Oh yes, a poetry thread. Fear me. ;)
I wrote down various scribblings today during class, and couldn't help but post their final result here.
Quote from: Old Sherman's HouseA storm had spurred from north to south
My spirits charged, I know not how
The gates had squawked, the stairs had squeaked
A grin, with light in hand, I peeked
A demon there I may have roused
The day I broke into that house.
A clock would sound each second passed
Its tock a cause for nervousness
"Would silence be so bad," I thought
The echoes, creaks my steps had brought
I saw not either mouse nor louse
That day I broke into the house.
That night was rife with bright lightning
Its glare so oddly frightening
The howls of wolves my ears did meet
As wind blew quick across the sheets
Mistakes I made, I know that now!
That day I broke into this house.
The glow my light allowed did dim
My fears withal, without, within
I heard the cries of children dead
"You lie, you steal, you kill," they said
Immersed in blood, I spied a blouse
This day I broke into the house.
"It was not me," I did explain
But just begun had now their game
Through crash and shattered window pane
My body here was clearly slain
My soul still flutters all about
Within this old and filthy house.
That's all for now, the pain is over. ;)
MY EYES, THEY BURN.
ZE GOGGLEZ DO NOTHING!!
I will actually read it when I get home from work. :)
I like it. you've got some lines that don't rhyme in my pronunciation, but it's finally a poem that I like; most of the stuff I'm made to read isn't my style.
Quote from: Stargate525I like it. you've got some lines that don't rhyme in my pronunciation, but it's finally a poem that I like; most of the stuff I'm made to read isn't my style.
I'll admit freely that there's not a consistent rhyme scheme I followed (though I did at least attempt couplings as often as I could), and that there are some approximations in there. Thanks for the kind words!
The glow my light allowed did dim
My fears withal, without, within
I heard the cries of children dead
"You lie, you steal, you kill," they said
this is good. even meter (7/8/7/8), good use of words and image.
You shouldn't commit suicide over this particular piece, as this stanza is actually quite nice.
You can maim yourself over the rest of it, but this saves it.
Quote from: LordVreegYou shouldn't commit suicide over this particular piece, as this stanza is actually quite nice.
You can maim yourself over the rest of it, but this saves it.
Haha, I doubt I'd do something so painful over something as trivial as poetry, but thanks. If nothing else, for your brutal honesty. ;)
'TIS A MERE FLESH WOUND!!
(*splurt*)
It's like.... DR. Seuss does E. A. Poe....
No, seriously, it definitely has a vibe to it that reminds me of Poe-esque creepiness (see the stanza mentioned earlier), but alot of it rings a bit closer to a Suessian style ("I saw not either mouse nor louse/ That day I broke into the house", and similar stanzas).
It's not a style I personally prefer, but it's certainly not terrible. Especially if the Poe/Seuss thing was intended...
I agree with sdragon, I like how you've got a kind of happy style, but horror content.
Horror content with a happy style, eh? The upbeat meter with dark imagery was what I was shooting for, and I'm glad that at least showed in a few places. ;)
Another one, completed from half-legible scribbles:
Quote from: Good Joe SmithJoe Smith was a fellow that you always could trust
With your secrets, or work, or just cleaning your dust.
In high regard did his neighbors quite often speak
Of Joe in the morning, then at noon, and at tea.
When asked how he was, true, none could ever deny
That young Mr. Smith was indeed quite the fun guy.
So enamored were they with this wonderful lad
That the key to the city might just have been had.
But if Joe had thought well of such friends in his life
He might not have gone home just to murder his wife.
I'm not claiming it to be any good or particularly interesting, mind you (nor probably all too original).
that one made me giggle.
Seriously, I was mentally illustrating this in my head with little Dr. Seuss whos, and the last page's illustration... well I can't describe it here.
It's like what Dr. Seuss would write if he finally snapped. Keep going, it's hilarious.
Good Joe Smith is... indeed, kind of comical in feel despite the subject matter. Interesting, though.
Another one, in a similar vein to Good Joe Smith.
Quote from: With Regards to J. HunterI saw mad Jim Hunter one day on the street
He mumbled and spat as he shuffled his feet
I meant then to ask him with what he was ailed
But as he kept walking, I quite lost his trail
I turned from an alley to market and asked,
"Who here knows Jim Hunter, that snarky old ass?"
One young girl did elect to respond to my cry
A vacant, dull look in her almond-shaped eyes
"My father has worked with that man," she had said
"What's wrong with that guy?" asked I, scratching my head
"Well, look," she retorted, her grimace quite clear
"You'd be sour too, were you dead for five years."
Not bad. I'm a bit confused as to who says the last bits. It sounds like she's retorting to her own comment. Or is line 10 spoken from the first person? If so, I guess I'd suggest making it a bit clearer.
Love the poems, btw. Very entertaining.
Quote from: RaelifinNot bad. I'm a bit confused as to who says the last bits. It sounds like she's retorting to her own comment. Or is line 10 spoken from the first person? If so, I guess I'd suggest making it a bit clearer.
I actually had the same problem when I re-read it, so I fixed it shortly before you posted. ;)
QuoteLove the poems, btw. Very entertaining.
Thanks. :D
these are great. I'm looking forward to the next one.
J. Hunter sounded like something that would happen in a Terry Pratchett novel.
More zany lightheartedness coupled with inappropriate macabre:
Quote from: The Ballad of Barnaby BillI once knew a man who was seven feet tall
With yellow-green eyes and a penchant to brawl
I entreat you, dear friend, to sit and be still
And hear out the Ballad of Barnaby Bill
On a white winter hill sat the city of Bore
A town which in spirit was once much like yours
There was never in Bore much fright nor much thrill
Until the one night when came Barnaby Bill.
Had the snow not been driven, few would have seen
The haggard tall man who who was fast approaching
With gun at his side as if ready to kill
Strode quickly through Bore did Barnaby Bill.
He had made to the tavern in certain haste
A handful of money assuring his place
With pistol in hand as he twirled it with skill
"A duel I be seeking," said Barnaby Bill.
The people of Bore gazed in awe at this man
The challenge was answered by young farmer Dan
"If it's trouble ye seek, I'll bring some quite real,"
Which warranted laughter from Barnaby Bill.
The terms of the duel were established by chance
With each of the duelists prepared in advance
"Your life for this city, we have thus a deal?"
Had taunted with fervor old Barnaby Bill.
Nine paces stepped each as they readied their guns
As Dan weighed the stakes in the cold winter sun
Before the tenth step, did the farmer Dan twirl
And fired did he on old Barnaby Bill.
The bullet struck true, the wound clean as could be
Though laughing madly was that old Barnaby
For since Dan had broken his pact with the kill
To Bore went the devil, to Barnaby Bill.
Hehe, these are awful, and yet, great at the same time.
I think it is their unique charm. :D
Thankee. :D
Quote from: The GatesSt. Peter's brave task
Is brokering pass
From low Midgard to Heaven above.
In front of the gates
Stands Peter the great
With a chariot composed of doves.
Arrived once did Ben
The smallest of men
A concern quite clear on his face.
"Saint Peter," he asked
"Why may not all pass?"
As he pointed to that finest place.
"Those such as you," said
St. Peter in stead,
"Did little to warrant a stay.
These gates that I guard
Protect now this ward
By keeping outsiders at bay."
Ben shrieked, he was flown
To the demons below
The price of his knowledge quite clear.
He noted with hate
A pair of black gates
As he wondered why they would be there.
"To keep people out?"
Ben did ask in a bout
Of interest prone to a few.
The devil looked there
And said with a glare
"It's to keep in the people like you."
Hope is
A dirty yellow dandelion
Growing between the cracked
Pavement, trampled by the grimy,
Sticky, nasty, muddy, crusty,
Dirty, ruined,
Worn,
U
N
S
T
O
P
P
A
B
L
E
Steel-toe boots of Life
I think I originally wrote these as lyrics to a song.
Quote from: The Daily TimesDaddy's in the basement looking at porn
Momma's not sure if she loves him anymore
My brother's in the desert, gun in hand
Yesterday they say he killed a man
What happened to the days so long ago?
When people could smile and the lights would glow
We had fun and traveled to places afar
Now we can't afford to fuel the car.
There's terror in the skies
There's terror in their eyes
Terror's the only target showing
Terror's the only market growing
Defaulting on loans, the bank defers us
Momma can't afford our insurance
Guess we'll go back to sleeping on the floor
Can't afford our mortgage no more
Daddy's afraid of violence
Momma is scared of the IRS
I thought I had a plan to make things swell
But the army doesn't want me, I'm only twelve
Quote from: Elven DoritosHope is
A dirty yellow dandelion
Growing between the cracked
Pavement, trampled by the grimy,
Sticky, nasty, muddy, crusty,
Dirty, ruined,
Worn,
U
N
S
T
O
P
P
A
B
L
E
Steel-toe boots of Life
This one is actually really well done. I'm not sure I really care for your slow removal of that sense of whimsy, since it really helped lighten the mood of otherwise dark subjects, but I do like how this one came out.
I hope you don't mind if I break in here with a bit of bad poetry, but the mention of Dr. Seuss reminded me of something on the WotC boards.
A while back, there was a "1001 old tomes" thread, where you were supposed to come up with books that DMs could use to populate libraries should their PCs want to sample them. Eventually, it devolved from good ideas to funny books to take-offs on real-world books, so I contributed one that was basically One Fish, Two Fish, Red Fish, Blue Fish as it would be if it were written by a necromancer:
[spoiler]56. One Fish, Two Fish, Dead Fish, New Fish
Author: Dr. Theodor Geisel
Publisher: Stochastic Home Press
Appearance: A large, slightly yellowed tome with large text.
Condition: Like new.
Language: A dialect of Common; it is written in rhyming couplets, for an unknown reason.
Contents: This book, written by the Necromancer First Class of a renowned mage's guild for his children, details the animation of dead creatures and the creation of corpse grafts. Dr. Geisel was a rather prolific author, having written many treatises for his guild; he wrote this work when his son's goldfish died, because his son didn't understand how he could have gotten the same fish back.
Excerpts:
"Yes, some are green, a sickly hue;
Those are dead, but those are few:
The rest are black,
I brought them back.
Now here's your fish, brought back to you!"
----------------------
"Say!
Look at his bones!
One, two, three...
How many fin bones
Do I see?
One, two, three, four
five, six, seven,
eight , nine, ten.
He has eleven!
Eleven!
This is something new.
The ones past fourth, I grafted, true;
I think he's better now, don't you?"
-----------------------
"Oh, dear! Oh, dear!
I cannot hear.
Will you please come over near?
Will you please look in my ear?
There must be something there, I fear."
"I'm sorry,
Nothing was in your ear.
But I replaced it. So have no fear;
With a lich's ear, you'll hear, my dear."[/spoiler]
Haha that was awesome. I want to see more.
Lyrics I wrote for a hip-hop project (with psychedelic rock roots) that I've been collaborating on (which I'll post when it's finalized).
Quote from: Take YouI close the lid to the daytime land
And I seal away the worries of my everyday plans
The threats and the sins always hounding at me
So let me transcend my natural boundaries
Let me to take you down to the city in my dreams
Sitting in the stream of the television screen
Between you and me and the underlying theme
Is purple colored people gathered in the mezzanine
And it would seem that they throw their life away
Disposable people getting overtime pay
The shoreline screams, well that is to say
I mean, like a dream just getting in the way
Let me rethink the premise of my rhyme
As I highlight a fly buzzing into my mind
I climb my tree, I'm all alone
I'm far too high for a freefalling zone
I stand in the fields and breathe the sweet air
Caramel skies kiss the evening flare
The meadowlark sleeps with peaceful care
And I take you down to my secret lair
I scream with my dreams as the people it seems
Well it's been, I don't see what they really mean
All these things are severely demeaned
As I hang from the corners of the crescent queen
In the green empty grounds of the village I live
In the busy blue streets of the city I built
In the Hawthorne fields where there is no loam
In the alleyway where we built our home
Burned into the eyes of the steeple at day
Molded by the skies into people of clay
Turned upside down by a winsome fear
As the mind turns clear of potential peers
Walden wails to the empty sea
Ishmael sails to see the symphony
As Emerson delivers the fool's eulogy
Who are we to supersede the whimsy of infinity?
The sun makes love to the stars at dawn
The queen calls home her wayward pawn
Flora puts her hand on the heart of the fawn
As I graze on the fields in the strawberry pond
That's remarkably evocative.