AnimaStone's Poetry Thread

[Predator-Fan]

Like it! Likev it alot! It was really good!

[AnimaStone]

[glow=red,2,300]R.E.M.[/glow]

Each day the silent comet burns farther
in the occipital coast of my mind’s ear
I scream without reason and to no one, for it
neither hurts nor thrills, but merely leaves
the vague memory of a dull, dreary pain
For there are no secrets from me
I have eyes to see the hierophanies
scratched childishly in the dirt
and skin to feel the ghosts of dead souls
in your morning cup of coffee
and a mouth to taste the tacit rancor
But I care not for the rambling
musings of the politicians
who are loquacious with their hearing
but spartan with their listening
My head is turned to the sky's glistening
even though the ones I seek are not there
where else is there to look?

[Predator-Fan]

Hmmmmm...... I'm not all that sure on this one. It didn't make that much sense to me. What kind of rhythm were you looking for? Iambic diameter or free verse? But I still like it.

[AnimaStone]

No set rhythm. Just free verse. If you read it, though, you can find a sort of rhythm hidden in there... or at least, the author can.

[Predator-Fan]

Hmmmmm.......I guess you're right!

[AnimaStone]

I retooled "Demand". I like it about seven hundred times more now. Here goes:

[glow=black,4,300]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 lean over and
cut 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 the
Sting of disappointment ever could.
But 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,
No words to tell, no one to tell them.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------

I've got a few new ones in the works. Just hold on.

[Predator-Fan]

Oh My Gosh! I LOVE this one!

[AnimaStone]

No poem right now, but something better: one of the best fiction works I've ever written. Check it out in the fiction forum.

[Predator-Fan]

OK! I'll do that!

[AnimaStone]

Breakin' out the classics now. This is from about two years ago.

[glow=gray,2,300]gravity always wins.[/glow]
Gone now are the men who saw
Red sunrise at sea
And I have naught left to say
Vision clouds the peoples’ minds
In most things I know
Tis fate, left for you and I
Yet now my future goes on
And I trace its steps
Lose not your own way.

[AnimaStone]

[glow=purple,2,300]Salvation (The Magician)[/glow]
I’m just another teenage son
Trying to figure out the answers,
Easy to mistake for the word
You can’t quite put your finger on.

Some days I wax prophetic;
Others I am depressingly blind.
I stumble through lines of doublespeak,
Trying to find a desert in the forest.

I’m named, but nameless,
An anomaly in this society.
Sometimes I wish for the rules,
Others feel smothered by freedom.

If all I wanted was stability,
I would have already asked for it.
I’m just another poet
Memorizing the meaning of life,
Easy to mistake for a tumbleweed
Floating in the wind outside your door.

I often think I’ve lost my mind,
But I know just where I’d put it.
It doesn’t help that I always ask
Even if I know the answer.

I wish I could express the way
I learn more at night than in the day,
Like the tortuous scrabbling cry
Of a falling cat.

I’m just another teenage son
Trying to find the answers,
Staring out my car window at the sunset,
Easy to mistake for a savior
Because of the wound in my side.

[AnimaStone]

[glow=red,2,300]A Poem for Ray Bradbury[/glow]
Falling dust shivers
as guitar riffs rip through the otherwise silent air,
coming to rest finally on open notebooks and leadless pencils.
The silvered wrapper in the trash can
buckles over again upon itself,
succumbing to an unseen gust of tamed wind.
The plastic plug from a forgotten appliance
rests solidly in the wall;
the synapses of the old house still firing
though it hasn’t had memories in years—
of golden-furred denizens scratching nosebleeds;
of clumsy whispered midnight conversations;
of waking hours, blissfully unaware of
the clock counting them down;
of shoes and lunchboxes left behind.
The only intelligence left in this place
is the slow stasis of the video camera in the slightly open shelf,
or perhaps the boy sitting in his room, thinking vaguely
of the archetypal porcelain figure just down the hall.
But it’s too early in the night for dreams like these,
and I turn the light off.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A side note: does anyone get the exact reference?

[AnimaStone]

It's been quite some time. Just to give you a taste of what I've been up to artistically in the past two and a half years, I'll post this little ditty. I wrote it yesterday, actually, and it's safe to say that it lies firmly in the "metaphysical poetry" direction. Questions, comments, and expressions of awe are, as always, welcome.

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

On the Internet

We weren’t surprised to see it
breathing, sleeping, resting
on the tops of our desks, sprawled
out like an ancient cat in a patch
of birdless sun.
Respiring gently through the night
in dimmed tranquil in-motions
resembling coma.

We saw it unfold each morning
with the petals of an octopus
caught in a net and eddied in
loose, luxuriating circles.
As if it were a thing beyond itself.
Such an ugly thing at times.

We were hardly spotless ourselves.
All the late night nosedives and
office hour cold breathing.
Trying to drive a stake through
the heart of time itself as if it were
the vampire it is.
We were drag-towed by currents
of ink spills and the western angst,
waiting impatiently for the rapture
in a doctor’s office that we built.

We were careless. We nebulous children
of the rolling sun. We should have
watched more closely, examined
more keenly, kept for it the eye that was
reserved for backyard fence doors.

We should have seen it fracture
like a touch screen dropped
down a flight of stairs.

We should not have been surprised
when it got up and started walking,
thanking us politely for the legs,
then kicked down the door,
walked to the street, took a look
in the direction of sunset,
and left.

[piñata]

It is kinda awesome, but... what the fuck is it about?

[AnimaStone]

That's a good question.

I think it's about the dangers of technology, but not in a "we need to throw the comput0rz out the windows!!!!1" way. More of a warning to keep the hands on the wheel.

I'm not positive though. When I pull out a line like "We nebulous children of the rolling sun", all bets are off, really.