Deja Vu

Small voices from the dark,
a littered mind. The children of passing
thought, plucked from the whirlwind
between. Memories half-remembered,

songs whose tunes we cannot place.
A single vision sends a tremor of
recognition through everything
but the tongue. Such is life,

brimming with déjà vu.

Unexpected endings

Time, the wily rogue, appears
behind a blade to your throat.
All that planning blotted
by rain, soaking into your
quivering husk of stress.
The steel edge frees
grains of red sand.
Your hourglass
bursts with it.
There is no place
to hide from Time.
He loves the “ready.”
Crouching in shadow,
he baits for that pause:
between breaths of relief
and the smile that slides
from Man’s lips to eyes.
You watched and he waits.
Time ensnared you still.

Please note that you only need one thread for your poetry. Be sure to read the forum's rules before posting.

I've merged your two poetry threads into one.

I like it. Your first is a bit vauge and has a lot of fragments. I'd like to see it drawn out more, really. The imagry is a wonderful start, too.

Isn't that how deja vu is though? Vague fragments of ghost memories?

Yes, but you're writing should still have correct grammer. You're sentences shouldn't be fragments. You have good imagry, but it doesn't really give anything to the poem.

Like you're poetry should show me a story. Like for instance I should be asking questions like...
1) What voices? Why are they there? What is their involvement with this deja vu?

2) What child are you talking about? What does it have to do with Deja vu? Why is being plucked from a whirlwind? What do you mean by 'whirlwind inbetween'? Why is there a wirlwind even mentioned?

3) What is 'such is life' suppose to mean? What that life is deja vu? Is full of it? It's also very cliche to use that... now that I think of it.


A poem is suppose to paint a picture or what's ever happening with words. It's... like write thinking you're describing a color to someone blind. Someone that doesn't know what you mean. Answer all the obvious quetions that come with it, but don't make it obvious that you're actully answering them. Does that make more sense?

By the way... You should totally go check out my Challenge. I think it would help you with your writing along with the form poetry thread I put up.

I had to ask permission for the Challenge... This is definitly not Gaia. I can't even set up a Critique Thread like I'd like to. They're not allowed.

Secret Keeper


Shh! Don’t tell.
Secrets dwell here.
In the darkness
these grey tomes
gather dust,
bound with
writhing shadows
of the heart’s dark parts.
I keep the book of secrets,
charged with this task:
hands cut from holding
black shards from other souls.
I’m not among the noticed, still
invisible once found. They cast
their thorns before me.
Their footsteps make no sound.
Haunted, empty eyes
won’t see me where I stand
but their mumbled words
of “Thank you” are for me.
When they leave,
I am alone
collecting broken glass,
with red fingers
trained with time,
to sort and store the secrets
they cannot stand to keep.

Between the acts

Fall, the dying beauty,
full of slender brown skins
shedding colored robes
of orange, red, and yellow.

Cider and earth tempt
the nose and mouth
full with longing.

Flighty chilling breeze,
playful and subtle,
carries every scrap
of that colored cloth,
tugs at hair and
beckons with belonging.

The slowness of the world
so pronounced, it whispers
of the fading winds:
Bring the blankets of snow.

My drug

Raise cracked lips to Lady Nut!
Droplets sizzle down your throat,
quenching parchment skin.
Sweet, vanquished thirst.

Your reedy limbs grow plump
with greedy sucking, wet grass
slides between bare toes.
This gift is yours.

Clothes grown heavy with need,
the threads of denim shiver
with their gross appeal.
Too soon to fade.

Catch your ecstasy and wonder
at the soothe it brings your mind.
The skies fulfill your crave
in summer rain.

Keep It Secret

Sat Humpty Dumpty on his wall.
He toppled then, historic fall.
Now Humpty Dumpty quakes in fear
whenever he finds out I’m near.

I came across him on that day
and crouched by where he, broken, lay.
Saw cupped in shell the chocolate cream,
I rubbed my eyes. Was this a dream?

Took out a spoon, with which to feast,
approaching him as hungry beast.
I ate until the cream was gone.
I hadn’t been there very long

before I heard the trod of feet.
Act quick, I must, or face defeat.
I cleaned out all the chocolate dregs,
began to fill his shell with eggs.

As I filled, a startled cry
from lips escaped as men walked by.
They gathered all to come around
and view the oddity they found.

Lips ringed with chocolate froth sat I,
forming in my head a lie
to cover up my heinous deed
with which my innocence to plead.

The king’s men charged in standing tall,
asking all about his fall.
When most shrank back, they looked at me.
I had the sudden urge to flee.

Frozen, rooted to the spot,
my mind grasped but a single thought.
“T’was not I,” I, stuttering, say,
“I simply found him here this way!”

Had Humpty eyes to roll, he would.
He would object, if he but could.
I prayed in pieces he would stay
lest he should give my lie away…

The soldier frowned, displeased, of course.
He got an answer without force.
He crouched close, surveying the scene.
Now searching for some things to glean.

He climbed up on the warm brick wall
announcing there in drunken drawl,
“Aw, he fell off ag’in, the twit!
C’mon you guys, get on with it.”

Try as they might, the king’s “great” men
failed putting Humpty right again.
He’s patched up, same as like before,
but his mind’s gone, he’s sane no more.

Originally Posted by Lovers Never Tell

Yes, but you're writing should still have correct grammer. You're sentences shouldn't be fragments. You have good imagry, but it doesn't really give anything to the poem.

i like her poem with the fragments in it. a deja-vu is only pieces and fragments too. many amazing poems i have read have plenty of fragments in it. i think poetry is fine with fragments, as long as you make sure they work well and use them purposefully

Thank you Amulet.

E.E. Cummings poems are full of fragments and punctuation and his stuff is amazing. Poetry is highly experimental and I personally think my poem works the way it is.

Gorgon's Lullaby

Originally Posted by kitsuneneo

Come little child.
Come, come away
to the garden of roses
where dreams come to play.
Sing little child,
a magical song,
a tune of enchantment
so soothing and long.
Dance little child
your laughter so light,
gather the star shine
and sleep through the night.

It's a little song I wrote for my story "Gorgon's Song" which is posted in the Lit spot. Go check it out. :sarcasm: