MagicA long time ago, when the world was new,Magic in Free Verse More Like This
and longer than anyone can remember
magic existed in the world.
It healed the sick
and didn't cause anything bad.
Magic was for good
and never harmed the people.
Then one day
a sorcerer broken by pain
and an outcast of society
used his magic
to hurt and cause pain.
He killed with his magic,
and made people suffer
in ways that should never be allowed.
The evil sorcerer went across the land
never sparing a soul and making
curses that could never be broken.
Five of the best magicians were shocked
and banded together
to stop his evil reign over the people.
Nothing the good magicians did worked
and they were faced with a final
completely unspeakable action.
The good magicians joined hands,
bound their power together
and used their life force
to stop his ways of evil.
The evil sorcerer fell,
and after that it was decided
that magic should never be used again
in case someone else decided
to use it the way the sorcerer did.
Now because of pain and a bro
PendulumThe pendulum swingsPendulum in Free Verse More Like This
back and forth,
back and forth,
the pendulum swings
Click click click
the clock counts forward
simple five note tune
the hands striking forward
The pendulum swings
back and forth,
back and forth,
gently hitting the sides
Midnight tolls the tune
Opheliac dreams capture all
chanting in time with
click and clack of the tolling clock
The pendulum swings
back and forth,
back and forth,
the pendulum swings
The pendulum swings
back and forth,
back and forth,
the pendulum swings
ring and chime of tolling clock
rising bodies of sleepless thoughts
The pendulum swings
back and forth,
back and forth,
the pendulum swings
HistoryThere are momentsHistory in Free Verse More Like This
that you wish never end
Then there are moments
that couldn't go by fast enough.
Through at the times we have seen
and all the lives we have lived.
Time seems to be
the one thing that never changes.
Time likes to repeat itself
going hour by hour, second by second.
They say, today is history
but tomorrow is a mystery.
History likes to repeat itself,
so maybe tomorrow isn't such a mystery.
Brave New WorldClose your eyesBrave New World in Free Verse More Like This
To fight the demons in your mind
It's the moment of truth
The moment to live
In this scary
Brave new world
Fight for your rights
And what you believe in
Shake off your fears
It's a moment to fight
Fight the demons inside
Shake off your foes
Fight for everything
In this scary brave new world
Sunflower KissesSunflower kisses dance across my skinSunflower Kisses in Free Verse More Like This
laying down in a field of wheat in the afternoon.
You appear almost out of nowhere
and lay down next to me as you were meant to be.
The sun hurts my eyes,
as I squint at the clouds and try to make shapes.
You stare at me and I try to think,
yet the more you stare the harder it is to ignore.
Do you want the sun?
Ya, the sun.
Everyone gives the moon as a gift,
but to me, the only thing that can rival your charm
is the suns great shine,
and even then when you emerge outside
the suns grows dark and burnt.
You never were a poet
I couldn't help but laugh
at how long you probably spent
thinking of that one line.
I like the sun.
Then I'll wrangle the sun,
all for you.
We laid in the suns warmth
of sunflower kisses
and the tickles of wheat instead of grass
and nothing else mattered in the world.
I love you.
I love you too.
Lovely AnneI once met a girl named AnneLovely Anne in Free Verse More Like This
and what a lovely girl was she.
She sat in corners and talked
and talked when no one listened.
While lovely Anne was so lovely
no one went near lovely Anne
and her never-ending talking.
Lovely Anne with black hair
and dark skin. Never listened
to the voice of society.
Lovely Anne talked of a world
so unlike our own.
No one went near her,
but everyone listened
to the thoughts of a wonderful world.
Lovely Anne lived in a world
where the clocks struck thirteen
where everyone loved
where everyone smiled
and tears were never shed.
The walls and floors
objects and papers
that she talked to day and night
held to her words
and wished for her world.
Poor Lovely Anne had no friends.
But lived in a world that was entirely her own.
Lovely Anne who never left her world
and thought reality was imaginary.
That thin white lineThere is a very fine line,That thin white line in Free Verse More Like This
Between heaven and hell,
Good and evil,
What could happen and what doesn't,
Light and dark,
Life and death,
Animal and human,
Being hopeful and hopeless.
That thin white line
We walk every day
Not wanting to be bad
But yet not taking the effort to be good
We say we live
But how many of us actually live?
Our heart beating is the only thing
Saying that we're alive
Doing one bad thing
Can send someone to hell
But do we really deserve
The sanctuary of heaven?
We hunt for fun
Kill for joy
And yet we aren't
Light is pure.
Dark is tainted.
That gray area
Is where society lays.
We take our hope
From one thing
One object that keeps
Our spirits high
When it's taken away
That one single thing
All hope is lost.
That thin white line
Which we play with
Jump rope with
And do that delicate dance with
But never break.
Death Takes Two SugarsDeath knocked on the doorDeath Takes Two Sugars in Free Verse More Like This
came inside without invitation
poured herself some tea
and asked for a story.
He laughed at all the right parts,
cried when I cried,
asked for more than she received
It cried with me and laughed with me
sipping their tea and listening
she wondered what I didn’t do
then told me how idiotic I was.
He told me about the children
I could have had but didn’t
and the falls that lifted me up
with the loss of others.
The story of how I almost killed a girl
when she ran into the street
scared her to run into the arms of her father
and never ran into the street again.
The tale of the man who was meant for me
yet still didn’t want me
and that was not my fault but his
for his life went on a different path.
Death pushed in his chair and declared,
‘It’s time for you to go’
despite my tea’s warmth
and my story was not quite finished.
‘I’m not ready to go’
I bellowed and threw my cup
IsHopeless is the man who dwells on what could have beenIs in Free Verse More Like This
instead of what might possibly be.
Cruel is the man who sees everything
and does nothing to stop it.
Vain is the woman who cares only for looks
and not for the feelings of others.
Callous is the child who only wants
and never cares of the words of his mother.
Ignorant is the man who will not listen
yet can only hear himself.
Heartless is the woman
who does nothing for others.
Tragic is a country who mourns for one
when thousands die from something we could prevent.
Hero less is a person
who has no one to idolize.
Horrendous is the person
who hurts those who cannot help themselves.
Desperate is the teen
who cries out only to have the cry on deaf ears.
Lost is the girl
who thinks she only has one path.
Idiotic is the teacher
who thinks there is only one kind of student.
Prideful is the person
who never thinks of others.
Arrogant is the person
who thinks they deserve all that they get,
And eventful will be the day
when the world final
I'm a PoetI'm a poet.I'm a Poet in Free Verse More Like This
And because I'm a poet,
I have the pride of a poet,
and the background of an artist.
Yes as a poet.
I am overlooked in the group
for the work that is drawn,
and the art that is colored by the painters
I am a writer
and though my words hold power
they are seen as nothing more than words
and never get brought to their original intent
I am a writer
whose every move is watched
whose art is critiqued harsher than others
who's still unknown as an artist
I am an author,
who wears my heart on my sleeve
who leaves everything bare to judgment
who never asks for more than is due
I am an artist,
but I don't always get treated as such
You call it Judgement, We call it SinEmily needs the words to understand that she isn't being unreasonable. She just wants them to mean something and not be a string of words which flows into itself over and over again.You call it Judgement, We call it Sin in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
She doesn't like her name either. Not because Emily isn't a pretty name but because she would rather be called something she feels like. (She has never quite forgiven her parents for choosing her name for her.) If she could, she would call herself Glass, because that is what she wakes up feeling like every morning. As if crystallised pieces of glass are edible and her insides tingle as she swallows them whole.
Emily lets the words call her names sometimes. She writes them on her knees so that she can remember them. Sometimes the words call her a whore, and sometimes stupid, and sometimes a loser and sometimes a tramp (She has never learnt that loving too much is a crime and boys with pretty eyes sometimes lie.). She sits in the bathroom with a pen the colour of blood and writes them carefully
The Past, The FutureDo you remember when you were little and your best friend told you she didn't want to be friends anymore? It hurts like something was nesting on your heart and had clawed its way into your soul. There is an childish elegance to the sadness that you assumed only existed for grown ups when they talk about grown up things. In the glorious contant of humanity, the existence of her will corrode and become a faded memory that you will only remember when you hurt again.The Past, The Future in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
And then you will lose your dog, your best friend, your confidant. It will happen suddenly and you will be left with nothing but the hole in your heart of a lost companion who you assumed would be around forever. You will learn at that moment that nothing true or pure lasts forever. A part of your innocence will die as you cradle your companion for the last time. If only you had goldfish and parents who lied to you about him instead.
You will think the worst is over, playgrounds will become a little less magical, danger will b
In ThreesI was armed with half a deck of emotions, two thirds of a heart and eyes of a broken mirror that offered no protection to my soul. I wanted to talk about it often and whenever I needed to, the words would tangle in my mouth, come out as a compliment of a shirt, an idea that had no relevance, a conversation about the weather. I was eighteen. I wanted to be stronger, brilliant, bright like a comet in the sky. Instead, I learnt about how beds could be the most loathed places in the world, bathrooms were meant to be soaked in blood...and men with eyes like knives sometimes used them against people they loved.In Threes in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
I was armed with shards of strength, a misplaced sense of determination and the kind of bravery that only the damned can have. Words haunt, especially when all you have to your name is a broken little mind, a need for validation and an honest fear of losing someone you love. I was twenty. I wanted to make sure that the world around me realised I existed, I wanted to shine for my sake,
A Little Bit of WonderlandHer name was Alyssa, and when she was nine, her mother built her Wonderland. After being raised on a healthy diet of Charles Dickens, Enid Blyton and J.M. Barrie, it seemed like the natural course of action. She created it out of paper, each scene indispensably, indisputably perfect in its imperfection.A Little Bit of Wonderland in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
And she did it because Alyssa was terrified of the idea of falling through a rabbit hole, into a place that allows magic only when you are confused. Mothers do the most impractical, exhausting things to show how much they love their children. It seemed a pity that it was this very effort that kept Alyssa up all night, staring at the paper people like they were coming to get her.
(If Alyssa’s mother knew, she would have spent all her time trying to explain to the little girl that it wasn’t just paper people she should be afraid of.)
God appeared to have a sense of humour when little Alice became Alyssa’s best friend. She lives across the street, her hair always
City of LightYou are my city.City of Light in Free Verse More Like This
Your eyes are the gates,
Your soul is my transport
Your veins the roads I must travel.
You should never ever be afraid
of my knowing you too well.
Or of my being too close to you.
Can you ever,
Even after living your whole life in it,
Know a city too well?
Never AgainThe rain boy had sworn that he would never again smile. His eyes always soaked the oceans with tears from his past and his heart was always dark and locked to anyone who could try and help him. His world had become so bleak and dark, that he stood in rooms of people that were a blur past him and a guitar that just no longer played.Never Again in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
So when the sunshine girl met the rain boy, for a second, the world stood still. In that tiny little balcony, where there was only space for two, the sunshine girl asked the rain boy, "When was the last time you smiled?"
The rain boy was startled for a second at someone talking to him, but he answered anyway, "I think it was ten years ago."
"Is that because someone broke your heart?"
"It is because more than one person broke my heart."
"Oh." She paused for a moment, but looked up again, her eyes dancing like star like diamonds "Well, just because someone broke your heart, it doesn't mean that they should become the hero of your story."
ApplesSweet and sensual,Apples in Free Verse More Like This
The feel of your fingers on my skin.
Slow and longing,
The trail of your hands on my curves.
Languid and helpless,
The pulsing of my veins under your masterful strokes.
My love for you is like my love for apples.
Juicy, crunchy, delicious...
And as dark as a sinner's heart.
Online"I have a problem."Online in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
"You always were a worrier."
"Don't you want to know what it is?"
"Not if it's going to worry me as well."
"That's precisely why you should know it."
"I really think I'll pass."
"But this time it's a really big deal."
"Oh for the love of- All right. All right. You win. What is it?"
"What did you think the first time you met me?"
"That's not a problem, that's a question."
"How am I supposed to answer it exactly?"
"I don't know if your mother explained this to you, but all you have to do is open your mouth and words-"
"Shut it, smart ass."
"Then answer the question."
"I thought you were beautiful."
"See, now that's impossible."
"And why is that?"
"Because the first time you met me, it was online."
"It wasn't your face I was calling beautiful. It was your anonymity in your words."
"What does that mean?"
"It means that in the vast abyss of the seas that form a web of people, you were the one who sat alone in a life broke
Hemingway Would Hate ThisThe trouble with the Boy was that he didn't have the heart of Shakespeare, the voice of Poe, nor the soul of Wordsworth, nor the knowledge of Rembrandt in his darkest days. He didn't have a trace of Michaelangelo's spirit nor the angst of Carvaggio and this on its own was enough to dissuade him from understanding that technique was far better than solidarity and possession far more ageless than youth.Hemingway Would Hate This in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
He didn't have any of this knowledge because his father hadn't had the courage to tell him that he needed all the qualities of these great men, to win over the heart of a woman who had the dreams of Austen, the ideas of Da Vinci and the scent of a high priestess of Venetian origin.
The Girl was all those things and more, and her value, her estimate in the market of souls was higher than most. She was an angel amongst Gods, and He should never have let her go into the world thinking that it was Keats hearted. Because like all women who live their lives story shaped, she was soon broken by
Nothing Lives Foreveri.Nothing Lives Forever in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
When you were a child, we would sit on the porch to talk about your day. And sometimes, we would find a dead bird, or a frog on there. And you would ask me about death and why it happens, looking at the poor creature in my hands, its life cut short and touch it tenderly. I would always say the same thing.
Nothing is meant to live forever, my dear.
The school called me in on your twelfth birthday and asked if I had known how clever you were, that your test scores were the best in the state. They asked me if I knew I had a genius child on my hands who grew bored easily in class and tended to distract others in his classroom, sometimes causing arguments, fistfights and could manipulate his classmates into doing anything.
We don't think this is the school for him. He needs to be challenged appropriately.
You fell in love at seventeen and she was lovely. Kind, caring and beautiful, I couldn't ask for a better girl for you. She was our neighbour
Snippy - Poem of DoomSnippy - Poem of Doom in Free Verse More Like This
Oh Captain, my Captain! I say it to mock,
You're lucky as hell but to me you're a c***.
Please spare me the missions, I've no head for heights,
Balloons and big lists lead me only to blights.
Evading the probes of an alien race,
Then having to witness your > : ( angry face...
But what choice have I? I'm involved in these fights,
With Cancerous space-monsters full of red sprites,
And Lemonade weirdos and God knows what next,
Just how can you stay so serene and unvexed?
What price should I pay for your simple delights,
Be eaten by whales after soiling my whites?
I know you won't listen, but you'll come unstuck,
And one of these days you'll run right out of luck,
Your empire will fall, and your ego besides,
It's karma for sure, like the turn of the tides,
And then I will lol, sitting in my own muck,
Coz after all this I just won't give a f***.
Liason In a LaundromatThere is a scream before time stops. A woman is lifted through heavy doors by gloved hands. Her body cloaked in low murmurs, weighed down with the urgent scream of sirens that split the night.Liason In a Laundromat in Short Stories More Like This
Her fingers lie curled like soft-shelled snails at her thighs. Headlights stream out behind them, gold slug-trails instead of the silver gilt webs of spider-spun lies, and guilt written on the faces of youths loitering ill-spent in half-empty hostels on cracked sidewalks; trying to catch a glimpse of half-naked flesh and trading green paper or little packets of white snow for favours.
Glass litters the road at the man's feet. A man in uniform writes in a notepad, watching him press a damp shirt over the gentle black pool forming in the hollow of his collarbone. Intern street surgeons suturing a new, primitive tattoo on his neck to mark the occasion of virginity taken away. Their toast was premature.
"Tumble and a rumble in the Laundromat, eh?"
"Yeah, she got
God's MorticianIt wasn’t as if Thomas had known what to expect; it just that he hadn’t expected, well, this. He read the obituaries every Sunday out of a mixture of habit and morbid curiosity – or as he liked to call it; “professional interest”. At least that’s what he told his wife, anyway, when he noticed her brow furrowing, or her lips puckering into something dangerously close to resembling a pout over breakfast. She didn’t like dead people; his “clients”. She didn’t like hearing about embalming, or caskets, or hilarious anecdotes of “you’ll never believe the cosmetic work I had to do on this corpse today! The man’s accident left him without a face!” and the like. And she never visited him at work. “It’s one step above grave-digging if you ask me. It’s mortifying being married to a mortician!”God's Mortician in Short Stories More Like This
Thomas wasn’t much of a conversationalist. He didn’t much like people, and they didn
Flock Echo PassionThe gentle tone of your fingersFlock Echo Passion in Free Verse More Like This
defly handling my thoughts.
You soften the regrets in my ribs
weaken the bones with love
pressed into my shoes.
You melt my marrow with murmurs
lazily spent in the mornings
rested on the sighs of your breath.
swallow my heartbeats
to keep them warm
and in tune with yours.
You unlock and rob my tongue of words
like a piano with too many keys
spilling its lullabies onto the floor
softly turning the locks of my mind
with the music in you
if I would only stop to listen.
AlienRuby lives in my mind.Alien in Free Verse More Like This
she is the voice between
that chemicals try to silence
the voices the run in streams
"kill the noise
get a gun a gun
kill them all
the government whispers alien
kill the noise
there's an alien in your head, lover killer
duck for cover
mother mary comes for me magdalene
green sleeves all my joy..."
lift my sleeves and you'll find
vertical and deep.
deep lines etched in
that pierce my soul.
Running parallel between
in the hemispheres
instead of heart lines
lines of longitude.
I tried to silence the white noise in my mind
with overdoses of
and emotional crusades
and maelstroms of not wanting stay
of not being sane
of not being able to
hold my crushed body to my chest.
instead I hold crushed pills in my palm
and swallow myself
I did it then to lay claim to a patch of earth
And I do it now to f
Poem For My Twin SisterPoem For My Twin Sister in Free Verse More Like This
She can feel our hearts beat
inside small ribbed hulls in a blue womb
and rests her hands on the shape of us,
lays her head down -
down to that quiet world that harbours revelations waiting to take form,
to draw breath, to be born.
I hum gentle lullabies to the soft untuned melodies of you
lying silent beside me
our hands pressed –
crossed lifelines tangling
palms forming prayers of memory buried somewhere
in the shape of our lips,
untouched in our fragile
(we have the same fingerprints).
We whisper umbilical secrets to each other in the dark
connected by the steady thrum of our infant hearts.
In this hushed world, we are an echo, snowflakes mirrored
off the walls of skeleton key bones.
Two shapes unborn, but already I know you through and through.
And I wonder, just
if you’re the ghost of me
or I’m the ghost of you
Kill the GodsForgotten gods cluster together like constellations of post-mortem scars forming,Kill the Gods in Free Verse More Like This
crystallised ocean remnants,
salt pressed and tattooed on the skin of human history
composing salt crystals and fingerprints and decomposing like dying cells and skeleton leaves.
The tides of us, washed and blurred at the edges,
smoothed like fossilised wood and glass pebbles littering waves of resurrections
reborn and torn asunder
the thunder of their hearts silenced as they
sleep (if gods sleep at all)
in infinity with the fishes on the ocean bed
(the quiet ocean death) of humanity’s collective
I wonder where the ghosts of gods go
where the scales of those sleeping fishes lie on that soft sea bed
without a priest or saint to exorcise the remains
of prayers whispered in those uneasy heads.
In ruined churches or over the mouths of graves
kissed into temple walls that crumble before these dying lords
We kill them in still mornings
when our faith fades under the sunlight, ev
A Rose by Any Other NameA Rose by Any Other Name in Biography & Memoir More Like This
In a white hospital bed, pale as the lifeless bones of a decaying skeleton, with my flesh exposed through the backless dress of my hospital gown, I listen to nurses discuss my mental health. I can taste the quiet tap of a pen on paper and their tiny smiles of contempt.
Shame comes in waves. Its not like a scalpel or the cold touch of a surgeons hand. They never tell you that it can eat away at your insides like a virus. (That it eats you alive). Shame is not a symptom of the mentally ill. Its just a side effect.
In my creased hospital dress, I wish for death. The sweetest sleep away from detached, gloved hands and dissociative expressions. The never-ending hostile questions and the silent blame and accusations lying unspoken on dry lips.
You did this. Youre not sick. Youre just a twisted, manipulative lunatic.
Under medication and the slow Novocain drip of sedation, I wish for another disease. I want a tumor in my head something t
Birthday With CthulhuIt came in the deepest stirrings of my subconscious, a kind of shudder in the recesses of my soul. In a dreamlike state I slept and walked along those dripping, greenish soap-stone monoliths as old as time, dread waking in the pit of my flesh. A voice, eons old trembled in the depths, waking the stars and galaxy dust from their slumber as the heavens shook and sunlight fell away into darkness. He was calling me.Birthday With Cthulhu in Short Stories More Like This
The mad seas rolled in strange lullabies, and mourning-cloak moths flew with hollow eyes towards the moon. I was a helpless puppet at his beckoning, stumbling in a dream towards the terrible eyes, the cruel mouth, the wicked, monstrous head that spoke of strange beings that the dead wept over. Alien things from another world that the earth cloaked to herself like a terrible secret best left forgotten or abandoned to the utterings of mad men.
The ether held its breath, and supernovas swallowed themselves into black holes. The creature lifted a great, swollen hand from the oceani
First NightFirst Night in Biography & Memoir More Like This
Rosie lay across from me in the cold, dark ward. She was agoraphobic; and when she laughed, her hands fluttered and she tapped her feet against the floor.
It was late when they carried me in. I had no name; just a plastic bracelet with a barcode and my patient number, address and date of birth. N447584. But the doctor and nurses just called me the O.D girl.
She smiled at me as they attached wires and a heart monitor; as they dressed me in a white hospital gown with the ties undone, leaving my spine naked and exposed.
Somehow I cant find the strength to tie it up, though Im afraid of the strangers hands on me. A gentle smile that keeps me from shattering.
Rosie, with her tiny, emaciated body; frail and drawn against the pale sheets. I didnt know how shed gotten here. The man next to us had fallen; broken his ribs and injured his mind.
I was falling into nothing; I had nothing to hold me in the freezing hospital but the soft, sweet smile of a str
AccidentI found my arm snapped at the crook of the elbow like the broken wing of a dead bird. It lay discarded on the asphalt, red and tacky with dirt and blood. My ribcage lay a few feet away; a mangled bird's prison, the empty hull of a shattered ship after mutiny. Two legs like spilt chopsticks in the rain, growing damp and mouldering like clay, moist and hollow as the marrow leaked out, lickety-split. One last arm, fluttering like a heart on the deadened road, bruised and black under the drip dripping weather. But no heart could be found.Accident in Short Stories More Like This
The Malvern Star sagged like a wet rose, gloomy in the moody dusk. Its shadow cast long over the road, dark and sly and foreboding. The cars, sheening with sweat, didn't stop. No one cared about the scattered heartstrings of a puppet on the road. No one bothered to kick the warped, dented wheels of the dead red cycle onto the curb.
Why I Hate My LifeWhy I Hate My Life:Why I Hate My Life in Free Verse More Like This
Despite the fact that I'm a trained professional
I have to work odd-jobs making deliveries on a motorcycle
The only girl who I ever loved
was just using me as a replacement
The only girl that actually likes me
runs a bar and took over my house
I don't have the guts to kick her out
so I end up sleeping at an abandoned church
I've recently picked up a strange rash
it hurts and I have to wear sleeves to cover it
My only friends are a guy that never comes out from a forest
and a girl that's always looking to steal the meager possessions I have
Everything sucks really
because the one person who cared about me
is already dead...
He was my army buddy, always cool, always the best
I visit his grave sometimes, in the middle of long deliveries
The worst part about everything though
is the fact that the one guy who made my life hell
The one guy who took everything important away from me
just came back to town a few minutes ago...
And you know what he said the moment
They Told UsThey Told Us:They Told Us in Free Verse More Like This
They told us we weren't artists,
They said that we're just puttin' words on paper...
They told us we wouldn't make it,
Because language isn't unique...
Ta hell with them all I say,
Because I know tha truth they seek ta hide.
We're treated like third-rate artists.
Our hands can't create magical pictures,
We can't create comics ta make people laugh,
Or emotive portraits ta make em cry...
But what they don't see is tha title,
What they don't see is tha description,
They don't even see tha comments or replies!
They look only at themselves,
And at tha talent they seem ta proclaim.
It's like starin' at an old english aristocrat,
Ignorin' us simply because we're farmers.
But what they don't see are the words.
Words used ta give a picture context.
Withou' a title, a picture is just a mix of colours and lines.
Who could understand an image, withou' a title?
If art alone suffices, why not let every piece be nameless?
I'll tell ya the truth, separated from the
I Know You Hate Me Now But...I Know You Hate Me Now But...:I Know You Hate Me Now But... in Free Verse More Like This
Just give me a chance alright, I'll explain
To me, you're the girl that I notice everything about.
The way you laugh, the way you smile;
We got along great back then, even if we don't now.
And to be honest, I miss that...
You had the most lovely silky smooth hair
You'd give me the cutest anime girl smile
I wish I'd talked to you more about Manga,
Hell you got me started on the whole thing.
You were fantastic at drawing too
Man I was always jealous of that talent,
And I loved your drawings, like I once loved you.
I wish that you could have been a professional.
I would have bought your book every month y'know...
You encouraged me to write.
Back when my stories were shit,
Back when my poems were still baby's rhymes.
You taught me not to give in and I was grateful.
Now just let me finish alright?
I know that you won't speak to me.
That's okay, I admit to being an ass,
But the reason that I'm writing this poem to nobod
Breaking PointBreaking Point:Breaking Point in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Who was I to question you to start?
My reflection now we split apart.
Hate the way your looking at my pain;
I hid my tears in the falling rain.
Forget the way I thought I used to be
I see the man now he isn't me.
He's like a ghost with a shaken past
I don't know how he's gonna last.
Sometimes I feel like I'm giving in
I hit the bottle full of naked sin.
I try to lose the hell I'm living in
But now I'm stuck with my only friend.
I spent nights on the window pane
Look at families playin' family games
Wonder why I'm stickin' outside;
I'm just a monster on the inside...
What happened to the dream I used to feel?
It's like I pushed away the better deal.
I feel the calls of my bitter vice
Spend my nights with a blunt knife...
I used to carve on my dirty skin
I used to feel like I was cleaner then.
Because the only time I feel alive
Is when I let my body take a dive...
The only addicition I could control...
-Chen Yuan Wen, 7th May 2012
Her Cold LipsHer Cold Lips:Her Cold Lips in Free Verse More Like This
She watches me, as I bid my friends goodbye
Her cold hands creep along my shoulders
they tell me that she is there
and that she will never let me go...
We're in my room now, away from the outside
I know that she doesn't like the sun
Often, she prefers to observe me from the shadows
but I think she doesn't like the others coming close...
We're beneath the covers now, panting softly
her cold body pressed against mine
Her lips are completely devoid of warmth
and yet they taste so rousingly sweet
A haunting, a haunter and the haunted
Two of us now entwined beneath the ruffled sheets
We cross a barrier that should not be broken
each and every night, as her softly tongue slips gently over mine...
It's dark now and she continues to smile
Her chest does not rise and fall, for she does not breathe
She suffocates me and yet I can't bear to let her go
She clings to me and yet I am equally drawn
It's daytime now and she has vanished
but I know she will return when the sun has
Being A Good Person is a CHOICE!Now, imagine this situation for a moment:Being A Good Person is a CHOICE! in Free Verse More Like This
You are a good father, a wonderful husband.
You go 'pray' every Sunday, doing a wonderful lip-service.
You've taken your kids to soccer practice
And you are ready to enjoy your Sunday.
Tui bu qi, ni ke yi pang wo ma?
You turn around and see an old Chinese lady.
She can't speak English and needs assistance.
You pretend you cannot hear her and drive away.
Smooth-stuff dad, you should return that #1 mug...
To me however, there would be no question.
I was late to a part-time job, it would actually cost me money;
And did I mention I can't speak Chinese either?
Instead I communicated with gestures and signs.
She wanted to go to the train station, as I later learned.
With your car it would have taken five minutes.
But we walked and that is also okay.
To be honest, you might think you've done more good than evil.
You might think there is a welcoming committee for you at the pearly gates.
I regret to inform you however, that
Swan SongSwan Song:Swan Song in Free Verse More Like This
Those days we used to spend together
So gentle and so sweet...
Are buried like my sister's corpse
Entombed beneath my feet...
The mornings we spent in the grove of dryads
Braiding each other's hair...
I visit the very same places now;
But I know that she isn't there.
I can hear her voice from time to time
As a dying whisper amongst the trees.
But I can never forget that day;
It festers like disease...
A waking nightmare, so vivid and real
I am lost in the grip of its chilling touch.
You called to me, on that fated morning
Bearing a wound and crutch...
But they came like thunder, these men of steel
They heft their weapons high in the air.
They shrieked and praised their vaunted deity
As they laid her body bare...
At the behest of the robed one, they took her apart.
They chopped her to pieces, and they burned her heart.
And then it was done, like a sprinkling rain.
They left our forest, with a walk of dis
She's Not Your ToyShe's Not Your Toy:She's Not Your Toy in Free Verse More Like This
Mmm, it's okay sweetie
Just stay quiet
It'll all be over soon...
Creaking springs and quiet eyes
Cold without emotion
The smell of fear is mixed with sweat
Breath like a churning ocean
The waves and tide will push and pull
as water fills the cave
The heart longs to stop itself
when there is nothing left to save
Happy birthday to you
Happy birthday to you
Happy birthday dear Jenna
Happy birthday to you...
A shock of pain brings her back to the present
The muscular form above her contracting in the dark
She remembers now that her limbs are pinned
but she would not move them anyway...
Happy birthday sweetheart, you're older now
You've grown up well haven't you...
A single shuddering thrust means that everything has ended
and once again a wet worm is pressed to her lips
The weight lifts from her body, leaving red marks around the wrists
limbs denied blood begin to buzz softly as the silence suffocates
She will not move from here, because i
How to Insult PoeticallyOnce I happened upon a callow young lass,How to Insult Poetically in Free Verse More Like This
Who apparently thought that it was cool to be crass.
And she turned her tongue upon the profession of writing;
Apparently she felt that it was in need of a smiting.
Though her raving and ranting made very little sense,
She seemed to be taking a rather harsh stance.
Apparently her pain was too great to be understood,
Far beyond the comprehension of this man from the hood.
So I stood there in swagger, clad in my bling.
While she behaved like 'Moon-Moon', in search of a thing.
She spouted some nonsense, some far fetched line,
About never idolizing the keen writer's mind...
If that is the case, then why ape my technique?
Why submit to several galleries; is your brain on the leak?
You are writing to be seen; you seek attention as I do,
What are we if not performers, is that not true?
Did you believe that you could use your past as a shield?
It counts, I'm afraid, for nothing, I feel;
For you see, I'm a killer, as bold a
Whispering to LuciferWhispering to Lucifer:Whispering to Lucifer in Free Verse More Like This
Humans are such wonderous creatures
even when granted the gift of knowledge
They fall prey to their own insecurities
slaves to their own fears and paranoia
Such is the father's gift of free will...
Yes my lord, I understand
but do you not feel disappointment?
The great bringer of light has condemned himself to an eternity of darkness
simply so his father's children may roam free
Without adversity, there can be no acension...
Ah, such a philosophical statement from you
I am well aware that humans must experience both extremes
Without tasting joy it would be impossible to understand sorrow
Yet I fear that my brothers have forgotten that, in a single minded pursuit of-
Aye, clever you are to see that
for these brothers of mine find comfort in the wondrous art of destruction
self-abuse is taken as 'fun', addiction is a personal right
Greed is good and gluttony is gold, sloth is scoffed at
and wrath is protected by the comforting
Thoughts of the LostWell here I sit, on the cusp of Christmas activities and with the break of 2009 comes the changes that will revolutionize my many years to come. Today signaled an end for me. The closing of a chapter you never really expect to close until everything just becomes a horribly wrong existence to be in. My time did not become a nightmare although the disappointment that has plagued me for the duration of my final stages of involvement have unfortunately left a sour taste and a lack of trust that i will not have the courage to confront, probably, ever again.Thoughts of the Lost in Philosophical More Like This
Today was my final day with KPMG and with that end came the clearing of my desk, the sweeping of my acquaintances and the farewell of my friends. With this end comes the window of a new future. Next year i am to begin my first year at university. With this beginning comes all the hopes of a new student looking to forge their career in the fate lines destined for them. I hope that my journey will not have to be a case of forging, only gro
Wrongly accepted...The mind interprets what it sees, as truth, as 'what is'.Wrongly accepted... in Philosophical More Like This
The mental concept of truth is perceived as, what is correct.
What is 'correct', the mind has been trained from birth, to accept.
What is accepted by the mind, is also then expected to remain unchanged, for it is interpreted as 'truth' and 'what is'. Therefore, it is then often over looked and also taken for granted.
The conscious effort to discover potential oversight is required to illuminate 'false truths' - for what is, is not necessarily always correct.
Always question that which you assume to be correct.
Ageing...Nothing in life becomes old.Ageing... in Philosophical More Like This
Your mind simply believes itself to become more familiar.
The question is, what does it really mean to be familiar?
Do we ever really truly understand the fundemental truth of what it is to exist?
From the eyes of a flower...Life is naught but a conscious space to experience the stream of realisation...From the eyes of a flower... in Philosophical More Like This
Enlightenment, akin to being presently and consciously aware, of your found and realised self discovery.
Much like a plant that discovers it can grow by turning towards the sun, so to do we, discover what makes us who we are, by living fully within our reality...for, it is our reality which presents truth.
This however, does not determine that truth can ever be recognised in its completeness, to a being which continously expands that which it is, as a reflection to the ever expansion of its continuous reality.
So, if living is to be an ever continuing rhelm of self expansion - of discovery - who are we really, but a consciousness, an entity of awareness, on a journey for so long as it exists?
What is our purpose but to experience who we are and all we can be? Do you believe this journey of self discovery could ever cease? If so, perhaps you could completely describe who you will be tomorrow?
If ever you fin
Development of self...The flower has developed for millions of years, perfecting it's art of living.Development of self... in Philosophical More Like This
Today, there is no process involved with the life of a flower that is unnecessary.
The human being is still in development, still learning and releasing all that is unnecessary.
To know and learn, one must be unknowing.
To be unknowing, one must realise there has never been anything that they ever have known.
The outstanding fault of self.Every minds outstanding fault is believing it is completely correct at any given time.The outstanding fault of self. in Philosophical More Like This
Patterns of habit are only realised when the mind acknowledges personal dissatisfaction.
From this, the mind recognizes its own unsatisfactory habits witnessed in others, thus providing the required impartial witness to assist with the identification of self destroying patterns within the self
The dangers of being right...Fundementally, every self believes itself to be ultimately and completely right, true, justified, and complete.The dangers of being right... in Philosophical More Like This
It is not until you realise that this part of your conditioning has not once ever been right about anything, that release is found and the soul set free.
And what a relief to not have to be right...!
LE CERCLE DE FEULe cercle de feu.LE CERCLE DE FEU in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Dans mes rêves d'enfant, j'étais un fier guerrier
A l'il clair et sans peur, à l'écusson vermeil ;
Combattant les démons surgis de mon sommeil,
Je sauvais le château, récoltais le laurier.
Un soir, j'avais donné aux soins de l'armurier
Ma hache et mon écu, et en simple appareil
J'épousais ma princesse au charme sans pareil
Douce comme un vent frais soufflant sur un mûrier.
Mais le ciel s'assombrit, une horde macabre,
Menée par un cheval qui devant moi se cabre
Déferle sur la ville et détruit mon manoir !
Alors, horrifié, je la vois tout au centre
D'un grand cercle de feu, une épée dans le ventre ;
-Elle vomit son âme et sombre dans le noir.
SALE PETIT TRAITRE - DIRTY LITTLE TRAITORSALE PETIT TRAITRE - DIRTY LITTLE TRAITOR in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
(english translation below)
Sale petit traître
C'est au son de mon arc long
Que tu vas danser
Dirty little traitor
With the sound of my longbow
You'll dance all night long
WARPHORISME IVPour quelqu'un de passionné par le néant, la mise en abîme c'est un peu une seconde nature !WARPHORISME IV in Philosophical More Like This
Frantz, mars 2012.
RESSACRessac.RESSAC in Free Verse More Like This
Comme un cadavre
Dégueulant d'eau croupie
Sur le rivage
Pantin d'algues déglinguées
Mastiqué par l'angoisse et les vers
Choc sourd des corps mous
Sur le bitume
Dans la biture
Comme un déchet
Dans le vide
Vomissures putrides des espoirs lacérés
Lancinantes complaintes des pécheurs de pitié
Lucidité amère des cassandres neurasthéniques
Calfeutré dans un blockhaus acide
Comme un lépreux pourri
Bonbons de bubons bourbons
Crécelle de mort fraîche
Scorbut sclérosé de scories scolopendres
Sur la jetée
Frantz. 2008 - 2011.
Network Races: CentaursRACES OF THE NETWORKNetwork Races: Centaurs in Profiles More Like This
TERMS- HISTORY - POPULATION - RACIAL FEATURES - TODAY - NOTABLES
A GENERAL NOTE
SPECIES VS. RACE
- The more polite term would be 'race.' In our world we're used to the only intelligent group being humanity so we divide ourselves by looks and call them races. In the Network the more obvious divisions are between the various sentient species. When Networkers say 'race' they mean your species. If they want to refer to your physical characteristics as a human they might say ethnicity.
- 'Species' is reserved for animals. 'Breed' is never used for break-down within the races, again only for animals. Using 'species' or 'breed' to refer to an intelligent being and/or their race is bigotry, except in science and medicine when it's considered okay to use 'species' to refer to the races. It's not politically correct but it's scientifically accurate.
Charles' TimelineCharles' Timeline in Profiles More Like This
Lord Charles Viktor Arrhenius
Current age: 232/142*
- 1780: Born in Vadikov, Kreev. Charles' father was a bookkeeper who married into a lordship. His family was technically entitled to high society although they could never keep straight faces at parties. They were rather snarky with their privileged peers and passed this irreverence to their son. Charles had two elder siblings who died in infancy.
- 1808: Marries Katerina Ingmer. They have two children together, Rodolf and Natalie.
- 1811: Charles' father dies and he inherits his title. Not too much changes. He's thirty-one and writes infamously wry columns, essays, and short stories with growing renown.
- 1814: After an increasingly distant and cool relationship, Katerina and Charles divorce, Katerina feeling Charles is disconnected and uninterested in being a father, more devoted to his writing than his family. Charles does not contest this, Katerina moves elsewhere with their children. Charles would be
Network Races: NymphsRACES OF THE NETWORKNetwork Races: Nymphs in Profiles More Like This
TERMS- HISTORY - POPULATION - RACIAL FEATURES - TODAY - NOTABLES
- 'Nymph' is the general term. Major classes of nymphs are those of water (naiad), vegetation (dryad), land (oread), caves (lampad), and fire (igniad).
- 'Nymph' can have nudge-nudge-wink-wink connotations, so they're alternately called elemental humanoids by the politically correct and the stuffy.
- Are traditionally referred to with female pronouns though they're not inherently gendered beings.
- Technically they're not a race or even a species, because they have no hand in the creation of new nymphs and existing nymphs have nothing like a social society or culture. If anything, they are a sporadic natural phenomenon that happen to be self-aware.
- Nymphs are sentients that come to be in places of concentrated natural magic. (Such places are the result of the Network's closely overlying neighbor dimension- which leaks the mad
It's a Curse: Notes on Eric ThedrialSo. I feel like Eric's up there with Tom as a character who comes with a lot of technical baggage I've never publically unpacked. Read on for a tale of god-complexes, monstrous curses, hunts and rampages, massive abuse of the ageing process, and history's worst case of polyphagia.It's a Curse: Notes on Eric Thedrial in Profiles More Like This
Welcome back to the Network, a world made of worlds connected, when not by simple geography, then by dimension-puncturing portals. We're going somewhere we haven't been before. The land is Nimisia, the year is, by our calendar, 1611. Gammon is a prosperous little city-state amidst a mess of prosperous little city-states and if rolling countryside, charming forests, and sparkling lakes are your thing, this is a peachy place. Well. If you aren't a peasant. We are in a time of serfs and lords.
If you are landed gentry however, sunny are your skies, green are your horizons, your cup floweth over. You live in a palace with colorful flags and people who take care of things and are generally free to socialize
Rambling on TonyThe Unholy Incarnation of Gluttony (Tony, for short) has been more or less benignly wandering the Network for nearly four hundred years, carefully controlled by its host and master, the kindly Eric Thedrial.Rambling on Tony in Profiles More Like This
What IS Tony, exactly? Despite rumors and poetic phrasing, Tony is NOT a demonic entity representing a deadly sin, it is not actually even a separate being from Eric. Psychologically, Tony's what you get when you inhibit everything in the human mind save the powerful animal impulse to eat stuff. Religion/demons/sins really have nothing to do with Tony.
Tony is the result of a morality curse, meant to demonstrate to the once spoiled Lord Thedrial the essence of his greed by removing entirely his human willpower and control over base instincts (which he was so poorly exercising anyway) transforming him for periods into a destructive, self-destructive, mindless and mortifying mass of monster. And then returning him to human form to think about what he'd done.
Tony is largely a metapho
An Intro to The LibraryAn Intro to The Library in Short Stories More Like This
Six years ago the Greater Altalamatox Public Library put its small and remote home city on the map when it spilt out of the ether and onto the shores of its lake.
It's a building with a lot of history. Once part of a prestigious campus, it was last owned by a club of gents with a shared passion for illegal spellcraft and dimensional exploration, who used it to hide their howling voids into the cosmos and also their pointy hats and anything else they didn't want their wives to find. They never did accomplish discovery of a new world- or never had the satisfaction of knowing they did- but did manage one highly impressive feat which was to tuck the Library sideways between dimensions when the police came 'round to investigate. This was about a hundred and ten years ago.
The gentlemen, after their prison terms ended, never succeeded in summoning back the building. To that end they'd have to have known where it lay nearest to this world, and to their distress they were witne