[Funkduder]

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

[Funkduder]

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….

[Funkduder]

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.

[Funkduder]

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!

[Funkduder]

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.

[Quiet Man Cometh]

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.

[Funkduder]

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.

[Quiet Man Cometh]

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. ;)

[DarkForbidden-Love]

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

[Funkduder]

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.

[Espy]

Shiiiet, Funk, that's a bit disturbing, actually. I suddenly feel like making an impromptu response-ish for that.

[Funkduder]

Originally Posted by Espy

Shiiiet, Funk, that's a bit disturbing, actually. I suddenly feel like making an impromptu response-ish for that.

It's only disturbing because it's an artist's lie.

[Espy]

Pfft. Can I make a short impromptu here?

[Funkduder]

If you want.

[Espy]

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.

EDIT: FUUUU-- Put a spoiler tag around it because it turned out way effing longer than I'd expected.

[Funkduder]

Not bad. I like it. I ought to respond, but I still need to work on HW. XD