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Post by Kaez on Mar 12, 2010 17:17:40 GMT -5
HEY GUYS AND GALS.
So I went back and looked through all of the poetry I had on AWR and lumped it all into a single thread.
Then I started looking at it and, while there are definitely so poems in there that I enjoy, a lot of it felt like I'd written it a -very- long time ago. The mindset and the mentality and the flow and... well, just about every single aspect of the poetry no longer really seemed, to me, to demonstrate what I'd like to get out of poetry.
Needless to say, I was discontented by this. I organized it all into the basic categories it fit into (all thirteen poems subscribed to five basic concepts, and I could have simplified it even further) and they can now be found in the third post of this thread.
From 14 onward, it's new material, much more in line with what I'm currently trying to creatively develop with poetry.
Hopefully you enjoy. :]
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Post by Kaez on Aug 30, 2010 12:50:09 GMT -5
MEDITATIONS ON SPRING1.brush aside these fragile leaves
the day has come
sunlight spills through the windows
and illuminates the halls
and the concrete, like the soil
rests comfortably in its glow
pools of snow made puddles
that flowed into the streams
the burrows and the caves
gradually opened to the spring
and i sat beneath the branches
as the sun filled up my heart
the world was awakening
to this blissful dawn
sunbeams reflected in the pools
some elementary glow
a glistening of humble stillness
and a warmth within my breast
i knew then that i was here
and that this time was now
and that no other place
was where i would rather have been
breath, like the clouds
heart like the stream
the boundaries between us
dissolved into the earth
nothing described by textbooks
not what science could detail
equations could never capture
that which they defined
and then so obvious it seemed
that to explain is not to accept
the permeating harmony
translations would fail to grasp
in letting go of all these notions
i freed myself of views
perception unclouded
by sensual binds
without striving
and without desire
seeking nothing
i could only smile
and all at once
peace found me 2.and so came the end of all things.
the last book was read
the last love was had
the last child born and
the last war fought.
never again would the trees grow
or the wind sweep through
the meadows in the spring.
at the end of all things
each had met its last.
and the poets and authors
wrote dreadful letters.
and the fantastics screamed
and the families wept
in each other's arms.
and the bright-orange sun
rushed down the horizon
and gave one final bow.
and stillness came on them
in the quiet of the night.
huddled together
in the most primitive way.
raw and exposed
to their futureless world.
they owed nothing.
free from their burdens
they had nothing to do
but be exactly who they were
right there and right then
at the end of all things.
and as they smiled to each other
in a way they never had
smiled before.
the morning star rose
for one more day. 3.morning sunlight spilling through the glass
in all its bright golds and oranges
cloudy ribbons reflecting the rainbow of pinks and purples
through the windshield of your car
you're there and yet you're not
and each moment that you consider whether this all could be a dream
it seems more and more feasible that it is
and numbness is indistinguishable from feeling
and the noon sun rises and the voices crowd your mind
and there's no time for thinking; florescent distractions
only the daily list of pre-dictated tasks to complete
and the thoughts of everything that you told yourself you wanted
and evening settles and your mind winds downward
occupying itself with whatever things it can
and the sky's bright blue goes deeper towards the blackness
and you stare into the spaces and let everything go quiet
so when the stars rise and the pale of the moonlight falls
your nighttime contemplations come to you
from somewhere beneath the sheets and above the moon
and everyone you ever were is laying at your side
age five, ten, sixteen, twenty-two, thirty-four
dreams of cartoons and college degrees, a child on your lap
were any of them yours? were all of them yours?
somewhere in the years, you lost that identifiable self
filling up on espressos and watercooler chat
internet games and family reunions and political debates
somewhere in all the running to catch up with your dreams
the self that dreamt them fell out from your grasp
for the life of you, you just can't remember
the smell of summer grass and the joy of matchbox cars
without analyzing the psychologies and reminiscing
about a thousand other childhood dreams
you search about the blankets and the pillows
for the you that took awe in everything you passed by
before assimilation adjusted you and contemporary life took hold
but you can't find that, nor the courage to recreate it
with a long sigh you shut your eyes and turn on your side
and think, just another night too deep in thought
and dream up fantasies only to forget them again
so in the morning you can go back to the ignorance without the bliss PESSIMISM, ETC.4.we are sinners
dear mortals
we have committed
a treacherous offense
t’was not
the Fall of Man
but rather
a grander crime
the Immoralizing of
his Humanity
how may we
cleanse ourselves?
from which spring
comes the water
that washes away
these primal scars?
what miracles
must we perform
to justify
the gore?
which excuses
might we muster
in our struggle
for forgiveness?
bow down
to your Maker
and speak to him
the Sinners' Plea
dear Maker
we have been cruel
we have pillaged
and we have raped
we have hated
we have conquered
we Imperfect
we Mortals
do not save us
do not spare us
we beg you
we may be redeemed
with just a little
more bloodshed
and some tears
and some spite
with a little more
destruction
and just one last
battlefield
we can make this
all right
and we can finally
be at peace 5.and mercilessly the gears of war churned
cold, oiled steel
chemical explosions igniting violent fuels
lead: hot and fast
souls, shattered at once, collapsed
and the heroes called to the skies
where is justice now?
and the gods, looking down at them
eyes watered, jaws dropped
offered only silence
and as smoke clouds faded
the burnt, yellowed remnants of grass
scorched flesh and heart
heirlooms of broken courage
in a forsaken place
and without the guidance
elders abandoned, prayer scorned
the nomads roam aimlessly
in jungles of concrete
and asphalt meadows
and the immortal machines
imbedded into their flesh
only served to their ruin
of their minds, of their conscience
runtime error: collapse
and in the infinite cycle
they returned to their home
cave paintings of war machines
and carbon-fiber ruins
when it all caved in 6.And in all directions;
Massive silvery towers;
Sparkled in gentle;
And chromatic Sunlight.
Buried in the plumbing;
The wires and the rocky;
Over-tilled soil;
The last tree lie resting.
And the tombstone that loomed;
Over - Systematically;
Made of stainless steel;
Laser-carved monospaced.
And it read nothing but;
"Simple economics." A MOMENT7.I never saw her again in my life.
I don't know her name, her favorite color,
or how she spends rainy afternoons.
I don't know who makes her cry
Or what best friends she told that
deepest secret to.
She's the girl.
And that day, she was running.
I stood there on the pavement,
watching the shadows of my boots,
long and narrow from the angle of the streetlights.
My ride stopped for cigarettes and
I rocked awkwardly from my heels to my toes.
And there she was:
back flat against the wall,
standing close enough to smell the Marlboro on her breath.
Her panting came like machine gun fire
and her eyes were bugged wide.
Her complexion was flushed and
her teeth shown from behind her open lips.
She stared at me with those
glistening and brown fear-filled eyes,
and for that brief moment we shared,
our breath mingling in that narrow gap between us,
I felt everything that she felt.
I saw straight through into everything
that she was and everything that she'd ever be.
Did I give her a sudden shock;
paralyzed with fear and awe?
Was she too strung up and excited
to even know what was going on,
or did something in my blank, startled expression
give her a moment's comfort?
I remember her face, her hair, her skin.
The thick, black eyeliner that encircled that gaze.
The rich, warm smell of her heavy breath.
The fear and the excitement.
Being a human being, existing in such a way
that only one individual ever can.
And for that briefest instant, I indulged
instinctively, thoughtlessly
in what it meant to be the girl with her back against the wall.
And the car's horn rang out and she blinked
and was gone in one direction or the other.
For me, only visible for that briefest instant of eternity,
and then back into her fate.
Gone to exist and fulfill her dreams
and chase after whatever goal dangled from the end of the string.
And I like to think, sometimes,
that she left a little bit lighter.
A little bit more self-aware and wise
for having experienced whatever sort of thing that happened
whatever short, quick glitch in the System had been felt.
But somehow I know she ran away with more than she came with. 8.it was the eye contact
that probably did me in
liquid-crystal irises
sunken, hawk-like
you came bruised and sore
wrapping paper torn
no bows and no ribbons
and everything I didn't believe in
and even with the insults
you didn't turn away
this has nothing to do with facts
this is a matter of life and death
intellect takes you so far
and whatever-the-fuck-this-is the rest
brace tight for impact
smell that sweet burn
chaos churning, standards don't exist
blindly led by passive impulse
you can't fight the wind
when it gives you that look
and takes you by the hand
and offers you an adventure
sunburn
creekwater
mustang
razorblade
shortstack
smokeplume
cheshire
jetplane
bootcut
rituals
sugarcube
crashcart
come on. 9.standing barefoot
in the dead of winter
shield and side-arm
with just one bullet left
this is my stand
this, my finest hour
bittersweet cold
stern determination
and then you come
gently from the tree-top
white canopy
reflecting in your eyes
a meadowlark
upon my barricade
stares down at me
in my trench: frosted stiff
I see my breath
as I let out a sigh
the point was strong
but this war is over
tired, meadowlark
all fights came to an end
my bones are cold
and your wings are too strong ALL OF US10.aren't we all
such silly things
like bees
buzzing about
aimlessly
weep now
the world has fallen
cheer boys
it has risen again
look at us
we flock
from moment
to moment
forgetting
remembering
we talk
about life
and how its just
so short
suffer some more
orgasmically
spiteful
indulging and
emotional
therefore i am
stop bees
stop buzzing
slow down
rest now
its time
hate will be
here tomorrow
love won't just
disappear
if only for a moment
let it all go
step back
and see what
mind and heart
wrought
passionate
emptiness
you crave
a charade
a void
go on
busy bee
back to buzzing
for you
as you were
one day
perhaps
you'll find
the thing
something
that quenches
your thirst
but as
for me
i'm not thirsty 11.You are writing.
You are sitting in a chair and your fingers are pressing the buttons.
There is a bird outside, in a tree.
There is a bird outside in a tree, and you are writing.
What are you writing about?
Are you writing a story?
Are you writing about characters?
Are you writing about a situation?
You are writing about many things.
You are sitting in a chair and you are writing about many things.
You are thinking.
You are thinking about many things.
You are sitting in a chair and you are thinking about many ideas.
Are you simplifying the ideas?
Are you making them into neat sentences?
Why are you writing?
Are you writing so that people will read it?
Why do you want people to read it?
Do you want to make people happy
Why are you writing?
Are you writing to make yourself happy?
You are thinking and writing and there is a bird outside in a tree.
You write in paragraphs.
You write a title.
You write dialogue.
You write many things.
People read what you write.
They respond.
You read what they respond.
You are sitting in a chair and you read what they respond.
They have read what you wrote.
They liked what you wrote.
You write more paragraphs.
Why are you writing more paragraphs?
Why are you telling a story?
You are sitting and your fingers are pressing the buttons and you are wondering why you are telling a story.
Are you thinking about not writing a story?
Are you thinking about stopping?
Why are you thinking about stopping?
You are thinking about what you are thinking about.
You are sitting in a chair and you are thinking.
Why are you thinking that you are thinking about not writing a story?
Why are you writing that you are thinking about not writing a story?
You are writing.
You are writing are you thinking about not writing a story?
You are writing many things.
There is a bird outside in a tree and you are writing many things.
You are writing that there is a bird outside in a tree and you are writing many things.
You are writing what you are writing about.
You are thinking about writing what you are writing about.
You are thinking and you are writing and you are sitting in a chair thinking about thinking about what you are writing.
You stop.
You breathe.
Why are you stopping?
Why are you breathing?
Why are you asking questions?
Why are you typing what you’re thinking?
You are sitting in a chair and your fingers are pressing the buttons and you are wondering why.
There is a bird outside in a tree.
The bird is not wondering why it is sitting in a tree.
The bird is chirping.
You watch the bird.
The bird is not watching you.
The bird is not thinking.
The bird is not wondering.
The bird is not asking questions.
The bird is not writing.
The bird is not sitting in a chair.
The bird is not pressing buttons.
There is a bird outside in a tree.
The bird is being a bird.
You are writing a story about the bird.
You are watching the bird.
You are thinking about the bird.
You are wondering about the bird.
You are asking questions about the bird.
You are sitting in a chair pressing buttons.
There is a bird outside in a tree, and you are writing. ANTLERS12.A soft, constant rhythm
The drumbeat
The heartbeat
Of our earth
A sweet, warm hum
Rising and falling
Flowing through me
As a gentle current
Flamboyant sparks
Razor-sharp
Rainbow flames
Like lightning bolts
The woods, rivers
The windswept steppe
The high mountains
The raging fire
Infinite for now
The eternal hunt
A constant struggle
Is the reward itself
Soft grass and bare feet
Shrill cries
Long bellows
Sprung from the soul
A soft, constant rhythm
Flamboyant sparks
Infinite for now
Embraced in the music. 13.The primal fog surrounds us
As it did our ancestors
As it will our sons.
Dense as the clouds
It distorts reality
And blinds ones view.
The cool condensation
The empty grey
Instills a deep serenity.
The faint echoes
Of the nocturnal beasts
That carefully tread the wood.
Our steps are slow
Our breaths are long
As we follow in their trail.
Dark silhouettes
Of the trees around us
Fade away within moments.
Forced introspection
As the mind wanders
Under the twilight fog.
Hallucinations
Shadows engulfing
Until nothing remains.
Instincts and emptiness
Unguided, we're led
By the heart of the darkness.
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Post by Kaez on Nov 1, 2010 1:23:57 GMT -5
14.
drifting is too poetic of a word
it's more like stumbling
stupidly, riding sloppy waves of emotion
bathing in the rich dependence
oh really, is that the way it is?
basking in the cool independence
I am indistinguishable from a pendulum
an established rhythm to my swing
from this way, I go that way
a fish on the hook of a line
having made the conscious decision to bite
has forfeited all control
go on then, as you were
reel the line and forget it for a while
I'll pull closer, then drift away
the truth is, I'm hooked
I don't even know what I'd do if I got away
or, for that matter, if I didn't |
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Post by Kaez on Nov 2, 2010 12:45:21 GMT -5
15.
The sun awakes
and I'm standing
In the rubble
from before
Watching shadows
of your phrasing
Analyzing
hidden meanings
In the colors
of your warmth
I know you smile
at the world
Spill your sickness
in the night
I trample leaves
on the asphalt
Romanticizing
for your sake
And it still chokes me
every time
And yes I'm shaken
yes I'm lonely
And yes it's bitter
on my tongue
And yes I wished
things were different
And yes it's easy
for me to say
This dusty shore
that I walk on
Used to feed me
with its breath
But now it's cold
and it's gritty
And I feel ugly
and it's my fault
And I most respectively
drift away
I know it's rude
to make presumptions
You know there's part of you
that likes the pain
I can't change
the endless swaying
Of trees in the wind
But I'm restless
Cold and aching
You could just let me in
And yes I'm far
yes I'm open
And yes my taste
is hard to judge
And yes I could
Be more adaptable
But I'm too stubborn
and you're too wise
Something tells me
that this rubble
Yeah this rubble
is in my brain
And the wind won't fight
if I won't sit down
And if it blows me over
and I'm on the ground
I think I'll lay there for a while
In your grass. |
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Post by Kaez on Nov 3, 2010 15:02:30 GMT -5
16.
you radiate the color
of the sunflowers in december
your eyes are slowly dulling
but they used to be a symphony
you smile at people more now
but i think you know you dont
yeah youre really good at dancing
in a superficial sort of way
id like to know where you bought your costume
i bet its one of those expensive places
sometimes i think of the metaphor
of a circus elephant born in africa
who got caught up in performing
and forgot all about everything else
i just wanted to share that with you
for my sake more than yours
okay the poem is over
now get out of my fucking house |
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Post by Kaez on Nov 3, 2010 15:14:34 GMT -5
17.
here take this box
i put something inside of it
then forgot what it was
maybe you can want it |
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Arlyan
Scribe
/facepalm
Posts: 380
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Post by Arlyan on Nov 3, 2010 17:33:52 GMT -5
16.
you radiate the color
of the sunflowers in decemberyour eyes are slowly dulling
but they used to be a symphony
you smile at people more now
but i think you know you dont
youre really good at dancing
in a superficial sort of way
id like to know where you bought your costume
i bet its one of those expensive places
sometimes i think of the metaphor
of a circus elephant born in africa
who got really good at performing
and forgot all about everything else
i just wanted to share that with you
for my sake more than yours
okay the poem is over
now get out of my fucking house please I really enjoyed this poem, but i felt as though the last two phrases were a bit jarring. I'm sure thats what you were going for, but the flow of the poem seemed to be going in a different direction, and though, like I said, you were probably going for that, I feel as though I would have enjoyed it more if it had ended differently. "you smile at people more now but i think you know you dont" These lines particularly struck home for me, if i took your meaning correctly at least. Edit: Reading it again, I believe that the last two lines of your poem would flow better if you remove the word "please" at the end. I feel like it's unnecessary and the extra syllable doesn't fit. |
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Post by Kaez on Nov 3, 2010 17:37:00 GMT -5
Thanks a lot, Arlyan. I -did- intend for the end to be a little jarring relative to the rest -- since they're basically self-referential relative to everything before them. But you're absolutely right about 'please'. I got rid of it.
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Arlyan
Scribe
/facepalm
Posts: 380
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Post by Arlyan on Nov 3, 2010 17:42:38 GMT -5
Thanks a lot, Arlyan. I -did- intend for the end to be a little jarring relative to the rest -- since they're basically self-referential relative to everything before them. But you're absolutely right about 'please'. I got rid of it. My pleasure. Your poetry is very good. I was pleasantly surprised. I'm going to go through the other ones as time permits. |
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Post by Kaez on Nov 5, 2010 23:11:03 GMT -5
18.
im sorry about what i said before
sometimes i say things
and i meant them at the time
but theyre still dumb things to say
i didnt get you any flowers
or chocolates or a card or anything
but i know you dont need those
and this is from the bottom of my heart
im going to mess up again one day
and ive done it a lot before
but hopefully youll be able to forgive me
and i promise ill try to change
also please dont be mad
but i smashed in your windshield
kisses |
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Post by Kaez on Nov 9, 2010 20:23:44 GMT -5
19.
you might happen to remember last december
the eighteenth, specifically
i was shouting a variety of compliments at you
frustratedly
restless
your eyes were stained the colors of the evergreens
that politely, quietly encircled us
you asked me what ever happened to the old you?
i said:
it's way gone
in retrospect, that was a poor choice of wording
and you just cried
then tucked yourself under the dangling needles
like a lone present
and i laid face down in the bitterness of it all
way gone |
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Post by Kaez on Nov 9, 2010 20:27:13 GMT -5
20.
in front of cartoon characters on the television
are two empty prescription bottles
and some vomit |
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Post by Kaez on Nov 12, 2010 14:03:35 GMT -5
21.
i'm standing in the woods
with a butterfly net
thank god
there are no butterflies here
tonight for dinner
i'm eating your favorite food |
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Post by James on Nov 12, 2010 16:08:23 GMT -5
You're starting to sound like William Carlos Williams.
... WHY PETE?! WHY!?
^ Weird back-handed compliment... or insult. Or a mix. I can see that many would regard these poems as excellent... I just don't really care for the style. Well, from about 17 onwards.
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Post by Kaez on Nov 12, 2010 16:22:50 GMT -5
You're starting to sound like William Carlos Williams. ... WHY PETE?! WHY!?^ Weird back-handed compliment... or insult. Or a mix. I can see that many would regard these poems as excellent... I just don't really care for the style. Well, from about 17 onwards. ... as much as I hate to say it, I'm finding William Carlos Williams a lot less terrible than I used to. |
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