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Poetic Justice
This is the thread is claimed by the Wrathful (false) prince of justice, The Funkduder. My work is to go here, and your comments below. As I post new poems, their links are to be marked below. Comment Freely. Flames will be used to make C.C.'s Pizza.
Links “Fear, Happiness, and the Remnants of What Should’ve Been Hope" "A Supportive Family" “Feelings for the Caged Bird” "It's Something Beautiful (what you don't know)" "Hardwired" "Lost" "For Angela, for my heart will wander towards what it cannot fear nor understand." "The Melancholy Opus Club" "What is Required" P.S. this thread is open |
“Fear, Happiness, and the Remnants of What Should’ve Been Hope"
Author note: This poem is a interpretation of the imagist poem "This is just to say" by William Carlos Williams
It’s dark….it’s quiet…. I can hear my on foot steps on the formless floor- Someone is coming! But from where? This room has no doors. As the horror in your heart begins to creep You fall to your knees and begin to weep- Someone is coming! …no…no one is coming. *drip drop* It feels cold in this room With no floors or doors Where the endless gloom Await Await for me Wait! …where are you? …who are you? …is are who are which are we are ???... …so sweet… …and so cold…. |
“A Supportive Family”
The ground quakes at my feet and I hear the voices
Yearning For me not be me Anymore Of the yelling, the screaming, the telling, And my shell, my composure might Crack Open the windows, and break down the bars I’ll leave to where the blows For it’s better there than here, by far. |
“Feelings for the Caged Bird”
I heard the caged bird sing
I walked And found this, a beautiful thing: The caged bird was singing A sweet, sweet song That made cage seem to give her, her wings. But alas! It was still A leaden cage and leaden birds, Behind it, sing! |
“It’s Something Beautiful (What You Don’t Know)”
Ghosts brush past my hair and make conversation
Like people of the wind, a false relation Shipped me down to the western shores Away from the Far East seas. A voice, a laugh, a dream, a cry A pink-shirted silhouette in the shade Said to my shock: “Be gone from this lie!” And yet I refused because that lie told me It was “not me, but he.” And I danced and twirled and through a piece of self out. It seemed to be beautiful and I lost my doubt. Seagulls cried and ravens cawed as I turned faster, faster, faster And when I began to slow, I noticed them to be gone: Mind, heart, soul, and at the very end, body felt like murmurs Between the world and me, and I remembered a victim from before. “Be gone from this lie!” But now he is no more. |
Hey hey. Did a read through here. The last is one is the poem I find most interesting of the four you have up so far. Not really sure what I think of the others; don't really have much to say about them, but I'm curious about "It's Something Beautiful" in the way that it seems like something a little surreal even though I'm not particuarly sure what sort of point there is to be had.
On the first one, I didn't make the connection to Williams until I read the author's note and the last two lines that felt familiar. I don't really follow it though, or how the interpratation came about apart from perhaps a link between an icebox and a doorless, windowless room. |
I think I did a pretty crappy job on that reference and find myself compelled to revise it at a later time.
As for the last one, it only sounds good because the reader shouldn't understand what I'm talking about, unless they've experienced the feelings that inspired it. Thank you for reading though; I was planning to update when I saw your message. |
Half the fun of poetry for me is when things sound nice. I read "The Raven" not really because of the words, but because I like the way it sounds when I read it. I think aesthetic effect counts easily as much as "meaning" when reading a poem. As long as it's not a collection of cliched words and phrases dumped on a page with a watering can. ;)
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First Poem
Read the poems but I found the first one you posted to be most interesting. It appears to be a poem on paronia but if you read it again it is about the coming of death. :grins: I loved it! Now care to tell me what you feel about this poems:
Call Home I can hear the wind in the trees Crying, sobbing, mourning Who does it mourn for? Surely not for me Nor is it for you Maybe it mourns for itself Who knows? Maybe it cries for the birds Maybe it weeps for the widows Maybe it sobs for the hungry? Or maybe there is no purpose at all. Maybe it cries for the dead But I prefer to think It mourns for the living Who have nothing left to live for |
Beautiful and dark. I like it. It reminded me of rain, at first, but I believe, now, that it is about the times and moments when the skies turn grey...
And the weight of the world is on your back And your smile feels dead and blank while you carry your life like a rucksack marching towards the ocean in which the sails sank below the point of no return This place in which I yearn Where only death lies in store and where the wind can cry no more. That is what I think of your poem. It is lovely. It is dark. It is kind to those accepting, instead of the greedy ones rejecting the fact that there time is up. |
Shiiiet, Funk, that's a bit disturbing, actually. I suddenly feel like making an impromptu response-ish for that.
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Quote:
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Pfft. Can I make a short impromptu here?
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If you want.
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EDIT: FUUUU-- Put a spoiler tag around it because it turned out way effing longer than I'd expected. |
Not bad. I like it. I ought to respond, but I still need to work on HW. XD
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