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Tales of Beedle the Bard
I'm in a sharing mood, let me know what you think, I guess:
1. If not today the willow speaks, it’s tales to widows, speak, a madness wondered, branches over thee, once we watch her, here we find her, all but sparkling sinew, and praise, praise would we with this light on our brains made, praise the dust as it lands, pieces of each other, but only harder to swallow. Mother hands grip those eyes of old, we speak. Laughter poured out of pitchers that never held Grace, forward we may march to death of our Selves, only watching for the next version And these hands, we come together To tear each other apart but what do we do, When we no longer bleed? _____________________________________ 2. wipe of yesterday's makeup and act like you didn't hear what he said These sober moments they make me for closer to death as it ever was and I say, hands full how can I know where I am going if I don't know where I've been on nights like this you could slay a dragon, but not walk the straight line. When you laugh in the direction of the wind it comes back as sobbing but it doesn't matter sound can be recycled under glass they come back on wishes and second thoughts you can bear witness to this tangled mess I've made of my life. ________________________ 3. Don't ask me about myself. And insofar no one heeds this warning, and one day a background noise of a man asked me; "What are your interests, what do you do?" And the truth is: I get up in the morning, I wonder if I should. I stretch myself into being and things that be. I think, and I don't know what I think, or what the sun will say.I don't believe in contrived goodness. I believe in being mean, I believe in telling everyone to **** off because they'll always be knocking at your door otherwise asking you to hold their hand on their walk off the next mountain but you know you'd go along but no, no I won't because I listen but I'm not hearing everything, I'm not a bowl or a basin. Oh, it's true as they say I'm sensitive and that my nerves are close to the surface of my skin. I am soft, and as those say, delicate, but I am infinite. I believe in love and force, because I won't watch death because I'm not afraid and sure they'll look at you and laugh when you see right, but you see right through them. I'm unwell, I fold myself inward trying to become small, so very small as life goes through me, but as I become small the worlds fall together, every star could fit in my hand. I sleep through days because the nights are alone, I don't feel this loneliness, and so this sets me apart from you, but I'm more than the I. I am the I, but I am also you. I stumble into funny things with strange plants with no names and I put my hands to the dirt and make them grow into flowers. My arrogance is my salvation. I like to watch the lights and imagine other lights and other places and other people watching lights and cities full, and people and maps. I like songs that remind me of rain. These are the things that no one knows. ___________________________________________ 4. I’m living in the middle of The kitchen in an eighth Of a night of Smack and too many cigarettes The laughing leech in love Has come to eat his words I contemplate this as Mr. Pretentious spews that I’m too good for him and Miss Yes ma’am would rather not Take sides of anything And I say that’s fine That no, really, I’m okay. (but I just make less of more more more) And really, who knows me better than my own bloodstream? But at the moment I want to make up for it By weeping And by begging For something I didn’t really want In the first place. It seems to me that I Am taking this in the wrong direction When all I want to think about is That maybe on a good day Bukowski is my father And my world just might Be a single solitary atom On someone’s a$$hole. -------------- (yes, the last one was really written on heroin, when I was 15/16) |
I like your works.
The first one was definitely my favourite. The one talking about yourself started off well but I lost interest. Quote:
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nice **** you drugged up gnome
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Thank youuu and WHY AM I A GNOME
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you bound about with concrete glee and deign to ride on silver stallions, with upside crescents for eyes
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you're lovely
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it took some time to rad it all, but I think it's totally cool :)
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Nice work, I'm loving the first one there :thumb:
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You are a writer after my own heart..... well not exactly, but you write in the style that I find enthralling. If you want to refine any of these, make sure to keep the chaotic stream of conciousness feel, but also try to make some of the wandering a bit more consice. Especially the piece about "you" is hard for people to read simply because there is so much fantasticness in there. By making only the very important things powerful, the piece itself becomes not only more powerful, but more likely to reach more people.
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I love it. Specially 3 and 4. Just great stuff. Any music to it or is it poetry?
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i'm keepng this thread alive so you have to post something new soon.
good stuff...keep writing! |
Thankssss! <3
heres a few more I guess: twenty four hour count down to thirty and maybe split, scratch for everything, scratch forward, little mistress of tomorrow, please spend yourself wisely, and common sense will pay your skill, to decadence you were contained, this ignorance, so well explained, and following, is the vapors and doom unto which you fall, and no one can make you scream louder, not like it goes beneath the skin, it's open to no other, and spit becomes this, if you weren't so evil you would know, and all the songs come out to saws, just to drift away with the sounds, if I'm a sinner it would go softer, but they're all deaf. And I know by your singing and laughter, you've been here too, count your feet among mine. So we laugh at each other, caricatures of dignity between, and the similarities mark up a tally, so tall you can't ignore, like skyscrapers, the wise are static too, killing time is on the watch, as clocks would say, it's terrible -------------------------------------------------- On to Venus of the high seas, a wind will come back to me, the window breaks its panes, all is glitter on the glass, talking on endlessly, celebrations of effort, shake its pains. Gone, and on a song, without wings, flash. Ice cut and burn us, the brutal and bizarre. And the sun will come out, in only a few tomorrows. And choose to follow through, those nights of open pages tall, pushing, falling. ---------------------------------------- And I know this number makes up for nothingbut I can pretend and your insides marr my skin, and the burn goes farther than anything and this wave, this wave overcomes me, but watch me learn to swim in it, if anything to hold against the tide and all sworn in, as magnets seem to rust and tho, so is far, then I could not reach out to you, no long armed son of a gun, not me, so I reach beneath, the dirt become, under the sky,I know your bones, even if I don't know mine, and I crawled on my belly just to watch you shine. A lot happens in a night where I give you the wrong number and we know all about that touch, I don't want this and I never know how it starts.If you strap me to this city there is nothing that could save you. ----------- This is probably going to embarass me in a bit. |
bumpp
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Love.
I really do love your writing. |
Aww :) thank you
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Paloma....
I like your writing, even though I'm too lazy and tired to read it all. Keep it up, and many other motivational phrases. |
you have any music to go with these, mistress?
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I want you to say THAT in your accent. o.o
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I'm not sure I like the way that you phrase your lines in the one which starts "On Venus of the high seas..." because it seems that you have ideas which are clearly single, complete, sentances, and yet you break them up. This makes me want to view fragments like "talking on" as if they are complete ideas, which they aren't.
On the other hand, virtually every modern poet I know breaks they're lines up similarly, and most of them know more than me. I think that breaking up lines like that can also give it a specific flow, but it really isn't that important. On your next poem, you have the opposite thing going on. You group tons and tons of ideas into one line. This gives it an extremely rushed, frantic feeling. I like that a lot, but it is somewhat annoying that you've got so many ideas just lumped together like that. Oh, and I'm assuming that, because your poems are so unclear, you are like my sister and you try to make poems that are like an abstract painting, without events, with little but concealed meaning, and which, above all, create an atmosphere. Therefore, reviewing the content of the poems would be a waste of time. |
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It's alright :) I was gonna give an explanation of their meanings but I got lazy and just said naw dude
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screw explaining the meanings for other people yo
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Never tire of reading something new Paloma. The style that you write, I'm liking that a lot.
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BLEHHHHHHHHHHH!
a few: simple nights spend in the currency of terror, and I cling to my bones and skin, all courtesy belongs to error, I can't seem to fit, although I fold this hand. I will make me over, and all glory be, these chemicals pick up where I belong, the magnets kiss their feet. Modelling this skeleton, I find worlds through bone, words are home. I can see the appeal in reaching hands but I don't stop for anyone, not anymore, as this road can only lead to your door. fickle fingers make me drown faster, faster still ---------------------------------- Bone atop bone Those piles of bones of all of you I leave behind I build the ladder to the sky but I'll settle with the clouds if only to dance on spines of the flocks below And the blood stuck on my fingers the purest parts of most the medium to paint a free life from there on forward is the canvas The mouth makes room for the teeth this woman has made flesh her feast. ----------------------------------- The heart repeats the sounds come home, come home and empty lungs no scream escapes for the sake of hands the heart, in search for words once was common find. Scissors talk like knives and here, I lose my wings. a gravity in silence And the speak of pretty collections the galleries of love, of everyone and like a knife in the belly repeat the sounds come home, come home. --------------------------- he’ll be boring in the morning and I smile still everyday and just because it goes on I do too. But at night I dream of the sails to make use of days of wind I spread my hands under the sea taking salt to cleanse my heart All I wanted was a crown of daisies a field for me and you but when I wake up I’ll buy some cigarettes and sing those old songs it gets me out of bed |
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I like the way you wrote it. I like the vocabulary you used. |
<3
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I ask everybody, not to be a bitch, but did you make it lowercase on purpose?
I do that sometimes, I feel it adds a different feel to my poetry. |
Sometimes I capitalise and sometimes I don't. I always do it on the I's, I think. I just find it more aesthetically pleasing, for the same reason I don't Americanise my spellings. I also just let it spill out basically, sometimes I edit later, other times not.
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I wrote a poem once where every other stanza was lowercase. |
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hai guise, I'm going to be published in a friend's zine, so here are some of the ones that are going to be in print:
------------- #1 and everynight as mind arrives always late and never on time seeking words that I could find to call my own, on home and tomorrow I'll whistle our song while the sunlight finds a new hunger handing myself the axe I bury the trees. And I wear the cape of thorns no needles should depart forever to get steady from within Consider these verse my ride into the earth as surely as the doves follow the earth will take me in swallow whole. --------------------------------------- #2 I'm up to my knees asking if only please and where is your heart you killed to save? bones never broken only latching on to theirs. The past was never fully swallowed sick as we may be the evil skin of your teeth will not hide you here. I would spit fires far if I could stay behind the flame. please make me suffer. and when myself will split never alone, forever The galaxies move out of its way ------------------------------ #3 lighting cigarettes off the stove and thinking about how charming we are watching old television and nevermind the seat cushions. And all of this tattooed on your spine. it's not enough to feel this undcerneath my skin it beats out like a rhythm unseen before us we lie down in its ashes and cry for the doves above and I say nothing to do about all of those mongrels who should lie before us as it may be I don't know what to see forward as a lightbulb burns out in the candlit past I am screaming louder than air is blowing through the trees and wires may lean to seem like it pulls this world together and who knows where to go on the sidewalk and move move will you out the poison or do I have to do this all over again? I want it to look like it hurts. I am carved clean. ------ Like I said these are just a few. She told me that she'd take as much as I was willing to give her but...that's just far too much. On the last two lines on the first one I'm iffy on them, so if anyone has any suggestions, they'd be much appreciated. |
blah BLAH BLAH
1. all other ways you're just pretending to end this inhuman longing and longer than the longest days and that which I say, cannot be said they fine me alive but only inside alone in my head moving faster than it is is harder than it seems the words I want the worlds i want from other mouths turn away ears to a lonely marquee. ----------------------------- 2. and i think to myself in static can i send across waves, my heart is jumping ship and i cannot follow any farther along here, the modern language of my telegraph heart, beating send me back to you, but nowhere new i'm aware of all the spilling maps alongside the midnight, once mine was the moon, onward onto octopus arms, i have no patience for songs that used to mean love, the existence is betrayed everywhere, I have no colors left to spare, generosity is not mine, my minds eye, it leaves me terrified when raw and heavy it sinks, dishing out the water will not send it back floating always the winner, with forever spoils never relying on faith to fall out amongst the rest. I question my companions will we quest for many or only few I'll always know them many nothing much to lose. --------------------------------- 3. it knows by its zipper sleeves it curves as branches those red blooming trees it only goes where you can find the night and no song will sing to me with its sleeping sounds collecting tapes of madness rewind with the epidemic, we spend our times in this frequency do you experience this lust do you sound out this frenzy refrain from using my name cause rolling out your teeth it sounds forever the same -------------------- 4. i await invitation to unwrap these wounds so carefully chosen permission to remove and my mind screams itself to a foolish mouth finding every door closed and to watch them all fall the vice itself holds no victory it offers no souvenirs watching clocks that never move the hours have no sympathy you'll watch the willow branch it mocks you as you are until we find no more old uses for new faces we'll cast this die between us |
I love all of these Paloma, keep it up. I love the phrase 'octopus arms' in your last post.
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very nice lyrics paloma
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I love the way you write.
:D |
thanks guys :D
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I have been writing like mad.
------------- And we are now leaving Bedford Falls. I wonder if I'm the only pillar of salt to be here. All aboard the Titanic, all signals to the seas. I feel my own hands tearing myself apart, piece by piece till nothing exists. My sun fall out amongst the stars, here it all goes now afar. I peel off my senses, leaving only sounds, to hear and to hope. The blackened cavity beats on in my chest, when the rest says to you that it's dead. Don't fall, don't weep, don't start to sleep. The burned out halo will not rise with you to guide your feet. So Davinci, will you rise from your grave, to reassemble, what only he could save? -------------------------- I remember what you thought you meant I remember although it's along the lines of forgetting that fever heat forever remembering never forgetting the beat i hold the fears to pretend to love and it's sad to know it's never their turn the sickest feel along the spread of wings they'll never know the flight they line in like they're soldiers and I hang my head and hang up my hands for the beautiful saint how the words can fall out of me like a tidal like the wave that becomes my head the love was progress and parallel lines ----------- anything stretch it between your lips so often as it is anything it seems to mean everything. and on the end of desperation it slips its teeth into you. ---------------- did I lie down for these these arms mark cunning fragility hanging letters in my windows just in case you could walk by. and how do we make it through these glass nights through those last night well I'll say to you that it's a tightrope those fogs wrapped in those nights ------------------------------------- And no matter how high the fences I bring them down spun across the sadness of the city the bells ring out a chorus to picture them in singalong and the miserable lie that was miserable truth only belonging to me. and the pieces they keep me up at night reassembling and at the bells they do a dance that never is quite in tune. --------------------------- what words could spin a halo they drop on hollow bones fill them with eager marrow and they crack like honeycombs ------------------------ blah blah break up poetry |
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You wrote them different than the others. Well done. [= I can't be critical right now because I'm half asleep, but remind me to. Hahaha. |
<3 ya babe
two new: 1. and then my heart saw your monster and left me long time blind and then it said to me it would float back to my throat I know the secret to it's success is always staying a little bit behind always being quick, always quick to hide I could paint you forever in your hair shirt the unfinished picture and blend it into dirt I throw you into the sea, never be seen and are you afraid to step away? I tear its soul out, and ask it what love was. I hear nothing in return, just the echo of the torn apart pieces of me The mirror of your hands had two sides Janus of glass you see it become and I say to you I'm not who you make me. ----------------------------------------------- 2. such evident directions on how not to love instruction on how to mend a heart it screams on about it's convienience on and on the drone it goes but a saint forgives, you know I can rewire the rules of love I'll leave my debts unpaid your currency is vulgar and your polish is just a stain. |
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