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More stuff I did at the Mag

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    More stuff I did at the Mag

    This all arrose when Alte IM'ed me asking me what I thought of a poem he did. It wasen't my cup of tea. However, he thought that when I didn't immediatly like HIS poem, it must have meant that I hate ALL poetry.

    Couldn't be further from the truth. So I sat down and wrote a poem off the top of my head, and posted it at the Mag in direct competition to HIS poetry thread. I garnered a few fans. So here is a sampleing of some of the first poems I did in that thread. (I got more, but this is ALOT.)

    "Ghosts"
    Destitute souls Pander
    Through the night filander
    Seeking sights and sound
    Which for they, can't be found

    Eyeless, earless
    Mindless, Fearless
    Alas, they possess neather
    Guiseless, tearless
    Timeless, Yearless
    No breath for them, no breather

    Etherial wisps
    tricks of light
    your vision tips
    out of sight

    With purpose innate
    What they seek is rest and closure
    To embrace their fate
    With Poise, Grace and composure

    Purgatory's yawning void
    is from whence they deployed
    To wither and fret
    for another hour yet
    For their time upon the mortal stage
    Ended without freedom, but encaged

    Dream for these translucent specters
    That the my find their proper vectors
    To exit, finally, in their own way
    the weary work of life's long day

    _____________________________________________________________________

    "headgames"
    Sorrowful tears of dread
    well up from my eyes
    and fall down upon my bed.
    It's not easy for us guys
    when you ladies play games
    and mess with our heads.
    You bestow playful nicknames
    and mess up our beds.
    Have mercy on our psyci
    Because we have feelings too
    Now just think how it would be
    If we did that stuff to you.

    Headgames are simply old hat
    ragged and overused.
    But you don't seem to know that.
    And so I sit abused.
    Curled up in a corner
    I shudder in the dark
    In my mind I wonder
    If love's to much work.
    What sadistic fun you derive
    from the pain that makes me wince,
    you know I won't survive
    unless I become your prince.

    Oh, how you have your steely grips
    planted firmly on my soul;
    You pull me foward to kiss your lips!
    It is you that makes me whole.
    Why did the cruel fates conspire this weakness
    that rends hard upon my mind?
    Why allow such stinging pain and madness
    that in my chest I find?
    All for the sake of your amusment
    I submit myself to thee.
    I bow down before thy pediment
    sunk down upon one knee.

    Can't you see the devotions
    that burn brightly just for you?
    I keep them lit with the notions
    that yes, you love me too.
    Why else would I have agreed
    to be a pawn at your disposal?
    To sweat and cry and bleed
    If it be your whimful proposal.
    Laugh hard at my expense.
    Stab me in the back.
    You know that it's defence,
    against your will I lack.

    _____________________________________________________________________

    “telling it to Alte”
    Alty thinks I hate the verse.
    Too bad that all his words are terse!
    Rhyming's easy cant you see?
    Timing's a snap just watch me!
    The hard part, my dear Alt o eck o,
    Is finding the right words to let go.
    I can pump out poems with uneaqualed ease
    While you have taken two years, you got a desase?
    What makes you mind languish so?
    What is the topic that you dont know?
    I must say that you have been quite proliffic,
    But I think half your poems aren't that terrific.
    People coo and aww and pet your ego
    seem that niceness is all that you know.
    Don't get me wrong, you are a great guy,
    but if I said I liked your poems, it'd be a lie.

    “challenger”
    Arrived has he,
    the challenger to the throne.
    Supprised to be
    Is the king that's overthrown
    Can he last another hour?
    is his will reserved?
    Or will his luck turn sour,
    his throne not preserved?
    Truth be told there can be two
    Still the decission's up to you:
    Who is the better one?
    The battle's just begun...


    “Alte thinks I hate poetry”
    So, you think I hate poetry
    How very sad for you
    I indeed enjoy it very much
    just not the poems you do.

    It's not that your's are bad, you see
    They are your babies; I understand
    But they have no deep meaning for me
    As they obviously do for you

    So don't be angry, please don't huff
    For other people are fans of thine
    So take that as solace, and please know
    That more like yours, than like mine.

    I say this in a poem to prove
    That what you think is falicy
    Yet with every line, I must conclude
    That Alte thinks I hate poetry.

    _______________________________________________________________________

    "bad review"
    Down the hole and round the tree
    Let's play a @#%$ up RPG
    It's where all the gnomes have tails
    and there's no wind for your sails
    The swords are flimsy
    and full of whimsy
    The magic is broke
    Till you take a toke
    The Inn is full of drunks and whores
    All come back from fighting wars
    Your quest is a bit sketchy, but then, you are too
    Your partys' a guy that stretchy, and one that's blue.
    you all have candels and little else,
    Now you fight a giant elf!
    Confused yet? you ought to be
    We played it too, and so are we.

    ______________________________________________________________________

    "Sing the verse of love" (sonnet, song)
    When you sing of love de-vine,
    Could you sing a verse for me?
    Cause' I'm lonely at this time,
    And with you is where I'd like to be.

    Sing the verse of love!
    Set it free like the dove!
    Let my heart be un-chained
    And join with yours' again!

    Sing to me your verse of love,
    Fill it with boun-ty and count-less dreams;
    Sing it so I can thank the lord above
    That with you I can share lifes things.

    Sing the verse of love!
    Set it loose for stars above!
    I will sing it with you one day.
    At least I hope, at least I pray.

    And to all those who say our love won't last
    I say that their ig-nor-ance must be vast
    To think that way must be one sorr-y state,
    Better change your view, re-e-val-u-ate.
    Cause to-ge-ther we
    Sing in har-mo-ny
    the song that can't be sung enough
    That is why we sing the verse of love.

    Sing the verse of love!
    Set it free like the dove!
    Let my heart be un-chained
    And join with yours' again!

    Yeah, Sing that song complete!
    Sing it for the angels!
    Sing it forever.
    And sing it for me.

    _____________________________________________________________________

    "lonelyness"
    I heard a man today tell another he knew
    About some guy that both were real good friends of.
    He banntered on about some crap party he threw
    And how some argument came to push and shove.
    They laughed into their golden beers
    Tosted up, clinked the bottles, with cheers.
    Sometimes I think, with deep annoyance
    about how my chance at that life was stolen.
    I wanted to have those days of defyance
    To share with friends a lip that's swollen.
    Instead fate granted me solotude.
    How inconsiderate, how RUDE!
    I never tryed to keep in touch with my accquantances
    I never really thought of any one as "friends"
    I only commune with those whom I share circumstances
    I only want stability to set in again.
    The actors that grace my life
    Are the ones that twist the knife.
    Everyday I see all the happy faces
    Whose network stretches out among the crowd.
    Sometimes I want to take their places;
    To share with others that which makes me proud.
    Oh, but I have yet to behold
    People who share my secrets untold.
    Untill that day arrives I'll sit in darkened lonelyness
    Wraped up in my mental shell, warry of those olive branches
    Offered by those with insincere friendlyness
    Whose motives are suspicious, and lead me in false dances
    Oh why am I so paranoid?
    Why act like I'm on celluloid?
    I'm so lonely, and I just want a click
    A bunch of people just like me
    A group of buds with which I'd stick
    I want, I want! Cant you see!?
    But I'm afraid to ask. I don't like hurt.
    I don't want the strain, or the work.
    I'll cry my self to sleep agian tonight
    I'll see what tomarrow throws my way
    I'll lie to myself and say it will be alright
    I'll open my eyes to that new day.
    But there'll be no satisfaction in it for me
    Because I'll still be that one guy that's lonely.

    ______________________________________________________________________

    "Stellar Collision"
    Guide me to your love,
    Past the pillars of locomoton.
    Surrender your mind above,
    So I may carress your emotion.

    The slim outline welcomes my attention.
    The downy span of your wings embraces me.
    Their gentle grasp ensures my assention.
    An angels glowing face is what I see.

    See the auburn waterfall;
    Its shimmering waters cascade so effortlessly
    Down upon the arched wall,
    That towers above my head, far as I can see.

    Soon the glorious finale
    Will enclose our little world.
    Together, you and me,
    Will feel a release unfurled.

    ______________________________________________________________________

    "Burning Embers" (song)
    Other's have their doubts
    About you and me.
    They misjudge the amounts
    Of love that we share.
    Yet, they live their lives
    And they do not see
    That true love survives
    When fire's not there.

    Our burning embers last longer
    Than a wild raging fire
    I pledge, my heart will not wander
    To fan the flames of desire.

    Why should I leave
    Just 'cause the fire's died down?
    Let others beleive
    That flames are the way.
    Coals are much better
    From them diamonds are grown
    Yes fire is hotter,
    But lasts only a day.

    (Oh, but baby,)
    Our burning embers'll last longer
    Than a wild raging fire
    I pledge, my heart will not wander
    To fan our flames of desire.

    When the fire goes out
    All you get is much colder
    But our coals are about
    The heat left inside
    Cause our coals can be kindled
    When we start getting older
    Yeah, our love will not dwindle
    From either our lives.

    _______________________________________________________________________

    "make tracks"
    I've been busy with @#%$
    So leave me alone
    Don't bother me with it
    Just hurry on home
    I really don't care what you want
    Just let me be
    If I am here, pretend that I'm not.
    Just imaginary.
    Peddle yourself elsewhere
    This is my spot
    Why must you stand there?
    How 'bout you not?
    Get out of my face
    And just go away
    Please learn your place
    Dont stand there all day
    I have little time for you
    nor patience in hand
    Listen up you fool
    In your head, is there sand?
    Show me some apttitude
    For getting lost
    Sure I could be a cool dude
    but just take off.

    _______________________________________________________________________

    "Cuhlduh"
    I slept in a tent
    With only one blanket
    Frosty wind was sent
    To try and yank it.
    It did not succeed
    Though it's effort was valiant
    But still, it did leave
    A friend most repugnant
    Ith starthed with soreness
    On the back of my throat
    Ith progresthed, more'r'less
    And ith's effects did bloat
    Now a nose thath dusth dlips
    A cougth thath won'th end
    Aund clacks upon lipth
    Aluh duh margths oth dyour flend.
    Thomethimes I lill fee-ul bether
    Aund thomethimes U'm wuze
    Buh ath muh nothe glowth wetthuh
    Duh efflects get leth tuhse.
    Wulg duhy muh nothe will beh dry
    Aund duh hagging will thhop
    Now uh fill lyg uh'll die
    duhth gib meh duh cohb drop.

    ______________________________________________________________________

    "The Missing Floyd"
    (for Ika)
    Is it true, my dear boy?
    Did you think the worm would let go?
    Did you think you'd let the world know,
    About your wall, so very high?
    Could you handle your derisions?
    Please, let me handle your dicissions.
    Please don't try to think
    Just let the worm do it's work
    That's it my dear pink,
    Just a little prick, and a squirt.

    You were missing tonight
    But we knew where you were
    So very quiet; not a stir,
    You were with the worm, right?
    Your bricks are adding up, Pink.
    Don't worry though. Here, have a drink.
    Please don't try to think
    Just let the worm do it's work
    That's it my dear pink,
    Just a little prick, and a squirt

    ______________________________________________________________________

    "A little"
    Dream a little dream
    Think a little thought
    Speak a little word
    And make a little spot
    In your heart.

    Show you care to
    The man you love
    Give him happieness
    And a big peice of
    your heart


    Take a little bit
    And give a little more
    Share a little peice
    And save a little for
    Your heart.

    It takes more than
    A passing glance
    Stick with her and
    Give her a chance
    At your heart

    Crack a little smile
    And wear a little dress
    Dance a little dance
    And make a little mess
    In your heart

    You should take the
    Road less traveled by
    Walk hand in hand
    And side by side
    In your hearts

    Love a little man
    And get a little love
    Have a little life
    And give a little of
    Your heart.

    See the ones who
    Are lonley still
    Don't heasitate
    With love please fill
    their hearts

    Dream a little dream
    And sing a little song
    Have a little joy
    And spread a little on
    To your heart.
    _____________________________________________________________________

    I'll post more later.




    All of the above statements have been given the Staffmaster Seal of Approval. Have a nice day!

    #2
    Re: More stuff I did at the Mag

    I said you hate all poetry because I showed you E.E. Cummings, Robert Frost, Paul Lawrence Dunbar, and countless other poets poems, and you didn't like a single one.
    Grow!

    Comment


      #3
      Re: More stuff I did at the Mag

      You thought Alto wrote one of Robert Frost's poems? Did you even read it?!
      ...and that's why.

      Comment


        #4
        Re: More stuff I did at the Mag

        Thanks for the kind words.
        Grow!

        Comment


          #5
          Re: More stuff I did at the Mag

          I dunno. Robert Frost is a very famous poet.

          Comment


            #6
            Re: More stuff I did at the Mag

            Yeah but he didn't mean it that way and you know it. Acctually, despite what you all think, I'm going to Standford this summer for a Creative Writing class. They invtied me because they read some of my poetry.
            Last edited by altoecko; 04-08-2005, 01:37 AM.
            Grow!

            Comment


              #7
              Re: More stuff I did at the Mag

              Yeah but he didn't mean it that way and you know it.
              Actually, I can't jump inside Denethor's head and know that for sure. Can you? If so, ignore this post.

              Comment


                #8
                Re: More stuff I did at the Mag

                Staffmaster, poetry isn't about rhyming =\. Your poems seem fake and therefore have little meaning. The point of poetry(to me, atleast) is the baring of your neck to the world.

                I for one love Alto's poetry. It may not contain the vocabulary of the gods, but if I'm honest, it's a lot better than yours, because he displays emotions that he feels =\.

                Good job Altoecko, I hope you do well.

                Comment


                  #9
                  Re: More stuff I did at the Mag

                  Psst. It's "Stanford."

                  And I think Den knows where he was going with that. If you're having trouble getting it, ask him and he'll probably tell you.

                  Comment


                    #10
                    Re: More stuff I did at the Mag

                    Staffy, I love how the overall sound of "Cuhlduh" degenerates into what a person sounds like when they have a cold. Nice job!

                    Comment


                      #11
                      Re: More stuff I did at the Mag

                      I said you hate all poetry because I showed you E.E. Cummings, Robert Frost, Paul Lawrence Dunbar, and countless other poets poems, and you didn't like a single one.
                      And you didn't think to let me know this? Not being a fan of something and flat out disliking it are two different animals dear Alte. "OMG I didn't memorize the masters works, for shame on me!!111!0ne!!1omg!"

                      Man, If I could be able to verrify that would, I'd have you recite FROM MEMORY the SIXTH poem Mya Angilou wrote in 1973. (said not knowing how many poemes Mya wrote in 1973...if at all.) Point is I doubt that you could recoggonize that sort of thing if you just had it flashed in front of you. It'd sort of be like name that rap tune when all you listen to is classic rock.*

                      besides, I thought we got over this. I'm just telling them what caused me to write the poems, not accuse you of bad poetry.

                      Staffmaster, poetry isn't about rhyming
                      Poetry that doesn't rhyme (with the exception of haiku) is just an excuse for a talentless hack to jot down his thoughts. Rhyming takes SKILL. Rhyming in unexpected ways is a GIFT. "poetry isn't about rhyming..." pfssssst.




                      *ex. Name THIS poem and the poet.

                      Breath deep the gatering gloom
                      Watch lights fade from every room
                      Bedsetter people look back and lament
                      Another days useless energies spent
                      Passionate lovers wrestle as one.
                      Lonley man cries out for love but has none.
                      New mother picks up and suckkles her son.
                      seinor citizens wish they were young.
                      Oh cold hearted orb that rules the night,
                      That steals the colors from our sight,
                      Red is grey and yellow; white.
                      But we decide which is right,
                      And which is an illusion.
                      Pinprick holes in a colourless sky
                      Let insipid figures of light pass by.
                      The mighty light of ten thousand suns
                      Challenges infinity, and is soon gone.
                      Night-time: to some, a brief interlude,
                      To others the fear of solitude.
                      Brave Helios, wake up your steeds!
                      Brings the warmth the countryside needs.




                      All of the above statements have been given the Staffmaster Seal of Approval. Have a nice day!

                      Comment


                        #12
                        Re: More stuff I did at the Mag

                        Originally posted by InfinityDragon
                        Poetry that doesn't rhyme (with the exception of haiku) is just an excuse for a talentless hack to jot down his thoughts. Rhyming takes SKILL. Rhyming in unexpected ways is a GIFT. "poetry isn't about rhyming..." pfssssst..
                        Too bad she's just a figment of your imagination.
                        XBox Live: Alzar2k
                        Playstation Network: Alzar2k

                        Comment


                          #13
                          Re: More stuff I did at the Mag

                          This topic gives new meaning to the words "poetry slam".

                          Comment


                            #14
                            Re: More stuff I did at the Mag

                            Poetry, isn't just matching words. If your not conveying a feeling or emotion, or, something, it's a bit of a waste. It's just a stack of words that have endings that sound the same. How trite is that. Is that poetry? No.

                            Comment


                              #15
                              Re: More stuff I did at the Mag

                              I had to to study some poems in english class bakc in highschool. In one of the books nearly half the poems in it were by Rober Frost.

                              I didnt like any of them.

                              Comment

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