I love the poem that you can't think of a name for.

Name suggestion... uhmm... perhaps... "Mortality"?

Meh, I dunno. I suck at naming stuff.

Break me

As I talk to you, I feel as though I've died
once more-
your seemingly innocent question
plagues my mind incessantly.
this isn't the first time,
I've traveled through death's abyss,
his wrinkled wraith like hand clutching towards me,
ever closer-
tormented by your face,
one which shall always be dear to me,
yet one which i know will never be mine.
you ask me questions
that induce heartbreak after heartbreak,
yet each time, I recover,
each time, another attempt in vain.
so here I am,
again-

go ahead-
break me.

My Lantern
THIS IS A WIP, because it sucks rightnow, but it's easier to make small changes to it over time than to keep writing a whole new thing.

My life used to rain,
rain all day
my nights were cold,
not even crows dared
to caw at me-
a meter in front of me,
was invisible from fog.
and then-
then, I heard you,
like a fog horn, leading me
to safety,
in your arms.
You carried a lantern,
its brilliant light banished
the darkness that enshrouds us-
later, hand in hand,
we made it out of that maze,
that maze which had enslaved me for so long,
was now naught but a speck
on my clearing horizon.
thank you-
I whispered-

(uhm... awkward but hey! cyi-cyi i wrote this for you)

this world of blood
a reality check
this red red mud
life's shipwreck

we are no more
we've bit the girth
triggered MAD*
died with the earth





*MAD is an abbreviation for Mutually Assured Destruction. When one person shoots, the other shoots back then both die.

The MAD poem is funny (remember the little pic i drew in class? lol xD)

Alone, Alone

alone, alone,
I am alone,
I do not even
have a phone.

stuck, stuck,
I am so stuck,
I seem to be
out of luck.

scared, scared,
I am so scared,
I am falling
as if you cared.


high, high,
I am so high,
500 miles
In the sky.

alone, alone,
I am alone,
I am a stranger
in this home.

-----

oh, and I wrote this on a plane.

Good Luck Cat

My little cat smiles,
his paw waving high,
his golden sheen
shimmering in the light.
A content grin, not quite a smirk,
as he graces me with his presence.
His tiny ears perked high,
every noise is heard,
none escape.
My little cat wears a bell,
a small golden bell,
it blends with his pelt.
It jingles merrily on
it's little ribbon of
red.

Purple Orchid

My vivid purple orchid
stands high and proud,
as it watches the sun rise
each morning.
It's wide face a
gorgeous tint of pink-
on the edges.
My orchid plays with birds,
little humming birds,
and sings along as
they reach the chorus.
My flower watches deer,
and the occasional passing crow.
It's stalk pressed eagerly against the
window,
crying softly behind it's smile.
Crying softly at the world beyond
it's glass prison.

Little Yellow House

My little yellow house,
just around the corner.
It sits just across a church,
at noon, the bells ring gaily.
My little yellow abode
is waiting for me,
just out of my vision-
invisible in my one remembrance.
I can see the little church,
and almost hear the bells chime
the half hour.
I can see the small flower shop,
and the laundry hanging from
my neighbors window.
I can see the window boxes
that line the street.
But my little yellow house
waits just around the corner.

Cloudy Skies

My cloudy skies
have left me.
The light
pitter-patter
that accompanied it's presence
has been silenced.
The clear, invigorating scent
that follows in it's wake,
has taken it's leave too.
The soft green carpet that
came with the blessed damp,
has bleached and dried into
perfect deer fodder.
But my cloudy skies,
they are gone, and the deer feed,
and the carpet has faded,
and the air holds no comforting scent.
All I am left with is my fond memories,
that haunt the corners of my mind,
replaying over and repeated,
until any sane thought is quickly dismissed
as another hallucination.
And as I sit here, my mind full of
inner turmoil,
my last clear wish,
for my cloudy skies return.

troubled

Crystal clear blue
enshrouds me in a veil
of ecstasy.
The oxygen and hydrogen
cascades over my body,
purifying me, a constant
reminder of the filth that
covers me.
The overwhelming stench
that seems to have infiltrated
my very being, through my skin.
But the water cures this,
and lifts troubling thoughts from
my already troubled mind.

LOST

I am lost,
Lost along this winding river.
I follow the crystal water,
Yet it is always ahead.
I long to simply turn,
Turn and walk away,
And leave my confusion
To aimlessly wander after
The shimmering green stream.
T’was my intent to reach the ocean,
And dive into the frigid black mass,
The angry waves hitting my body.

heehee this is my english poem. I know she told us we only had to use the of the following words: angry lost, crystal, green, inten, confusion, dive, shimmering, longing. but I felt i had to use them all. so I did. I'm wondering why the poem didn't come out longer?

i like 'lost'. my poem for that assignment turned out really weird.

Dead to the world, as it is dead to me


As my eyes closed, and the world died around me,
My mystical carpet appeared.
I clambered on, and the trees and sun flashed by,
Unrecognizable blurs.
I soar through the cyan blue, catching snatches of words,
Long gone by the time I understood their meaning.
I came upon a land, eventually-
Covered in snow, and vivid purple orchids.
The hummingbirds flitted in and out of my vision,
As the edges of my eyes grew dark.
The castle just up on the hill wavered,
As I began to awake to the newly revived world.

Rage

I don't know why I'm angry,
really I don't think i have
a good enough reason.
Sometimes, my anger just
explodes.
If I could control it,
please, know that I would.
Would if I could,
But I cant.
But isn't that what we all say?
I suppose I need a reason,
for this uncalled for pain I inflict
thoughtlessly to those who care enough
who are brave enough
to come near me in my silent fit
of uncontrollable rage.

I love your poems. They are great. Nice job. My favorite one is Death.

Questions

I am in love,
in love with confusion.
If question marks were
visible,
I'd marry one.
Walks thru the park
would be accompanied
by a little stroller,
Q.M Jr.* in his diaper clad glory.
If questions were all you needed
to carry on a conversation,
or to fill an empty belly,
my words could feed a continent.
shrugging shoulders would be
common, as common as
the sun rising.
Or would it? If the sun could question,
would it question it's constant rising
and setting? I suppose, in my
reality, the sun would no longer
soar mightily thru the sky,
and the moon would never grace
the cold dark world with it's glowing
presence?


*- Question Mark Junior. Son of myself and my dearest husband Question Mark

Papa

I'm finally there, papa-
I never knew it would hurt
so much, though.
I'm soaring high
again, papa.
I cried, you know?
No, you wouldn't,
would you?
After all, you were there,
but were you listening?
I think not, as you must have
been thinking of other matters at hand-
such as the breathing tube
down your throat,
or the bandage around your head,
where you bumped it, falling.
And I forgive you,
just as I hope you forgave me,
before you left.
I'm finally there, papa-
I finally understand.

---
a tribute to my grandfather who just died this past Friday night.

Pink to Blue

And with each breath,
the knife stabbed deeper.
And with each movement,
the noose tightened.
And with every sun that rose,
another shaky breath set.
But this would not last long, no,
for as the sun itself set, fading pink to blue,
another shaky breath rose.

Time

Time,
a precious jewel.
and yet, as we preach it's power,
we waste it with every breath.
the ruthless murder of time,
performed in cold blood-
we toss it out the window,
and confine it to miniature wrist wear,
set to scream at a pre-decided moment.
we kill it,
we waste it,
we even eat it, lightly sprinkled on
crisp leaves of lettuce.
And even now, as I pen these words,
i can faintly hear the anguished cries they emit,
as the time spent penning
is spent killing
in pursuit of petty emotions

Your poems are very emotional which adds to the effect of the factor of gloominess, which I like.

Some of the poems are iffy to me, but others truely speak to me, regarding my own experiances.

keep up the good work!

Originally Posted by darkcheese

Your poems are very emotional which adds to the effect of the factor of gloominess, which I like.

Some of the poems are iffy to me, but others truely speak to me, regarding my own experiances.

keep up the good work!

yay! someone likes my work! yeah, alot of people say that my poems are really random, but I write them purely based on spontaneous emotions, or thoughts, or even events. A few of my more recent ones were thought up during a funeral... XP