………………Alien, am I,
To myself and all the worlds,
Including this one:
……………………Devastated,
I dive to sweet oblivion on a rock.
With remembered words:
……………………”In Space,
“No One Can Hear You Scream!”

[spencer]

Three Pieces of A Man's Heart

“Pieces of eight”, cried the voice from a birds mouth,
And I stood and stared in disbelief at this demon,
In green feathers,
With a wicked blink to it’s one eye.
Portents and omens are speaking against this day, and
I cannot say with certainty where I’ll be ere night falls.
Perhaps, to be lying in my lover's arms,
Or lying in the arms of another?
One after the other, faces peer upon my corpse,
With a shake of the head and a bittersweet smile,
As relief falls like a comforting cloak around them.

“I know not, this man”.

Pieces of a puzzle thrown together in mixed fashion,
With passion ruling in the place of common sense.
I danced on a thimble, and
The thread that held my fragile soul together,
Woven from a tapestry of sought after dreams,
Became a magic carpet ride to a distant realm.
As the guest of honour at the Fantasy Ball,
I’m not even sure if I can dance at all.
I’ll know when it’s 'Ladies Choice' to call,
And the parade has passed me by with the words:

“I know not this man”.

Pieces of a broken heart that scatter in the wind,
Drift among the clouds to fall as red rain,
And, once again, the sky is crying bloodied dreams.
Adrift and floating,
From here to nowhere and over the edge of the world.
The beauty of living lies within a three pieced heart:
One beat for the love of a woman.
One beat for a future hope.
One beat for a knock on Heaven’s door.
I can cry no more for the words of the gatekeeper,
Echoing among the soulless visitors:

“I know not, this man”.


Very lyrical, Badstench, I really, really like this one.

[Badstench]

Music To Wash By

I found occasion to reflect on the nature of love,
At the Laundromat!
Just me and the fat lady sat there,
She in silence at the far end of the room,
So I could sing quietly to myself; Love songs.
And believe that, as long as she remained silent,
And didn’t join me in a duet or the chorus, then
The thrill that dwells inside me,
At the harmonies I share with another,
Would stay with me through all eternity.

Because, as they say…
“It’s not over till the fat lady sings!”

It’s not over till the clothes stop tumbling;
These thoughts I visualize,
With all the clarity of a well washed pair of jeans,
That I’ll be wearing when, at last,
We stand upon the world stage,
And sing without concern for being heard.

It’s not over till the music has played,
In the natural progression of sounded chords,
Which lead to the stunning crescendo, then fades.
We’ll take our departure; exit stage right,
And fade off into the sunset.
We’ll fade away from the limelight,
With a bag full of clean laundry.

[thingirl]

They joys of haveing a washer and dryer in your house. (BTW, I can't sing, but then again, I'm not fatlady ;))

[Badstench]

This is a real life poem... it's something I observed that sparked my poetic self to put pen to paper.

On the Solstice

On the winter solstice,
I pulled my jacket close about me,
And watched the passers by on Jervois Road.
It never snows on these streets,
But the rain can come at you sideways,
The wind can push you backwards, and
The passing traffic can spit and snarl,
While the passengers within thank Heaven,
They aren’t caught in the storm.
A roaring log fire waits for them, and
Maybe roasted leg of lamb, or beef;
A warm hello from a waiting lover,
Or screams from excited children,
(Or the spotted Dalmatian.)
And a steaming mug of hot chocolate,
To wash away the day’s enigma,
Of watching the ones who walked.

A familiar face passed me every day;
Through rain and black exhaust,
Or hordes of teasing children, this old man,
With Santa’s beard and stilted shuffle,
Would make his way, first this way,
Then that way on his return;
Head downcast to avoid the cracks,
That would indicate his preference for rats,
If he should stand on one.
I never saw his expression, or knew,
Where each day’s journey took him,
And I never thought to ask.
A point in moot, I fathom now, for
I haven’t seen him in many a month.
And the only thing that makes me recall,
That he ever passed this way at all,
Is the irony of it being summer…
On the solstice.

[taproot97]

oh boy
stinky you are great poet repped

[Badstench]

This poem is one of my early works. It could almost be described as 'nonsense', but the inclusion of the last line turns the poem into something that makes some sort of sense. In effect, the poems turns from nonsense to whimsy.

THE OCEAN

As the crow may realize on a day more sane,
It’s better to fly the friendly skies than brave the rain.
Maybe Air New Zealand, or even Continental, and
Especially if prevailing winds should prove unfavourable.
Let’s face the fact,
It’s also a lot more comfortable, than
Discovering the laws of gravity,
Imprisoned in frozen stasis; icebound, and
Earthbound, or, as it will be shown,
Into the ocean.

A fish might also fly if offered some assistance.
I’ve read of many fish that look at oceanic distance,
With a certain measure of contempt, disdain.
They regularly cross the international dateline,
And what is distance,
When compared to crossing past and future time?
If I could be that clever, then
I wouldn’t be sitting here right now.
I’m quite prepared to swim or flap my arms.

Must needs to cross this ocean, for you are over there.

[ValothBranstrommer]

From here within my darkened cell
I hope, perchance, to see
The one who damned me to this hell
And set a killer free

To say that I belonged in here
With thief , and crook, and spy,
so far away from what's held dear
at first had been a lie.

But many years have passed since then,
And those I first had feared,
Are quick to note my awful grin
and scatter when I'm near.

I hope your happy with yourself,
O judge and jury fair.
Your choice has turned my mind to filth
My gaze, a killer's glare

VB

[Badstench]

This is one that earned me a few accolades.... and a few dollars as well!

THROUGH MY EYES

Through my eyes,
There has always been the promise of you,
Just around the corner, or hidden
Through a haze of far horizons;
A glimpse of you through desperate crowds,
Determined in direction, with their
Destinations intersecting ours;
On pathways crossing busy streets,
Or deserts known by any other name than
Solitude, or loneliness, or something
Fast approaching time when we might meet.

Last night, I thought of ties that bind,
Of whispered words that sound complete, yet
Have no meaning without ears to hear them.
And, when I thought on what was said,
I heard a conversation full of normal fears;
The sum of all my misbegotten years that
Brings me one step closer to horizon’s edge.
And, in the silence where your answer should have been,
I saw Eternity, and cried.

It came with no surprise to find,
That everything I’d seen till then,
I’d only seen through my eyes.

[ValothBranstrommer]

Great visualization. Repped.

[Badstench]

Waiting

It seems that I’ve been waiting all my life for you.
I could do without that sort of pressure. There’s
No Amount of longing can excuse this empty
Feeling of the emptiness I see within you.
I hear your words, and strongly hope for them to be.
I watch your actions, though, and find myself
Cast upon the sea that shimmers without focus.
You’re like the will’o’wisp that can’t be tamed.
You dance and drift just out of reach, while
Calling, and what I hear you call is my name.
My heart will skip another beat at the sounding of
Your voice, but I know that I must turn away, or
Be destroyed with the fullness of time, and my thoughts.
The ravages of your love are something I can no longer bear.

And yet, it’s true,
That I’ve been waiting all my life for you.

[Badstench]

When Hell Hath No Fury

For obvious reasons,
I’m keeping my heart under lock and key.
I’m not going to expose myself to the whims,
Of how another person might “think” they feel.
There’s nothing so real as a knife twisting,
Or a razor blade slicing into the core of your being.
I am freeing myself from the constraints,
Of another person’s deliberate cruelty.

This is what love means to me.

For obvious reasons,
I’m keeping my trust in a little locked box.
I’ll not take it out because you flutter your,
Eyelids and ask me to open my heart.
There’s a large part of me understands,
The game that you’re playing, and
I won’t be suckered into any false moves.
Your sweet feints don’t interest me.

This is what love means to me

For obvious reasons,
I’m keeping my hopes in a secret place.
I’ll not be an open book for anyone to read,
And use as some sort of reference point.
Your words are disjointed, and don’t match with,
The page numbers listed in the index.
The librarian’s next stroll along the aisles,
Can clean away someone else’s torn pages.

This is what love means to me

And, for obvious reasons,
I’m keeping my love to myself.
If you think you might like a claim to it, then
I’m afraid this surveyor is closed for the holidays.
My hours are posted every second Friday,
Of the second month in the year of the rat.
And only when Hell hath no fury to vent,
But, it will be a cold day, indeed, when that happens.

[Badstench]

THE BEAUTY OF BEING ASLEEP

Somebody once said to me,
"Behind every shoulder there is a conscience".

I have met my conscience in a lady I don't know,
Except to know that she possesses a certain brilliance,
And a certain something that speaks to me,
In wondrous melody of sound.

Awaken!

Within the feeling of this thought unbidden,
I wonder - and upon doing so, grow more amazed.

She sleeps.

And all I can do is wonder on the absolute beauty of being asleep.
I have gone beyond trying to guess any more,
Except to guess that I might love her.
As I could love anyone who would touch me like that.

[Badstench]

A Secret

If I read between the lines and get it right,
If I count the insignificant times,
That meant so much to me,
Would that explain why I cry when you leave?

This is my heart on my sleeve.
This is the stain on my expensive shirt.
This is the dirt beneath my nails,
That I can't scrape free.

[Badstench]

I met her quite by accident,
A disembodied voice that spoke to me,
From a place that I'd forgotten;
A place that heralded the end of Winter,
And the awakening of a new age that offered salvation;
A fresh breeze redolent of a new day,
And new beginnings that stretched a path beyond the horizon,
To another place only dreamed upon.

Just a voice!

But to my senses,
There came a song of such symphonic wonder,
That all worlds paused in passing.

I was in the presence of an angel!

And so I wait in mortal lands, A dreaming to unfold,
Not quite beieving that a knock will fall upon my door.
Not quite conceiving that such things are ever real.
Not quite retrieving the memory from a place that I've forgotten.

But dreaming still,

Of the heralding of the end of Winter.

[spencer]

Very lyrical and very well written, BS, very good indeed.

[Badstench]

MASTERPIECES

If you trace the trail of condensation,
Down the inside of your window pane,
And find they gather in puddles,
Too small for anything useful, like
Splashing in,
You can still realise your child inside,
By interupting the path of droplets,
To lead them in a different direction.

If the window proves cold to your touch,
And your breath can create the misted look,
What joy of discovery you can find,
Making the world appear at a finger stroke,
Like a magic paintbrush that creates,
Masterpieces.
A Picasso in every residence.

In the simplistic view of a child's mind,
There's a Picasso in every residence!

[Badstench]

The Ocean (2)

I have watched the time like a trickle on the tide,
Slip past the seconds as I sit by the side of the ocean.
The water's edge claws for territory lost,
The pull of the moon and the terrible cost of attrition,
Dares me naked, and vulnerable to the sun.
A glory it is to every which one of those seconds,
I can never retrieve.

I will never believe in eternity spent on my own,
Nor strike up a deal with The Devil if the price be my soul.
I won't gamble away the special control that I have,
On my destiny. I will spend my time as it pleases me;
Running my toes through the sand where the water reached,
But a tide-time ago. Conjuring shapes in the clouds, and
Exclaiming aloud when the sky replenishes the ocean.

[Badstench]

FUTURE ARCHAEOLOGY

What will they think of us?

Ancestors of the distant sun,
Ride on your astral winds,
And collide with the nebulous,
Riddle of the ancient ones.

Planet-bound beings,
Locked in matter and
Locked, also, in the framework
Of our physical world;
Structured in dwellings
(Carbon formations unyielding)
Keeping us closed,

Hungry for flight; a universal
Longing, unaided by reliance,
For all things material.
A need to be free!

We who gave birth to you,
Reveal our secrets,
In the soil of this place.

It was the only home we knew.

[Badstench]

SHAKESPEARE KNEW

"A plague on all your houses!"

Is it a plague that seeps through the pores of my skin,
Sending my body quivering with imagined coldness?
Something foreign has entered my life's ordered nature.
As cold sweat glistens against a fevered brow,
I shiver against the morning, three hours from dawn.
Alone, I wish for the warmth of your arms,
To evaporate the savage raging of this cold fire;
Burning on ice,
Flaming on a frosted promise,
That melts away when touched by the sun.

"He that sleeps feels not the toothache!"

There's something rotten in the words you're telling me,
But I refuse to listen. I have no cause for such disrespect,
But that which exists when I conjure them from nothing.
Do words decay on the scrapheap of of falsehood,
When spoken without conviction, and they contradict?
Alone, I wish for a word from your heart,
To repair the ravaged trust of my own heart.
Sinking in refuse,
Drowning in your deceptions,
I'd gladly welcome the touch of eternal sleep.

"Out, vile spot!"

You've banished me! Have I become such a leper,
That my suspicions are naught but their own disease?
Abandoned because I loved you in a time of need,
That passed as readily as hunger departs the banquet,
I'll starve upon a table of misery, and die there!
Alone, I crave for the sustenance to save me,
From those who might call, "Bring out your dead!"
Falling to famine,
Watching the blue spot spread,
I wish exile could include the gift of oblivion!

[spencer]

Another Heiku

Memories of you
With wave-like cacophony
Still batter my soul

[Badstench]

I appreciate your inclusion in this post, Spencer, but I have to admit that Haikus have never been a form of poetry that interest me.

For some reason, I read your latest haiku and visualised a plate of fish'n'chips.

I'll explain...

I am a bit fussy when it comes to the type of fish used by the fast food fish'n'chip shops I frequent. My enjoyability of the "feast" is dependent on the taste and texture of the species of fish they cook.

There is one particular fish'n'chip shop which uses Hoki (this is a fish of new Zealand waters related to Hake. But the fish itself is only half the ingredient which makes for a memorable "fish'n'chip experience". The other parts of the equation include the freshness of the oil its cooked in and the consistency of the batter. Colour and texture are all-important for a really memorable "fish'n'chip experience".

So... if I can dissect your haiku...

"memories of you".... the fish
"with wave-like cacaphony"... waves = sea = fish
"still batter my soul"... "batter" is obvious... soul becomes "sole"... a fish!

No joke, my friend... I saw a plate of fish'n'chips!

[spencer]

Awesome analysis...I love it :) Sit repped

[Badstench]

THE STORYTELLER

I am just a storyteller,
Don't be concerned by my words.

The albatross doesn't worry about drowning,
While soaring low over the southern oceans.
The snow doesn't dread the coming of summer,
Or the race to anonymous waters.
A flower doesn't consider the theft of its nectar,
Or the decorative appeal of itself to your table.
The swallow doesn't care for a sign-posted way
On its traditional flight over vast distances.
A traffic light feels no compassion for your mistake,
In racing the amber againsdt the green light gunner.
The Lightning bolt doesn't discern between trees;
The one you hide beneath, or it's neighbor.
The Earth rotates on its axis for no other reason,
Than it just does!

And I don't write all my words from experience.
One soul couldn't survive such pressure.

I am just a storyteller,
So don't be concerned for me.

[Badstench]

Love chant


There is no form or shape-shift,
I can make to change my present.
It will not bring me closer to you.

Women who run with the wolves,
And men who stride with the buffalo.
We can only remember these things today.

Through amber eyes dug from the past,
Ages gone, never to be relived.
I miss you, but how can that be?

A strong abbreviation in time,
An imagined “once-was” history.
One world. One course of action to be taken!

Black sky hair, and wished for majesty.
Bring me further from this place, my love.
I crave to hear you calling for me.
I crave for days gone by.

[spencer]

The sharp crack of the bat, the fast flight of the ball
Screamers, dingers, Texas leaguers, I love them all
Opening day is coming, eagerly I wait
Life without baseball, is a death worse than fate

[thingirl]

Rain comes pouring down
Puddles appear… oh what joy!
Jumping and splashing

Oh, but what is this?
Thunder? Lightning? IT’S A STORM!
I do not like storms.

Bright flashing lightning
Booming thunder, pouring rain
Back to bed for me!

Darkness surrounds me
In the middle of the day
But I cannot sleep

Storms. What good are they?
Flashing, booming, pouring down
Steeling sleep from me!

The sun comes back out
The storm is over. Or is it?
No, it's the storm's eye.

I check the radar
More red is coming for me
Tornadoes 'till one.

The storm blows over
Clouds lift. Rain slackens. It’s DONE!
Finally – I’m free

Sun brings back brightness
I watch birds play in my yard
Eating worms all day

Rain came pouring down
Puddles appear… oh what joy!
Now I jump in them

Then the drizzle comes
Pretty birds fly to their nests
Thunder booms again.

I check the radar
Darn. Now tornados ‘till 8
Flash flood warning too

Bright flashing lightning
Booming thunder, pouring rain
And now roaring wind!

Rain swirls around me
Sister wants to go outside!
No, too dangerous.

Strong wind whips the trees
Torrents of rain are pouring
Like a hurricane

Suddenly... it stops
No more thunder or lightning
What weird weather

I jump in puddles
Splashing, sploshing. Such great fun!
Splish, splash, splosh. I’m wet.

Sun returns to me
Dirzzles stop. NO POWER OUTS!!
I rejoice at that

It can’t be over
I check the weather radar
Radar says: “It’s over”

[spencer]

Very nice job, TG, I really like the fact that you made each stanza a haiku and kept to the theme throughout...enjoyable to read and very well written...have a rep :)

[thingirl]

Thanks. It was inspired by the storms that hit Memphis today. I started right after I woke up.

Ahh, there's nothing like waking up to the warning siren blaring through your radio...

EDIT: I should be clearer on that. My radio has an alarm setting. It comes on to my local Klove station, which puts out weather bulletins when there are some. "BEEP, BEEP The National Weather Service in Memphis has issued a..."

It came on, and then one minute later it started beeping about a tornado watch.

[texlaw1992]

(One)

Tennessee weather.
Tornado watch in Memphis.
Siren says all clear.

(Two)

Walk into my house.
Smells like Badstench is in here.
Maids left on the stove.

Open the windows.
Go outside to make a call.
I don't want a spark.

Outside in the dark.
Where is the gas company?
At last, the truck's here.

Gas man says all clear.
Go back in, turn on the lights.
All's back to normal.

[thingirl]

Nice one, Tex.

Walk into my house.
Smells like Badstench is in here.
Maids left on the stove.

LOL!!!!!!!!!

[Badstench]

THE WHITE ROOM

There is absolutely nothing going on inside my head.
What better place is there to start writing from?
White walls keep me company this day,
And I am free to expand in a universe without seams.
A closed door hovers mid way high,
Betrayed by symmetry, and a handle of brass;
An exit to the clutter of my real life,
When I’m not writing amidst white walls.

Who knocks at windows’ yonder pane,
Insistent with their urgency to invade my white domain?
I have searched for enlightenment in solitude,
And for answers to questions only wisdom can attain.
Be still, my beating heart, and free my addled brain,
From all external sources so transparently mundane.
“Go away! Go away!” I cry to ghosts unseen.
Is that Edgar Allen out there?
Has your raven come to torture me?

The universe is cold at times, and silent as the stars.
As I sit inside my white room, I can contemplate at last,
Why the snowflakes try to sneak against the walls;
Why the dove attempts it’s game of hide and seek,
Why the leopard is outlined by pen from dot to dot;
Or, I could just think of what to eat for lunch.
Raven sandwiches for a starter?
Or, perhaps, to feed my mind on the reality outside.
Must needs to answer that knocking:

I am hungry!

[spencer]

Very nicely done, Badstench. I am just curious if you are a Cream or Eric Clapton fan?

[Badstench]

Eric Clapton... some bands I never cottoned on to, and Cream was one of them. In fact, their best known hit makes me cringe and forces me to change stations if I ever hear it on the radio.

[spencer]

Would that be the song White Room or a different song?

[Oldschool]

I imagine it's this thread changing "cringer" (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Cqh54rSzheg) ;) from the groups second album "Disraeli Gears".

From wikipedia, The title of the album was taken from an inside joke. Eric Clapton had been thinking of buying a racing bicycle and was discussing it with Ginger Baker, when a roadie named Mick Turner commented, "it's got them Disraeli Gears", meaning to say "derailleur gears," but instead alluding to 19th Century British Prime Minister, Benjamin Disraeli. The band thought this was hilarious, and decided that it should be the title of their next album. Had it not been for Mick's turn of phrase, the album would simply have been entitled "Cream."

And nice poem Badstench.

[Badstench]

IN SILENCE

I have been sitting with all the tools of my trade.
My pen lies unused beside me, the keyboard
Stares back at my stilled fingers with expectation.
I try and try, with all my knowledge of words,
To formulate the falling of them into patterns,
That can adequately explain my feelings;
To find the exact phrases that might show you,
Why I sit in this silence.

I’m really not sure whether these words exist.
I’m thinking I might have to invent a new language,
To express the extent of my fathomless love.
I have to reach deep into my soul for this,
Because the material world holds no clues for me.
I will love you till the doors of Time swing closed.
They will have to prise my memory of you,
From the silent stars.

Does a voice sing so sweetly without an audience?
The songs of angels can only be heard,
When you close your eyes and drift to realms,
Beyond mortality and the existence of noise.
I begin to type, and the words are very hesitant.
The click clack of keys are thunderous intrusions,
Frightening the continuity of my thoughts, and
Throwing me back into silence.

[Badstench]

THE WEAVER

In the embrace of a blue light,
The walls reflected a feeling of melancholy.
I breathed deep and smiled at the next face;
A stilted converstaion spoken with insincerity,
For another voice that can't be heard in here.
Speak to me of feelings.
Speak to me of a future.
I won't hold your words if the sting bites deep.
I'm already bleeding from a different wound.

A strange design dances in the air;
Wafting cigarette smoke clouds my senses,
As I wade through bodies resplendent in finest silk.
Friction offers a place for my hands to hold you, and
In my mind, I hold you tightly, indeed!
Through this delicate cocoon,
I press the point of love.
The poison sac belches a kaleidescopic gaze.
I cough from the swallowing of venemous words.

When you stand beside me,
I feel your breath against my skin, and capitulate.
Surrender is like giving into a craving, but
The white flag has been waved before tonight,
On a battle that was halted for the want of tears.
Undress the sensations,
And regress to naked longing.
The spider has walked on seven limbs, and failed.
Her web is spun on a story I can't adhere to.

Sometimes, I'd just like to disappear,
Lest you speak to me of a memory,
Or you speak to me of something more solid.
Pirouette with me to the weaving of a tune,
On a special piece of music.

[spencer]

THE WEAVER

In the embrace of a blue light,
The walls reflected a feeling of melancholy.
I breathed deep and smiled at the next face;
A stilted converstaion spoken with insincerity,
For another voice that can't be heard in here.
Speak to me of feelings.
Speak to me of a future.
I won't hold your words if the sting bites deep.
I'm already bleeding from a different wound.

A strange design dances in the air;
Wafting cigarette smoke clouds my senses,
As I wade through bodies resplendent in finest silk.
Friction offers a place for my hands to hold you, and
In my mind, I hold you tightly, indeed!
Through this delicate cocoon,
I press the point of love.
The poison sac belches a kaleidescopic gaze.
I cough from the swallowing of venemous words.

When you stand beside me,
I feel your breath against my skin, and capitulate.
Surrender is like giving into a craving, but
The white flag has been waved before tonight,
On a battle that was halted for the want of tears.
Undress the sensations,
And regress to naked longing.
The spider has walked on seven limbs, and failed.
Her web is spun on a story I can't adhere to.

Sometimes, I'd just like to disappear,
Lest you speak to me of a memory,
Or you speak to me of something more solid.
Pirouette with me to the weaving of a tune,
On a special piece of music.


Badstench, I will try to read this again later when it was quieter. I did not understand all of it, but it was quite lyrical and evoked some poignant as well as some good memories. Thank you.

[Badstench]

AFTER THE STORM

The tide is turning.
This morning, I sailed into a friendly harbour,
And all the stormy waters breaking on the placid shore,
Were thrown back in words of comforting, and love.
No more upon the worry of them being washed away,
I let the grains of sand slip through my outstretched fingers.

The storm has gone its way. The sun shines once again.
So let the tempest of our souls lie peaceful in the night.
Let the dogs of certain doom roam out beyond the twilight.
Let the ice that settles on a heart confused by winter,
Bask in the glory of Spring!

[Badstench]

The following poem is quite a tough one; it's both nasty and depressing.

The fact that it stems from the emotion called "Love" makes it even nastier... because this is what happens when Love is betrayed.

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

BETRAYAL

Cupid’s arrow finds its mark in rapturous stabbing,
Then rips the heart that bears it when withdrawn.
And blood is spilled into the goblet we shared,
Once filled with the essence of our ambrosia,
Now wiped from your sleeve with uncaring disdain.
I am wounded to the core, screaming in pain,
Where, once, I screamed in ecstasy.
Oh, demons who sit upon my shoulder, leave me
To wither among the corpses of this battleground.
Let the carrion pick the flesh from my eyes,
So I can never again see the light of day,
Or name the name etched upon the white board.
Let me die now, and dream of angels ere night falls,
For my agony is the rending of a lovers soul,
And my torment shall never end otherwise.

[Badstench]

THE VISITOR

This is something that has recently visited my life;
I’ve fallen in love!
And, somehow, the days have never been quite the same.
I’m competing, now, to tame the jumble of strange emotions,
Playing leapfrog with common sense in my head.

I never used to take daily walks along the cliff-tops behind my house.
I never used to contemplate the nature of clouds, or the sea.
The rise and fall of the world’s waters were a mystery to me.
I never sensed the danger of a fall to Neptune’s jagged crown,
Or the treachery of a stone on a well trodden pathway,
Or the hazards inherent of a moment’s indecision.

I’ve fallen in love!
And all the preconceived perceptions that I held,
Have been displaced by the advent of a strange new world,
Wherein, I have to realize that someone cares for me;
That someone cares if anything should happen to me.

When I walk along the cliff-tops, now, and my gaze falls to the east,
I wonder if that’s Venus in the fading of the sky.
With my fanciful ideas, I’ll place it there for you and I.
Even as my thoughts fly, and even as I wish upon that star,
I’m not ashamed to say this…
I’ve fallen in love!

[texlaw1992]

Great poem - and if the "visitor" is you Badstench, congrats!

[Tetracapillactomist]

My guess: she's a good friend you have not seen in ten years' time, and these feelings are possibly connected with this post (http://www.srythforum.com/showpost.php?p=54139&postcount=7).

If so, I said this at the time...

I'm glad you'd reconnected with a friend from past days, whose company you find pleasing. Good luck rekindling and exploring that acquaintanceship, friendship... relationship.

I had a hunch - it may have been wrong, and it is someone else entirely, but all the same, those words are sincere and I echo Tex's sentiments - enjoy those feelings, elation, confusion, pain and all...

[Drashika]

I saw this thread and thought I'd throw my hat in the ring. I hope everyone enjoys!


The Tale of TC and Ildaria

Come one, come all, and hear a tale,
Of one so strong and right.
He traveled over hill and dale,
To show the world his might.

He rode the trails from town to town,
Atop his trusty steed.
Until his summons from the crown,
Showed the kingdom’s need.

“I, your king, need your aid,”
Or so the letter said.
“Your skill is famed with the blade,
I need a Dragon dead.”

The note told of the Dragon’s power,
And where to find his lair.
Kill the beast that made us cower,
And be the Dragon slayer!

He rode and rode, for days on end,
Through the chilling weather.
A Tailor with a kingdom to mend,
Clad in armored leather.

The layer of the Dragon stood,
Across the plain so bare.
He rode his horse swift as he could,
To face the creature there.

At the layer he did totter,
The Dragon roared inside.
Prayers he made to the All-father,
To bless those who had died.

He charged inside to face the beast,
And faced the Dragon’s back.
He held his blade and fear released,
He was poised to attack.

“Stand down, hero, for I am death,”
The Dragon had forewarned.
The hero’s throat had caught his breath,
As the Dragon had warned.

“I have eaten entire towns,
I have enslaved thousands.
I am the fiercest evil around,
From the sea to mountains!”

The Dragon turned face the man,
For the approaching fight.
When it saw him, it changed its plan,
For this was love at first sight!

“I must admit, this is quite strange,
For I see you shaking.
I would like to have a date arranged,
For you are breath-taking!”

“Shut your mouth, can’t you see,”
The hero had let loose.
“All I want is for you to kiss me,
Put that tongue to good use!”

So our story has come to end,
Of the would-be slayer.
I hope you have enjoyed, my friend,
The tale “Dragon Layer!"

[texlaw1992]

Subtitled "The Tale of TC and Ildaria."

[Drashika]

lol

[Tetracapillactomist]

Subtitled "The Tale of TC and Ildaria."

Oh, you nasty bugger! :D Drashika, you too! :)

I'll set her on both of you... have already supplied her with napalm, as you know... :)

For greater (special :D) effect, I suggest you both pay a visit to Ulgror prior to visiting Ildy. ;)

(Ildy signifies something else as well, though, another first, and more important to me. :);):))

[Drashika]

Subtitled "The Tale of TC and Ildaria."

Fixed!:D

[Tetracapillactomist]

*scoffs* Piffle!

You Philistines understand nothing....

You know nothing of the deepest of loves and sharpest of pains.

You know nothing of pleasure or sadness, and your cynical jibes have fixed your lips into a sneer soundless to my ear...

May Eros give you both wide berth, and Cupid spare his arrows, because your hearts would surely blunt them, and freeze the flight of sparrows...

I pity the pitiless, and piddle on the piddler, the stringless fiddler, the paddler, the cheap salacious meddler, the idle idolater...

I bring you word from the deep Abyss: dig deeper!

:p

[Young Ned]

Um... I believe the den or residence of a dragon (or other fierce beast) is referred to as its "lair", not its "layer"...

[Tetracapillactomist]

Um... I believe the den or residence of a dragon (or other fierce beast) is referred to as its "lair", not its "layer"...

Yeah, well, if only it were that innocuous, Ned!...

But you're right, I see the typo - I think Drashika's dragon-lechery took control over his brain's linguistic regions there... :D

Drashika, are you lacking in dragon-love?... Will all your words morph gradually into ones related to the verb 'lay?' :D ;) :p

[Drashika]

Thank you, Young Ned for pointing that out and allowing me to come clean and accept the facts. For you see, it seems as though that had been a Freudian slip, of sorts. I do, in fact, have a certian attraction toward a particular dragon (who shall remain nameless lest she be reading this). So thank you, dear forum, for being my canvas. And thank you, dear dragon, for being my muse.:cool:

[Tetracapillactomist]

Aww...

[Badstench]

“A plague on all your houses!”

Is it a plague that seeps through the pores of my skin,
That sends my body quivering with imagined coldness?
Something foreign has entered my life’s ordered nature.
As chilled sweat glistens upon a fevered brow,
I shiver against the morning, three hours from dawn.
Alone, I wish for the warmth of your arms,
To evaporate the savage raging of this cold fire;
Burning on ice, flaming on a frosted promise,
That melts away when touched by the sun.

“He that sleeps feels not the toothache!”

There’s something rotten in the words you’re telling me,
But I refuse to hear them. I have no cause for such disrespect,
Against that which exists when I conjure them from nothing.
Do words decay on the scrapheap of falsehood,
When spoken without explanation, and they contradict?
Alone, I wish for a word from your heart,
To repair the ravaged trust of my own heart;
Sinking in refuse, drowning in your deceptions,
I’d gladly welcome the touch of eternal sleep.

“Out, vile spot!”

You’ve banished me! Have I become such a leper,
That my suspicions are naught but their own disease?
Abandoned because I loved you in a time of need,
That passed as readily as hunger departs the banquet,
I’ll lie upon this table of misery, and die there!
Alone, I crave for the sustenance to save me,
From those who might call, “Bring out your dead!”
Falling to famine, watching the blue spot spread,
I wish exile would include the gift of oblivion.