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Poetry


Recommended Posts

waxman.

 

POETRY

 

 

 

Buddha

 

Poetry 1- Buddha

 

 

Cross legged, spine high

Criss cross thoughts

Meaningless, and why?

I crack the system

Control the stimuli

Muscles crench for impact

Pupils dialate

Body hair stands with pride and joy

Awaiting on this trace

 

 

Demanding for answers

Cry whose name?

Spending hours in your court

Society has to blame

With this nonesense and lies

No one caught red handed

You tell me why.

 

 

My body quivers with delight

Fast motion you cannot track

Bright lights, speed chat, hollow holes

I use my will, my mite

And open the eyes

Knowing I hesitated; coulda, shoulda, woulda

On the ceiling, shimmering with life

Buddha.

Edited by Coat.
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Sorry, Coat. I read it just now. You've did a reall good job with the allignments. It looks perfect. 'Poem 1: Buddha'

^this line is not necessary as you've already entered the title above it. It makes it look kinda uneven. Other than that, you've did a good work. I'm really poor in poems so my feedbacks may be a little short. Anyway, keep your poems coming.

Edit: Sorry, Mokrie. Never realised it. Thanks a lot for correcting. smile.gif

Edited by shiva s
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Mokrie Dela

i liked reading that. Some typos and a couple of instances where the poem doesnt seem to flow too well in my eyes (I'm too rusty to offer advice on that front), and a couple of times i simply didnt get what was trying to be said, but i liked reading that and look forward to reading more.

 

@Shiva, there's no need to quote the post, you were first poster so it's clear you're replying to that,

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waxman.

 

Down The Straight

 

 

 

 

The car backfired, debris spits everywhere

Speed gauge on flatout

Cheaper than a bus fair

Faster than a blackout

With my shades hanging from my nose

 

Stereo on max, burnt tire fills the air

Anything goes

Out, far from the city life

On the country road

Where you are the limit

Ego is the thrill

Wearing my sloppy joh

 

I hit a far bend

The car turns the exit right

Wheels turn against me

With furious fright

The car makes the bend

accelerates

Down the straight

 

 

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Eminence

I thought some of the language used in that last one was really interesting; quite vivid imagery that, as cammi says, pulls you into the world. One thing I'd say is that it doesn't really feel too unified - feels like it's at odds with each other, almost.

 

The main notion I got from it was a sense of freedom, 'out on the country road' where 'anything goes' - but I didn't feel that sense of freedom; I felt quite restricted.

 

Now, it may be that you wanted to create this sort of tension, in which case I guess you could disregard me, but it could help to try and think about how to use the form to mirror this thematic idea: if you're trying to convey a sense of freedom, allow the lines to be free, unconstrained, instead of tied into a quite rigid structure.

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  • 2 weeks later...
waxman.

 

Beyond

 

My eyes skim the night sky

Glistening with curiosity

Knowing our creator lied

 

It lied about space and time

While men in white coats scrath and ask why

They admired the greats, the nobalists too

They tried to squeeze it like a pulp

But nothing could do

 

I occasionally spark my mind

Far out in the countryside

From the cities lights

Traffic, tangled like kites

Crowds and mobs, some of them fight

 

But I sit in the countryside,

Where only lions hide

They also seek cover and shelter

But where do I go when my creator lies.

So I simply span my eyes across the night sky

Telling the lions of our tales

Humanitys lies.

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  • 2 months later...
waxman.

 

Best Day

 

The tarmac laid fresh

The weeds pulled deep

From the eerie below

 

The rotors waved as a go

the fourteen men made their way

with their heads laying low

and their hearts on their sleeve

 

Crickets stopped chirping

Predators stopped lurking

and the plane was indeed working

 

Airborne with height

Wind took the lift

The ground turned blue

Below seemed fray

Irrelevant

Seemed the day was irrelevant

 

Never expecting to return,

Nor hoping for long life,

It didn't matter if it was a good day

As bad

Because their lives were already over

and the best of them got older

Leaning on each others shoulder

Watching the sun die down and the fields grow darker

Further... bolder

As the last of us glimpsed at the best days of our lives.

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I love where your mind goes and the things you speak of, but I think you should put more effort into your meter, structure, and form. I understand that it's free verse poetry, yes, but it feels like you put very little effort into it when every single line of every single stanza of every single verse is so very differently structured. I'd really like to see what your creative heart could come up with if you follow the rules.

Edited by mvega0422
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  • 1 month later...
TenEightyOne
I'd really like to see what your creative heart could come up with if you follow the rules.

Rules, schmools...!

 

"Down the Straight" didn't do it for me, I have to say, but "Buddha" and "Beyond"... really good stuff.

 

I'd love to give a deeper critical analysis but it really isn't warranted. Coat, please continue to ignore the rules!!!!!

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waxman.

 

Shady Acres

 

 

There is a distant light in between two hills

Small but faint

The willow whistles

 

It's hill both wide and deep

But it's population,

Crammed in a heap

 

As these souls of the south

Reach out with each vowel

And in each climb

And in each fall

Them barren, wet plains

They wearily call

 

It's small yet faint

echoed in the summer

the old burry their graves

the younger, the dummer

 

Yet they sease to exsist

in this bottom abyss

between the crevase of our nation

In our homes foundation.

 

No homes to fit the weak

No loans to feed those who shreek

No bread for the kids

And no love for them who live

 

In that we are simply nothing,

without our shelter, loans, kids and love

Because we are our own makers

In this land between two hills

Deep below the soil and artificial skills

It's a place called Shady Acres

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waxman.
Check your spelling and punctuation!

 

The content's very enjoyable though biggrin.gif

 

Is it about Sheffield? lol.gificon14.gif

I wrote this out while on GTAForums, on my PS3 - so mind the puncuation.

 

Why would you think it's about Sheffield - just curious?

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  • 4 weeks later...
waxman.

 

Diabolical

 

I never understood why cousion Joey killed himself,

He had nothing to loose,

But he had nothing to gain

But sometimes I still hear his faint whisle

It echoes throughout the everglades

War was soon,

Off went a missle

Off I went

To the depths...

...Diabolical...

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  • 2 weeks later...
waxman.

 

Salt Tears

 

 

Them ladders and those rules,

I glimpes down at my mule,

 

We stand high at the crests peak,

Never knowing when you're going to snap,

But you always know when you're going to die,

 

Yet as the sea breeze touched me,

I had a rush of bright emotions,

Sympathy, ecstaticy, guilt

 

I found some flint

and carved a knife,

Aphrodite's salt tear washed down my forehead,

My soul become lucid,

I sacraficed the mule and washed my hands

 

Turning back towards the ocean,

I knew I was judged,

And I threw the bloody flint into the sea

It budged pass the coral and onto the bed

Grinding against ridged rocks and stones,

It's true that object's have fears,

 

Years passed and I departed,

Leaving a trace to nothing on the human race,

Expect a gift for the stomch of the planet,

The ocean...

It was a carved weapon,

the only that a weak element could use.

 

It washed and clambered it's way to shore,

Before being picked up by a boy named 'Ned'

He depicted life before the war,

it was raw,

Like an open sore... wound.

 

Young Ned made a necklass out of it,

Using it as a tool,

Even gave it to his mother to nit.

Young Ned lived beside the sea,

not knowing the story thay would be.

 

Young Ned grew old,

He knew it was time to give it a goal,

So he gave it to his grandson,

His name was, 'Charles Manson'

And off went Charles into the abyss of the evening light.

 

City streets were too loud for Manson,

And he rathered the country life

Were people would be barn dancin',

And he'd be up the front on stage,

With two men playing the blues,

While he'd be strumming away to, 'She's got you'

And who be that women looking fine,

It was Pasty Cline.

 

Charles had seen better days with his necklass,

So he drilled a hole in it and used it for good use,

And he'd know he'd never loose,

Which the flint knife was now a pick.

 

This little boy was older now,

and he was poor now,

after the days of country had left,

and all he had was his dying dog 'Beth'.

He had to feed her,

but how so when he had no fur

No mollow... no cash,

 

So little boy Manson robbed a store,

He took the money, the milk

He took more and more,

When the man tried to stop him,

He pulled out his flint pick,

And stabbed him to death

bit by bit...

 

Some still say the flint is still around,

flowing through the creeks of America,

Ever knowing it's fluresent life,

People never seeing what it's doing,

But it's taking you,

It's taking you back to the crest of the mountain,

To hear you scream in fear,

In what is reality,

To give sympathy to Aphrodite's salt tears.

 

 

Whether this made sense to you, I don't really care.

 

 

 

 

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