Post by The Enforcer on Feb 15, 2013 0:06:14 GMT -5
While Vi herself may not be either poetic or graced with natural finesse...well, I at least score on one of those two. And here's a hint; I'm a klutz.
I'll just write random things here when I come up with them. Here's a short list of what I'm capable of:
1) Epic novels (Yeah, no. You're not getting to see Saga. -.-) 2) Poetry (Assorted; I can do sonnets, haiku, quatrains, and occasionally, I try other, less-well--known poem types that aren't really famous if I tread across them.) 3) Short Stories (Sometimes, I come across commitment issues and won't finish, but I'm good at writing short commentaries, sometimes fan fictions, sometimes original stories, sometimes somewhere between the two.) 4) Fables (I've only written one, but I can probably try it again.)
And that's it. I'll open up with a poem. Easy come, easy go, right?
A Steel World
A world of spires Aspires to succeed, Leading the world With every good deed.
The world of spires Once had streets of gold, But became replaced With steel so cold.
Once an ideal world of peace, Now a world barren and cold. Once a truthful center of life, Now a figment from the tales of old.
No longer plain As black and white, Eternally faded Into the night,
The steel world, Eternally cold, No longer covered In glistening gold,
A message to all Of perfection gone wrong, Of good intentions Turned bitter and gone.
Post by The Enforcer on Feb 15, 2013 18:53:31 GMT -5
Alright, so...today's day two. I think I'm going to write another poem today. :D
Pure Bright
A shining star, a beacon of light, Piercing the veil of the curtain of night, Shining abroad for all to see, Shining within with clarity,
A mythical goddess, from legends of old, Cloaked in a fabric of woven gold, Watching over the world below, Coming often with gifts to bestow,
With the moon in her hand and the stars by her side, She watches in peace from her world outside, Keeping us safe and warm with love, Keeping us from hurting the skies above.
A single man assaulted her grove, A celestial heart is for what he strove, And with a quick cut, the cruel deed was done, The star-keeping spirit was cut down to none.
Her soul still watches our world, though, Still loving it more than we'd ever know, And even the man who had cut her down Received her smile instead of a frown.
Post by The Enforcer on Feb 25, 2013 22:00:26 GMT -5
Well, today, I went to a writing seminar and met the awesome Poet Laureate Billy Collins. I'm going to write a couple of the things he said, as well as the poem he wrote for it, and a spoken word piece I wrote in French today.
"If there's any hope of originality, you need to be influenced. This is one of the great paradoxes of writing."
Questions About Angels By Billy Collins
Of all the questions you might want to ask about angels, the only one you ever hear is how many can dance on the head of a pin.
No curiousity about how they pass the eternal time besides circling the Throne chanting in Latin or delivering a crust of bread to a hermit on earth or guiding a boy and girl across a rickety wooden bridge.
Do they fly through God's body and come out singing? Do they swing like children from the hinges of the spirit world saying their names backwards and forwards? Do they sit alone in little gardens changing colors?
What about their sleeping habits, the fabric of their robes, their diet of unfiltered divine light? What goes on inside their luminous heads? Is there a wall these tall presences can look over and see hell?
If an angel fell off a cloud, would he leave a hole in a river and would the hole float along endlessly filled with the silent letters of every angelic word?
If an angel delivered the mail, would he arrive in a blinding rush of wings or would he just assume the appearance of the regular mailman and whistle up the driveway reading the postcards?
No, the medieval theologians control the court. The only question you ever hear is about the little dance floor on the head of a pin where halos are meant to converge and drift invisibly.
It is designed to make us think in millions, billions, to make us run out of numbers and collapse into infinity, but perhaps the answer is simply one: one female angel dancing alone in her stocking feet, a small jazz combo working in the background.
She sways like a branch in the wind, her beautiful eyes closed, and the tall thin bassist leans over to glance at his watch because she has been dancing forever, and now it is very late, even for musicians.
Do You See Me? By Jay
Do you see me?
I'll say it again. Do you see me? You say you see me, but all you think you see is height, and skill, but you don't see me.
You think you know me, you own me, but not once have you shown me that you look past my human shell.
You think you can just glance and know another person's life? You can't read someone like a book and just instantly know their strife.
So I ask one more time; Do you see me? Or do you just see the me I show you?
That's what I thought.
I've never written spoken word before. It's an interesting way to write; I sort of like it. For full impact, I'd recommend reading it out loud. Hope you enjoy!
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