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 Posted: Wed Feb 22, 2006 3:47 pm
Obviously, art doesn't simply consist of just drawings and photography. There is also an aspect that I would like to call, writing. Many people are very good at it. Thus this area is dedicated to that group of people.
Do you have a story, poem, script, etc. you wish to post? Well here's your chance to make it happen. There is no limit on what you have to write. But don't be surprized if someone comments you on your talents.
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Posted: Wed Feb 22, 2006 3:48 pm
[ Message temporarily off-line ]
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Posted: Mon Feb 27, 2006 3:31 pm
[ Message temporarily off-line ]
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Posted: Mon Mar 20, 2006 3:55 am
[ Message temporarily off-line ]
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Posted: Mon Mar 20, 2006 5:43 pm
[ Message temporarily off-line ]
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Posted: Wed Mar 29, 2006 11:15 am
Chess Pieces
We are pawns,
We attack the enemy.
We protect our King,
We move with our Queen.
We have no will,
We have no say.
We die for not ourselves,
We die for our master.
We await our move,
We wait to breathe.
We can only move foreward,
We cannot look back.
We are foreced to play,
We do not move willingly.
We are merely pawns.
We are nothing but chess pieces.
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Posted: Sat Apr 22, 2006 8:32 am
Dream
Did you feel like you were crazy,
When they set you far away.
Did no one have the answers,
When you hung your head to pray.
You could not let yourself Dream,
Never did believe.
You could ever be more,
Than you were born to be.
This life all through, this life indeed,
Cruel to man and beast.
None of us worthy or even seen,
To be what we want to be.
The dreams we have, throughout our lives,
Death beyond despair.
The dried up tears of fallen stars,
Keeping you right there.
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Posted: Sat Apr 22, 2006 8:34 am
Days
I'm sitting here watching,
The world go round and round.
Who'd have ever guessed this life,
Could come crashing to the ground.
Days ahead
Way away
Never to come back,
All the tears
From my eyes
Dried up just like that.
People all around,
Walking fast and slow.
Seeing what they wanna see,
But seeing is to know.
Days ahead
Way away
Never to come back,
All the tears
From my eyes
Dried up just like that.
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Posted: Sat Apr 22, 2006 8:36 am
I did
All this stuff,
They did.
It's too hard,
I tried.
Things they say,
I say.
Dreams are to be reached for,
I reached.
I Did.
I got the Dream.
I Did.
So why am I still not able to do this?
I can't.
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Posted: Sun May 28, 2006 10:08 pm
[ Message temporarily off-line ]
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Posted: Sun May 28, 2006 10:15 pm
Bittersweet love...
Fight my dear, don't give up.
A fragile hope
beating in a heart,
so easily broke.
The bitter thought,
of losing you...
I won't let you go
But I don't know what to do.
Look upon me...
Once there was a smile,
now an expression of pain...
has taken it's place.
Chase away the hurt...
Sweet kisses let me taste,
you're the one,
who can quench my thirst.
Draw you into me...
Bittersweet embrace.
How long will it last,
this moment here with you?
Will I wake to find you gone--
If so, what will I do?
Selfishly...
I'm hanging on tight,
I won't give up without a fight.
This feeling...
I won't just surrender.
Dissapearing won't make it any better,
so say you'll stay?
Bittersweet love,
I'll fight to protect...
I'd rather die than just forget.
- Feb/12th/'o6
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Posted: Sun May 28, 2006 10:17 pm
Like a boat out to sea,
My sails are filled with the winds of ectasy.
I'm tossed along the rocky, curved shore of reality,
My desire determined to see me stranded.
Unsure of the risks, I find myself adrift.
What is it I want, from this game called life?
Grinding against this jagged cliff, I decide.
My decision a beakon
Amidst the pelting pain driven rain.
A dangerous choice
Have I lost my voice? My Nerve?
I can't say it.
It's there.
Reach out.
Take it.
Hold on... slow down...
Is this Lust?
Or is this Love?
My heart is racing...
Can't outrun the storm,
Emotions raging.
Soaked to the core,
I'm chilled to the bone.
I ache for the need to be held,
Don't leave me alone.
My mind is torn two ways...
The waves threaten to turn me over,
Caught in the storm as I hesitate.
Watch your step!
Or it's all over...
My choices spread before me.
But what way do I turn.
Which path is right?
What one of these...
Will find me in your arms tonight?
My body swells
The tide is rising.
Why are we fighting?
It's what we want?
Right?
So don't deny me.
Hands that wander...
Can't stay themselves any longer.
To touch, to feel.
Tell me this is real.
Hold me tight,
We'll see eachother through the night.
Next to you,
In your arms.
I feel like I can't come to harm.
Your scent,
Your voice.
Calls to me.
Drives me Insane.
Temptation finds me.
I want you...
But want you too much.
But this tempest rages around me.
I reach out,
Afraid to touch.
I don't want to taint our Love with Lust.
But is it too late?
((WIP))
- May 29th/o6
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Posted: Sun Jun 11, 2006 2:05 pm
T'was a rough night
((Set in the 1930's))The night air was cold and dark, dreary one might say. A night that could send any normal man into a somber depression, something not very hard for Eric Jennings to accomplish. The scruffy middle-aged man of forty two years currently struggled with lighting his cigarette.
His hands lifted the collar on his long black overcoat to shield the brisk wind that came up every once in a while and blew out the fire from his matches. To top if off, two minutes ago, water droplets ran off the brim of his fedora and landed onto the, now damp, cigarette. After several failed attempts, he decided that it was useless and continued shuffling his way down the dark alleyway of this concrete jungle. His heart throbbed in his head and soon the downpour of the stinging rain was drowned out. He gasped, trying to catch his breath and leaned heavily on his right shoulder that was propped up against the brick wall of the alley. Tears were streaking down his cheeks freely from his clenched eyes, pained eyes.
Once he caught his breath he continued on his trek out of the alley. The streets were barren of activity, save for the occasional taxi cab that drove through. Eric looked to left and the right of the street to be sure nobody else was about. He kept his collar turned up and his fedora low, crossing below his brow. His destination was the tavern that he and his old mate, Jeffery, went for drinks...maybe not so much anymore, but it was a pseudo safehaven, for the moment.
He turned the tarnishing iron handle and entered the Tavern. It was the same as it'd always been, low lit, warm, Jazz music from the thirties, and smelled of beer. He stepped toward a bench on the end of the bar and motioned for the bartender once he had seated himself, his coat collar remained turned up but he removed his hat.
"Could I just get a whiskey, Henry?" he asked bleakly,
"Sure thing, Mac" the tender replied. Henry knew Eric quite well but he was so accustomed to the name "Mac" for his customers came out naturally. Henry, walked over to the shelves that were stocked full with whiskey and beer, choosing a premium brand for the regular and friend.
Eric, huddled behind his collar and hunched like Quasiemotto, stared blankly at the polished floor behind the bar. Memories of his wife Jennifer and his best friend Paul came flooding back. They had been childhood friends, the three of them, playing games in the barn out in the countryside. Being the only children with ten miles, they became inseperable friends and they spent nearly more time with each other than at home with their parents. Though, not widely known, the fact that they were always in a dilapitated barn was because their familes were more than just dysfunctional. It was their escape from the cold, tough love and the abuse, emotional, physical and sexual, they suffered at the hands of their adoptive parents. It wasn't until they were twelve and thirteen, Eric being the oldest, that they decided to runaway and move to the city.
They were normal street punks for a great deal of their lives by stealing, squatting, even mugging on occasion. But, it wasn't long before they were found some steady work at a printing press company. They were caught trying to steal rolls of newsprint for blankets and insolation. The manager took pity on them and gave them an office to sleep in and jobs under the condition that they would stay and help him with the company.
"Here you, Eric." He set down the small glass of dancing liquid, its brownish yellow contents catching the light and gave Eric the taste of caramel in his mouth.
"You're not looking so great, my friend. What's on your mind?"
Eric stole himself away from those good ol' days with the gang and looked up from his gazing. Luckily the rain masked the evidence of tears, but betrayed him with the redness in his eyes. He looked at Henry now, he was perhaps in his mid-sixties, cotton -like thick hair, combed over with care and wrinkles that mapped his jovial personality. He was a good man, Eric commented to himself.
"It's just been one of those nights, Hank...y'know what I'm talking about."
"Yeah, I know, Eric..." Henry went back to the shelves and grabbed himself a glass and the almost full bottle of whiskey. He pulled out a stool that was lurking under the bar and sat himself across from Eric.
"...but you do know, drinking isn't the answer to your problems, my friend. The only way that you can rid yourself of them is to face them head-on. You get me?"
Eric nodded his agreement. Henry obviously knew something had gone terribly wrong with his old friend and geared their discussion elsewhere. They reminisced about how he caught Eric, his wife and his best friend Paul as kids in the old printing press that he managed. They talked of how it changed all of their lives forever. For one, it gave Eric and Jennifer enough security to find their love for one another and Paul's talent for getting information aka "journalist". The four of them made that company work and thrive. Henry decided for himself back then that he could "sell" the company to his three new friends and start up a bar, something less hectic and easier on him.So, the three friends ran the joint and progressively paid Henry for it from the money that they made and Henry started up a tavern.
They talked and drank into the morning. When dawn came the raging of sirens filled the damp air. Police cars lined the street, officers bolted from their vehicles and readied their weapons. Henry, was asleep on the bar, his head buried in his arms. Eric, was on his way from sobering up and he absently looked over to the commotion. His glazed, saddened, eyes looked to his destiny and he took the last shot from the bottle, hearing a call from the police chief as he poured the last drop from the bottle,
"Eric Jennings, we know you're in there. We are here to arrest you for the murder of Jennifer Jennings and Paul Bradley. Come out with your hands up!"
He slugged back the shot and slammed the glass onto the table like a hammer. The action reminded him of when he pulled back the "hammer" on his pistol the night before, the night when he caught his best friend and wife in bed together, the slam of his glass resounded in perfect unison with the recollection of the gunshots that ended his unfaithful wife's and traitorous friend's lives. Eric, looked hopelessly towards the police, he wasn't going to prison...
The glass slamming on the table awoke Henry from his sleep and he awakened to see a shadowed figure with a fedora step down from his stool and towards the exit.
The exit which led to a street now filled with armed policemen!
"Eric, what going on!?"
It was too late though. Eric had reached into his over coat with his left hand and opened the tavern door, slowly, with his left. The fedora was turned down and from under it, tears fell.
"PUT YOUR HANDS UP! GET YOUR HAND OUT OF YOUR COAT OR WE WILL FIRE!"
The scruffy middle-aged man of forty two years now struggled...with twenty-four bullets in his body...
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