A Piece of my Poetry

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Heh. My poems are ALL based on my real life. But, no, sadly, I didn't suicide and come back as an Angel...unless it was an Angel of Insanity and I just did NWN Forum Updates for that . No way nearly painless enough . But if anyone knows how to do Italics on this stupid UBB code thing, I can edit the poem so that it looks as it was written (lots of fancy use of italics).

 

heh. You got my Pun.

Don't use italics in UBB code. It is extremly difficult... Naah. Just go here and read about italics: http://www.sorcerers.net/ubb/ubbcode.html

 

Thanks, Noblem-- Archema-- Angela-- grr, ArchAngel. Now go back and read that the way it was SUPPOSED to look.... why do only I post in this thread?

 

It is indeed very difficult

Tiamat, let's hear some more poetry. I have no time to write them by myself.

 

LOL...!! That's no good reason to give up poetry. Besides, it looks rather bad -- me monopolizing this thread, much as I like doing so.

[EDIT]
OK, here it is: I've retrieved it (it was in the Avatar poetry thread, believe it or not):

ANGELS WITH BROKEN WINGS

In a world where the sun rises, dawning black
In a world where sorrow is our daily bread,
In a world full of vain search for hopeful things,
We all go through life with broken wings.

Open those wings and the sky will be filthy,
The sky will be empty of all things of light,
The sky will be barren and full of disaster,
You fall from the sky with broken wings.

Look through your eyes at the sun rising black,
Look through all time and the mists of tomorrow,
All you will see there is more death and sorrow,
Angels going through life with broken wings.

How many people are lost to the sadness
That walks through our world claiming victims apart,
How many people will fall from the heavens,
Falling from life with their heartbroken wings?

[This message has been edited by Tiamat (edited November 26, 2001).]

 

A Simple Story


There was a young girl whom had bright red hair
and little tiny stars that danced in her eyes.
However, she was painfully shy.

She beleived in monsters, ghosts, and fairies,
as well as prince charming and his beautiful horse.
But she never did find any of them, to her remorse.

Her mother would brush her hair till it shown
and try to don her with a lovely colored dress.
However it never took her long to make a terrible mess.

She could always be found making a mud pie
ankle deep in the dirt, with a funny smirk on her face.
Maybe she thought in some wierd way that it was her place.

It was not until she turned that fateful sixteen
she even wanted to act like, or at least resemble a young lady.
Well........maybe.

She was still so very much like a tomboy
but, she decided she was interested in this one particular guy.
Never once did she catch his eye.

So one day her mother took her shopping
and they found a nice looking outfit for her to wear.
Plus they did something new with her bright red hair.

As you can imagine it didn't take long
for the young boys to come calling at her door.
They would promise flowers and somtimes something more.

It was then that the young girl took on quite a
different view of herself than she previously had.
It kind of made her sad.

She had run some of the boys off
because, she did not know exactly how to act.
She was going to need more confidence, and that was just a fact.

So once she made up her mind about
the kind of person she thought she desired with all her heart, to be.
She became a young woman, who has now become me.


Not sure why I decided to share this particular poem. I guess I just thought it was cute.

[This message has been edited by Satiana Fearbringer (edited December 12, 2001).]

 

Lonely Nights

I have no idea how to tell you
What it is I’m feeling for us tonight,
What it is like to start to long for one
Who doesn’t want to be there beside me
To force myself to stop thinking these things

I’m back to lonely nights

Not that I should tell you what I’m feeling;
Your look to the side and down searching
For an escape, paints me cowardly – weak

And then I’m back to lonely nights

Did we just comfort each other back then,
During that time I always thought was love?
Did we conjure images of others
To stretch this desperate thing until dawn?

But now I’m back to lonely nights

It’s easy to hate this thing you became,
No longer part of my arm with a smile,
So easy to loathe instead of to sigh

Damn it all.

I’m back to lonely nights.

 

WINTER RAIN

Reach out and touch
Fingers wet with tears
The silent cheeek, smooth as velvet
And imagine
The incredible beauty
Of what you have lost
Behind shades of poison;

The cold autumn rain
Drips onto the silent sea and the empty hills
Recall the wonder
Of that which you freely sacrificed
And let your heart burst
With the longing
For that which you can no longer remember;

Yes, you lost much you couldn't even
Reach forward and touch
You saw all about you and yet were blind
Blind to possibility
And now, all that's left
For both of us is these bitter tears
Which mingle onto the rainy ground

We are one again in this way
The only way we will ever be
United in sorrow, shall we put a brave face on the world
Or fall prey to it's machinations
How much does truth hurt
And can it be borne,
When truth is the only thing that's true?

Move for the last time
In the motions of that sacred, ritual dance
Which united us once before
And now keeps us apart
An impenetrable wall against
Forgiveness, which I cannot offer
Only the winter rain.

BTW, this implies that the person lost was a lover, so obviously it's not from personal experience -- unlike the rest of my writing. You could say that it's a completely platonic friendship, looked at from the point of view of: what if the same things had happened, in a different sort of relationship?

 

Death is a Dream

Death is a dream,
Though few have it.
Death is a dream,
Though few welcome it.
Death is a dream,
Though many fear it.
Death is a dream,
That I can't have.
Death's dream,
Would kill from the Joy to be chosen.
Death's dream,
Would kill the one's who's loved dreamt it.
Death's dream,
I have had.
Death's Dream,
I have forgotten.
Death's dream,
Is a gift.
And I have turned it down.

i was reading some of your poetry...thought i might post some of my own., any idea on how to better it would be nice...even if you dont have any ideas..thanks for reading it..

 

Tiamat-------that is a pretty good poem. But, I think you need to challenge yourself with something happy! I know this would be hard for you, but I really think you should give it a go.

 

*gulp* The ultimate challenge! The one thing I cannot do! Did you have to do THAT to me, Satiana? Oh, dammit. I never back down from a challenge (the more fool me). So... here you go. Kindof a spur-of-the-moment thing.

COURAGE

I guess the times are bleak
And all I remember is sorrow
But I think I can still live on
As long as I have tomorrow;
What is the definition of courage?
Someone who carries on
No matter how hard it may be
Still trying to hold up their head,
They won't abandon hope;
I find it brave, if you persevere
No matter what life throws your way
And still live on, from day to day
To face it, bleak though it may be;
I don't know if I myself am brave
I know courage runs out --
But I'm still here, and I endure
So I guess I'm getting there.

[This message has been edited by Tiamat (edited December 16, 2001).]

 

Well, I guess that's a bit closer to a happy poem that anything you have written so far.

It is good for a spur of the moment peom.

 

Haven't stopped by in a looooong while.

Great to read your poems folks.

What did I tell you, Lady Fearbringer? A couple of pages, right?

 

Heh, long time since I've been here too. Nice poetry all. I'll start with something light:


Stain

Sitting, I observe
Stain of coffee on my table,
Trying to solve
Misterious shapes,
Edges of chaos,
Reflections of universe,
Tangled twined lines,
I watch, I wonder
Why is that stain there,
How,
When I only drink
Tea.

 

Here's one I haven't posted yet.

THE PURPOSE OF ILLUSIONS


What is the purpose of illusion?
Is it, truly, to delude yourself?
Or is it indeed a delusion
When you think you can escape to it,
But upon losing it,
You are emptier inside?
An illusion is the briefest rush of sweetness
Before the world goes black again,
And when the wings of song,
Of deceit, and of a cloying avarice
For release and for self-worth
Have broken once more under the weight of truth,
You realise that you have lost much,
And gained nothing,
And are emptier than before.

[This message has been edited by Tiamat (edited December 28, 2001).]

 

Thomas, you must be English ,talking about Tea this way

 

Since I can't talk about women due to banning problems, I might as well talk about tea

 

Very good

[We would prefer you not post if you have so little of substance to add to the thread - BTA]

[This message has been edited by Blackthorne TA (edited December 29, 2001).]

 

The poem I submitted to poetry.com (Memories of Joy) was accepted for their anthology. Just thought you should know, since y'all have USUALLY been supportive Although, according to Taluntain, that's not anything special. Oh well.... SOMEBODY's gotta keep your feet on the ground. Happy New Year (or Happy New Year's Eve) everybody.

 

all the poems I've submitted to poetry.com, got in some sort of book or on a cd. It really isn't that hard as they make it sound in the letter you get. But sure it's an ego-booster