Midnight Cravings

The Darkness surrounds me,
light is a distant memory,
haunting the shadows of my mind.
I do not mind the darkness
nor the sibilant whispers,
ever craving for justice, or revenge.
It matters not which.

To drown out the silence I remember.
I recall those hated days,
the long, desolate, lonely nights.
Rotations of a cycle that always, always
lead up to that Day.
And the Night that caused it.

Recollections of then, the long ago,
the distant warmth, turn, turning
(Sister, I am sorry. I miss you)
The sun, ever warm, ever burning.
Sometimes it crackles like fire,
but mostly it just hangs, ominous.
Tormenting me with silence.

It is so quiet up here.

~~~~

Years ago, days and centuries to turn,
too many to count, sweet Celestia bore
the love, the warmth, the adoration;
most often she, the sun, was in folklore.
The soft shadow, ever present,
ever quiet and shy, forgotten Luna,
the fair moon of neglect.

Present and unassuming, secondary
(or so the rumours say)
to the Suns bright presence
for which the ponies would play.
Until exhausted, they lay to sleep
under the nocturne shroud
and the silence it needs to keep.

Soft and fine in ways the Sun was not,
the night, the moon, a pale shimmer glow.
A cold light oft shunned, eyes turned away
to favour the brilliance of the dawn.
To thaw the frost, ease the breathy chill,
bright colours in cold rain, light across the sky
voices lift in joy, incandescent ecstatic thrill.

Fair moon, sweet Luna, shut not your eyes;
let not the silent bindings twine and bloom.
Lock not your heart to the warmth.
Play, sweet Luna, you will soon rejoice
but not before, rich with fear
you awake as Nightmare Moon.

To eternal darkness the Sun objects,
a clash of wills, crossing of twin horns
the feathers dark and pale flutter and fall.
Water eclipsed, dripping dawns soft warmth;
silence held in a locked heart, ice pierced in twain,
with a dark shaft of rainbow night, pushing,
binding the Nightmare to Luna's moon.

Mythos, mares tale, disbelieving whisper.
Rumours of the sweet, shy Luna.
The Mare in the Moon, ever silent
ever shy, ever watching, trapped;
a cage of her own making, bars of silence hold
locked by broken-heart tears of the Sun.

Ten times ten the bars will hold,
keeping the Night at bay.
Seven tears fell, seven stars conspire;
time to end the hold of Day.
(Sister, I am sorry. I miss you)
Still the silence, locked within
binds to keep the pair apart.

In blackest Night, in brightest Day,
seven stars conspire and will hold sway.
Bars to be lifted, the night roams free.
Sweet Luna, turn not your face,
harden not your heart and rejoice
to know the end of Nightmare Moon.

Seven tears fell, six voices raised
not to banish, not to silence,
rather cut the bindings and thaw the ice,
Sweet Luna, fair Moon, shut not your eyes.
Be welcome in the warmth,
welcome in from the frozen chill
(Sister, I am sorry. I miss you)
the binding silence is shattered.

From the writings of history,
the pony interpretation of that Day
and the Night that caused it.
A tidbit of detail to be forgotten,
for if she has her way, soon,
this will be the all and only, a record
of she who never was; Nightmare Moon.

~~~~~

I feel the silence now, it is part of me,
but it doesn't strangle me, now.
Not any more and never again.
I look to the familiar, silver orb,
my gaol, my cell, my home;
And I smile.

Do Not Go Gentle Into that Good Night

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

-- Dylan Thomas

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

This poem is usually misquoted in first person, 'I will not go quietly into the night, I will not give up the fight'

But very inspiring regardless.

~ShaedowDancer~

Dream walker

Far away on a silver skein;
the mirror of your dreams.
Pack away the precious things,
the memories of your past.

Sail along the silken road
searching for the truth.
Destroy the threads of reality;
the secret hidden inside.
Learn to taste the waters,
the flavours of the sky.
Find the truth of reality
in the old sea-turtles cry.

Far away on a silver skein;
the mirror of your dreams.
Pack away the precious things,
the memories of your past.

Walk upon the sunken floor,
the history of the earth.
The shifting tides of eternity
measuring your worth.
Glitter of the floating shell
drifting in the breeze,
to tell the truth of a melody,
look among your dreams.

Far away on a silver skein;
the mirror of your dreams.
Pack away the precious things,
the memories of your past.

Just pack away the treasured things,
the fragile memories of your past.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

It's half a song, since I've got the tune in my head, but stuffed if I can put notes to it. Since I kinda can't play anything, nor read sheet music, or write it for that matter. Not like I've got anything to pluck out the notes on -anyways-....

But still, I think it's nice. Just came to my head while I was waiting for the bus to go to ....somewhere. Ah-ha! the city. To buy a book, and get money out to pay my rent. Wrote it on the train, and bus. So it's all good.

Opinions people?

~ShaedowDancer~

My themesong.

Bad Boy by Cascada.


Remember the feelings, remember the day
My stone heart was breaking
My love ran away
This moment I knew I would be someone else
My love turned around and I fell


Be my bad boy, be my man
Be my week-end lover
But don't be my friend
You can be my bad boy
But understand
That I don't need you in my life again



Won't you be my bad boy, be my man
Be my week-end lover
But don't be my friend
You can be my bad boy
But understand
That I don't need you again
[Bad Boy lyrics on http://www.metrolyrics.com]

No I don't need you again

Bad boy!

You once made this promise
To stay by my side
But after some time you just pushed me aside
You never thought that a girl could be strong
Now I'll show you how to go on

Be my bad boy, be my man
Be my week-end lover
But don't be my friend
You can be my bad boy
But understand
That I don't need you in my life again

Won't you be my bad boy, be my man
Be my week-end lover
But don't be my friend
You can be my bad boy
But understand
That I don't need you again
No I don't need you again




And the song with lyrics. Yay for youtube ^_^

I just, personally, think that this song is absolutely me. It's wonderful. I adore it. <3 src="http://www.metrolyrics.com/images/l/569864765.jpg" height="1" width="1">

Two things...

One, mucho importante! It's my birthday in a week and three days from today. That's April 5th if you're being lazy. I'm soooooo excited. I'll be 18!!!!!!!

Two, I'm hyper. Okay that makes three points...bear with me, I'll get to the third! Getting up at 6.30am isn't fun. I hate mornings. They were only invented to stop night and afternoon from bumping into each other (note, it goes afternoon, EVENING, night) so, at 2.45pm I had a mocha. On the theory that when I get home from work tonight, I'll actually be able to sleep!!

Lets see how well that works out. I'm actually tired, again, now, but with that buzzing that tells me I won't be able to sleep. Y'know when your sleep isn't actually -sleep-, where you spend periods of deeper unconsiousness interspaced with listening to the wind and the creaking of the house? Asleep but aware? That's what the majority of my 'sleep' last night was like. Hence why I had caffeine.

Aaand the second (now third) thing. A poem!

(don't blame me if its dodgy, it's the caffeine)

Picture on the Wall.

Picture on the wall
you tore my love away,
made him sail away
sail to the distant shore
and forget all about me.

Places of mystery,
land where there's gold,
rubies, dragons and fortune,
and he forgot about me.
Forgot me,
for you,
you picture on the wall.

Pictures of far away places,
places of mythology.
Where dragons, unicorns,
monsters dare to roam.

For far away places
my love sailed away,
was torn away,
by you,
you picture on the wall.

Paintings of promises,
promises of lies,
lies of beauty,
illusions to reach for.

With promised illusions,
beautiful lies,
my love sailed away.
Went away,
left and forgot me,
forgot the world he knew.
For you,
you picture on the wall.

The king promised a fortune,
I got a penny; now a pauper,
waiting for my love to return.
Return from far away lands,
in a painting on the wall,
from you,
you picture on the wall.

The Grassy Hill

‘See that hill, the one hidden away, out of sight?

If you sit and wait, quiet-like, watching till night,

you might see something few have seen before,

a rare vision gleaned straight from old folk-lore.

A something hidden, something secret,

something I doubt you will ever forget.

‘Hush now, the sun has finally gone,

do you hear it, that faint wafting song?

Sit sit, do not move, else you might not see

this mystery, this beauty I know you want to be.

Look there! Do you see it, see the slight change?

Patience now, if you want to see it, you will manage.

‘Do you see them as they peer out,

searching for watchers they’re sure to be about?

The little creatures that shy from Man,

yet are found all throughout the land.

They search the grass around their little door,

though they freeze at what they think they saw.

‘Hush, hush. Ah! Here she comes from below

the minuscule little lady that runs this show.

The regally glowing Queen of the creatures hidden

beneath the surface of mortal woes to gladden

the heavy heart with joyful dreams

where nothing is what it seems.

‘She throws gleefully coloured balls

deep within her soil crafted halls,

where all the creatures come to dance

and hope to make a memorable entrance

before their delicate crystal Queen,

Ruler of the Realm of the Mortal Dream.

‘There, you see her now, her crystal form

glinting in the moonlight as though torn

from the mysteries of a half remembered dream,

a delicate nightmare that makes you want to scream?

Do you see her, the delicate crystal beauty of her,

and in seeing the ethereal beauty of her, do you fear her?

‘Now, now, don’t look at me like that

you know this is not fantasy, but fact.

Can you not feel the urge, feel the need

to turn and run with a blood-curdling scream?

Her fragile form holds an ice-cold heart,

you would know this, if you were smart.

‘See her subjects, as bright as bright can be

dancing joyous in coloured gaiety,

they twirl, spin and dance,

their performance’s sole purpose is to entrance

the unseen watcher beneath the full-moon

knowing that helpless, they will come out of hiding soon.

‘There, the magic is set, the trap is ready,

will you resist, though the urge to move is heady?

You want to join them, surely there is no harm,

not a movement, not a twitch that might cause alarm?

The twirling dance goes on and on

moving to the distant wafting song.

‘Your finger twitches, tapping in time with the soft beat

and before long, it is joined by both your feet.

Go on then, go and join them. Stand.

For after all, you are only a mortal Man.

So stand and go, yes you will,

and dance with them, into the grassy hill.’

Some faint sense twines through the spell

as the hill closed behind him, tolling a death-knell.

He turns and tries to run and flee

but the song snatches him up with glee

and gently sweeps clean his mind;

till there is not a thought to find.

‘Welcome to my Realm, the world beneath the surface,

a world filled with lies and endless grace.

You shall know, no more, no hate nor joy.

Well mortal, did you like my crystal decoy?

There, there, mortal, no need to cry

though you will never again see the sky.

‘Little mortal, you came to me willingly,

though I lured you with words, you see

there is none to blame but yourself,

but you will not grow old and placed on a shelf,

this age is yours to forever enjoy

while you spend eternity as my mortal toy.’

And in so hearing the mortal cried,

wept for the death longed for and denied.

Their fate sealed as they danced under the hill,

not knowing the Queen moved in for the kill.

Now they spend eternity at the feet of the Ice-Queen

soundlessly screaming, in this nightmare of a Dream.



~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I don't recall if I've posted this previously, but I think I have. It is a nice poem none the less, I think in any case, so I'll post it twice, just to bask in my own brilliance. Yes, arrogant of me I know, but I'm allowed to be arrogant, at least a little I think. If not, sue me.

I had a relevation today, by the way, a startling one indeed. My sense of time is -extremely- screwy. Like, the passage of it doesn't matter a whole heap to me. Something obvious, for instance: the Twin Towers. 9/11 2001. I'm like...that wasn't that long ago, was it? It was only two or three years ago, right? I'm -sure- I was older than 11 when it happened...

And a friend of mine, who got married and is now onto kid number two. I was like wait...hold up, wasn't she only just pregnant and talking about baby stuff? WEREN'T YOU ONLY JUST MARRIED!? it hasn't been 9 months yet, has it? And he's like heh, yeah. Kid two has just come.

O.o

I lament my sense of time. It is very bad. Why? Why do I have issues with time when I am a very organised person?! Whyyyy?

Sweeney Todd

'There's a hole in the world like a great black pit
and the vermin of the world inhabit it
and it's morals aren't worth what a pig could spit
And it goes by the name of London.
At the top of the hole sit the previlaged few
Making mock of the vermin in the lonely zoo
turning beauty to filth and greed...
I too have sailed the world and seen its wonders,
for the cruelty of men is as wonderous as Peru
but there's no place like London!'

' Mrs. Lovett

A customer!
Wait! What's your rush?
What's your hurry?
You gave me such a...
fright! I thought you was a ghost!
Half a minute, can't ya sit?
Sit ya down!
Sit!
All I meant is that I haven't seen a customer for weeks.
Did ya come here for a pie, sir?
Do forgive me if my head's a little vague.
Ugh!
What is that?
But you'd think we had the plague.
From the way that people
keep avoiding!
No you don't!
Heaven knows I try, sir!
But there's no one comes in even to inhale!
Right you are, sir, would you like a drop of ale?
Mind you I can hardly blame them!
These are probably the worst pies in London.
I know why nobody cares to take them!
I should know!
I make them!
But good? No...
The worst pies in London...
Even that's polite! The worst pies in London!
If you doubt it take a bite!

Sweeney Todd (spoken)

Ugh!

Mrs. Lovett (sung)

Is that just, disgusting?
You have to concede it!
It's nothing but crusting!
Here drink this, you'll need it.
The worst pies in London
And no wonder with the price of meat
what it is
when you get it.
Never thought I'd live to see the day.
Men'd think it was a treat
findin' poor
animals
what are dyin' in the street.
Mrs. Mooney has a pie shop.
Does a business, but I notice something weird.
Lately, all her neighbors cats have disappeared.
Have to hand it to her!
What I calls,
enterprise!
Poppin' pussies into pies!
Wouldn't do in my shop!
Just the thought of it's enough to make you sick!
And I'm telling you them pussycats is quick.
No denying times is hard, sir!
Even harder than the worst pies in London.
Only lard and nothing more-
Is that just revolting?
All greasy and gritty?
It looks like it's molting!
And tastes like...we'll pity.
A woman alone...with limited wind
And the worst pies in London!

Ah sir, times is hard,
times is hard...'

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~``

I was going back through my posts, adding tags and whatnot, when I noticed this one and was all...omg...I never posted it! Just a draft! Tsk tsk, bad me!

~ShaedowDancer~

Moonshine...

It's a late night,
late in the moonshine,
too late for sunshine
I fear.

It's a dark time,
dark in the starlight,
dark in the moonlight,
too dark to see.

Silent shine,
shimmer and glow,
cover the now
in moonshine.

It's a dark night,
a lack of moonlight,
a hint of starlight,
hiding below.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Lets all cheer for a super-short poem from Yours Truely. It is...1.05am and I really should be sleeping, instead I am typing up a post on my blog, my mind is spinning with half formed thoughts of what to say -- maybe I shouldn't have had an iced coffee before working tonight -- and it takes real effort to -- did you know that I like flying? there's something effortless about gliding through the air, no friction, no resistance like you get from the hard ground -- keep what I'm saying coherent. Or even mostly.

At work tonight -- because over the last three days I've had a grand total of seven hours sleep -- well, more before work, I had an iced coffee. I'm starting to think that maybe I shouldn't have -- it was to keep me active at work, and now, with nothing to burn off the excess -- think three year old on a sugar high drinking red cordial -- I'm a little bit whacked out. As you can no doubt tell from the way my sentences jump from topic to topic and back again.

Oh, work. Right. -On- track this time >_> --that reminds me of a joke, two blondes are walking down a path when they come across some tracks. One pipes up 'Oh! it must be kangaroo tracks' the other argues 'no, it's emu tracks'...back and forth, back and forth they argue, hours, 'emu tracks' 'kangaroo tracks!' until, while they were arguing, they got hit by a train -- sad fact of blondes really, that I can see that happening. Where was I? Work!

There was me, the manager, and one kitchen hand.... out of about nine people working, that were -not- trainees. Fun fun. I was on drive pack, and the person that was 'helping' me was a kitchenhand getting crosstrained and OH MY GOD was everything slow! It was absolutely horrid! I couldn't concentrate, couldn't focus, and took FOREVER to get rid of cars -- mind you the timer was broken so I don't know how long it actually took -- but seriously! -- did you know that when you're watching the clock, your perception of time changes and a minute -feels- as though it has lasted longer than it really has? -- like watching a pot boil. You know the adage, a watched pot never boils? It actually does, it takes exactly the same amount of time, it just -seems- like forever -- I did it again didn't I? Went off on a completely irrelevant tangent? -- A tangent is a 45 degree angle from the intended path -- oh! oh oh oh!

A friend of mine, who is absolutely brilliant, I think, in the way the genuine intellectuals are -- no common sense what so ever -- managed to fail his English Lit exam. I'm like O_O how the devil did you do that? I was generally lucky to scrape through on 55% all year, and he was up in the 80's+ range. And he -failed-. Got 40% or something like that. How's that for screwy? I mean seriously, GO FIGURE.

In other news, Uni starts on moooonday and my ever so wonderful mother dearest THREW OUT my timetable. Lucky for her, I wroted it down! ...Just not, y'know, -where- my classes are, just the times. Ah well, I'll print out another timetable and staple it someplace so she -can't- throw it out (I'd magneted it to the fridge as IMPORTANT INFORMATION and she threw it out!!!! garrar! alskdfagnawoeiWELFFKASDGNWELASDKFNAGOWESD!!!! Pronounce that ha!

Al-sked-fagna-wo-eee-well-fehkasd-deg-n-welas-duhkfna-go-wes'd.

hehe, that was fun.

I Think I'll stop now, before I degenerate from random to disturbed.

Sail beyond.

Sail upon the midnight sky,
walk the waters of eternity,
swim amongst the sands of time
and there is where you'll find me.

Encased within an isle of water,
buried beneath a heart of fire
burning in the land of death,
throbbing with the blaze of desire.

Sing a song of purity
with the blackest of hearts,
tell a tale of solemnity
with laughter from the start.

Find me, free me, ask me a boon;
tell me, taunt me, give me your sword;
hate me, love me, burn from within--
only then will I give you my word.

Tell you the secrets you crave,
the knowledge I have seen,
what you want, what you need;
where you have been.

Every boon must have a price,
and every price must be paid
for what is lost should be replaced,
else nothing but sorrow will be gained.

So wary, ever wary,
ever cautious must you be,
if you seek the land of death
to ask a boon of me.


Written shortly after watching pirates of the carribean three -- awesome movie, a must see I reckon, solely for the marriage scene. They're on this ship, fighting, Will asks Elizabeth to marry him.

"I don't think now's the time."

"Now may be the ONLY time." Clash, clang, sword fighting fishery sailors.

"So what's your answer? Will you marry me?" <-- still will.

"Barbosa!" <-- Elizabeth

"What?"

"Marry us!"

"I'm a little BUSY." See, Barbosa is fighting off the Flying Dutchman's fishy crew as well.

"NOW." Don't argue with elizabeth.

Barbosa jumps up on the bit of wood before the wheel and says "Dearly beloved, we're gathere here --" Clash, sword slice, Will and Elizabeth fight hand in hand, twirling around each other and stuff "Will, do you take her--"

"I, will turner, take Elizabeth swan to be my wife."

More fighting.

"Elizabeth, do you..." more fighting by barbosa

"I Elizabeth Swan, take you to be my husband in sickness and in health" sword swing fight fight "Health being the less likely--" more fighting.

"I captain barbosa now pronounce you man and wife, you may kiss the--" he has to jump down and fight some more "You may kiss...." more fighting. "Just kiss!"



I love it. <3

I am not like you.

I am not like you,
you who walk in the day,
you who live, love, breathe,
hope and of course, pray.

I am not like you,
you who walk in the night,
you who hate, hurt, loathe,
bleed, and of course, fight.

I am not like you,
those who walk the street,
steadily walking down a path,
stones steadily passing beneath your feet.

I do not walk a path,
nor hope, hate, love, loathe,
live, bleed, fight nor pray.

I stand at the crossroads,
watching as you pass,
watching where your road leads,
where you stumble, where you laugh.

I mark the divergance,
I watch what you do,
I note the change;
I am not like you.

~~~~~~~

A curious little thing I came up with yesterday, you know when you have a poem just waiting to be written? Or maybe you don't, but it was like that for me, it was wonderful, happens so rarely now, unfortunately.

What else shall I tell? Oh yes, I had a human biol exam this week, well, last week, I got the results this week, it had two parts, theory and practical, 63% of the theory (ahem, too many questions attempted, sadly) 78% on the practical though! and as each was worth 5% that lifted my average mark from 54% to 62%!!! And I'm like, -score-. Fairly chuffed there.

I'm doing pretty well in lit too, I think, I hope. I've got to check what my score there is as well too, I said as much to mother dearest, and you know what her reply was? 'It doesn't matter, do better'. To that i'm like...oh thanks. Great. What's the point of doing 'better' if you don't know if the 'better' actually does anything.

So, while on some aspects my relationship with my mother has gotten better, in others it hasn't.

Take not five minutes ago for example, she yelled at me because I didn't go and wash the seven year olds hair, when I wasn't sure when she'd start her shower or anything like that, I mean, -i- am not the one that has to take care of her and all that. Fair enough she asked me, but when I told her that I wasn't sure, and what with th epropensity she (the kid) has for wasting time, who knows when it would have happened?

And then, because she growls at me, and growls at her boyfriend, I"m the badguy. I can understand that, honestly. But her argument, that because she's working tonight she shoudn't have to do anything, doesn't wash. I mean, if you made school into a 'job', i've got two, and on my weekend, the only day when I'm -not- working, ie, sunday, I shouldn't have to do anything, or rather, have time to relax adequately, which she seems bent on removing from me. *sighs*

Ah well, life will go on, as it always does.

Little people

Little people sneaking through corridors,
Hiding under cracks in floorboards.
Peeking ‘round corners for the ‘all clear’,
Listening with sympathy while we shed a tear.


Little people whispering out dreams
While we wonder what they mean.
They tell us our secret desire
As we stare blankly at the fire.


Sweeping up the dust we miss,
Giggling over a secret kiss,
Watching us as we sleep,
Speaking, without a peep.


Little people ev’rywhere,
Little people in out hair.
Deep inside
I think you’ll find,
Little people hiding.




*cringes* don't laugh at me, my very first attempt at poetry and it's very bad...I think the last stanza is the best but ..yeah. Ugh. Evil. Bad. Horrid. Never to see the light of day again. Ever.

Blind, Bound, Bleeding

Blind, Bound, Bleeding.

Red hot pain
removed my eyes;
I am Blind.

Burning coarse ropes
bind my wrists behind,
bind my ankles together,
hold my flesh unkindly;
I am Bound.

Seeping warmth, seeping life,
ebbing down my arms,
ebbing down my legs,
seeping through the gaps
in my bruised and broken flesh,
pooling my life beneath me.
I am Bleeding.

Blind,
Bound,
Bleeding.

Alone in the silence,
mute in the darkness,
held in the death
that began my life;
I am Blind.

Torn from the truth,
concealed from the lies,
hidden within their hearts,
I am Bound.

Whispering the silence,
Bound in the secrets,
Weeping for mercy;
I am Bleeding.

Blind,
Bound,
Bleeding,

Within you,
Needing you,
but Ignored.

The Frost.

At dawn, after a bitter cold night
Silver crystal is what you see.
The sun, it does have a fight
to get the frost to flee.

The bitter cold wind will blow
to freeze the icy tear,
like water, it does flow
with the shivering of fear.

On the brittle, stiff grass,
a silver glittering shroud;
everything glinting like glass
a silver, spikey cloud.

Little frozen drops of dew,
coating each and every leaf.
And if greenery is too few,
grin, and it'll coat your teeth.

Ghostly plumes of air do float
way up into the sky,
drifting over the rocking boat,
floating away so high.

The sky that is so blue
and yet bitterly cold,
reflected in a drop of dew
collected in a crease or fold.

Standing, shivering in the dawn,
seeing the sun come creeping
and the frost to lose it's form,
will slowly still the weeping.



Don't growl at me, I wrote that a couple years ago, when I was ...about 14 I think. One of my earlier poems and not the standard that I usually have now in regards to my poetry. That wasn't today by the way, wasn't quite cold enough for the frost to be still visible when I was waiting for my bus, but on that day, it was. It looked almost like snow, except much...thinner, and more dirty since you can see the dead grass and the brown dirt through the frozen water.

I wonder if you'll pick up on the undertones of that poem? Most only see the brighter tones, the beauty I'm describing in the cold morning. Story of my childhood, you could say. Cold beauty yet...

How sweet I roamed from field to field

How sweet I roamed from field to field,
And tasted all the summer's pride,
Till I the prince of love beheld,
Who in the sunny beams did glide!

He showed me lilies for my hair,
And blushing roses for my brow;
He led me through his gardens fair,
Where all his golden pleasures grow.

With sweet May dews my wings were wet,
and Phoebus fired my vocal rage;
He caught me in his silken net,
and shut me in his golden cage.

He loves to sit and hear me sing,
Then, laughing, sports and plays with me;
Then stretches out my golden wing,
And mocks my loss of liberty.

William Blake

One of my favourite poems by Blake, actually. I used it in the final exams last year, because it was the only poem I could recall, and be confident in my quoting...except for the little factor that I forgot what it was called XD Not like you need the name of the poem...just the lines, and the poet >_>

But I do like it, oddly enough, I can relate to the persona...no, don't look at me like that. I'm not THAT nuts.

And that is the summation of my thoughts for today...since I didn't get much sleep last night because of a dream I can't remember so i can't complain about it. But I feel like I've run for ages.

Storm

Silent, still, yet the ominous rumble of thunder
sounds in the distance.
Birds, crows, animals stand still and wait;
ears pricked for the sullen grumble.

A heavy, oppressive anticipation fills the air,
a flicker of light--
and then a crack! sending the creatures
scurrying, flapping, screaming for cover.

Silence reigns once more as the unseen
breath is held, anticipating.
And then, with a sharp, violent shcrrap!
the skies break open.

Heavy, fat drops of thunder born rain
cascade down, a bucket upending.
Overbearing water beating the earth
with merciless blows.

Heavier, fiercer, more violent come the blows
raining on the tender earth.
Then, a reprieve, the blows lighten,
the rain, it eases, and stops.

Silence, stillness, yet a steady drip of water
plopping onto the abused earth.
Eyes peer cautiously out, watching, waiting;
a low, sullen rumble sounds.


I wrote this a couple months ago now, in Math during a summer storm, it was rather nice actually.

My Harp

Ebony, mahogony,
lithe, curved, carved--
the essence of perfection.
Strings, wires, steel, seat;
how patiently you await me.

I sit before you, infront of you,
my arms and legs wrap around you
and hold your body close.
My fingers rest on you--
waiting, while you tremble.

Quivering, anxious, yearning
you strive towards that one need--
that reaching desire.
My fingers move, they dance
across you and you respond joyously.

Sweet notes pour forth, filling
the air with a melody of
heartbreaking sadness;
of bittersweet joy.

I stroke you, I caress
and my hands glide over your body.
Cascading notes shiver in
the sweet song, the melody
we make together.

My fingers dance over your strings,
my hands and arms glide
over your body, caressing
the perfect, lithe curves.

Through the air sings our song
the sweet melody
that is nothing more, nor less
than the pure music,
the sound of my soul.

The Grassy Hill

‘See that hill, the one hidden away, out of sight?

If you sit and wait, quiet-like, watching till night,

you might see something few have seen before,

a rare vision gleaned straight from old folk-lore.

A something hidden, something secret,

something I doubt you will ever forget.

‘Hush now, the sun has finally gone,

do you hear it, that faint wafting song?

Sit sit, do not move, else you might not see

this mystery, this beauty I know you want to be.

Look there! Do you see it, see the slight change?

Patience now, if you want to see it, you will manage.

‘Do you see them as they peer out,

searching for watchers they’re sure to be about?

The little creatures that shy from Man,

and search the grass around their little door,

though they freeze at all they think they saw.

‘Hush, hush. Ah! Here she comes from below

the minuscule little lady that runs this show.

The regally glowing Queen of the creatures hidden

beneath the surface of mortal woes to gladden

the heavy heart with joyful dreams

where nothing is what it seems.

‘She throws gleefully coloured balls

deep within her soil crafted halls,

where all the creatures come to dance

and hope to make a memorable entrance

before their delicate crystal Queen,

Ruler of the Realm of the Mortal Dream.

‘There, you see her now, her crystal form

glinting in the moonlight as though torn

from the mysteries of a half remembered dream,

a delicate nightmare that makes you want to scream?

Do you see her, the delicate crystal beauty of her,

and in seeing the ethereal beauty of her, do you fear her?

‘Now, now, don’t look at me like that

you know this is not fantasy, but fact.

Can you not feel the urge, feel the need

to turn and run with a blood-curdling scream?

Her fragile form holds an ice-cold heart,

you would know this, if you were smart.

‘See her subjects, as bright as bright can be

dancing joyous in coloured gaiety,

they twirl, spin and dance,

their performance’s sole purpose is to entrance

the unseen watcher beneath the full-moon

knowing that helpless, they will come out of hiding soon.

‘There, the magic is set, the trap is ready,

will you resist, though the urge to move is heady?

You want to join them, surely there is no harm,

not a movement, not a twitch that might cause alarm?

The twirling dance goes on and on

moving to the distant wafting song.

‘Your finger twitches, tapping in time with the soft beat

and before long, it is joined by both your feet.

Go on then, go and join them. Stand.

For after all, you are only a mortal Man.

So stand and go, yes you will,

and dance with them, into the grassy hill.’

Some faint sense twines through the spell

as the hill closed behind him, tolling a death-knell.

He turns and tries to run and flee

but the song snatches him up with glee

and gently sweeps clean his mind;

till there is not a thought to find.

‘Welcome to my Realm, the world beneath the surface,

a world filled with lies and endless grace.

You shall know, no more, no hate nor joy.

Well mortal, did you like my crystal decoy?

There, there, mortal, no need to cry

though you will never again see the sky.

‘Little mortal, you came to me willingly,

though I lured you with words, you see

there is none to blame but yourself,

but you will not grow old and placed on a shelf,

this age is yours to forever enjoy

while you spend eternity as my mortal toy.’

And in so hearing the mortal cried,

wept for the death longed for and denied.

Their fate sealed as they danced under the hill,

not knowing the Queen moved in for the kill.

Now they spend eternity at the feet of the Ice-Queen

soundlessly screaming, in this nightmare of a Dream.

Inbreeding, that's not.

I'm my own granpa

I'm my own granpa...I'm my own granpa
It sounds funny, I know, But it really is so
I'm my own granpa.

Now many many years ago when I was 23
I was married to a widow who was pretty as could be
This widow had a grown up daughter who had hair of red
My father fell in love with her & soon the 2 were wed
This made my dad my son-in-law & changed my very life
My daughter was now my mother cause she was my father's wife

To complicate the matter, even though it brought me joy
I soon became the father of a bouncing baby boy
My little baby then became a brother in law to dad
And, so, became my uncle though it made me very sad
For if he was my uncle then that also made him brother
Of the widow's grown-up daughter who, of course was my step-mother

I'm my own granpa...I'm my own granpa
It sounds funny, I know, But it really is so
I'm my own granpa.

Father's wife then had a son that kept him on the run
Now he became my brother, for he was my father's son
My wife was now my mother's mother and it makes me blue
Because although she is my wife, she's my grandmother, too
Now if my wife is my grandmother, then I am her grand-child
For every time I think of it, it nearly drives me wild
And now I have become the strangest case you ever saw
As the husband of my own grandmother; I'm my own grand-pa

I'm my own granpa...I'm my own granpa
It sounds funny, I know, But it really is so
I'm my own granpa.

By Guy Lombardo.

(The italics dun wanna leave T_T) Ironically, my family is pretty much the same hehe, hell confusing. See, my mothers boyfriend is my fathers brothers girlfriends son. So, already we have a bit of a confusion happening. But if my uncle marries his girlfriend, that would make my mothers boyfriend my step-cousin, his mother my step-aunt. Still with me? Good, no problems.

Now, if they -didn't- get married but my mother and her boyfriend -did- then that would make my uncle my great-uncle, his girlfriend my grandmother, my father my brother-in-law, and I would be my own cousin.

Lets say they -both- got married. This would mean that my uncle would be my great-uncle, and grandfather-in-law, my mother would be my aunt, her boyfriend would be my cousin and step-father. My uncles girlfriend to my mother would be an ex-sister-in-law (parents divorced), and a daughter-in-law. Which makes me both my own cousin, aunt and neice. My mothers boyfriend is my brother-in-law, my father my grandfather and I'm sure I'm missing some relation lines in there....

So yea, we -sound- really inbred, if either of the two married that is, but we're not, honest. Two completely different family lines, the mother and son of one, with an uncle and mother of the other, but it's no biggie. Have fun getting your head around -that- little knot of a family tree ^_^

Robert Graves

A poet, I quite like him, though I don't know much about his history, biography and all that, but here are a couple poems by him, short ones that I think are either fitting for myself, or mocking at that which I mock. ;)

History of the Word.

The Word in the begining was the Word
For two or three but elsewhere spoke unheard,
Found Words to interpret, which for a season
Prevailed until ruled out by Law and Reason
Which, by a lax interpretation cursed,
In Laws and Reasons logically dispersed;
These, in their turn, found they could do no better
Than fall to Letters and each claim a Letter.
In the beginning then, the Word alone,
But now the various tongue-tied Lexicon
In perfect impotence the day nearing
When every ear my lose it's sense of hearing
And every mind by knowledge be close-shuttered--
But two or three, that hear the Word uttered.



Rather neat eh? I like how it has double meanings, it -could- refer to the spoken language, and how everything is based on what you say and what you know, or, if you're religious, it could refer to the word of god and all that fruit. Guess which interpretation I favour? ;P


The Naked and the Nude

For me, the naked and the nude
(by lexicographers construed
as synonyms that should express
the same deficiency of dress
or shelter) stand as wide apart
As love from lies, or truth from art.

Lovers without reproach will gaze
On bodies naked and ablaze;
The Hippocratic eye will see
In nakedness, anatomy;
And naked shines the Goddess when
She mounts her lion among men.

The nude are bold, the nude are sly
To hold each treasonable eye,
While draping by a showmans trick
Their dishabille in rhetoric,
They grin a mock-religious grin
Of scorn at those of naked skin.

The naked therefore, who compete
Against the nude may know defeat;
Yet when they both together tread
The briary pastures of the dead,
By Gorgons with long whips persued,
How naked go the sometime nude!


Mmm... yes, another favourite of mine. Go the insulting connotations towards religion :D Okay, I'll explain some meanings of the words in here, 'lexicon' or 'lexicongraphers' is basically language, the way in which you speak. Basically. 'Gorgons' is simple, the Greek Gorgons, you know, Medusa and co? It's referring to them. Wonderful imagery.

Lord of the Desert

I love this poem by Phillip Kirke, I studied it for year...9 english, wow what a long time ago, but it brought me into the love of the word 'sibiliance' ....it's wonderful. ^_^ Awesome poem too.

Oh, sibiliance is the repeatedness of the 'ss' sound. Hehe.

The graceful black snake glides effortlessly,

Across the searing sandy sea,

A winding trail lies in his wake,

Gliding, sliding, lithe, black snake.

Small black eyes search the ground,

Gliding on without a sound.

A winding trail lies in his wake,

Rippling, weaving, lithe, black snake.

With tireless grace his body moves,

Leaving endless winding grooves.

A winding trail lies in his wake,

Dark and soulless, lithe, black snake.

In blazing sun his scales shine,

Gliding on till end of time.

A winding trail lies in his wake,

Endless movement, lithe, black snake.

Deserts, dunes, eternal sand,

Parched and dead ground is his land.

A winding trail lies in his wake,

Lord of the Desert, lithe, black snake.