Poetry Corner

[Eyedolize]

I'm not good at all in poetry but I'll try...

"To the one I hate the most,
My fist will break your face,
Upon your bloody beating, you'll feel everything's lost,
I'll drag your body very far,
Where I should ran you down with my car,
Thus from seeing this threat,
My hands are all bloody and wet,
Let there be mercy on your soul,
Because next time, I won't hold back at all..."


Well that's my crappy poem, I thought it sounded kinda original, since you people are writing the love poems, which I really don't
prefer writing about them.

[burakkichu]

well i know i said that i was going to give up writing, but i guess i can't help creating *something*, especially when i've got something on my mind that i just wanna express somehow. poetry is easy though....it usually doesn't take me as long to write.

so i wrote a new poem today. i always want to create some kind of structure for the poems i write, though my structures usually tend to be pretty loose and simplistic.....the only structure my poem has here is three words per line.

--------------------------------------------------------
and life opened

last night i
had a dream
that a friend
had died and
i had never
seen her face
but i cried
i cried hard
and it was
okay to cry
because her mother
was there and
i felt safe

and life opened
because i cared
and i hadn't
expected that but
i hope it
doesn't go away

(even today i
wonder where she
could have gone)

--------------------------------------------------------

i really did have a dream like that last night.

[burakkichu]

thought i'd resurrect this with something i wrote, em, last week. most of the poems i write are very short, and nowadays most of them don't have titles. so, eh, this one's just like that. ^^

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

there are many words
descriptive nouns and adjectives
full of pepper and paprika
sprinkled on white pages
a delicious gourmet delight
for feasters on the letters
to pique their palates
with the celebrated cuisine

too many epicureans
too many dead senses
their tongues sing only
to the tune of one bell
but the trash cans are banging
as the dump trucks whine and grind
and the a/c unit kicks on
as its big fan whirrs outside

[Shadow Trainer Ash]

p e r s p e c t i v e
my right eye is different
much different than the other
for it sees crowds of colors
while the left sees no other

my right eye is different
much different than the other
for it can view other worlds
where different people help different others

my right eye is different
it sees what the left cannot
through people's dreams of memories
of what the left had forgot.

[Shadow Trainer Ash]

woven together
the world is a woven basket
each person a ribbon of straw
sewn into a bigger picture

not one piece matches the other
every portion is a different tint

but yet they're all united
tightly woven together.

[Shadow Trainer Ash]

h o w l i n g . s o l d i e r
searching for paradise you wander
to the furthest reaches of the earth
howling cries to the moon
and watching the stars mourn down

tenderly the night whispers
flowing through your timid heart
pulsing blood through
the soreness of your chest
and screaming to your soul

o wolf warrior
run free run free
scatter in your courage and scream the night away

o howling soldier
watch the growing red moon
toss your chains aside and run into the wild

o wolf warrior
run free run free
gnaw through your shackles and howl into the rain.

[Otto=ottO]

Yeah, so I got bored and used a rhyming dictionary to get me this poem.

About Stan.

There once was a man, a man names Stan.
Stan was a sports fan, so he ran and ran.
Stan ran and ran, but never kept up with his friend named Suzanne.
Suzanne would ride her red sedan, but Stan still ran.
While Stan ran, he ran like a stunt man.
He hit a trashcan when he ran.
Stan ran in the klu klux Klan.
As he ran, they got a ban.
The ban would ban Stan from the klu klux Klan.
Why Stan never got a sedan like his friend named Suzanne.
Or a minivan like Mary Ann.
Is because Stan was not a mechanical man.
So the man named Stan just ran and ran.
Stan also had a short attention span.
He couldn’t even stick to a retirement plan.
His attention span, of Stan, didn’t have space for a plan.
So he ran, he ran to the Sea of Japan.
Then he ran to the Republic of Sudan.
He got a tan as he ran though Kazakhstan.
So Stan does have a plan.
Ran he did, as part of his plan.
Stan, he can, than ran through a Jet plan Fan.
Stan, he ran, he has no need for a retirement plan.

[DannyBoy]

I did not copy Kelly Clarksons song. I got the idea and it is much different from hers. Her song is about someone losing there independance mine is about a girl who keeps hers and is a good friend of mine.


There is a girl, who didn’t want a man to get in her way,
She was the one, who always had something to say,
She will never have a man control her on any day,

She never wanted to be held back,
There was nothing that girl lacked,
She tried her best to get on top,
She never wanted to flop,

Miss independent always was the one,
Her life goal is never done,
She didn’t like to be called Hun,
She always wanted to have fun,

She wasn’t the one to sit and lay in the sun all day,
But you got to remember,
Don’t you dare call her Mrs. Dependant,
Or you better keep your distance

She wasn’t that perfect,
And that was ok,
She loved to play football,
But not the one to go and shop at the mall,
She may be the one to fall,
But hey she was a girl, who caught the ball,

She was the one, who was always intriguing,
She didn’t care if she was bleeding,
If she did fall in love,
She would still be above,
And never let a man handle her,
And man was she sure,

I hope you remember all of this,
Before it all becomes bliss,
She always stayed true,
She never tried to get blue,
She didn’t give a yea what people thought,
And this is what it’s all about.

She was called a Oh because she stayed real,
But she just smiled back and made no big deal,
People didn’t believe but she really does feel,
She might not show it,
She didn’t want to throw a fit,

She didn’t want to be a drama queen,
She dint want to be that mean,
Miss who likes to dream,

O yea miss independent knows who she is,
She doesn’t have to change when around her friends,

No one can ever hold her down,
No one can ever make her frown,
This girl is gona go far and you know it,
She doesn’t need anyone to open the door,
She is not a whore,
She is independent to the core,
And she is much more,

No she will never ever have a man control her,
You might not think its true but she is sure,
Miss much more than she ever could be,
Miss she always could see,
Miss always a friend to you,
Miss is so true,
Miss not facade,
Miss never be a maid,
Miss so honest,
Miss tried her darnest,
Miss spectacular,
Miss this was never a blur,
Miss make you feel more than you ever could be,
Miss Independent

[GSAce789]

Okay, here's one I wrote a while ago, for a school assignment, actually. It's a teeny bit too long to put in text right here, so I'm putting it as an .txt attachment.

As you might have guessed, it's a poem of the first Star Wars Movie(Episode IV: A New Hope, that is) I must tell you though, I'm no professional, so please excuse me when the beat\rhythm\structure\whatever completely changes halfway through.

Enjoy, and no plagiarism, now!

[attachment deleted by admin]

[Pewter City Geodude]

A/N: I don't own the Pokemon franchise, blah blah blah.

Changing Times



There used to be times when I'd get annoyed,
To keep hidden feelings at bay.
But stubborn as he was, he'd never avoid
Any challenge that came his way.

There used to be times he'd insult me
In response to something I'd said
And sometimes I'd respond by boldly
Malleting him square on the head.

There have been a few times he'd been fraught with despair
After losing to someone more skilled.
Those are the times I made sure I was there
To listen as his thoughts were spilled.

There have been times we have had lots of fun
Such as Kids' Day and the Whirl Cup,
We were close friends, and felt like we were one
And our future kept looking up.

There have been times that we've been apart
Like the time I returned to the Gym.
Coming back here had broken my heart
Now I know the same was true of him.

There were times when I thought he was lost,
A new girl, and then a new trophy for the shelf,
But how elated I felt when the threshold was crossed
On our wedding day, by none other than Ash himself.


by Misty Ketchum

[Leon-IH]

i didn't see anywhere else this was possible so i figured here's the place, i got two peons the one im posting now and the one in my sig.

What i once Dreamed

Living in a house on a hill
The night was dark
And the earth was still
The crows would hark

My eyes closed as i saw
The place that i had forever
Been running, searching for
The odessey of this endeavor

Then my eyes opened again
I shouted and cried into the night
My world split open then
Always i carried my fight

The moon would glow white
But all i saw was dark
Deeper again into the light
And again i could see a small spark

The dreams eluded me coldly
My hands ran along my knife
The light shone boldly
As i returned to this life..

[Oakbark]

Just a quick poem i slapped together, nothing much, but i'd just like to share it with you. Lol.

The Find

As I ventured out in the woods today,
I saw a rippling in the clay.
The noise was that of a monster rare,
With polished scales and free of hair.

With trembling breath I stalked my prey,
Across the ground and far away,
I groped my side until I felt,
The pokeball hanging on my belt.

The burrowing stopped – My breath went dead,
Then from the ground came up his head,
He spied me quick, I threw the ball,
And from the light came my Absol.

The pokémon dived into his base,
My pokémon followed and gave chase.
He grabbed the sand mouse by the tail,
And bit into his solid scales.

The pokémon squirmed – he leapt about,
And then he gave a mighty shout.
My Absol dropped him on the clay,
And then the Sandshrew got away.

[tygerofdanyte]

Yo!

I'm back for some odd reason. I doubt anyone except maybe the mods and some of the older members remember me.

I'm bored, but I suppose I'll post a poem.

It's one of my older ones. but meh. I don't think I"ve ever posted this one on tpm before.

~*~
Misleading Religion

The days have passed
of angels in the sky
who now but be a ship's juried mast.
While the original beneath the ocean lie.

To think of that simple yester year
Where lithe lasses frolicked in pagan sense
free of undoubted sin and all its peer. ;
Never again! Even at thousand Peter-Pence

All this roots in perennial thrift
of Balder who lost his human person
to a timeless void for choice heaven's gift.
Gone from this land he saved from done undone.

Now this time but lingers forward,
where Angels lie in stone
than on cloud; A time now disarray'd
in a faith restricting and alone

All that is now be memory.
of childer who stay wall-shackled
in fear godly wrath and love of Whiteash tree.
in a faith led by tithe to those rich crackled

still the Whiteash tree is gone.
Where Balder bled himself dry,
for sins of others on our earth-forlorn
And Woden in majesty shed a silent cry.

For this loving deity's demise
sought abrupt unshodden tears
in all, regardless of familial despise.
As both tree and divine disappeared to music of deific spheres.

The wild lot tore the sky asunder by cries adrift.
"Balder! Balder, thank ye lord for yon sacrifice."
The lost priestly lot renewed the last crying shift
with words unlike the ones said before: portends of cruel demise.

"Cristos, Ye brought to me new vision
"preposterous for you to be in pagan pantheon
"ye son of only nameless God too mighty to shun.
"Cristos! Cristos and not Balder of boor-lot plebian."

this the tale of faiths that clash.
Ashen wood forts fell to Pitch and Tar
Joy and grace renewed as stoic blind faith rash.
both faiths ever the same, just doubt clouded hearts all.

~*~

Tyger -- the long lost one --

[Midnight Moonlight]

Sorta what I'm going through right now. It's not much, but for something out of raw emotion written in about two minutes at 1:30 in the morning, I think it's alright.

Angel Tears

Rain drops sprinkling from above
Angel tears cried for lost loves
So many thoughts through her head
She only wishes she was dead
See him one last time before she goes
Poor boy only thinks he knows
He thinks he saved her and that he won
Doesn’t know that tomorrow she’ll be done.

[Leon-IH]

Watching leaves in summer
Listening to the south wind
Can't stop the cold inside me
Don't want to try and bind

Got no feelings in the chill
Back to the summer grind
Wish my time was a video
If only i could press rewind

I can't feel the heat again
I'm lost inside my thought
All alone the burning sun
This destiny that i wrought

It's still too cold, burning
Summer is dead for me
I can't understand it now
Why are you trying to see

~ this sounds wierd, it's about a summer where someone is too sad to care about the warmth on them, if you didn't gather that.

[achooxp]

not good at this stuff as is, but here's a go.


Spotlight

Ladies and gentlemen
Having no more pride to bow
I rest here, bent,
Hoping the spotlight will dance
It's grand and swell
The razzle dazzle of it all
Nobody looks out for
Me but me
I never follow but those who
Seem crazy and burn in me
A star nowadays
Never shone in darkness

[Phoenixsong]

Howdy-hey, all. Well, I've got about a bajillion ideas for fanfics and I can't focus on any one of them or get any of them half-way started or anything like that. However, I am still in the mood to post something here, so I've got this poem I did for English class about a week ago. We're studying the poets of the Romantic period, and this is supposed to emulate the style of... the style of... I forget which one. They were all a bunch of fairly depressed guys who had visions and died young anyway, it's hard to tell them apart.

Now, this here poem has no rhyme scheme and no organized meter, so if you're the type that finds this aesthetically displeasing then you might want to hightail it out of here... I just... kind of wrote it. See below the poem for more.

Something out of Nothing

Just a few words on a sheet of paper-
At least, there are supposed to be.

Sitting and staring at empty blue lines
Or a blank white computer screen
A thoroughly obnoxious plane of absolutely
Nothing.

Dear God, how frustrating this is!
The words just aren't coming out.
The only sounds are gnashing teeth
And pounding fists, a banging head-
Not altogether helpful when you need to concentrate.

Why is it so always so freaking difficult
To get your thoughts on paper?
To press a few keys on the keyboard
And make a cohesive sentence or two?
To write something beautiful that resonates with people,
That means something to someone, something to me.

Just a single sentence, a single paragraph
That just might help someone relate to me-
Bring a friend a little closer,
Make a stranger not so strange-
Something out of my heart, my experience
That I can share with some
And help others start to explore...

It's such a noble plan, such a lovely undertaking...
So why is it so hard?!... hey...

Just a few words on a sheet of paper-
They've finally appeared, and I like what I see.

So yeah, there she is. I couldn't come up with an idea for a poem for this assignment, and then I figured: Hey, why not write about my writer's block? Who knows, maybe looking at this again will inspire me to just pick a fanfic and write the dang thing already.

Comments? Critiques? Any human conversation or companionship at all?

[Kratos Aurion]

Hrm. Not bad, Phoenix, not bad at all. Of course, I've seen your work and this isn't your best, but I still like it. Certainly a clever idea, though... reminds me of the time in fourth grade I put off writing my story until like the morning before, and I wrote it about the dream I'd had the night before, ending it with "And then today, October 30, I uh... I woke up." ...okay, so all you other people didn't need to know that, but I am currently in the mood to ramble and so you'd all better deal with it.

I don't care too much for the last lines of some of the stanzas, like that one about needing to concentrate... would it have been possible to re-write the line so that it was more about the noise specifically being distracting, and then maybe made it fit the meter a little better? I know you said it's not supposed to have a meter, but that line just seems jarring to me; it looks too long compared to the rest.

All in all, though, very nice. Are you gonna post those other ones you did for class that you told me about?

[Phoenixsong]

Thank you, Kratos, for actually deigning to reply to this even though you told me yesterday you wouldn't.

Yeah, I know this isn't my greatest, I was really just looking for something to post while I was stewing angrily and trying to think of which fic to work on first. Why don't you post one, like The Domino Detectives, Pokemon Trainers, God of War or Tales II: Seeds of War? Maybe seeing your stuff up here, after years of telling you that this place is where your fanwork needs to go, will help get my brain juices going...

And I remember that story. It was stupid. Why must you bring back a memory that serves no purpose other than to make my brain hurt again after seven years of trying to forget it? You have the most idiotic dreams, Kratos... thanks anyway for the reply though.

[Gavin Luper]

I'm no poet, so I can't give a lengthy critique or anything. It's a cool poem, pretty much reflects writer's block to a tee. Fortunately *knocks on wood* I don't have writer's block at the moment, but I certainly have in the past, so this is certainly something most writers can relate to in some way or other.

Verged on moving this to the Poetry Corner, but it is substantial enough - and individual enough - to stand in it's own thread. If any other mods have a prob, PM me.

Cheers!

[darktyranitar]

Writer's block... now having one... Funny, I just read somewhere, on a comic strip on how to cure writer block.

Quite good poem. Who would have thought to put the subject of writer's block as a poem? I ain't an expert on poem, but it's pretty good.

Now off to fix my writer's block then...

[Phoenixsong]

Ah, yeah, darn it. I forgot there was a Poetry Corner... whoopsie. Thankies for the replies, though.

[Wolfsong]

You know that you've been listening to too much Christmas music when you create your own lyrics to a christmas song. This is the 12 days of christmas Calleigh style. Calleigh is a character on the show CSI:Miami and she is a ballistics expert and she has earned the nickname of Bullet Girl. I came up with this during my lunch break.

The 12 Days of Christmas Calleigh Style

By Amy Hall

On the first day of Christmas,
Calleigh sent to me
A rifle scope.

On the second day of Christmas,
Calleigh sent to me
Two sniper rifles,
And a rifle scope.

On the third day of Christmas,
Calleigh sent to me
Three firing ranges,
Two sniper rifles,
And a rifle scope.

On the fourth day of Christmas,
Calleigh sent to me
Four moving targets,
Three firing ranges,
Two sniper rifles,
And a rifle scope.

On the fifth day of Christmas,
Calleigh sent to me
Five gun cleaning kits,
Four moving targets,
Three firing ranges,
Two sniper rifles,
And a rifle scope.

On the sixth day of Christmas,
Calleigh sent to me
Six bullet proof vests,
Five gun cleaning kits,
Four moving targets,
Three firing ranges,
Two sniper rifles,
And a rifle scope.

On the seventh day of Christmas,
Calleigh sent to me
Seven clips of ammo,
Six bullet proof vests,
Five gun cleaning kits,
Four moving targets,
Three firing ranges,
Two sniper rifles,
And a rifle scope.

On the eighth day of Christmas,
Calleigh sent to me
Eight 9mms,
Seven clips of ammo,
Six bullet proof vests,
Five gun cleaning kits,
Four moving targets,
Three firing ranges,
Two sniper rifles,
And a rifle scope.

On the ninth day of Christmas,
Calleigh sent to me
Nine striae matching,
Eight 9mms,
Seven clips of ammo,
Six bullet proof vests,
Five gun cleaning kits,
Four moving targets,
Three firing ranges,
Two sniper rifles,
And a rifle scope.

On the tenth day of Christmas,
Calleigh sent to me
Ten bullets firing,
Nine striae matching,
Eight 9mms,
Seven clips of ammo,
Six bullet proof vests,
Five gun cleaning kits,
Four moving targets,
Three firing ranges,
Two sniper rifles,
And a rifle scope.

On the eleventh day of Christmas,
Calleigh sent to me
Eleven cartridge casings,
Ten bullets firing,
Nine striae matching,
Eight 9mms,
Seven clips of ammo,
Six bullet proof vests,
Five gun cleaning kits,
Four moving targets,
Three firing ranges,
Two sniper rifles,
And a rifle scope.

On the twelfth day of Christmas,
Calleigh sent to me
Twelve shotgun shells,
Eleven cartridge casings,
Ten bullets firing,
Nine striae matching,
Eight 9mms,
Seven clips of ammo,
Six bullet proof vests,
Five gun cleaning kits,
Four moving targets,
Three firing ranges,
Two sniper rifles,
And a rifle scope.

[Gavin Luper]

I don't know if this is a poem or a song or just questions. Whichever way, this was very cathartic for me to write.

Daimler

How can you stand to see yourself like this?
How can you stand to do what you don't want to?
How do you cope when you're your own antithesis?
How can you win when you can't get out of bed?

How does spinelessness overcome your resistance?
How does dependency make you a stronger man?
How can you equate alcoholism with breathing?
How can you say suicidal is being yourself?

How do you kill yourself without anyone knowing?
How do your hands pull your own trigger?
How long can spiders plough you into nonexistence?
How long do you think you can keep your silence?

How can I exchange recklessness for temperance?
How can I bury my trespasses?
How can I prevent the death of forgiveness?
How can I even begin?

[Houndoom_Lover]

Sung to Meet Virginia. You know, that song by Train. ^-^
-----------------------

He doesn’t own a dress
Hair is always a mess
You catch him stealin’ and he won’t confess
He’s beautiful
Works his packs everyday, wait that’s Goku, but anyway
He doesn’t care about that, hey, he think he’s beautiful
Meet Vegeta
He never compromises
Hates babies and surprises
Wear Leotards when he exercises, ain’t it beautiful?
Meet Vegeta
When he wants to be the king
He just goes Super Sayain
His hair starts glowin’ as he screams
He really wants to be the king
Dad was a Sayain King, Mom’s been dead since chapter one
Brother is a fine hero of planet Earth
Here he is on the Phone just like you
It’s the real thing
He hates to sit at home, unless it’s Sunday
Meet Vegeta
When he wants to live his life
He just thinks about his wife
Hair starts glowing as he screams
I don’t really wanna die
No die - I don’t really wanna die- no die
He only drinks Millers at midnight
The moment is not right
His timing is quiet unusual
His confidence is tragic
But karate like magic
In the shape of a fist
Painful
Meet Vegeta
I don’t wanna
Meet Vegeta (Heeey,hey,heey)
When he wants to be the King
He just goes Super Sayain
When he wants to live his life
He just thinks about his wife
Hair starts growing as he screams
I don’t really want him to be a king
I don’t really want him to be a king
I don’t want him to be a king
I really don’t wanna die

[Shadow Wolf]

Hi everyone!

Well, I've been around reading stories and other things, and I thought that maybe, I could be part of this.

About this piece: this is something I made to see if I have some skills at writing, because it's been a long time since I wrote something. I made this in half an hour, and I decided to make very lillte changes, because I want to read your opinions. I hope that you enjoy it.

Memories

Questions breathing
Sounds you’re hearing
Never stopping
Always beating
Gives you joy
Makes you sad
Some are good
Others bad

Flash of images
Dance of words
Happy ending
Not at all
Greatest prank
Hardest fall
Fight on bank
Pick the call

Found the love
The first kiss
Did not work
Learn your miss
No regrets
Light of hope
Try again
Grab the rope

Once again
Hear the bond
Down the river
Through the pond
All the flow
That they hold
Just a blow
Leaves you cold

That’s the way
Memories are
But today
Store away
‘till next time

[shazza]

Inspired by The Beatles - Julia, so the structure isn't original.

Victoria (Sleeping Rose)

Half of what I say is meaningless
But I'll say it just to reach you, Victoria.

Victoria, Victoria, darling child, calls me
So I sing a song of love, Victoria.
Victoria, Queen of heart, garden hands, hold me.
So I sing a song of love, Victoria.
Victoria, cosmic eyes, sunlight laugh, French leaves, heal me
So I sing a song of love, Victoria.

Her soul
Floating in the English clouds.
Breathing in the crimson wind.
Shining from the neon stars.
Inspiring my Roslyn mind.
Completing my own.

Victoria, Victoria, moonlight voice, fairy dance, find me.
So I sing a song of love, Victoria.

When I cannot sing my heart.
I can only speak my mind, Victoria.

Victoria, raindrop dream, sleeping rose, love me.
So I sing a song of love, Victoria.

Hum hum hum hum, love me.
So I sing a song of love, Victoria, Victoria, Victoria.

[Gavin Luper]

Knowing the background to this is quite devastating, man. Thanks for posting it here. Critiquing it feels a little inappropriate since it's so personal, but it's a really gentle and serene lyric. Good work and good on ya for sharing it!

[shazza]

It is only tentative, as I wanted to finalise something by her birthday (November 10).

[Gavin Luper]

Feel free to post a final version when you're done, then. That would be good to see. Also, I must find the song it's based off.

[shazza]

[Gavin Luper]

Ah, I see what you mean, the structure and lyrics do rely heavily on the song. It's lovely though. It sounds almost exactly as I kind of expected it to from your lyrics. Nice.

[shazza]

The Tales of Dr Wrights

Dr Wrights in Poker Machines

In a time afar from a world of bizarre
Lived a strange old man with yellow and pink tights; his name was Dr Wrights!
With hair of lightning and gold glasses for sighting
Psychiatrist was his profession and toy cars was his obsession.

To all the boys and girls he would exclaim a great “HEEEEEEEEEELLLLLLLOOOOOOO!!!!”
And so begins the tales of this peculiar little fellow..


Dr Wrights would play poker machines from dust to dawn
Ignoring the bodies cries of a fatigued cough or a desperate yawn
“Soooooooooon I will win and be more rich than the King!”
“I wiiiiiiiiiilll have glasses of gold and wear nothing but pure bling!”

But the doctor would go into debt ever so quick
Until one day, it dawned on him a wee little trick.

“These pokie machiiiiiines know that I am Smartlyn John Wrights!”
“They know me because of my yellow and pink striped tights!”
“People follow me around and win when I’m gone!”
“This entire country is nothing but just one big con!”

So Dr Wrights decided to play a trick on the pokie machines
“I’ll be back, Mr. Poker Machine, I have to buy some prosperous beeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaannnns!!”

He ran into the bathroom and became someone he was not
As the doctor tried to master his most elaborate plot.

“Now I will follow myself around! This is the answer!”
“Soon I will have more money to buy Donna and Prancer!”

Back to the machine Dr Wrights did journey
Claiming his name to be that of Ernie.

“Helllllllllloooooooo poker machines, I am not Dr Wrights”
“I am new here and suffer no blights and no plights!”

He put in a hundred and he put in a hundred more
Dr Wrights was obsessed with settling the score
Delierium set in and the realisations swept
As Dr Wrights sank into debt and wept

“Why do you taunt me, you blooooooooooody pokies!”
“I don’t even have enough money to buy some smokies!”

The poker machine cackled with a psychotic terror
“Attendant, I do believe the machine is having some kind of error!”

“You fool, Dr Wrights, do you not remember all those years ago?”
“When you thought you were famous and hosted a community TV show.”
“Someone wrote you a letter about their gambling addiction”
“And since then we have suffered a terrible infliction”

Dr Wrights was perplexed at these ludicrous claims
Finally ready to leave these addictive games
“What did I say? I don’t remember things very well!”
As the doctor was hypnotised by the poker machines enchanting spell.

“You fool, you told him to get a baseball bat and smash us all to pieces!”
“The Poker Machine Holocaust killed my nephews and nieces!”
“Now you will be cursed for all eternity!”
“For you destroyed my soul and my chance for paternity.”

[Chris 2.1]

Hands

I'm a lonely man,
my city structured with frowns
providing a fortress for someone.
Joy leaks out in ink-stained sheets
Draped over, casting shapes, casting clowns.

Do we yearn for a footprint
since we yearn for the shoe?
Or is the impression, the pressure, the key?
I've tried to ask you this in some daydreams that I had
But you're always busy, being make believe.

So I take trains and think on escalators
(right side, never left)
Two girls linked and whispered something,
now I see hope in hands holding hands.

[Oslo]

My Second Body

How else might I convince you
except to fix my lungs upon a pin?
Perhaps I need to bleach my bones, jar tendon,
or splay my nerves against a screen
and let you map their blue fragility?
Dear skeptic, I can lend you nothing
more than all of it: my knees,
their pocked exteriors,
my cheeks, my pores and frigid palms.
You will measure and do tests,
scouring my flesh with chemicals
to learn its every end and limit.
Even after all of this, you'll still deem it necessary
to hold in your studious hands
my breasts, those which
you struggle most to validate.
Really, all that you require
lies below my chest, beneath it.
Press your beating wrist
against my muscled heart.
Let the rhythms unify.
Then syncopate. Then unify again.
Bear witness to that pear-shaped thing,
that pump. Then, feel yours. Hold onto it.
Maybe now, knowing
my authentic body,
you’ll never again ask,
“What kind of a

are you?”

[Gavin Luper]

Thanks Gavin, and yes, your correction was, er, correct. I find the more I try and think about writing, the less I get done. Last night, after quite an emotionally heavy weekend previously, I just put everything down on paper.

But even though I drew on some personal experience, the poem was meant to look generally at relationships, their destructive and exhaustive power. Particularly when someone who has been 'the other man' suddenly realises their partner is cheating. A sort of role-reversal.

Really appreciate the feedback

Good to get the full picture of where you were taking it man. Your poetry is always quite inspiring and clever, so it's a pleasure to read.

Ai

A soul seeking it…
A million more craving it…
But no one gives it!

This feels like some kind of ineffable universal need or conundrum. But what is it, out of interest, Louis?

My Second Body

How else might I convince you
except to fix my lungs upon a pin?
Perhaps I need to bleach my bones, jar tendon,
or splay my nerves against a screen
and let you map their blue fragility?
Dear skeptic, I can lend you nothing
more than all of it: my knees,
their pocked exteriors,
my cheeks, my pores and frigid palms.
You will measure and do tests,
scouring my flesh with chemicals
to learn its every end and limit.
Even after all of this, you'll still deem it necessary
to hold in your studious hands
my breasts, those which
you struggle most to validate.
Really, all that you require
lies below my chest, beneath it.
Press your beating wrist
against my muscled heart.
Let the rhythms unify.
Then syncopate. Then unify again.
Bear witness to that pear-shaped thing,
that pump. Then, feel yours. Hold onto it.
Maybe now, knowing
my authentic body,
you’ll never again ask,
“What kind of a

are you?”

Wow, man, your poetry always hits something deep inside ... This piece, I feel, could be even shorter and be more effective and resonant, but the images that you have included are just breathtaking. Those splayed nerves and their blue fragility. Whoa. Nice work.

[Gavin Luper]

Thanks Gavin, and yes, your correction was, er, correct. I find the more I try and think about writing, the less I get done. Last night, after quite an emotionally heavy weekend previously, I just put everything down on paper.

But even though I drew on some personal experience, the poem was meant to look generally at relationships, their destructive and exhaustive power. Particularly when someone who has been 'the other man' suddenly realises their partner is cheating. A sort of role-reversal.

Really appreciate the feedback

Good to get the full picture of where you were taking it man. Your poetry is always quite inspiring and clever, so it's a pleasure to read.

Ai

A soul seeking it…
A million more craving it…
But no one gives it!

This feels like some kind of ineffable universal need or conundrum. But what is it, out of interest, Louis?

My Second Body

How else might I convince you
except to fix my lungs upon a pin?
Perhaps I need to bleach my bones, jar tendon,
or splay my nerves against a screen
and let you map their blue fragility?
Dear skeptic, I can lend you nothing
more than all of it: my knees,
their pocked exteriors,
my cheeks, my pores and frigid palms.
You will measure and do tests,
scouring my flesh with chemicals
to learn its every end and limit.
Even after all of this, you'll still deem it necessary
to hold in your studious hands
my breasts, those which
you struggle most to validate.
Really, all that you require
lies below my chest, beneath it.
Press your beating wrist
against my muscled heart.
Let the rhythms unify.
Then syncopate. Then unify again.
Bear witness to that pear-shaped thing,
that pump. Then, feel yours. Hold onto it.
Maybe now, knowing
my authentic body,
you’ll never again ask,
“What kind of a

are you?”

Wow, man, your poetry always hits something deep inside ... This piece, I feel, could be even shorter and be more effective and resonant, but the images that you have included are just breathtaking. Those splayed nerves and their blue fragility. Whoa. Nice work.

[Oslo]

Wow, man, your poetry always hits something deep inside ... This piece, I feel, could be even shorter and be more effective and resonant, but the images that you have included are just breathtaking. Those splayed nerves and their blue fragility. Whoa. Nice work.

Thanks! I definitely agree that less is often more, so I like the idea of trimming the fat with this particular poem. What lines specifically do you think I perhaps could/should excise? I'm thinking lines 6 to 9 could be removed and the poem would still hold together effectively. The ending also reads kind of baggy now that I think about it.

[Gavin Luper]

Thanks! I definitely agree that less is often more, so I like the idea of trimming the fat with this particular poem. What lines specifically do you think I perhaps could/should excise? I'm thinking lines 6 to 9 could be removed and the poem would still hold together effectively. The ending also reads kind of baggy now that I think about it.

Sorry mate - I totally missed this earlier. Upon rereading, I agree that lines 6 to 9 are actually weaker links in the chain compared to the rest of the poem. In fact, I would even suggest taking out line 10, too, and maybe going straight into "You will scour ..." - it's a bit more image-centric like the rest of the lines. I'm still not sure which lines near the end need to be edited out but I do still feel that it's overlong; it would be significantly more powerful, I reckon, if that ending was condensed by several lines. Maybe experiment with it and see what you could do without? Good luck if you do decide to do that.

Chris: Nice work as always with that latest snippet. It almost feels like it could be an alternative rock lyric, that one ... it's razor-sharp and full of pain and impact. Well done.

[Chris 2.1]

To Teo,

Crew neck, smart tie,
Staring at your eyes I can't help but wonder why
You pulled me, from dirt,
Onto a pretty platform just to let me get hurt.