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Poetry, and free verse

W

Wannaflea

Jun 7, 2011
627
5
Jersey, CI
www.facebook.com
#1
Hi all, over the last couple of months I've started doing some poetry and I thought I'd post the results here.

All very sarcastic, don't take much at face value. Let me know what you think - I'm 17, so take it easy! :P



Key:

/ = end of line
//= gap between verses
any profanity with ***s = me removing them, the originals have profanity

IF I MISS ANY PROFANITY, PLEASE LET ME KNOW AS SOON AS YOU SEE IT

1:
That Candid Infection

This is free verse form, as in I wrote the very first thing that came into my head, hence the lack of rhymes or structure.

Sweat on her face like the half congealed blood caked on a split lip/
reproduces in swathes of dust mites and reams of nail clippings/
you crawl/
hand over hand over eyes hahaha/
hand over hand over mouth over hand over hand over your f***ing throat /
peel away my skin and pull out my bones/
update them with metal, blackened steel, quick to oxidize /
replace girder and bolt and node in gashes left by my nerves and visceral afterlifeblood/
til rust wakens, strength forsaken/
grip falter/
I’ve set you up, why can’t just just f***ing say what I want you to say/
you piece of ***t, you helen of troy/
Middle pages crease and tremble like wind through cracked concrete staircases/
why do you always kill myself/
three eyes, three eyes, no eyes/
reflections in a darkened room kill the senses to the extent of never/
half finished ideas built from half formed words/
always in sight, never in stock, ad infinitum /
never in sight, always in mind, **** off with your latin you pretentious ***k/
you helen of troy you f***ing savior/
stay with me until the passing of forneverafter/
stop making up words/
hello goodbye how are you what is your name how old are you what is your name what is /your name what is your name/
influence speaks louder than identity/
impression shines clearer than posession /
religion f***s up more than f***ing everything/
oh yeah man, f*** the system/
shut up what is your name what is my name why do I always kill yourself WHAT IS YOUR NAME/
I would have torn you limb from limb and given you my blood/
Placed my head instead of yours/
Just who am you?/
a beautiful beautiful nameless husk topped with blots of ink-stained blood spattered failure/
and terrible victory, nameless stark controversy, shameless still/
F***, just who are I?/
Disappointment walking, breathing, living, dying, I can’t remember my name, breaking, blinking, feeling, numbing, speaking, dumbing, hearing, loving, I can’t remember my name, hating, stealing, I can’t f***ing remember my name, giving, sycophant, I can’t remember my name, faceless philanthropist/
Bloodless mind shattered still on the unbroken plane/
I can’t remember my name/
Just who am you?/
what is your name what is your name excessive hate because, you know, you only live once man/
you only die once, I hope I see it/
you only blink once/
I can’t remember my name/
you’re only born three times, three eyes /
I can’t forget my name/
Cloudform structure; a house of cards on a pinhead/
I can’t remember my name/
Rip apart my eyes, it’s just machinery after all,/
my spine can be dismantled like aluminium cans crushed to the tempo of a waltz
three time, 3 step, three eyes three f***ing births WHAT IS YOUR NAME I CAN’T remember my name any more/
I just can’t remember my name any more/
hand over hand over throat over hand in hand. //
Click to expand...


2:

Silver

Again, free verse, but a lot less random and violent

Divide me, split me shoulder to shin,/
burn half in the acid of your father’s namesake/
and the other cherish, paint silver and place half way up some forgotten podium/
Scorned by the lost gods/
The ever-reassuring aftertaste of tin, diffusing in saliva on a forked tongue/
Their orgasm of all raptures /
Explosion behind my eyes like a pill /
stark, so stark still/
You make me weak at my leaves /
A shallow-rooted tree that learnt to fly/
Reciprocate, just f***ing reciprocate/
I wouldn’t ask you to climb Everest for a brass bell/
Crass, have some decency/
Diamonds poured on a opened wound, pull at the sides open, widen, dismantle, taste/
It stings, beautiful like a mutilated dove/
Deep in the recesses of some darkened coven of half-conceived quaterlings /
Lost it at the final corner, broken, beaten/
A fallen angel, if I were that cliché/
You are a guiding light, shining out to me, my only salvation. You f***ing hurt my eyes. /
F*** off and leave me in darkness./
Cool, damp, perfect./
I could have killed you in hot blood/
Stolen your passion and your sensuality/
Your lungs would do fine/
A king to the sleepless, emperor to the dreamless, prince to the faceless/
A veritable dream thief
Click to expand...
 
#2
3:

Of Well-Planned Regression

Free verse tackling the topic of religion

There is nothing after life, only everything/
A pewter chalice dipped to the rising blood tide/
like the rising doubts and worry lines of a less-assured atheist /
Imbuing flame to flesh/
The apotheosis of transcendence, /
To what temple,/
wrought of some uncanny device/
will the masses flock; amethyst, steel or gold? /
To bid forth the two legged black lamb, no longer/
fearing the icicle bite, the tender kiss./
Yet when the tainted virgin conceives thoughts of a deity,/
who can trust her hazy judgement? /
Arms twisted by shame and prophecy/
A certainly extended capacity to trust/
where trust should never have trodden /
and through suffering, a fools hope/
The gem in the wound. Always worth it, they said./
Implore me, deliver half-truths that speak of family and harken/
a certain feeling of home/
So that Winter may turn to Autumn /
Close minded pitiful fools/
That certain paradox, that shrine of Athena /
Addressing prayers to intellect and the void/
Becomes redundant in face of puzzles of ineffable intricacy /
They who disembowel the terminal myopia /
And terminally frighten /
Ignorance is bliss, but were we better off unaware?/
Is darkness no different to a light blocked by choice?/
Widened flaws, invisible before the dawn/
The paper cut in the sushi bar,/
The unwise remark/
Unmeant but not unfelt/
Unpredictable but not unnoticed/
Yet all part of the higher plan/
Where logic resides, optimism cannot/
Complying with such lustful self-control that bid an army under a walled city to sleep/
The beautiful freedom that bid the snake speak./
Inhuman, the human condition breeds/
And yet, at the closing of the tomb, before /
the rule of terror and shivers, did we not all/
place a plinth beneath our feet?/
Click to expand...

4:

Sunlight on a Rose Petal

Probably the most cynical thing I'd ever written, free verse


That extraneous microcosm at once I saw /
Separated as it was from the dimmed lights and bleached concrete/
The age of mediocrity: the future is here./
That ostentatious hero, that maudlin Stoic/
Insipid, the cancer of thought spreads/
Pernicious to the conscious of the vacuous and inane/
F***s them to ***t./

The new kid on the bloc/
Like blood spilt in Moscow and the bitter taste of gunpowder and snowflakes/
Roll the die, roll the thunder,/
A game of chance and lightning, /
Of eyes in mirrors, investors and cold eyes again.
Blood currency paid, killed a thousand times/
Asphyxia of hypocrisy//

The cell of the lobe of the brain of the skull of the child YOU f***ed up/
Ice and salt in their thoughts. Put me away. Put me inside. Put me away. Put the world outside./
I wish I wasn’t like you, it’s hard to look up to look down on./
The song of self-doubt, the anthem of anxiety/
The schizoid in the fairytale, Snow White The Insomniac/
Forgot the smell of trees, do you really think romance still exists?/

Romance is dead, romance is boring, romance costs too much./
Romance is outdated, lovers have died out./
Those who would have mourned perishing with them/
with orgasms a temporary museum to times gone by./
Our children are the present. /

Blood spilt in Moscow/
In a war on passion, a pincer on emotion./
Stripped the superfluous from the physical./
No losses. Only gains. Nothing to be lost./
The age of epitome: the future is here/
We are empty, we are numb and we are happy./
Click to expand...
 
#3
5:

Fools Gold

A bit weak, my first attempt at non-free verse poetry. I did some work with rhyming here, placed in an odd pattern that repeats in the 2nd and 4th verses

I must confess, in circumstances such as these/
//
Where depravity treads heavy, veiled by a white dress,/
and an outdated idiom of ‘less is more’ covers just/
scraps of myrrh-scented hessian, /
thoughts wander./
//
Wondrous magic, or perchance some manifesting hallucinogenic/
//
Remaining disillusioned until the next dose,/
for relationships of ‘close is far’ smothers lust/
with speak of continents and oceans./
Nights longer./
Click to expand...



6:

axonometric

Not massively happy with this one, it's split in three completely different parts, but neither are that strong. Free verse though


Sickly sweet nostalgia like cinema pick n mix wiled and,/
washed my brain like puddles jumped in as a child,/
It’s cold in here./
white cloud exhaled, one in a million,/
sticky sweat in face of the weeping dead,
against all odds. /
It’s lust in the operating theatre all over again./
My high horse trampled me underfoot/
//
But what I said wasn’t quite what you heard,/
still you shocked me when you remained unperturbed,/
I would have tried to write you a love letter, but the ink blurred./
//
‘It’s not for the money’ are words more easily spoken/
whilst haggling over cheques and extra zeros./
What crease in the foundation, white as clouds and the grave,/
would appear dealing in coppers and favors/
Click to expand...
 
#4
7.


The knowledge of being better.

I like this one, beautifully pretentious, but self aware. Again, cynical as hell, a bit too obvious though

The only useful possession is a functioning memory. /
The only virtue is recall. /
The only sin is fugue./
The rest is but accessory. /
/
Emotions wane in the passage of time,/
Unlike the principles they bring/
To bathe Lethe to forsake Styx /
and Acheron would be a terrible thing, to forgive and forget. /
For the only useful possession is a functioning memory. /

Anger is a lifeblood/
Grudges our feet to stand/
For ice melts, and fire cools./
Death is boring and bland, and vice versa./
The only virtue is recall. /
/
Happiness is overrated /
Contented has already been done/
Give me tradition, and time to waste/
Save me the tedium of fun, and other such non-emotions. /
The only sin is fugue./
/
Only the superficial partake of piety,/
We must transcend such frivolous matters. /
They would have us laugh and smile and dance. /
Our reputations would soon be in tatters. What fools. /
The rest is but accessory. /
Click to expand...


8.

The lie that is Elenchus

A bit different. I meant to carry this on, but couldn't pick it up again. Free verse

What started off as fun and games,
became a very dangerous predicament,
we were unknowing and uncaring,
like the kids at the start of horror films.
Blind and unwary at best,
Having fun, at a glance,
naive, well at a push.
But deserving? Never,
Too young to nurture self-preserving reflexes,
No reservations, but not too far from home.

“Trust in your instincts”
that’s hardly comforting
“Jump with your eyes closed!”
that’s not exactly helpful.
If there’s one thing life teaches,
it’s that an inability to see
has a limited potential to help anything.

You walked carefully, methodically.
Feet placed in such a way to look pleasing to
you, like wounds delivered by an axeman. You
ruined fun with facts and figures.
Click to expand...
 
#5
9:

Snug as a bug in a rug on fire

I like this, written last night

I have no blood left,/
the parasites took it in the night,/
what they were given wasn’t enough,/
they assumed it was their right./
//
My starry crown was melted down,/
and forged to some common cup./
Eyes entranced by wealth held in grasp/
never thinking to look up/
//
When the last bug wishes in the dark,/
forgets its cause to fight./
Grayscale oblivion ant powder./
No more light. /
//

I shall mourn when the music starts/
that the trumpet blower shall send/
Like harbingers, in pesticide nears/
the beginning of the end. /
//
What great power you have,/
what great bridges crossed,/
The cockroach steals in the night/
the blood I thought I’d lost. /
Click to expand...


10:
Values and a smiling face. :

Written angrily 10 minutes ago

Tender loving care and lighter fluid,/
WE ALL NEED THE MONEY./
Pretend the throne and kill the steward, /
because we need the money. /
//
Vertebrae and a sharpened knife/
We’ll do it for the money./
The occupational hazard of taking life/
It’s all about the money. /
//
Bribing chance, haggle with luck,/
it’s all there with money./
Marble statues don’t give a f***,/
they know their weight in money. /
//
They say happiness cannot be bought,/
but they haven’t tried with money./
Because countless wars need not have been fought,/
If we only had our money./
//
There’s nothing more pathetic than a pacifist,/
they value bull**** over money. /
If He hadn’t wanted to make hedonists,/
God wouldn’t have made money/
//
No Devil’s Advocate need be played, /
it’s all about the numb,/
blank blank numb empty blank numb,/
numb blank empty numb blank blank./
//
blank blank error. /
//
Click to expand...
 
#9
Good stuff. I would advise you not to post it here or any public fourm though.
You instead of getting writers credit and some money could get broke and hungry.

I like your poems reminds me of my stuff at your age. I didn't cuss as much though.
Also I tended to write in the 3 rd person you seem to put I everywhere making readers feel like their just an observer to your story instead of 'apart' of the story. Also your voice is conflicting. If I didn't know any better I'd have thought "Values and a smiling face." and "Silver" was written by different people.

I tend to like "Silver" alot if you want I'll PM you some of my poems.

Keep writting.

Suggestive reading:
Children of Poe
 
#12
XtheDeadPawn said:
Good stuff. I would advise you not to post it here or any public fourm though.
You instead of getting writers credit and some money could get broke and hungry.

I like your poems reminds me of my stuff at your age. I didn't cuss as much though.
Also I tended to write in the 3 rd person you seem to put I everywhere making readers feel like their just an observer to your story instead of 'apart' of the story. Also your voice is conflicting. If I didn't know any better I'd have thought "Values and a smiling face." and "Silver" was written by different people.

I tend to like "Silver" alot if you want I'll PM you some of my poems.

Keep writting.

Suggestive reading:
Children of Poe
Click to expand...

Thank you! Meh, I do them for my own amusement, so if somebody were to nick them, I honestly wouldn't mind.
They're sort of half introspection, and half commentary on that, I was influenced a lot by Yeats during this time, and I liked his use of the first person, with rhetorical questions.

Honestly, only the first one is 'my story' per se, the rest tend to be a satire, or a cynical sarcastic statement, from the perspective and voice of somebody who's opinion I personally do not share. EG, with Values and a Smiling Face, I don't actually think money is the most important thing in the world, and the same applies to The Knowledge Of Being Better. I used 'we' a lot in Of Well-Planned Regression, because I do include myself in that.

I would put the changes in tone down to my mentality. I have problems with insomnia, depression and anxiety, which come and go, which is quite clear in the amount of stress I have. The first poem was written during my exam period, I was very stressed and hadn't slept for a long time, hence the aggression.

Personally, I view profanity as just another poetic tool. I know 'traditional' poetry doesn't include it, but like here:

That extraneous microcosm at once I saw /
Separated as it was from the dimmed lights and bleached concrete/
The age of mediocrity: the future is here./
That ostentatious hero, that maudlin Stoic/
Insipid, the cancer of thought spreads/
Pernicious to the conscious of the vacuous and inane/
F***s them to ***t./
Click to expand...

the blunt profanity at the end shows a detachment from the rest of the verse, which is utterly pretentious, you know? Represents me trying to move away from conventional poetry, and pursue true expression. I swear in speech, so I swear in poetry.

Thanks a lot for reading mine, and yes, I would LOVE to read yours, please PM me!

Read that, great read!
 
#13
Wannaflea, free verse is something I'm familiar with but not something I've gone out of my way to create. I'm much more of a traditionalist I suppose. I like some of the images you conjure. What will be interesting is seeing how they hold up as you get older :) I have stuff from Jr. High that crack me up.
 
#15
Funky Ghost said:
Wannaflea, free verse is something I'm familiar with but not something I've gone out of my way to create. I'm much more of a traditionalist I suppose. I like some of the images you conjure. What will be interesting is seeing how they hold up as you get older :) I have stuff from Jr. High that crack me up.
Click to expand...

Call me Tom, man :)

Have you written any traditional poetry? I'd love to hear it!

That's the main reason for me writing them, I'm writing my thoughts on my experiences around me, and things that occur to me, so that when I am older, I can look back


skychief said:
"Becomes redundant in face of puzzles of ineffable intricacy /
They who disembowel the terminal myopia "

I read this phrase over and over, desperately trying to extract some gossamer wisp of meaning. And then I realised there is none.

I see what you did there. :p
Click to expand...

Aha, although I enjoyed the HELL out of 'gossamer wisp', there is a meaning

It's a bit from the perspective of a theist

Addressing prayers to intellect and the void/
Saying that there's nothing after life
Becomes redundant in face of puzzles of ineffable intricacy /
Is shown to be wrong through intelligent design, like the eye
They who disembowel the terminal myopia /
The atheists think that they are clearing our minds
And terminally frighten /
when all they're achieving is scaring us


However, because it's written from a viewpoint that I respectfully disagree with, I've gone ott with the elevated language. And also, as it's a poem about trying to stay above religion, it's meant to be quite pretentious anyway.


BASICALLY, I'm saying, I believe religion is wrong, but the idea of there being nothing after life scares me, and that I feel I'm not alone in this sentiment



Though however, I have written things which mean absolutely nothing in a few of those poems, for the sake of using it as a device really
 
#18
Wannaflea said:
I have problems with insomnia, depression and anxiety.

Thanks a lot for reading mine, and yes, I would LOVE to read yours, please PM me!
Click to expand...

I understand I got clinical depression, and a number of other conditions.

I'll try to pick out some and PM'em to you by tommorrow I have 7 notebooks full of the stuff.

Ahh William Butler Yeats my favorite line by him is "Those I fight I do not hate and those I defend I do not love". I did an essay on it in High School senior year.
 
#20
Take a dump, i shall forsee
twill happen very soon
and after it, oh mighty sh!t
you will drown in a lagoon

Oh mighty pen, my sword is dull
and sharp will never be
Across the land, i see thy band
forever in hypocrisy

So shine thy light from heaven to hell
and burn the demon's flesh
the good withall, the mighty withdrawl
Shall never seem to mesh
 

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