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Author Topic: Poetry House  (Read 24874 times)

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Offline MahluaandMilk

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Re: Poetry House
« Reply #495 on: January 17, 2017, 04:03:24 PM »
A weird class about the sociological benefits and collaboration of a public school in a community as well as measures taken within a school to create and upkeep certain foundations for education.

Offline Forlorn Serpent

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Re: Poetry House
« Reply #496 on: January 17, 2017, 04:08:16 PM »
I did not see that coming.

Offline MahluaandMilk

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Re: Poetry House
« Reply #497 on: January 17, 2017, 04:11:04 PM »
I doubt they'll see my edgelord coming when we read these aloud on Thursday either. I took a generic template and went "here have some personal and kinda dark sh-t about my life."

Offline Misyne

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Re: Poetry House
« Reply #498 on: January 29, 2017, 12:34:26 AM »
Look deep into my eyes, my love, and repeat after me;
Our love was always meant to last an eternity.
If you should stop time, I should stay beside
to stop it with you, where chemical fumes collide.

Transform each and every drop of blood in our veins
into the promise of love that would still keep us awake,
Hold me by the hand as we move on together,
I am yours, for the rest of forever.

Offline MahluaandMilk

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Re: Poetry House
« Reply #499 on: January 29, 2017, 04:52:01 AM »
That...was honestly painful for me to read. I don't know what it is about love like that, but I find myself drawing away from it. I guess one bad apple can easily spoil those around it, even of the more precious variety. Yet I want so badly for your words to ring with more truth than my experiences.

Offline Misyne

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Re: Poetry House
« Reply #500 on: January 29, 2017, 08:41:50 AM »
It was supposed to be bittersweet, but looking at it now, I'm not sure I got that across the way I wanted. For similar reasons, I don't think I'd be able to write purely about love unless it was from an outsider's perspective or have some darker undercurrent going for it.

Offline MahluaandMilk

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Re: Poetry House
« Reply #501 on: January 29, 2017, 07:26:46 PM »
If you scroll around this thread long enough and you'll find some of my love poetry, written when I was inspired by the feeling. I wonder what you'd think of my brand of them.

Offline Misyne

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Re: Poetry House
« Reply #502 on: February 01, 2017, 10:49:53 PM »
I read some, to me they really seem like they'd work well as song lyrics the way they flow. Material for an upcoming Mahlua band!

Anyway, looking at them as a whole, it's a pretty cool portrayal of the general rollercoaster that is love. While I miss it, at the same time I really don't.

Offline WriterExtremist

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Re: Poetry House
« Reply #503 on: February 02, 2017, 03:02:37 PM »
Nice. :)

Offline MahluaandMilk

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Re: Poetry House
« Reply #504 on: May 03, 2017, 01:07:28 AM »
The local kava bar had an open mic night, and after hearing some of the poets, I started writing something of my own and somehow went up and presented mine. I can't recreate exactly how it went while I was up there since I was actually shaking pretty badly at the mic, but I tried for you guys:

"Loss"

Then I wound up writing another one that I didn't get a chance to share, but I'll drop that one here for you guys as well.

"Sympathy"

Mind you that these are passionate and volume might be an issue, and they may also give you the feels.

Offline legomaestro

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Re: Poetry House
« Reply #505 on: November 04, 2017, 09:52:55 PM »
:/  Darnit the voice recordings seem not to exist anymore...

Offline Ocky88

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Re: Poetry House
« Reply #506 on: November 05, 2017, 12:21:37 AM »
:/  Darnit the voice recordings seem not to exist anymore...

well look at the posting date on it
I never knew we had a poetry section.(starts snapping) Grabbing me some coffee for the authentic poetry night

Offline Forlorn Serpent

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Re: Poetry House
« Reply #507 on: November 23, 2017, 04:31:10 PM »
Metaphorical title

I saw a brother of thousands fall.
It will be the first of many this season.
They were brown, red, orange, and yellow.

“Don’t worry, I’ll clean it up” said my brother
I replied “just leave them there, don’t bother”


The old die for the next in line, except these.
They will be collected and bagged and eventually dumped.
Their journey endied,  but they would not be connected to their own.
However, I will change that.

My neighbor hired a man to clean their yard.
The following spring he will return to bring  back what he took.
It’s funny that they will pay twice for nothing.



Offline Forlorn Serpent

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Re: Poetry House
« Reply #508 on: January 14, 2018, 03:24:42 AM »
It did snow in the summer.
Though surprising, it was foretold.
Many played on that day.
No one minded the cold.

On the eve of that day i remembered.
What it was, i regret to say i forgot.
At least that is what i tell myself.
It had to do with something i bought.

You would imagine the children were playing,
throwing snow at each other.
But it was one minute past midnight.
Everyone was still in their slumber.

I waited for them, outside of course.
It was no trouble on my part.
Because what i remembered that day,
was the very reason it would start.

A good amount of slow collected on me.
i dare say it was enough to ---
i guess i dare not.

The sun didn't shine that day.
The children did come out to play.
The adults even had something to say.
I just stood there, watching them.

That day in the summer,
when everyone played,
with smiles and song,
dance and glee,
laughing and smiling,
chanting and crying,
was my birthday.


Offline MahluaandMilk

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Re: Poetry House
« Reply #509 on: May 11, 2018, 10:27:25 PM »
One of my projects this semester was a poetry anthology, and I was lazy and didn't wanna look around for too many, so I wrote a few.

Okay, admittedly some of them just hit me in the gut and I had to start writing.

Here are the new ones:


"Loss"
the text version, since the audio must've went out.
In this concrete jungle lie
twists and turns and secrets that hide
from truths unkind, and grey
is cold, even across the power lines
that hum power this way and that
along dark paths in the dim city lights.
And, in this jungle, stories unfold
in ways that melancholy takes hold
and grips sympathy in its talons and
rips it away.
She did the same, and that whole bum*censored* town
will never be the same.
Old grey bricks crumble into shattered glass
away into a darkness that is the hole she left us.
Rusty stairs to thick apartment airs between thin walls,
all musky and disgusting,
stuck with the smell of mold and cigarettes.
A soldier loses his humanity and his mind
over the last time she smiled.
Now the only solace we have, if I’m to be honest,
is that we ache together, trying to make sense
of a life taken prematurely.
All we have is a memory, and in that memory
I find misery and agony, because damn,
I miss you.

The cold grey world took
and it takes continually,
swallows us in towers like gallows
building upward and upward
but into what?
What is lost between these city walls
and what other secrets come out when night falls
and the realization of loss settles in?

"I Don't Know"
A poem about dissociation and how it feels.
the air doesn’t feel real—
or sometimes it’s too heavy.
when i think about it,
my brain draws attention to the fact
that i don’t feel a part of this world.
without my command,
a twitch leaves my body.
i guess it wonders
if breaking the stillness
will bring us back to reality.

sounds don’t come on time.
there’s a blip in my perception,
between when sound waves are generated,
when they hit my ears,
and when i hear them.

i want to reach out,
but my mind holds no words
like a whiteboard
with no markers.

is this reality?
am i a part of this dimension?
what’s happening?

b   l   a   n   k   n   e   s   s   .   .   .

"Dead Girl Walking"
Based on the Kidneythieves song https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4Iuky5F_DS8
You were already a
Dead Girl Walking
when I met you.
I didn’t have the right
to even
think
I could save you.
But young love only blooms once.
You called yourself “poison”
and I eagerly drank.

But you were never the poison.
The poison is what you let in:
the men who treated you like *censored*.
“Time doesn’t heal wounds,”
you said,
“It just helps you forget the pain”.
Maybe you were right,
living on borrowed time,
as you believed you were.

I’m sorry, my love,
that I could not see you
transform gracefully
from Dead Girl Walking
to Dead Girl Dead.
Now I look in the mirror
and half expect
gunmetal blue
Dead Girl Eyes
to plead from my own sockets.

But you were already a
Dead Girl Walking
when I met you.
I didn’t have the right
to even
offer
to kiss your hundred scars.

I suppose that makes me
Dead Girl Haunted.

"Impermissible"
For the feelings I don't feel like feeling.
Tell me why
it’s easier to cry
for memories
that aren’t mine?

When I follow
that sharp ache
in my chest,
my heart’s closest neighbor,
I go to embrace it.
Tears prick my eyes,
but then she runs
just out of reach.
The tease.

Misery is a crueler mistress
than her mother trauma.
She entices tears
but never permits release.

For others
at least I can cry,
but for her,
never.

Cue Forlorn's psychoanalysis of why I've really been gone these past couple of months, lol.