Poetry & Prose

There are strangers in my room.
Questions, and then silence.
"Who are you?" they ask,
and I scream for them to get out,
but no one looks my way.

I wait.

They sit on my chairs and I sigh.
They look straight through me.
I pout and stomp and they ask for more.
"What do you want?"
But they ignore my reply.
"Do you know that you're dead?"
And my whole world collapses.

And thus in anguish Beren paid
for that great doom upon him laid,
the deathless love of Luthien,
too fair for love of mortal Men;
and in his doom was Luthien snared,
the deathless in his dying shared;
and Fate them forged a binding chain
of living love and mortal pain

J,R,R,Tolkein - The Lay of Leithian lines 786-793

(And Ace, that 'ghost' was a car reflection )

Akkarin wrote: (And Ace, that 'ghost' was a car reflection )

Shhhh...! :whistle: Haha, I know. I actually wrote that poem a few days back after watching Ghost Hunters, lol.

Hickory-dickory-dock,
The World rolled round th'epoque,
The clock struck One
--but just for fun--
'Twas really but seven o'clock ...

Hickory-dickory-hick,
Has everyone gone thick ?
The clock stikes six,
--a right dodgey fix--
In a World gone mentally sick.

Can you hear the drumbeat,
the rhythm of being and blood,
of humanity's core pulsing,
flowing through our water-wrapped planet
from gravity's union with our distant star?

There is a drumbeat, a tribal dance,
a living, breathing body
that cycles through every atom.
There is a council of all who dwell,
and those who can hear the drumbeat,
they sing.

Never stop singing,
for what is a beat without a melody
but a half-finished masterpiece?

Poetry can be;
Thought provoking and very fun;
Don't you think? Chicken.

Does anyone here write stories, I often feel frustrated because I can't get many people to read mine so it would be great to exchange writing with someone...

(apologies if I am hijacking the thread)

Actually,

Some time ago, I started a forum thread.

It is called : "From time to time a poem"

It is not "mine" ...

It is for everyone ...

In the end, do we even own the expressions we try to express in poetry?

In my opinion, being a composer and a vocalist... we tend to have a feeling of "ownership" about music and art and words. But, really...

Akkarin wrote: Poetry can be;
Thought provoking and very fun;
Don't you think? Chicken.

It was pointed out to me elsewhere that the second line actually has 8 syllables

So to preserve my honour I offer this alternative:

Poetry can be;
Thought provoking and joyous;
Don't you think? Chicken.

I was just too distracted by trying to include the word chicken on the 3rd line to notice

Mace Feibel wrote: Does anyone here write stories, I often feel frustrated because I can't get many people to read mine so it would be great to exchange writing with someone...

(apologies if I am hijacking the thread)

The best way to do this is to get involved with writing communities online: deviantART, FictionPress, LiveJournal, Tumblr...take your pick. Post your stuff, then read other people's pieces and comment. The more you build up your online presence, the more notice you'll get on your own work. It takes time, just keep at it.

Hope that helps!

The legend of the Knight of Thered Crosse

I

Lo I the man,° whose Muse whilome did maske,
As time her taught, in lowly Shepheards weeds,
Am now enforst a far unfitter taske,
For trumpets sterne to chaunge mine Oaten reeds,
And sing of Knights and Ladies° gentle deeds;
Whose prayses having slept in silence long,
Me, all too meane, the sacred Muse areeds
To blazon broade emongst her learned throng:
Fierce warres and faithfull loves shall moralize my song.

II

Helpe then, O holy Virgin chiefe of nine,°
Thy weaker Novice to performe thy will;
Lay forth out of thine everlasting scryne
The antique rolles, which there lye hidden still,
Of Faerie knights° and fairest Tanaquill,°
Whom that most noble Briton Prince° so long
Sought through the world, and suffered so much ill,
That I must rue his undeserved wrong:
O helpe thou my weake wit, and sharpen my dull tong.

III

And thou most dreaded impe of highest Jove,°
Faire Venus sonne, that with thy cruell dart
At that good knight so cunningly didst rove,
That glorious fire it kindled in his hart,
Lay now thy deadly Heben bow apart,
And with thy mother milde come to mine ayde;
Come both, and with you bring triumphant Mart,°
In loves and gentle jollities arrayd,
After his murdrous spoiles and bloudy rage allayd.

IV

And with them eke, O Goddesse heavenly bright,°
Mirrour of grace and Majestie divine,
Great Lady of the greatest Isle, whose light
Like Phoebus lampe° throughout the world doth shine,
Shed thy faire beames into my feeble eyne,
And raise my thoughts, too humble and too vile,
To thinke of that true glorious type of thine,°
The argument of mine afflicted stile:°
The which to heare, vouchsafe, O dearest dred,° a-while.


Form the first book of the Fairie Queene...

I was looking through some old paperwork from back when I was in the navy and came across a poem written by my sword instructor(also a jedi, and a true friend) that he had asked me to read over and edit for him, the paper still had all my edits.

Whatever happened to the old ways?

Honor, romance, courage, compassion,
Are these just words without action?
Am I the last who charges in on a stallion of white,
Sword drawn to slay evil and make wrong right?

As long as I am here to keep the memory alive
Chivalry will live on and never die.
Perhaps I am a lumbering dinosaur,
Tired, old, with all my muscles sore.

Even though my sword is dull and rusted,
My armor corroded, having lost its luster,
I shall never surrender my blade,
Nor give in to the dishonorable way.

Until my flesh rots to dust and bone,
Until all of my essence is gone,
I will defend the old ways and pacts,
While keeping the code alive and intact.

S.R. Patterson(ctsn, u.s. navy) 05 July 1997