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 Posted: Mon Nov 05, 2007 12:30 am
please post poetry upon this spot!
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>.>>>>>>
(this is a formal sonnet, iambic pentameter, 14 lines, rhyme scheme abababcc- abdabd)
Sonnet for Halloween
There comes around a certain time of year
When night comes early and leaves are wind-blown.
Then sights beyond all normal sense appear:
Fey spirits romp, witches fly and ghouls moan.
Why do such creatures fill us with chill fear?
Why do we stand in dread of the unknown?
Perhaps what threatens us is not dark arts,
But that dark swelling within our own hearts.
Which prospect truly is more bleak and drear:
To stand in moonlit graveyards all alone,
A haunted eerie uninviting place;
Or, inward looking, see horrors more near,
malice, evil and shadows all our own?
We are the monsters we dread most to face.
(c) beaulolais 2007
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Posted: Thu Nov 08, 2007 10:28 pm
Somewhere Under the Barrow
Somewhere , under the barrow,
Fell things sleep;
From their tombs cold and narrow
Into your dreams they creep.
Somewhere, under a barrow,
Spirits wait.
Your lives they'll haunt and harrow,
Driven by greed and hate.
One day dear Frodo and his friends their paths across the Downs did wend:
Disaster!
Once separated in the mist their paths began to turn and twist,
O please run, faster!!
Somewhere under a barrow
Now they lie;
If Old Tom doesn't help them
They all will surely die.
Come Bombadil, by wind and weed
And save them in their time of need,
we plead!
****************************************************************************************************
These words are meant to parallel the rhyme and rhythm of Somewhere Over the Rainbow, which for comparison goes like this:
Somewhere, over the rainbow,
Way up high,
There's a land that I've heard of
Once in a lullaby.
Somewhere over the rainbow
Skies are blue.
And the dreams that you dare to dream
Really do come true.
One day I'll wish upon a star and wake up where the clouds are far
Behind me;
Where troubles melt like lemon drops, away above the chimney tops
That's where you'll find me!
Somewhere over the rainbow,
Bluebirds fly;
Birds fly over the rainbow,
Why then O why can't I.
If happy little bluebirds fly
Beyond the rainbow, why O why can't I?
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Posted: Mon Nov 26, 2007 5:38 am
this is an attempt at an epic poem
Facing Mordor
The mountains of Mordor hang grim in the sky;
Their quest is to go there, then, likely to die.
In these blasted lands no bird ever will sing,
The only thing beautiful here is the Ring.
Two friends and their escort, a poor gangrel thing
Hide in reeking cesspools when Nazguls take wing.
They may be playing into Sauron's hand,
If they even survive this detestable land.
How they long for the Shire, or Samwise does at least;
Poor Frodo cannot keep his eyes from the East.
There through murk grim Barad Dur now arises,
And Sauron surveys all the lives he despises.
At first the adventure seemed so brave and grand;
Then Gandalf fell during Moria's last stand.
Now here they crouch, in a foul land bare as bone,
About to face ultimate evil, alone.
Or not quite alone; their companion crawls near;
Could he be an ally? Or someone to fear?
Frodo showed him mercy, his friendship to gain,
But Gollum has killed, and may soon kill again.
They're hungry and thirsty, the air burns each throat;
The Nazgul's steed high up above shrieks it's note.
Through fathoms of smoking unbreathable air,
It still conveys thoughts of bleak doom and despair.
So, hopeless, they gaze upon their gruesome fate;
Morannon, steel toothed, Mordor's horrid north gate.
There endless patrols march again and again,
Corps of orcs and of monsters, but also of men.
"Let's go then", sighs Frodo, his hand to his chest,
While Samwise turns 'round, says farewell to the West.
"Not that way! You will die! And I will lose Precious!
We can show a Safe way, if nice hobbits lets us!"
So Gollum now whimpers, in great agitation,
And plunges the two friends into consternation.
Frodo says "I have a stern task to fulfill;
But go your way, let it be just me they kill."
"Ach, foolish hobbit, it won't be just you!
When they've picked your bones, they will take Precious too!"
The hobbits considered this. What would it bring
If they fought through so much just to give up the Ring?
"I don't trust him Master, nor ever have done;
He'll just steal the One ring, and off he will run!"
"Ach Samwise the counselor, putting on airs!
But we won't betray you...this Smeagol swears."
Frodo looked at him sternly. "Smeagol, have a care!
Will you make this oath upon the Ring? Do you dare?"
A spasm shook Gollum, with gulping and blinking;
He was in great fear, but what else was he thinking?
"Yes yes, on the Ring" he whispered in dread,
"Now let me show you a safer path instead."
Samwise shook his head, but poor tired Frodo brooded.
His features were troubled, expression was hooded.
No wizard for guidance, no council for rede,
No Galadriel with advice fit to heed.
Two pathways now loomed, one of death, one of dread.
"Why did this choice fall to me?" was all he said.
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Posted: Mon Dec 24, 2007 10:20 pm
Epic LotR! =D
here's a few poems I just found. Don't know how old they are but they're oooooold.
green
Have you ever seen a color
that whispered
There is no color?
Only different shades of one thing
the whistling, red brested robin
the young rose of dusted pink
the brilliant golden sun
it is white if you look closely
A trail of mourners, clad in black
and the pearl casket they follow
It is all a spectrum of one thing
faded then bright
then faded again
that scatters against us as we blink
---
I think I am my books
Man hates me and loves me and is indifferent
Sometimes I feel,
with all my passing amongst hands and lives
that I am nothing but a fairy tale
growing greater and greater with each telling
untill no one knows what I really am
except for me
I am the author of my books
protagonist and antagonist too.
The critic reading over and over again
but never changing a word
I am my books
and the bookshelf they sit on
and the room that holds them
and the child
coming across words he cannot pronounce
scenes he cannot understand
struggling through what has been written for him.
---
There is no reason
to hide yourself
to shroud yourself
from the scruples of others
and their Almighty Judgement.
It is a nifty trick
the masses play
to make you
envy something they don't really have
But even in prim-cut gardens
and flawless smiles
There is an emptyness
as if in the transition from
real to this,
the soul has trickled away.
---
there is something that happens in touching people
something not easily explained
it is not a Physical thing
more a feeling of that touch, deep in our hearts
where our souls rush out, and mingle upon a finger
and then rush back
to tell us of their encounter as we dream.
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Posted: Thu Jan 31, 2008 3:14 am
i like those, Lea!
very introspective yet still sensitive to the relational world.
did you write them yourself?
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Posted: Thu Oct 02, 2008 7:18 pm
Sonnet on the Autumnal Equinox
The snows of yesteryear have gone away,
They linger only in our memory:
vast frozen fields of white that turn to grey,
No living thing for miles around to see.
We gladly wait for spring, summer and fall,
The day-bright times when living takes full sway...
But winter comes and darkness takes us all,
And chill night must consume each futile day.
We dare not look ahead, no prophets we;
Preferring present joys, come then what may.
Ignore the shadows casting forth their pall.
We vainly claim our time to live it free:
"These sunlit hours suffice" we bravely say.
But winter comes and darkness takes us all.
(c)chessiejo 2008
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Posted: Thu Oct 02, 2008 7:19 pm
were you and i solid enough to fail
yet still live on in shining memory?
i so much dread what may soon come to be,
living empty-hearted, shell-shocked and pale.
i said then, our love was worth any price,
so now the piper comes back to be paid.
i have regrets! but i am not afraid;
for what we were, i yet would pay it twice.
(c) chessiejo 2008
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Posted: Thu Oct 02, 2008 7:21 pm
having these in my possession
has become my life's obsession:
froggies, doggies, fairies, stones,
unicorns and elves and bones.
overflowing desk and drawer,
still i gather more and more.
some of you are now neglected
with dust and grime that you've collected.
i have nowhere left to store you,
yet i cherish and adore you.
Attic's stuffed with stuffie friends,
will my acquiring ever end?
(c) chessiejo 2008
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Posted: Thu Oct 02, 2008 7:22 pm
the short words are the longest.
never
no
hate
die
live
love
yes
ever
(c) chessiejo 2008
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Posted: Thu Oct 02, 2008 7:23 pm
for Grampa
"Doesn't he look like himself?" they asked it,
Asked the question not of me, but the casket.
Look like himself? what self had they ever know?
The self who had trekked, or had swum, or flown?
To them this was a social occasion;
To me, a personal invasion.
My closest friend had left me all alone.
The truth lies deeper than mere flesh and bone.
Is he himself, this waxen effigy?
Can he train a bird dog, or plant a tree?
Be patient with each idiot relation?
Defend his ecology, or nation?
His epitaph is not in stone, but in me.
I'll be the self that he would have me be.
(c) chessiejo 2008
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Posted: Thu Oct 02, 2008 7:24 pm
slam
slap
shatter
smash
squeal
brakes
skid
crash
pills
dope
try
fail
cut
caught
psych
jail
tear
shred
photos
burn
mementos
thats
how
life
goes
(c) chessiejo 2008
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Posted: Thu Oct 02, 2008 7:26 pm
Kingscote
here the driftwood lies piled, stormwrack.
shelved on this bare rock, this island.
islands are the bones of the earth.
stormwrack is tree's bones and land's dearth.
i hold mortality in hand
lying on the stone, on my back.
let wind and wave claim me as well.
my body be scoured and laid bare.
bones may be at peace, i can tell,
when cradled by stone, waves and air.
(c) chessiejo 2008
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Posted: Thu Oct 02, 2008 7:27 pm
choosing friends
we like to choose the styles of clothes we wear
and all the music that we listen to;
we choose the length and color of our hair,
and games and other fun things that we do.
we try to choose what kind of foods we eat,
and movies that we like to go and see;
we claim the finest footwear for our feet
and even what profession we will be.
but we can never choose our truest friends.
the choice must lie with them, or life, or fate.
we are the chosen, not the chooser, then.
such choosing forms a bond that never ends.
no gift could be so grand, no joy so great.
i am so grateful i can call you "friend".
(c) chessiejo 2008
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Posted: Thu Oct 02, 2008 7:29 pm
i wrote this two days ago for a friend who had faced some bad times.
it is a sonnet.
...........................
I am what life is, take it as you will;
The bitter and the sweet, the high and low.
My heart engulfs fire's heat and ice's chill.
I may feel empty, and yet gifts bestow.
When you look at me, tell me what you see?
A daughter, lover, friend, or unknown one?
A gift, a burden, or am I just me?
A cause of joy or fear, of grief or fun?
The past behind me lies, its tale is told.
It's chapters I'd affirm, well as I could;
Even the pain and darkness I behold
I claim as mine and then pronounce them good.
For with my friend and loved one with me, Jake,
The world is ours to claim and to remake.
(c) chessiejo 2008
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Posted: Thu Oct 02, 2008 7:31 pm
moments
we did not fashion the everlasting
nor did we create the undying,
but what we made,
in that dull round of days,
what we made were moments,
entire in themselves,
shining,
suspended like liquescent globes
in the aching sky
of the eternal present.
(c) chessiejo 2008
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