AnimaStone's Poetry Thread

[AnimaStone]

Let me begin by saying "w00t."

Also, remember that I retain all rights to the poems posted here, blah blah, if you plagiarize I will somehow find a way to deliver ULTIMATE [insert my mod rank]SLAPPAGE through the computer screen.

Also, most of my stuff will NOT appear on this page due to originality safeguarding and time/space/desire restraints. Blagh.

Now that that's out of the way, on to the poetry:

[glow=blue,2,300]Spider's Web[/glow] (written sometime in 2002)
I.
Light, care,
Silk, and air,
Spider’s joy and inspiration
Seen throughout the world and nation.
Delicate balance, hangs or stands,
Work of fine, artistic hands.

II.
Broken, shattered,
All that mattered,
The spider’s web of life today;
The simple things are washed away.
No good reason for this waste:
All in grim and evil taste.
A spider’s farewell, a gift so grand,
Smashed by brutal, cruel hands.

[glow=red,2,300]Cool To Be You[/glow] (written Spring 2004)
“Cool to be you,” the people say,
“Why don’t we do it every day?”
A bloodred sky rose in the west,
Shouting promises of ages golden,
Lost in the ways of times forgotten.
But belief is lost among the clouds,
Out of sight to the gathered crowds,
Out of sight as if eyes were shrouds,
Out of sight from the minds so loud.
“But it seems in this time that you’ve turned black and blue;
Oh well, that’s fine ‘cause it’s cool to be you.”

“A murder weapon,” the people say,
“We find a new one every day.”
O’er the horizon a window shut,
Wishing its day had not come and gone,
Yearning for days that are ages long.
But freedom is gone for safety in name,
Like them, the pawns in life, the game,
Like them, the people are all the same,
Like them, the people fall into shame.
“It seems to us now that you’ve changed quite a bit;
Oh well, as long as the crime still does fit.”

“Where do you go?” the people say,
“You seem to leave us every day.”
Deep within, a pillar shattered,
Sick and weary of its obligation,
Ready to sleep through the end of the nation.
But now there is no one to comfort the dead,
Not one to comfort the rest-weary head,
Not one to deliver for promises said,
Not one to relieve us of our sense of dread.
“But where are you now, are you where you had thought?
Oh, well, that’s okay, in the end it’s for naught.”

So where are you going, and what do you do?
It doesn’t much matter—it’s cool to be you.
It’s best if you hurry and soon find a clue;
Life’s not worth the bother—that’s what we thought too.

[glow=yellow,2,300]Power Surge[/glow] (written summer 2004)
Electric storm.
Sunday never felt this much
Like Tuesday ever before.
In small homes across America
The mice chatter on through the night,
Like squirrels,
Caught up in the thrill of the chase
Of acorns.
But I have no reason to talk.

Lightning flash.
If I were to die today,
Would anyone really notice?
I wish I were an astronaut
So I could soar above this life,
Like an eagle,
High revered in the hearts and minds
Of humans.
But I am unable to fly.

Power surge.
I seem to have misplaced me
Somewhere in my machinery.
I think I have another chance,
Like my brethren,
To redeem myself ‘till the time
Of judgement.
But I can’t even use it.

Outage.
Now that I have lost my toys,
Where will I find a new soul?
The world outside is growing light;
It is dawn,
The sun rising on a new day
Of enlightenment.
But I am shrouded in blindness.

[Ape]

I like all of them...but i think the 2nd one is my favorite.

[AnimaStone]

Okay, and now for a NEW POEM (OMGWTFLOLBBQ!)!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[glow=Maroon,2,300]Asterion Is Dead[/glow]
Life is lonely for the desolation-minded.
Sit down. Stand up. It’s all just the same.
The premise is wearing thin now, thank you;
Think of a new one, and quickly, or I’ll

Sit down, stand up. It’s all just the same.
My sundown is quietly setting in the sky;
Think of a new one, and quickly, or I’ll
Come out of this scrape with nothing to show for it.

My sundown is quietly going supernova in the sky;
People are staring to watch me while I
Come out of this scrape with nothing to show for it.
Maybe I should reconsider being mortal.

People are starting to watch me, and it
Makes me sort of embarrassed.
Maybe I should remember that I’m mortal
And get myself a new job, a better one.

It makes me really angry to see it;
Duct tape heals wounds, but it won’t always last.
I should get myself a new life, a better one.
Even a nobody would. Why can’t I?

Duct tape heals wounds, but it won’t always last—
The adhesive is wearing thin now, watch out—
Even a queer would, they said, why won’t he?
When you’re all alone, nobody loves you.
------------------------------------------------------------------------

Venturing into the realm of pantoums. Good stuff in that area, you know.

[Fea]

WOW the last one was just....WOW. Go you.

[AnimaStone]

Woohoowoo. I have another new poem. This one was written during one of my monthly (or so... they're more frequent now ) bouts of depression, which came directly after I was thinking about how useless life is and how much it sucks to be completely obsessed with someone who knows you exist but would never think of you in that way. I guess you could say it was written "under the influence" if you wanted. Either way, without further ado:

[glow=green,2,300]Who Feels Love?[/glow]
A chemical reaction
A sentimental faction
A spiritual relapse
An idiotic synapse
A mind that’s full of unknowns
A caged-up bag of hormones
A fuzzy mixed-up feeling
A hit that keeps you reeling
A sticky-fingered mishap
A burned-up tattered knapsack
A special set of miscues
A signal that you can’t use
A spotlight to call Batman
A thing you can’t but I can
A wish you know is unwise
A truth I see in your eyes
A wasted time in paradise
A bit of needed advice
A choice you never did choose
A brand new way to just lose.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

As you can see, I'm pretty fucked up. To be honest, though, I don't think I'd be able to live any other way; loneliness and depression are the best inspiration.

[AnimaStone]

Another one. No, you aren't supposed to get the reference in the title. Yes, I am.

[glow=orange,2,300]Cthulhu[/glow]
You can try to shut me away,
To put me out of sight into the corner,
To close me off from the outside,
To staunch the flow of blood.
You can try, my friend,
But you cannot succeed.
I am always with you in the silence,
In the shadow, in the mourning,
In the fog that clouds your mind’s windshield;
And you cannot get away from those things.
I am with you when you cry,
And I am by you when you sigh,
And I silently cast my bets against you.
I am the shadow that obscures your vision,
The hawk that swoops down upon you.
And I am immortal.
I sit by myself, looking down at the world,
Alive before time, alone but not lonely;
I sit and I ponder what life would be like
If life had never happened.
As I think these thoughts,
The world turns slowly below me,
And I sense your happiness.
I send you despair as a Christmas present,
And you gladly take it,
Never suspecting my real intention.
I will offer you a bargain that you cannot afford to refuse.
I am one;
I am many;
I am forever;
I am silent;
I am Immortality.
And once you have learned that,
You can never forget it.
------------------------------------------------------------------------

As you can see, kinda unfinished and not that great. Oh well.

[piñata]

AnimaStone said:

Another one. No, you aren't supposed to get the reference in the title. Yes, I am.

It's H.P. Lovecraft, right?

[AnimaStone]

OMFG. How the fuck did you know that?

[piñata]

Well, I was looking for some good tentacle hentai, and a link referred me to an archive for the newsgroup alt.sex.cthulhu. And I found an explanation of what Cthulhu referred to there. Aren't you glad you asked?

[AnimaStone]

Happiness vanishing rather quickly. I shouldn't have asked. .

[glow=teal,2,300]Apostasy[/glow]
I.
Other poets had it easy.
They wrote their poems and sang their songs
Long before anyone else thought to do so.
They made appeals to the base emotions,
The Archetypes, if you will,
While everyone else was still stuck in Arcadia.
Now they’ve written every poem there is to write.
What other emotion do I have to call on,
When every one already has thousands of poems to its name?
What immortal truth can I portray anew,
When every truth has a book written about it?
I am the kind of person that just sits on the bus,
Watching the sun go down as the light fades away,
Easy to mistake for the tumbleweed
That is passing by my window.

II.
Other athletes had it easy.
They scored their touchdowns and set their records
Long before anyone else thought to do so.
Their victories stick like a fishbone in the throats
Of the winners today,
Because someone has already done everything that is worth doing.
What record can I touch,
Without seeming like a glory-chaser who wants to be the next Montana?
What toughness can I show,
Without inevitably being compared to Lance Armstrong?
I am just a person that goes along for the ride,
Silently looking out the window at the strip malls,
Easy to mistake for a tattered playing card
Lying face down on the pavement.

III.
Other people have it easy.
They live their lives and wallow in their mediocrity,
Just as so many people have thought to do.
Their acquiescence hangs like
Carbon monoxide in the President’s garage.
They sit and call for a hero to come and save them,
But their voices are muffled and hard to hear,
And they wouldn’t know a hero if it came up and choked them to death.
What question can I ask,
When Gawain already found the right one?
What absolution can I bring,
When I find myself a prophet in my own hometown?
I am only a person who’s trying to find the answers,
Staring at the sun when it’s high noon,
Easy to mistake for a savior
Because of the wound in my side.
------------------------------------------------------------------------

Mostly, this poem is just a collection of images I've had floating around in my head for a while.

[AnimaStone]

Don't ask about this one. Just don't ask. I don't really know.

Oh, and by the way, it is in fact three limericks... take that, whoever said limericks were meant to be uplifting and carry no real significance.

[glow=LimeGreen,2,300]Frail[/glow]
I’ve been feeling the magic of losing
Ever since I bent into a shoestring;
I’ve had nowhere to go,
And it started to show
'Til I found out what I should be using.

My luck has improved quite a bit,
But there still is that spot I can’t hit—
The last place I’ll be
Before I go to see
The strange person that won’t let me quit.

Each time that I try to, I fail,
And somehow, I wind up in jail.
I wish I could go free
Without paying the fee,
But I’m not sure that I’m not just frail.
------------------------------------------------------------------------

Is anyone ever going to interpret my stuff? It would make me feel important.... ;D.

[piñata]

I would try, but I legitimitely don't get some of it, and the rest of it is too good for me to feel right about picking it apart.

I will tell you this, though: I'm glad you went with "Spider's Web" as the first thing you posted here. That was always my favorite of the ones you posted on EM.

[AnimaStone]

Fine. If you won't interpret it, could you rate it? I'm entering some into a contest and need to know which ones are best. I'll post another one up that I really like that I wrote over Christmas break, as well as one I wrote last night.

[glow=Pink,2,300]The Tourist[/glow]
Maybe this year, I will find a new purpose,
Chance and adventure and the time of my life,
And maybe, just once, I will see a new dawning,
A new sign of peace in a world full of strife.

“Not so,” said the Fisher King, alive before time,
“You will struggle again and may fall in your climb.
Life isn’t fair; at least that’s what they say;”
That’s all that he said at the end of the day.

Maybe this year, I can make a new country,
One that will understand what is productive,
And maybe, just once, it will flourish and prosper,
And maybe this time it won’t become destructive.

“Not so,” said the Fisher King, never and when,
“Deceit is writ on the heartlines of men.
You can’t tell your future except by your mind;”
That’s all that he said, then he followed his kind.

Maybe this year, everything will be better,
All of the people and all of the creatures,
And maybe, just once, I can see a December
That doesn’t destroy all the redeeming features.

“Not so,” said the Fisher King, back from the dead,
“I see no such vision inside of my head.
The only way out is to never receive;”
That’s all that he said that could make us believe.

Maybe this year, I will go back to nature,
Become one with the stars and the cold winter sun,
And maybe, just once, I can make a reaction
In all of the people—in everyone.

“Not so,” said the Fisher King, wise and old,
“My spirit is weak and my body’s grown cold.
The only thing left is to do what you should;”
That’s all that he said, then he left us for good.
------------------------------------------------------------------------

[glow=Beige,2,300]Demand[/glow]
Here I sit by the side of the road,
Slowly unraveling back into nothing.
I had nothing else to expect;
With a head so far up in the clouds,
It’s the easiest thing to just reach in and
for effectcut it off.
I reached for the impossible,
The one thing that I could not have,
That I wanted so much to have.
But the impossible evaded me,
Like oil, slipping through my outstretched fingers,
Falling through the sky,
Landing somewhere just past India.
Re-entry burned me more than your precious
love
Ever could have. But I still fought on.
Oh yes, I still fought on.
If my father could have seen me,
I am sure he would have been proud
Of the seventh son who refused to quit,
Even in the midst of myxomatosis.
“I am your savior,” I cried out,
Idiot savant, to the savage skies;
The skies were too savage to even
Hear
My voice.
But my written word demands a beholder.
I screamed, frothing at the mouth,
Until my rabies disappeared
And I no longer shuddered at water;
Then I plunged into the depths
With a rock tied to my leg,
But I still floated, agonizingly silent,
On the top of the water.
By that time I was feeling stretched too thin,
A mask of skin on the face of a giant.
Eli, Eli, lema sabachthani?
I wonder what he’d think of me now,
Even though he no longer knows me.
------------------------------------------------------------------------

So... makes you happy to be a member of the same species as me, eh?

[piñata]

Hmm... rate them, eh? Okay, since I'm not sure what scale to use I'll do the ubiquitous 1-10 scale.

The Tourist: 9/10 -- one of your best IMHO.

Demand: 8/10 -- not quite as good, but still good enough, if that makes any sense.

Spider's Web (just for the hell of it): 10/10. 'Nuff said.

[Ape]

Wow, The Tourist...awesome.