- - s a n c t u a r y
(http://www.trisphee.com/forums/showthread.php?t=1746)
Espy
10-03-2010 12:31 AM
s a n c t u a r y
Musings of Espy. Potentially best served with rueful solipsistic laughter. No longer updated on front page.
Espy
10-03-2010 12:31 AM
This one I did for school. Hehe~ Bonus points for guessing which poet I'm imitating.
The politician loves his own campaign
He’s true to word, and never needs to feign,
He loves to play detective just for fun
And likes to speak in riddles and in puns.
He needs no platform to proclaim his views
For none of his ideas had gone askew
From what the country’s people always wish.
His perfect record was without blemish.
The only data he could ever need
Was just his rivals’ platform and their creed
For this he hired the loyalest of men
And paid him cash from helpful citizens.
His face angelic and wiped clean of sweat,
He greeted cheerfully everyone he met,
With gleaming eyes and perfect golden teeth
And showed what truly he was underneath.
Espy
10-03-2010 12:33 AM
Creative Writing class stuff:
worlds. (Had to include three words chosen from a classmate's list of favorite words.)
if moons revolve around planets
and planets revolve around suns
and suns revolve around each other
in a spiraling galaxy,
then do galaxies revolve around galaxies
that parade in circles around the universe
not caring for time and space
and marching at their own pace,
and do universes evolve and revolve
and play their game
of where to have an infinity of infinities
or a single singularity
which might decide that
these games are not fun
and is tired of being picked on
for being infinitesimally small...
...or are they all just dreaming?
"worlds" was meant to be read in one breath and really quickly. Unfortunately my teacher didn't quite like my tongue's speeding.
little lies. (For this one, we took one line from a classmate from the above exercise and used it as the first of a six-line poem.)
lines let loose like little lies
floating freely, flying by,
apathetic angst and art,
silver-tongued, senseless sought
good girls grinning, gathering 'round.
what is lost is never found.
underwater, i can't see her face clearly;
as the number of ripples from the swimmers shoots off to infinity,
so does that of the facet the image is shattered into.
she dives in: the curve of a tanget, barely touching anyone else in the pool;
shoots off into nothingness on one end and points skyward on the other--
perfect form.
trailing that sinusoidal stream of bubbles, she does near kicks in the water
and draws a third parallel to the surface and the bottom.
the carrying capacity of the pool exceeded, she shoots up--then levels off,
grasping the opposite wall, she climbs out, with head and knees bent in the effort to not slip,
integral to my life.
she shakes her head at the speed of light, her hair a thousand graceful fibonaccis,
a million drops interrupting the almost-seamless field of cosines
and i can't differentiate between her beauty and that of the broken glass.
it's got a cubic shit-ton of math references, almost one on every line.
Punch (Much different from my usual poetry. We had to take a cliche, chosen at random, and create a poem revolving around it. This one's not as dark as the others, and silly bordering on ridiculous. It's got a tacky rhythm too. More practice with alliteration and assonance.)
I poured a pitcher of punch one day
at a pompous and pricey party,
was startled when the punch said to me,
with a grin, pleased and hearty,
"Why, what's your name, and where am I?
Who freed me from the freezer?
I know my flavor--it's fruit punch--
and I'm a party pleaser!"
So strange to me was this surprise, I stood and stared at it.
Looking the catcher in the rye,
I couldn't decide to drink a bit.
"Either way, let's shake hands--
at least the best I can." I told it,
for the greetings, "Thanks a bunch!"
It rattled its ice cubes--"Pleased as punch."
masks (Written for a slam poetry competition in the CWrit class. It's a group poem, hence the three-line series.)
weakness.
why are we afraid of it?
does it bite?
does it snarl?
or are we afraid of our real selves, the vulnerability, the bareness of our flesh
that only emerges when we, in that quiet sanctuary, away from
friends
rivals
even family
peel off, layer by layer, these makes of false bravado and pride
that fit our faces so perfectly that even we don't know
where one ends
and the other starts?
we see another person
with his mask halfway off
giving way to a strange mix of
insanity
anger
uncertainty
and we are unconfortable
but why?
what is wrong with being
what we are
who we are
who we want to be?
why do we try to bury our "self" under that mountain of masks?
are we really that
grotesque
shameful
ugly
that others will stare?
or do we simply want to be the same as everyone else,
wearing these mass-produced masks
that roll off the production line
all the same
uniform
imitations of each other
so that we
think
speak
act
the same way?
should we be more disturbed by the disconcerting same-ness,
how everyone look like each other, how everyone is afraid?
which do you prefer?
and earth full of clones
or an earth full of differences?
think for yourself.
Espy
10-03-2010 12:33 AM
Personal stuff
War
A man
walks
cautiously
silently
stealthily
eyes never staying on one place
but roaming around
alert to sights and sounds
that spell danger
as he gets
closer
and
closer
to the enemies’ base.
Suddenly
five children
tumble out from an ally
jostling each other
just playing.
He aims his gun carefully
bearing in mind
his mission
to annihilate the enemy town.
His fingers
tighten around the trigger.
One boy
curious
inquisitive
brave
walks up to the man
greets him
asks him who he is
unaware of the concept
of a gun
unaware of the concept
of war
unaware of his impending death
as he smiles at the stranger
and holds out his hand
in greeting.
The man
looks into the eyes
of the boy
and sees his son
a startling resemblance.
Pure innocence
and filled
with love
not hatred.
And slowly
unsteadily
unsurely
hands shaking
he lowers the gun
and cries
at the thought
of what
he was about to do.
And the boy
looks on
in wonder.
tomorrow (based off and quoting from Macbeth; done as an impromptu response to Funkduder's poems, haha...)
What is life
if not just a mockery?
What do we gain, in the end?
All we do is plod
one foot
after the other
after the other
after the other
tomorrow
and tomorrow
and tomorrow
looking back becomes the same as looking forward.
Too slowly
yet too quickly
creeps in this petty pace from day to day.
Sinking below the waves,
I can't hear the crashing and rumbling above me
nor see the light from which I'm falling from
It seems to fade
out
out
like a brief candle.
Life's but
a walking shadow,
a mockery,
a poor player
that struts and frets his hour upon the stage
hurrying to do
all he can,
more than he can,
and then is heard no more.
I draw comfort from the darkness.
No wind to chill me.
No cries
no weeps
no sobs
no energy to swim up but I don't care the least
or do I?
A moment of panic.
Suddenly everything disappears.
Don't worry
Someone just turned off the lights
It's only that
No need to be afraid
I'm not afraid.
Not afraid
Not afraid
Not afraid
And whoever says I am is a coward.
See? I'm not afraid!
Whoever--
...whoever?
There is no one.
In a flash of brightness
that I would have seen
and that would have blinded me
if I had eyes anymore
that would have deafened me
if I has ears anymore
I realize that
I am nothing.
And yet I
was
am
will be
everything.
Espy
10-29-2010 11:37 PM
Eehhhh.
Someone wanna critique?
Ashy
12-30-2010 07:32 PM
i like the first one :o
With The Current
02-13-2011 12:12 AM
I agree, the first one is nice
Espy
09-30-2011 02:39 AM
-kicks the thread- Updated. Will add more later.
DarkForbidden-Love
09-30-2011 10:01 PM
I liked "Worlds" and "Little Lies" Tried two different speeds on "Worlds" and thought it sounded better when read slowly.
Espy
10-01-2011 12:30 AM
Ah, really? Didn't plan for it to be that way, but reading it again, I see what you mean, it's better slower. Whoops >.>
And thanks :)
Espy
10-01-2011 05:30 PM
Updated again. I really should post stuff other than my poetry, but I doubt anyone wants to read a six-page story.
DarkForbidden-Love
10-01-2011 06:29 PM
In 'underwater' you forgot to capitalize i in the last line. Nevermind this then It the second word in. I found this part "knees bent in the to not slip," I'm not sure if you ment it this way or if I'm just not getting it.
Sorry for nitpicking your work but I so like the new poems. 'Punch' was funny even if not you normal style.
Espy
10-01-2011 06:41 PM
Fixed; it now reads "in the effort to not slip". My recent poems don't have any capitalization, except for Punch. Dunno why.
And thanks again >__<
Quiet Man Cometh
10-02-2011 07:30 AM
The second one is irritatingly familiar but the precise answer isn't coming. Shot in the dark and say Johnathan Swift?
Espy
10-02-2011 01:04 PM
Your shot was amazingly accurate >.> -hugs- Yeah, Swift, an assignment last year.
Quiet Man Cometh
10-03-2011 12:04 AM
Heh. He's the first one I thought of when I think sarcasm, so I suppose it was a shot in the dark against someone talking ;). "The Lady's Dressing Room", perchance?