07-25-2007, 03:42 AM | #1431 |
Sent to the cornfield
Join Date: Apr 2004
Location: Las Vegas
Posts: 4,566
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to live
in droplets facets reflecting you is fine for rain which pain has no hold over, you never over that lie sold with care the air you left is all I've breathed to grieve your loss |
08-01-2007, 06:00 PM | #1432 |
Super stressed!
Join Date: Feb 2007
Location: British Columbia
Posts: 8,081
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Sit inside the coffee shop
And watch raindrops at the window They slide to the windowpane They slide down so slow The raindrop stained-windows Marked with hot coffee steam Dusted with sweetened sugar Washed with pure white cream Trace a pattern with your finger In long thin lines Write messages in foggy window Draw intricate disigns Breathe in your staining steam And wipe away the words No trace of everything Take a sip of coffee afterwards Watch through the window Now cleaned of stain The rain fills pitter-patter And all begins again |
08-23-2007, 11:19 AM | #1433 |
Sent to the cornfield
Join Date: Apr 2004
Location: Las Vegas
Posts: 4,566
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Ember
oh, ember
mote of souls slowly cringe as withers warmth December through the shoals pinion's hinge to soar no more remember deathly coals death's own tinge as withers warmth Last edited by Funka Genocide; 08-23-2007 at 11:30 PM. |
09-01-2007, 11:12 PM | #1434 |
Rocky Wrench
Join Date: Apr 2005
Posts: 1,351
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Hooray a poem! Well actually, this is more or less a bunch of different lines that I thought of just now so I thought I'd post them.
You are so close to my heart but still so far away If I had just one wish, it would be for you to be with me and have it stay that way forever together, watching the night pass and become day please don't keep me at bay, come sit next to where I lay Just seeing your face, it's more than words can express I just wish I had the courage to confess I see you and think about what our life would be like together Words cannot describe it, but I just know that my life would be better Everything reminds me of you It's driving me crazy, I don't know what to do I want us to sit side by side You would be the one who I would always talk to, whom I can always confide No matter what happened, we would always sit side by side whether we were laughing and joking, or as I held you while you cried Please don't stray too far This distance between us, it leaves my heart ajar You probably don't even know the love I feel for you from just hearing your name I don't know for sure, but I just hope that for me, you feel the same Being with you, seeing your face I would feel so happy, holding you in a loving embrace Wherever we go, it would be hand in hand whether we're at the movies, or just walking in the beach sand Last edited by Red Fighter 1073; 09-01-2007 at 11:24 PM. |
09-08-2007, 12:44 PM | #1435 |
On an exodus.
Join Date: Jan 2005
Location: Heh, that's a funny story...
Posts: 167
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Poems born from free time
"Well-read"
Is there a portal in all the world such as a book? It can take you to another world if you care to look. You might read of something bigger, or of a character with vigor, A ship with a bow or a farmer with a plow Whatever it is you seek, you'll be sure to find something unique. So pick up a book today, because reading is like taking a holiday! ------------------------------------------------ "Forced Rhyme" No word rhymes with orange, of this you can be sure. It rhymes with neither the word hinge, such as one found on a door, nor does it rhyme with the word binge, which one might do in a candy store. You can try not to cringe, but you will see that orange rhymes no more than the word fringe rhymes with the word shore. |
09-21-2007, 10:45 AM | #1436 |
Sent to the cornfield
Join Date: Apr 2004
Location: Las Vegas
Posts: 4,566
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3 Poems
In These Times voice... you know mine the tone, the shine not so brilliant as the mind choice... to be, to cease to grow, decrease the fault is mine to find release the noise like patterns left in snow as the arid frozen flies a clamoring of pangs that seldom holds a name and in these times... when rarer is peace than an epilogue to wasted lips when dare the man speak so little of himself for fear of being right when a slattern's scent still haunts the hollows wrought in aging thought we're only waiting children despite the growing years The words have always been there, I just can't bring myself to breathe them into reality. Goodbyes are just as well as hellos. It's the standing still that eats me up. .............................. He Was He was... ...a liquid memory of passions long forgot a tired monologue writ in stoic prose to ideas not himself but what did he know of himself? ...a child burnt for fuel on endless avenues travelled in regard to what they dreamed to be to who they claimed to love but what did he know of love? ...a murder of a thought that tired long before it's action came about an emptiness absurd an emptiness alive but what did he know of life? and I saw him set in glass a courage made opaque and in his eyes I cried when no one else could see and in his name I loved what did I ever know of love? .............................. Never Give It Back can I borrow something from you? and never give it back a certain, secret something a sliver in the black can I tell you what I'm thinking? despite the awful tones clever , twisted, tasteful no hesitance condones can I make it any clearer? that I'm not the most opaque can I tell you something secret? that life is what we make so what is it I'm seeking? oh why so circumspect? it's not the coldly blatant it's not what you suspect can I borrow something from you? and hold it 'til I'm gone can I tell you something secret? while time, it marches on the only words that count in this, our single shot are words we know 'pon utterance shall never be forgot |
09-27-2007, 11:54 PM | #1437 |
Stranger in a strange land.
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Author's note: This is an old poem of mine, just came across it again, and one of the lines bugged me, so I fixed it.
With all the blatant imagery, And all the strengthened synergy, The one who stands in misery Stands quietly, alone. While others gather energy, Still smiling in their reverie, Almost looking heavenly, He sits there like a stone. While others walk past blissfully, Dreaming dreams so whistfully, He stains his shirt regretfully, And he's chilled right to the bone. And all around him, merrily, People find that, verily, No one walks as warily As those that walk alone.
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You know, I'd put up something witty and clever right now, but eh. I'm lazy.
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09-28-2007, 09:10 AM | #1438 |
What's going on?
Join Date: Aug 2006
Location: Hillsboro, Oregon
Posts: 1,237
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I have two poems. Not mine, unfortunately, I'm under a "dry spell", but I think they're worth sharing.
One One day can change the world, One day may save a life, One is all it takes, One is particular, One, One, One. One bullet to end a life, One strong blow across the head, One touch can kill, One kiss can heal, One show of love may change the world One is all it takes. Insane Gibbering squiggly gook, Bitter-sweet pills, The shivering chills, The voices, the colors, The noise, they tell, They urge, they hunger and surge, They control, they use us to kill, They use us to love, They, they they, they They make us dance And cry, and prance, They make us who we are, They shape us, mold us, We are they, and they are us. Will you join the madness? Will you become insane? Become human. Be insane. Insane. Insane. -Michael Osipenko |
10-02-2007, 11:55 AM | #1439 | |
Blue Psychic, Programmer
Join Date: Feb 2007
Location: Home!
Posts: 8,814
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You Will Rue the Day, Office '07:
Three o' clock and I grow weary Searching for my Access quarry I'm supposed to make a query Microsoft you WILL be sorry This is Why I Use Anim8or: Tried to make a cube in Blender Wrists feel like they're made of pain Eyes are also very tender: Seven hours of constant strain...
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10-03-2007, 04:20 PM | #1440 |
Sent to the cornfield
Join Date: Apr 2004
Location: Las Vegas
Posts: 4,566
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Butterfly
I am a butterfly
trapped in a coccoon of rage wings still wet with the promise of anger shall unfurl into a scintillating diorama of wrath and in the vengeful light of a terrible sun shall they bore me hence towards catastrophe without words I am a butterfly |
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