All ye poets, out of the closet!

Thread originally posted on the Aeclectic Tarot Forum on 14 Apr 2002, and now archived in the Forum Library.

BluSeraphim	14 Apr 2002
Okay, jade has to get credit for inspiring this one. I read the group story she started and took it a step further. I know we have lots of fertile imaginations out there, so let's hear some original poetry from you guys. There are no rules, Blu doesn't do rules very well, except that it has to be special to you. If you don't have any you wrote yourself, then post one of your all time favorite's. Good Luck, and no snickering! (Ok, so there are a couple of rules, but they're for your own good!) I'll go first to break the ice. I wrote this one during an especially virulent period of depression, I know you guys will relate. The Battle I grow so very weary, of this constant inner struggle This eternal timeworn battle, between my body and my soul Yet if I were to cede the war, refuse forever more to fight The darkness of this mortal realm would fast and surely end my plight And then my life most certainly, would cease and all at once to be That high the stakes for which I play, a gamble that could set me free So I seek a source internal, one corrupted not by life With which to draw my strength from, with which to soothe my strife For the battles never lessen, grow more intense with each new day As lessons long forgotten, must be learned a different way For the sacrifice demanded, oh how bittersweet the cost To gain our prized enlightenment, to succeed where others lost But rest now weary traveler, lay your head down here and weep For the price of this long journey, is the death we all must reap I have happier ones, honest! Godspeed, Blu

Hush	14 Apr 2002
i write a lot....you can go here (http://www.fanfiction.net/profile.php?userid=129354) if you're interested in reading more, for now I'll just put in a couple... sleep now, I can hear, hear your pillow talk, through the walls, and the willows, and the cries of the demanding, sleep now, forever, burn now, never, never breath, the reprimanding the releases, the commanding, sleep now, forever, hold your peace, sleep now, never, to hold your peace, sleep now, sleep. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~ the orange peel boats, float, elegantly, through the clouds, they sway, back and, forth, all in time, to the sweet violin, and to the echo, of the bell, the lemon peel sun, floats into the sea, he sits back, and sighs, "this is life", and they sway... ~~~~~~~~~~~~ I don’t think I like myself today Growing suspicions “Run away” That’s all he says “Run and keep running” sorry if theres too much, heh.

jade	14 Apr 2002
we have such great talent here......come on everyone let's hear some more! :) jade

lunalafey	14 Apr 2002
We did this once before and alot of great words were posted. here is one of my older poems TREE OF MINE The ever growing body of life A tree of Body, Mind and Soul Full of leaves, the thoughts the ideas Soaking in the wholesome Light Wiggling when touched by the air of Heaven Branches reaching out for life The consciousness of the Spirit With a trunk that is strong and solid A treasure of memories Holding the Knowledge of all times Wearing the rings of Seasons Roots buried deep and unseen Hugging Mother so firmly The feelings and the connection A tree that bears fruit A sweet gift of Nature An offering of Love This is my Tree 2/99 and one that I posted before but will again for the new members. Only because it fits Tarot, but it was not intended to. Fate Fate deals from the deck of life. Their reality will cut you like a knife. What is there to understand, From the cards you hold in your hand. If you think that Fate is just a fable, Then try throwing your cards out on the table. Now which way is your life going to go? Dispute her existence and you will never know. 1998

BluSeraphim	14 Apr 2002
I knew we were all on the same track, check out Fate, whoa! You guys rock, let's hear some more!

Malachite	15 Apr 2002
I don't really like this one, but theres no sense being embarrassed about it... Flow Standing, Not alone, but with my selves a recurring image through a cracked and broken mirror through scaled eyes in the light through the trees through the city smog, we gather around, facing both past and future looking inwards by gazing at each other at ourselves see that love, reflected in an eye become the pain in another ~remember how that felt~ the taste of salted tears that flowed like the tides of the sea, and ebbed also Standing, gathered together at a point not talking amongst ourself for the truths and lies are apparent and viewed from no perspective Waiting, we glance around beyond us sloping hills in twilight sky it seems symbolic but in a way we do not know perhaps not meant for us or for the self we have not met the one who dreams us even now the streams glitter, eau de vité, the stars tremble, un mille des oeuils de nuit, the trees in incandescence emerald pulses in the lifeblood flow of the land there, we wait for the next stage in an atria before moving on and here all is one and one is all, without moving the grass rolls back beneath our feet where the rainbow falls to earth we blend, we see through two eyes think in one mind as we step through the shimmering gaze of the sky's ethereal screen, I open my eyes and awake ~It was not mine to see~

Kiama	15 Apr 2002
Malachite: Every time I read that poem, my heart becomes full! Kiama Ps- I do have loads of poetry, just not with me! I'll post it when I find it!

blumoon	15 Apr 2002
awake thinking in riddles and time is passing minutes, seconds there is no point or a conclusion doesn't have to be nothing makes sense but everything goes rhythms and rhymes go hand in hand at this unearthly hour we don't have to be yet we are one question leads to more though it's what you make it time to head out time to get off step down from the platform but never stop searching

Wishcrafter	15 Apr 2002
This is another little poem I wrote,miles ago.Make that two. Self Preservation After the Pain A numbness comes That controls both The heart and mind A feeling close to peace Yet, a little unsettling Causing us to find A way to avoid What once struck us With such intensity God Is Love Love is never a stranger Even to one betrayed Though love was much stronger Bound in young hopes and dreams When given unreserved It is sufficent for All But what Love has left empty God fills And what God fills Shall always turn to Love For they are one an the same God is Love

Kiama	15 Apr 2002
I've got loads of poetry to share wih you, so brace yourself! Poem One: Especially for the Pagans out there! Man Murdered Her Where has that time gone, When Goddess was still alive? Has the son of man... the god of man Murdered Her? Tied Her to a wooden stake and set the fire beneath Her feet, Leaving Her screaming in agony as the flames rise higher? Have we forgotten Her so completely, That we daily destroy Her creation, That which She birthed in blood and tears, To pay for our selfish ways? We have polluted Her oceans, Her lifeblood, And stemmed the flow of Her love with dams and diversions. We have hacked through Her heart with a chainsaw, And violated Her bdy with desire for land and wealth. We have choked the breath from Her throa, Until only the tiniest whisper escapes... No wonder She hides. No wonder She shies away from such harh, non lights. Is Goddess dead? No. She lives in the forests, the mountains, The rich, African Earth, and the rver sources, Untouched by man's debased hand. She hides Herself away somewhere, Waiting for our eyes to open once more, The eyes sealed shut with threads of gold, silver, greed... She lives in the thrice-cast circle, The soothsayer, The child who, at night, looks up into the sky, and raises her arms to tickle the Moon, The one who, when terror courses through the roots of Yggdrasil, Enfolds her arms around its trunk and heals. Has Goddess deserted us? No. For is not a Mother one who refuses to abandon her children, In their time of greatest need? Kiama, the thought-provoker...

Kiama	15 Apr 2002
Poem 2: For the non-conformist in you! Nomads What is it about the unworn track, That frightens people so? Is it the confusion? The darkness? The distortion? The possibilty of losing the way and becoming eternally lost in the sea of lost souls? Yet are not those souls those who have gained? Are they not the ones who have travelled their own path, Created anew a sculpture, Instead of merely chipping tiny flecks off the original art? Are they not, eternal nomads as they may be, Those who asked for adventure, and got it? For these are those who have stood on the hill in a storm, Felt the heavy torrents sting and curse the cheek, Blinding, burning, Heard the gales screaming like the Bean Sidhe in the ears, Tugging at the hair, wrenching, tangling... Have they not felt the chaos And yet... Have they not found complete joy in that chaos? What good can one be if all he does is follow the rest? Surely an individual energy, With a different slant; colour; perception of the Divine, Is more beneficial? And do we not agree that this is true? We do. So, I ask you, Why do we persist in condemning these eternal nomads? Why do we discriminate and force them away? Their souls may be that of a nomad, But in the end, So is yours... Kiama

Kiama	15 Apr 2002
Poem 3: For the animal-rights activist Death Row A sterile room, silent except for the pathetic cry of resistence From the next victim. Taken along the perpetual corridor, Passing forty fellow prisoners on the way. Small piggish eyes peer From under swollen eyebrows, Shedding tears of hopelessness, as each is reminded of their fate. The musing of angels gazing down on this solitary planet of evil, Channels over the death ranks, Flashing a flame of hope over the captives, Which is quickly extinguished, As the white-coated devils Grasp the vein on another of the Gods' creations, And inject chemical after bloody chemical into it broken body. Forty shades of lipstick and powdered eyeshadow, Adorn the aisles at your nearest shopping centre. A thousand colours of pain in each row of vanity. How cruel is human nature, That we must persecute the innocent? How do we find the capacity in our hearts To render such evil? But as 'stewards' of the Gods' creation, We still proeed to buy the torture and torment Of these innocent creatures, In a simple pot of lipshine. Kiama

Kiama	15 Apr 2002
Poem 4: For the writers and journalists These Hands These hands... They write pointless words about tragedies. Words?! Wat can they do? I write so meaningfully about the Holocaust, Using vocabulary designed to tug at the heartstrings... But it can't bring six million lives back, Can it? What use are the pointless ramblings Of a hyper-active mind? Nobody takes any notice of words. All we know now is violence. Violence and war. Yet without war, I wouldn't have anything to write about. My hands express the feelings I'm too scared to tell anyone about, These felings of numbness, Knowing that millions of Kosovans and Serbs are dead. Yet I just write pathetic poetry about it all. I write so passionately, and with such depth... Then I put my work aside and make myself a hot chocolate. Just think- In the time it took me to write this, My hands could've performed two life-saving operations. Twenty people could've been killed. And instead of actually doing something to help, I snuggle up comfortably in an armchair, Sip my hot chocolate, And write this shit. Kiama PS- I wrote that when the thing between Serbia and Kosovo was going on.

Kiama	15 Apr 2002
Poem 5: For those of you who just love a love story! I wrote this one after meeting my current boyfriend over a year ago... A Proper Love Poem The fires of familiarity danced in your eyes: I knew you. When first your eyes touched mine I knew you. Your soul spoke... Sang your soul-song to me, And I danced As I have done many times before: I recognised the rhythm, Te subtle waver... And when your hands touched mine, The ancient winds tangled between us, Drawing two ancient souls back together, Intermingling destinies and tying unbreakable knots: When first your hands held mine I loved you. And with that first faint brushing of lips, Your heart told me of you: You, yourself... With no words you told me who you are and were before. And the waters of memory flooded over me. Surrendering, releasing us unto ourselves... I heard you. When you held me as you had done so many lives before, I fell back into the peaceful lull of the Homeland, Mother Earth encircling us, Two standing stones beneath the pale yellow Moon. I saw you: In your eyes saw you, And I remembered how familiar it feels To love you. Kiama All together now, 'AAAAAAHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!' This poem came after I vowed I would never write about love, for fear of ending up writing something like Mills an Boon!

Kiama	15 Apr 2002
Poem 6: For Malachite. I wrote this after we first met at Oxford. You had left, and I was on my own, waiting for my parents to pic me up. Caffeine Stains My cup and your cup, Both empty and stained with the early-morning wake-up coffee, Sit side by side, One on an equally stained saucer, One not. I am alone in the small room Which I had made home for a week: The room that we used as common ground. The one in which we stayed up all night, Just for the sake of wanting to. I doubt the future occupants of this room Will ever understand how much I have grown Sine I first stepped in. I doubt they will ever now who we were, Nor what we did. They will never realise how our two minds converged, Borrowing from each other, Sharing and teaching... These walls now... They hold so much: Forever they will retain part of us. It is sunny now: The shadows are as they were Beneath the tree where we first met. That first day replays in my mind, Yet in reality, All those people have gone. We blew into each others' lives, The just as quicly blew out, Merely catalysts in the wheel of change. Yet you will always be in my life: Two people who have changed together, As we did, Can never be apart. I cry. I cry with sadness, cuz you're gone, But I cry with joy, cuz I met you. I came to university To do Archaeology and Anthropology, But I have learned and gained so much more. It now becomes apparant to me, That when we leave a place, It is not the place we miss, Nor is it what we did there... It is who we met there. I glance around, Remembering the things we did together; The fun we had along the way; All those stupid little things life has to offer: The balcony we drank barrel-loads of coffee on, The door which kep the cat out And which wouldn't lock. The poisonous plant which no longer bears its warning sign. The Tree That Wanted To Go Home. The corridor in which you held out your arm to escort the 'lady' to dinner, The room where we were forced to play childrens' games... The swivel-chair and Henry Hoover Which made excellent jousting steed and lance... The windows we jammed shut, When trying to sing two notes at once, And the muddy fotprints on the carpet, Where we trod the storm through... These memories are pricless. They cannot be taken away from us, Yet no doubt some will grdually fade As time wears on... I came here six days ago, Scared, insecure, lost, quiet, hidden behind a gauze mask. And here I am now... The true me- Happy, confident. You brought me out of my shell, Found the true Kim, And in return, I hope I found you. I have changed so much since last Sunday... I no longer need more salt in my tears: Just more sugar in my coffee. Kiama

Umbrae	15 Apr 2002
The door squeaked open The wine glass broke ...Full moon over Cairo.

BluSeraphim	15 Apr 2002
What beautiful words you all have, Malachite, definately no need to be embarrased - that was incredible. Blumoon, you sound alot like me, guess that's why we share that color. Kiama, oh-my-God, will I ever catch up? You go girl. I better post another, I appear to be lagging. Here's one I actually got published. Childhood's Door For all those things I left behind In the distant realm of childhood days I long for now with all my heart And grieve for in so many ways For innocence once held so dear Now lost with age, replaced by fear For laughter soaring clear and high Now strained and dull, its well run dry For simple joys of pure refrain Now tempered by knowledge, corrupted by pain For dreams and aspirations that withstood the light of day Now banished to the dead of night, their colors bled to grey For happy ever after being more than just a tale But a real possibility, not guaranteed to fail For all these things and countless more Now locked forever behind childhood's door My soul does weep in silent lament For a child long forsaken For precious youth, misspent

Malachite	15 Apr 2002
We're racing?...Oh, Ok! Green Kings Mist surrounds the hilltops and the valley becomes an ocean submerged under a swirling foam of waves untouched, the green islands stand, hip-deep their massive tree-crowned shoulders hulking up in the sunlight. The dew upon their hair glints as the yellow morning sun climbs sleepily over the horizon, while above, their iron crowns stand majestically in rusty-red and beards of russet leaves move lazily in the breeze. The autumn morning could not slow their ancient joints. Their bones of Earth are far too strong to shackle. and slowly the vapours trickle away, and the ancients are left as they have always been. Partisan Observers The stones stand. That is what they do. Grimly, they gaze out across the rough landscape. Unwilling to move, they watch over their demesne like haggard rulers. While the grass grows around them, they breathe deeply and slowly. So slowly that vision cannot capture the movements. Harsh and ancient, they absorb the colour around them, so that the mind is bewildered at all the shades of grey that paint the landscape. Perhaps they fear us, deep in their cold hearts, or perhaps we should fear them. The stones stand. That is what they do. Kiama:...thx for reminding me!..and its changed!... BluSeraphim:...thankfully, its just that one i don;t like...i'm really vain about the rest!...

Malachite	15 Apr 2002
Oh!...and this one, for all those anti-globalists/capitalists/superpowers out there.... Liar Does it matter what you do? So many ways to express the truth and still be better than your brother. the Truth is paper, its icon is no divinity, but a man named George. The Truth that everyone accepts can be traded for cabbage clothes, or Kalashnikovs. It gives only answers, asks no questions embodies life, liberty, and the pursuit of profit. who cares what you do, as long as you give them the truth, don't blindfold them with soft wool, wrapped around wire thorns, and they will not ask questions either. consequences do not exist, as long as you hold the truth in mind, and the past does not need to be learnt from. Relax. Sip a coffee, fresh Colombian brew. It doesn't have to matter to you.

BluSeraphim	15 Apr 2002
Who said we were racing you guys! I'm in way over my head. I have an anti-globalization one too, but it's four pages long and I don't have time to type it right now. So here's a shorter one. The Quest A childhood spent chasing All the ones I could not reach Adolescence spent searching For someone who could teach Me all the secrets of the Universe All the Mysteries of the night That I could stop the hating Hold my heart up to the light They came to me through words Dusty titles on the shelf Who would be my teacher There was no one but myself The knowledge all was written Waiting there for me to read Truths with purpose to fulfill An archetypal need The timeless quest for answers Of how and why and when An instinctual drive to fathom What we do not comprehend A balm to sate the hunger A hand to stay the rod To take away the lonely ache Of separatness from God A pain unique to Humanity And precious beyond compare That we could know each other And this love that we all share So listen carefully seeker Train your ears above the din For those who would take up the Quest This journey starts within Godspeed Seekers, Blu

cayacia	15 Apr 2002
Frosted Window Scraping away the ice off the car’s windshield Just as a truth comes unveiled Clearing from the glass shards of doubt Assumptions that came from fear It’s hard to trust a frosted window Perhaps it would be easier to use the defrost To allow the ice to slowly melt away But it is much more satisfying to break it by hand And there is more to learn about the window that way -cayacia

ajoite	16 Apr 2002
Friends True At Heart Many times our lives have touched Taking on such different paths We’re similar in so many ways We’re friends true at heart Our songs we sing have many tunes Beautiful in chanted ways Choirs with different sounds We’re friends true at heart Ways we’ve found to show our love Complex in all its facets We long to understand We’re friends true at heart Memories shared in our pasts Are left within our reach Times lies waiting for our touch We’re friends true at heart

Kiama	16 Apr 2002
Okay, Poem 7: For those who don't wanna read anything too long. Jamjar Days Capture each day In any way you can: In a poem, With a paintbrush, A camera, A sculpture, Or even jamjar. 'Cause you won't get another exactly the same. Kiama

blumoon	16 Apr 2002
secrets talking in riddles is all i know you wait in shadows that i can't reach should i be the one to blame i'll never push never wanting it to rain questions written on my lips but i will wait...

Kiama	16 Apr 2002
Quote: Originally posted by Malachite Kiama:...thx for reminding me!..and its changed!... I don't know why, but this 'Caffeine Stains' is always changing! I think its cuz its not been published, nor would I want it to be... (The other ones I've posted, apart from A Proper Love Poem have been publihsed) so the final version of it isn't written in stone yet. You have th final version I think, of which I don't have a copy of! So, I have the rough draft which I wrote there nad then, at Oxford, just after you left! Has anyone else had their poetry published? I've had 23 poems published, and one short story. I'm trying to find you all the poem that I won a prize for (£50, quite alot for 2 and a half minute's worth of writing!)... Kiama

Malachite	16 Apr 2002
I technically have a published poem, but its by a US group, and i think they're probably a bit tacky... I'm still hanging on finding out whether I'll win anything for a couple of poems I have entered in a competition at the moment...should find out next month...which would be nice before my exams..;) Its been an eventful day for me, so here we are.... This is new, never before seen, posted here first, so I hope it turns out ok. Somewhen. I will remember this day, in some distant future that I cannot comprehend. How things are changing, but are unmade. The future not yet. The past already gone. How a person can be there one day and not the next is something I do not can not understand. World turns, moves on, but without that one where did they go? Somewhere I will not follow until it is my own time I will remember this day looking into those eyes, and seeing a new person in the mind of an old friend. She is a woman now, not a girl and the power of life is hers. Changes that remind me that time rushes away, quickly, Towards that inevitable departure. How things will change, but How I want them to remain the same. I will remember this day, when events made me see things differently I will remember this day, when new things happen I will remember this day. Always.

BluSeraphim	16 Apr 2002
I am on very close terms with my old friend rejection. And I too am waiting to see if maybe, just perhaps, I have made it into the finals of yet another competition. But deep down, I really think... I've Lost Again Oh why do I bother To rip the envelope open In an excited frenzy Knowing all the while That the chances are slim That I never win To pursue this course, sheer lunacy One unknown voice amongst so very many Pouring your heart and soul out upon the page Then reading what you've lost to A bunch of nonsensical drivel With no proper beginning, middle or end Full of jagged cadence - or none at all Words plucked at random - to fill in the blanks Any hack could spew this forth! And what is so wrong - with telling a tale? Oh why do I bother... I've lost again

Kiama	17 Apr 2002
Aha! Found the one that won me £50! I dn't know how it did that, cuz I think it rubbish. Certainly not oe of my best... Achievement Once, an everyday nobody: Nothing much to talk about, With standard friends. Suddenly, through some ill-mannered twist of fate, Thrown uncomfortably onto a pedestal, Balanced precariously, Borrowed crown placed heavy... Its flaming jewels searing the flesh. Cumbersome rings locked onto fingers, The cruel metal pulling downwards... Hot, restricting cape dragging. No escape. Your friends look very small from here. Kiama

Hush	19 Apr 2002
im on writers block atm, but i figured if everyones posting stuff, ill put some old stuff up ;) flat on my back the lights at the end blinding, I can hear you, I can hear you, Delirium singing in my ear “officer I saw the sign” so I grabbed a book and a pen, and ran to the bathroom ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Come on love, let’s get away, There aren’t enough stars in this town, And you seem to be the only reason that I stay, So let’s catch the wind, There aren’t even stars here, Abandon all fear, Lets catch the wind.

The All ye poets, out of the closet! thread was originally posted on 14 Apr 2002 in the Chat board, and is now archived in the Forum Library. Read the active threads in Chat, or read more archived threads.