Poem A beginning of a list of poems

I am going to start leaving a few poems in this thread every now and then. First I would like to say these poems might be new, might be old, and they were, and are written just for my sake. I struggle with many things in life such as depression and use my writing to cope. The reason I chose to share them on this thread, the reason I started posting on this forum, is to take steps to combat my social anxiety. I hope you enjoy, and if you don't, that's all part of getting over my personal hurdles.

Spoiler: The Storm and the Silent End

6/20 The Storm and the Silent End

The moon hides in clouds and summer rain,
as I lift my glass in vain, through a lonely window in the dark,
and the anger of the night rattles the pane, before a flash of
hopeless wraith.

How many stars have I seen die?
Fooled, in the memory of their light.
How many tears have been hidden
in the rancor of the storm?

My glass shakes,
and salt washes
off my hands.

In the morning the world will be fresh
and clean, and the sun will dry
the night's vapors.

Yet, my smile will be a bitter dream.

Fit for hidden tears,
and dead stars.

* I won't say much about this one, except I was very upset and depressed at the time due to some circumstances, and in a very melancholic mood. I was mad at my own blindness, and helplessness.

Spoiler: Nature's Song Desire

6/20 Nature's Song Desire

The Mother plays her song Desire
as stars wonder, washed free of blood,
at the black stains that color forest shadows.

Time beats his rhythm of agony
in the last breath, ripped
into the violence of the void.
The land, a chorus creatures
born into what they do not know,
and pulled into what they cannot see.

As Nature plays her harp of uncertainty,
in the chorus of first, and final screams
The notes in life are held in tension,
and released in a crescendo of death.

What cruel fingers this Witch has,
grown calloused on blood stained strings.
but oh! What music she brings!
That even the Heavens turn at the sound
of her symphony.

*Wrote this a long time ago. I think I was actually reading "Being a Green Mother" by Pierce Anthony at the time. Its really just a poem that popped out of my head contemplating the cruel beauty of life.

Spoiler: As a Boy, Living Night Terrors

6/22 As a Boy, Living Night Terrors

He falls upon his feet; a shattered sleep.
in confronted sense, the sounds of nightmares waking.
The angels that guard, absent their high posts.
He breathes a prayer aloft, from shaking tongue,
where shadows move deep, in disturbed congress.
Frozen to flee, and burn salvation's light,
hope runs cold, upon his beaded brow.
Sacrificed to fear; His heart screams strangled,
under the weight of evil powers rise.
The end coming; an End that's understood.
Quiet he braces, and takes the last breath.
When from the hall, a familiar voice sounds,
and brightest day, chases the chilling dark.
In the moment, with joy of living felt.
Mom is greater, than all the living gods.

* I grew up in a very religious family. When I was a child I suffered from Night Terrors, and to this day I still suffer from the occasional Sleep Paralysis. Growing up I lived in constant fear of going to bed because of the things I would see and I genuinely believed demon's were out to kill me. This poem is a reflection of those times in my childhood.

Spoiler: Untitled

6/23 Untitled *written for a friend, for funsies.

A dark tide rises,
in its black accord,
beneath the kingdom of the moon.

Within the pale eternal gloom ,
erect under the uncounted-night,
a castle glows in unearthly light,
amidst a wind of sorrow

and souls.

Deep within its halls, like marrow,
run the whispers of tears and pain.
etched into every stone and vein,
The walls are heavy, and feel

of death.

Doors carved in demons, of ebon steel,
stand before its shadowed womb,
To herald their oppressive doom
for any who cross, and resumes

a breath.

And centered, where the Void consumes,
stands the Despairing Throne,
cut of ivory, and of bone
where the dread king sits. His gaze,

like coals,

That draw spirits into the hazed
edge of the Abyss.
His flesh devoid, and remiss
of colour, rotted to pits, and falling

in strips.

His ashen bones glow in calling.
Wresting the dead from their sleep,
for they will come to his keep
driven by his power, to flee

their crypts.

And all will look to see
no hope, for they eternally support
his hollow, vacant, lifeless court,
and will be his in the flow of Time.

A dark tide rises,
in its black accord,
beneath the kingdom of the moon.

* A good friend of mine gave me a small piece of a story he was working on and wanted me to write a poem about it as a favor. I obliged him, since I like fantasy setting stuff, so I wrote this for him. Its not the best thing I have written, but it was a lot of fun to write.

Spoiler: So Much Depended-A Memory of Shriner's

6/29 So Much Depended-A Memory of Shriner's

So much depended upon
A bright red fez,
in a room full of hospital sheets,
and sterile smells.

So much depended
on hand carved toys,
and stuffed beasts,
with eyes that held
neither judgement,
nor pity.

So much
came from books,
with word crafted worlds,
beyond the beeps
of cold machines.

So
sought was the city vista,
for young and desperate eyes
in a lonely room.

So much depended upon
the imagination of a child.

*Sorry for the delay, took a day longer for my body to recover than I expected, and I did not feel like writing anything yesterday. This next one is rather simple. I was reminded of one of my favorite poems by William Carlos Williams called "The Red Wheel Barrow." It is a poem famous more for the story behind it than anything. It made me feel rather nostalgic about my own significant time spent in Shriner's hospital when I was young. Inspired a bit, I just pounded this out on the keys in a few minutes. As I said its simple, and nothing special. Still I hope you enjoy, and I promise to put a little more time and effort into the next one. I may experiment with some different forms.

Spoiler: Water Teaches Soul's to Dance

7/20 Water Teaches Soul's to Dance

Wish upon the water falling,
Plinking in the pond.
I can hear small voices calling,
somewhere here and beyond.

But I do not know their mumbles,
The water tells me "stay."
Low and laughing songs it rumbles,
splashing in its play.

What dreams there are of life,
reflected on its skin.
It smooths away my daily strife,
and calms the blood within.

For it holds me in those dreams ,
smiling, small, and still,
shifting in its rippled seams,
dancing with a will.

So I toss a piece of earth
into its waking sleep,
and wish upon a life's rebirth,
In the water deep.

For when the Earth holds me long,
smiling, small, and still,
my spirit will fly to where it belongs,
dancing, like water will.

* Sorry for the long Wait! I recently went through some health issues and have, yet again, been confronted with my own mortality. So I thought today's poem was appropriate. Just so everyone is aware I will begin adding these explanations into the spoiler tags as they get old, as it was suggested to me that I should do so. As for the previous explanations I have already deleted, I will probably re-add them at some later date. I hope you enjoy.

Spoiler: The Tipping Point

8/14 The Tipping Point

The Fallen may fall into rich Earth.
The Risen may rise into a barren Sky.
Which is Life, and which is Death,
is measured only by a breath.
What decides the weight of worth,
is the nature of each one's cry.

* Today's entry is very short, but as I came out of some minor meditation today it popped in my head, and I really liked it. I thought I would share it with you guys, since I haven't posted anything in awhile.

Spoiler: The Smiling Dreams of White-Water's Sky

8/15 The Smiling Dreams of White-Water's Sky

She looks upon a violent white,
Mist alight, in her gaze.
As crashing thunder, sounds the fall.

She cares not at all,
As she sits on her dais
of weather'd stone.

All alone, she looks upon a scene,
wrapped in dream, of checkered hues
and black-warm memories, waiting.

Her worries fast fading,
within the scattered clues
of a pale, and distant sky.

As red strands flow in the air,
pale and fair, a smile peeks
that only the white water sees.

Pulled by the breeze,
her crimson hair seeks
the path, to leave her sadness behind.

* This new work is a collaboration between myself and Pukupyoo. I asked her to help me recreate a poetry exercise I did in the past by providing me with random pictures, which I would then take, and write a poem based off of those pictures. This is the first one, and in the future there will be more. I couldn't tell you when though.

 

Good work.
I like your poem

 

I'm not very literary minded so I don't know how 'correct' this poem, but for what it's worth I enjoyed it and the moment I took to ponder it.

 

Teacher Zhang?

 

I wasn't going for a particular style. This is just free form. Writing from the air if you like. I could write a sonnet or a villianelle or some such, if I feel the heart of my poem needs that structure.

 

hur hur......

 

those last two lines in "As a Boy, Living Night Terrors" hits pretty hard. I really liked that one.

 

Thanks, I have quite a few old poems related to that particular time of my life. My household was very religious, I had frequent bouts of Night Terrors coupled with Sleep Paralysis which still affects me to this day. As a kid, I was convinced that demons were out for my life.

 

Oh. I don't know what you felt like when you wrote it, and I don't understand why Nargol said the last lines hit hard, but I felt fuzzy after reading Night Terrors.

I was also reading some of your shorter ones in your profile. Your use of words are very different to what I'm used to. Well, I don't read lots of literary works, may be that's why too. But I like your poems and I look forward to more~

 

I should probably have said "hit me hard" I did not suffer from Night Terrors, but I did have awful nightmares as a child. My mother would be the one to soothe me afterwards. I just remembered a lot of those times, which I suppose is why I was affected pretty strongly by that particular poem. I think I would've liked it regardless, but being able to relate to a poem does make it more powerful on a personal level.

 

That's the funny thing about poetry, I've always felt that prose, you mainly write for the sake of others, but poetry, you write for yourself. Of course, this isn't always the case, but poetry, by in large, has this subjective, introspective, quality. I may write a poem, intending a certain quality, or feel to the piece, but if I show that same poem to another person, they have the capacity to feel an entirely different way about that poem. This of course is all fine! Poetry is alive that way, that it can show each person a different perspective, something they want, or need to see. That's one of the things I love about it.

 

Haven't read any poetry for years so don't even understand the connections... But mom really is the greatest of all the God's.

 

I enjoyed it well~ It's melancholic but not entirely sad, almost sorta like a nostalic feeling.
As usual (?) It's good

Btw, your notes, do you remove the old notes everytime you post a new poem? Why not put the notes in a spoiler box inside each poem's spoiler boxes? That way, it's not lost to us...

 

I suppose I could. I just am wary about making everything too cluttered, but its not a bad idea. Hopefully my next one should be 'brighter' as I already have an idea of what I want to do, Its just going to take a bit of time. Quite a bit of what I write can be melancholic unfortunately, as I do write in order to help overcome frequent depression. It gives me a way out of just 'sitting there,' something to focus on. This results in a lot of depressing topics coming out for me however.....

 

Well, it's okay cause then you can express yourself.. And wrinting IS self expression afterall..
No worries because what you might have written when depressed can be interpreted warmly by others
*hugs* hope you're doing okay~ I'll look forward to your next one, brighter or otherwise (though, hopefully brighter~)

 

D:

 

I can change it I'm sorry

 

Lol
Thanks

 

I often miss letters and stuff, my fingers are kind of stiff because of my disability, Yet I still type fairly fast so.... I make a lot of mistakes. I'm Sorry!! Always editing my stuff.

 

Lol no worries and thanks