suigintou
10-13-2008, 09:43 AM
This is a thread that you likely clicked on expecting to see some expansive catalogue of poetry. For now, tough luck, although I'm not opposed to expanding it later. It just depends on whether you guys like anything I'm putting here now.
Let me make this clear: most of these have been revised, sure enough, but none of them are definite. I revise poems dozens of times before ever really feeling that they're done. So if you have any suggestions or downright criticisms, go right ahead and toss 'em my way.
Oh, and a little warning: I tend to be very spontaneous, so if this stuff seems weird (especially the titles), trust me...I understand.
A Perfect Day
Words come to me, softly,
pure,
bending to my will.
There was never such a tourniquet
upon my woes
as this;
nothing to behold
that can’t be seen.
Two Feet Outside the Door
Look in my eyes;
what do you see?
The dried tears of
the strange,
the estranged,
or the strangers?
These eyes have seen
for miles,
and have naught but butterfly kisses
from a bitch called
Life.
Maritime Cult and the Gloaty Floaties
The waves tread inward,
urged onward,
pressed regretfully by the very winds that chill my bones,
laid to rest on eventual sands.
So too are pressed,
the creations of man cast afloat,
with sails white and masts standing
proud amidst the cruel intentions of wind’s madness.
A wave may envy a boat most woefully
as it drifts to its sandy doom,
brethren soon to follow,
for sand is not rust nor rot nor cannon,
and such a craft makes safe landing
on its tender grains.
But as some ill wind may rage and stir up
the swell,
waves may have their revenge yet.
Let me make this clear: most of these have been revised, sure enough, but none of them are definite. I revise poems dozens of times before ever really feeling that they're done. So if you have any suggestions or downright criticisms, go right ahead and toss 'em my way.
Oh, and a little warning: I tend to be very spontaneous, so if this stuff seems weird (especially the titles), trust me...I understand.
A Perfect Day
Words come to me, softly,
pure,
bending to my will.
There was never such a tourniquet
upon my woes
as this;
nothing to behold
that can’t be seen.
Two Feet Outside the Door
Look in my eyes;
what do you see?
The dried tears of
the strange,
the estranged,
or the strangers?
These eyes have seen
for miles,
and have naught but butterfly kisses
from a bitch called
Life.
Maritime Cult and the Gloaty Floaties
The waves tread inward,
urged onward,
pressed regretfully by the very winds that chill my bones,
laid to rest on eventual sands.
So too are pressed,
the creations of man cast afloat,
with sails white and masts standing
proud amidst the cruel intentions of wind’s madness.
A wave may envy a boat most woefully
as it drifts to its sandy doom,
brethren soon to follow,
for sand is not rust nor rot nor cannon,
and such a craft makes safe landing
on its tender grains.
But as some ill wind may rage and stir up
the swell,
waves may have their revenge yet.