Belive it or not I played rugby for3years!!

2nd row!! hated every min of it (apart from the showers!!)

I can play sax i suppose!

oh aren't we talented!!!!

Dave - what a good poem! I love it!

alberto, thankyou, it is nice to hear that people like my poetry. i'm always a bit self-conscious, primarily cos i like to rhyme where others aren't so sure about it (but then rhyming is part of being a pagan - many wiccans (*and LARPers) are OBSESSED with rhyming, and murdering the usage of words like "thee", "thy", "thou,"doth", etc...)

sax; what can i say, you're the best-looking barman in the universe and i'm sure you are fantastic at saxophone dude. play for the LGBT sometime, we'd love to hear a performance!

nic, my favourite rugby-playing lesleybean - you might not think yourself talented at poetry or anything else literature-wise, but i'm pretty confident you're one hell of a demon at tackling

to all my poetry-posting amigos, keep it up, you're all fantastic!

me
xxx

-- Edited by chemicalfears at 01:29, 2005-05-13

lol Cheers sasha! I love the old bar
Your poetry is wicked!

quote:

---

Originally posted by: NickyDyke85
"

I was quite a good tackler"

---

Nicky pity your into girls!

sorry guys i'm bringing down the tone of this post. I'm gonna stop

-- Edited by saxyboy at 10:40, 2005-05-13

First attempt at poetry so be kind...

EMPTY

A struggle with every broken heartbeat,
Torment inside a troubled mind.
Love, the greatest of gifts.
Such beauty contained within.
Rose petals hiding wretched thorns.

Lost inside a moment,
A perfect memory,
Brimming with incomparable joy,
And ignorant bliss.
Shattered on callous reality.

A tear shed for every smile that was.
A tear shed for every smile that will never be.
Unbearable to endure,
Anger consumes.
An end cannot approach swiftly enough.

Can there be any hope for the future?
Solemnly, I walk alone.
Silently contemplating.
Along a path of nameless tombstones.

Hi.
I'm a different poster from the above post:


When the sky used to be gray
I used to be locked in my room
And write an epic

The ending I used to draw
Never became true
For it couldn't wait any longer
After several defeat

After I've been let out from my fortress
And when the summer comes...
I natrually tend to go outside
Even if I don't have a place I belong to

Good bye
I never want to see you again
I hate happy endings
Delete your number from my phone

You'll probably spew out the same line
To some other willing guys
I'm probably dead gorgeous
In this quiet quite boring town
But won't mean a thing soon

Sorry, but I really don't see the point
The meaning has long been lost
And I prefer for the story to end this way

Nice poems, both Anons! Mine is crap. I don't want to blame just the perry. It's just all the **** I've had this year. Happy 2005!

yeah i really like it.

i want to attempt to write a poem but im about as creative as a wet fart

Oh, and thanks for your compliments. Not very sure about the frost in the first stanza, but well...

Poetry doesn't only have to deal with anger...

Anyway, I can't believe they've not taken off your "pretty rank" yet.

It's true that I more often get into a creative mood when I'm sad or angry. It's such a shame, though, because I don't want to end up in a mental hospital or under a bridge!

4got2 mention am likin the anon poems & Alby i love yours, ur all talented :o)

Thanks for your kind words, Nic. I think we all have something to say and some poetry inside ourselves. The only thing that varies is how personally you're able to express yourself.

I do English, arsecandle.

Woo hoo! Trying to impress me? ;o) Sylvia is one of my favourites.

I generally find two kinds of poetry: poetry to study and poetry to read. I hate having to analyse poetry I'd read for pleasure, and I can't stand reading poetry that needs to be analysed in my spare time.

So... you wouldn't find me analysing Sylvia Plath's poetry with a pen in my hand, and you wouldn't catch me reading T S Eliot in the beach.

Around a lake
Is a trail of my heart
dressed with grass
and mud
and styls

Follow it round
in red and green
breathing in
the love and hate
I feel, falling
For You

Track the tears
That wet the soil
That makes that squelch
Under your shoe
And make me slip
And dirty my clothes

Sit on a stump
and take a minute
so the sound of my voice
and the words that I speak
become tangible objects
you can touch and feel

Make a stage
From a grassy patch
and undress
and perform
with your web
your boiler suit
and catch me, entangle me

Scare me with the imprint
of your trainers
Leave me alone in the dark
Rehearse your lines
And come back to me
Let me love you

Don't walk my trail
Just because I am there
Don't follow the signs
But don't take short cuts
Explore me
Don't use me
Just for your bank of emotion.

quote:

---

Originally posted by: AlbyFC
"It's true that I more often get into a creative mood when I'm sad or angry. It's such a shame, though, because I don't want to end up in a mental hospital or under a bridge! "

---

mental hospital won't be that bad sweetie. when we break, we need somewhere safe to do it. it's just a sham that it has to be somewhere away from humanity

i write poetry now to release all the ghosts in me. i used to do it to see if i had talent, now it's more like the release i think it's meant to be...for me anyway.

have fun kids
xxx
me

no you weren't wrong nic, not really. we all have our demons after a fashion, so there wil always be a way for us to release, whether it's poetry, football, rugby, painting, singing, karate, or origami.

always a way to release the stuff you don't want anymore.

me
xxx

i release my stress by getting on my horse and galloping off into the sunset.. well not quite, but it's amazing how everything melts away and i can forget about 'life' when i'm bimbling along talking to domino. when i've been really stressed i've ended up crying with relief while riding, just cos i'm out in the countryside away from everyone. we all have our things to focus on that take our minds away from the pressing worries usually around us, and for me it's concentrating on what paths we're going to explore, what we're going to see and where domino puts his feet.

i've written a few poems, but they have all the literary sense of a 14yr old being forced to write a poem for english homework at 7.30am on the bus, when in fact they were written at 4am as the birds started up and the sky got lighter on any number of sleepless nights.

this is a very recent one...

killing time
til the morning light
sleep may decide
to evade me,
to slip out of my grasp

or maybe i decide
to push sleep away
and not let it back in
demons come with sleepless dark
sleep comes - when?

desperation, boredom, memories,
unhealthy, spiralling down
distortion, pain, anger
tumbling, falling, soaring,
to the ground,
where i wake with a start.

thats a good poem evie, nowt like a 14yr old tryin 2 rip out homework on a bus

i have a feeling of calm,
like the universe is right behind me,
whatever i do at any given moment...
like if i failed life itself,
i still wouldn't break

i have a sensation of clouds,
breathing in between the spaces,
filling the recesses of my spirit,
so much air
in pure blue and
white...

lift as never was,
be as never said,

fall as always wanted -
slow and without fear.

me
xxx

Wow!

Dawn-Soul Sonnet
(Based on the song "Wish i never saw the sunshine" - Beth Orton)

The dawn has sold my soul
For the price of a sunny day,
Causing people to comment
That it's usually raining on us all.

These days

Clouds suffer boredom
Hailed by arrival of your absence
Quick as wind, hard as ice, splinters to the bone
As it usually rains on us all

These days.

Dawn-soul the advocate of the liar,
The stormy weather coming in to the harbour
Chopping as the sky falls down
Settling in to the bitter insomnia of your ragged breath.

Sort of Miracle


I really don�ft need anyone
I can take care of myself
The reason why I kept repeating was
Cuz I didn�ft want to acknowledge
That I was in a place out of my control

I just got tired of�c.
Some �gfun�h that people try to force on me
Or dodging people tryin�f to use me
Before I�fve knew it, I was running away
In a place where there�fs nowhere to go

Just so that no one realize me
I hid myself in the darkness
You�fve found me
And showed me things
Which I�fve long gave up

I think everyone else
Is in a rush for somethin�f inconceivable
But I will stay here with you
Cuz I can�ft think else which is better

Like a dried fish that felt water again
All the things that I�fve tried to disregard
It�fs now back and I feel stronger than ever

Never was much into a cheesy music
What would you say for a guitar-strummin�f rock piece?
Lose ourselves in the beat
I will go back home at 8 in the mornin�f

This body, this passion
If you will it
It�fs all for you

God, did I say somethin�f
Extra corny?
Keep it a secret
Just between us

Will cross over the ocean
Anytime, if I had to
If that is what I have to do
To see you again

Thumbs up to Anon for his beautiful contributions, and wow, Cory, why didn't you post before? I think you've got a very powerful voice. Very juvenile and yet very sincere and unafraid.


Dave, my favourite line is "chopping as the sky falls down". Unexpected and powerful. :o)

Here goes another one of mine.


This line is strong like an angry umbrella,
like my arm,
lifting pounds of muddy soil,
making circles in the air
with a bottle of cheap perry
and a mind full of the buzz
of annoying bees.

Funny how I've never had to use my arm
to cover my head -
to slam a door -
to break a heart...

I've never been given the chance.
The lagoon of choices I live in
is more like an Autumn escapade.

I take the fastest train to York
and among ruins and tea-rooms
I choose life oozing jasmine
and an old book,

dust and flowers for all I've been denied.
I never said I was an angel -
all my angels are torn pieces of paper,
weak lines waiting in a row
for a house to live in.

My auspicious left hand is my frontier,
holding a cigarette
that will roll down the street in half a minute.

My only certainty is this stanza,
this line straggling towards the end,
trying to storm off the stage with elegance
but only managing to think of love on the way out
and losing its rythm.

All as lovely as ever, everyone. Here's another... I just tickled my creative tonsils, and this came splurging out...

Strange to feel so empty.
Do I have to wait so long?
Who have I offended?
What have I done wrong?

If I could see a speck of light
Scratching at the window
Crawling through the cracks
It’s dark in here
It’s so dark in here

If I could hear a single breath
Feel it on my cheek
I’d cling to it for weeks
It’s quiet here
Oh so quiet here.