Sup. I've gotten a bit of an interest with poetry, perhaps stemming from my terrible interest in rapping a few years back. Anyway, I'm going to dump some old poetry I wrote here, and perhaps more if I get around to writing it.
Teddy
This is sort of an attempt, I guess, at one of those long poem narratives. (See That Mulga Bill poem, and the Cremation of Sam McGee)
The sky is black when he climbs out-
With thunderous step he begins to emerge
And without raving gaze or shout;
But rather in his upright pout-
He displays his foothold on insanity's verge
Many a man has pondered his reality;
With little or less to show for their time-
Besides,perhaps, acceptance of the futility
To try and uncover one such as he-
Who beds at dawn and wakes up at nine!
He raises an arm, a mighty limb-
With cleaver in it's monstrous hand!
And the jungle recognizes Teddy Tim-
Falling from his rock through air dim-
As he drops into his wonderland!
His steady step falls on the ground
He follows the trail of his chosen prey-
Being solely by his wits bound-
Bound only not to make a sound.
And in the midst of trees is grey-
The grey that is his very prey.
The beast is massive, maybe more-
But the same can be said of Teddy Tim.
Both of them beasts of ancient lore;
Belonging in an era much before!
The beast knows not of him-
Nor of his poised and ready limb!
A slice through air - he hits it's bone
The beast howls and throws Teddy away,
And his terrible strength, the terrible tone
Nearly makes Teddy wish he weren't alone!
But Teddy has come a very long way-
And the least he can do is stop to play.
The beast lunges at him with burning fear-
And Teddy identifies the same's putrid scent
And as the beast comes drawing near-
He strikes, he misses! His cleaver's bent!
Yet Teddy surely shan't repent-
Shan't give up the battle here-
But rather, with a cunning leer-
He retreats and runs as the noblest deer.
The beast, enraged, runs in fury
And Teddy, grinning, blazes forward
Even as in his shoulder a tusk does bury
And yet Teddy races faster onward
The beast unaware of what they fly toward-
The final stop for Teddy's quarry!
Yet the best of plans are prone to fail-
As certainly Teddy now has been taught-
For the beast, with a mighty wail
Jumped and screamed and, with a flail-
Threw Teddy high up in a single shot-
So high he thought he'd die for naught!
With frantic grip he grabs a vine-
His arm jerks back with shattering force!
His grip holds tight, his arm his lifeline-
And then he drops, and lands all-fine!
Teddy turns and screams a curse
And starts to run, none the worse!
He halts! Rolls into a ball, He grabs onto a tree-
As his beast flies off the ledge-
And thunders down into history!
Yet Teddy, more pleased could surely be-
For climbing down the jagged edge
Greatly devalues his victory.
The wolf pack trembles at his gaze-
The vultures retreat with many a squeal-
And the dreaded beast lies in a daze-
By it's fall driven from it's craze.
Teddy with his hungered zeal-
Swiftly kills his hard-earned meal!
The beast is cold as stone-
And once more Teddy is alone;
For once with life this monster shone
Yet now his shattered cranial bone
Shall make for Teddy's pristine throne
One of shattered bone, yet still his own.
-----
The sky is black when he climbs in-
After his hunger his feasting did purge-
And without raving gaze or shout;
But rather in his upright pout-
He displays his foothold on insanity's verge
=============================================
This one is perhaps one of my best, if not THE best. It was one of many poems written after I had gotten frustrated with my lack of inspiration and began writing about that - this one was more an experiment in 'emotional' poetry, as much of mine is more monotone.
Inspiration, Dear old Friend
Inspiration! Dear old friend;
Shall you come back in the end?
Shall you some great riches send -
And will you these riches lend?
Inspiration! Your I miss!
You've saved me from the great abyss
Wherein lie things that growl and hiss.
Inspiration! Treasured thing!
You built me up to make me king!
Yet on my throne you make me thin;
And give me for a plate a wastebin!
Inspiration! You I lack!
Do forever return back -
Alone, for poems, I have no knack!
Inspiration! Dear old friend!
Do stay with me 'till the end -
And do great riches to me send -
And do, please do, these riches lend!
=========================================================
Greetings
Hello the wrinkled sea,
My last and only friend.
Little more is left to me-
On the shore of world's end.
Remembrance
Truly raging was the sea;
It tossed me far into the wild.
Yet, today, the sea and me
Have joyfully been reconciled.
================================================================== (man these are random each time theyll probably look so weird)
The Winds of Wit
(I'm basically making these titles up as I go along. I didn't really plan them out before. :V)
Inspiration comes and goes-
It roams as freely as a bird-
When it leaves, there come my woes,
That, perhaps, I'll live unheard!
============================================================
Mother Nature's Wondrous Love
Gently do the eagles fly,
Softly do the great winds sing;
Yet down below, great men die,
Slain in service of their king.
The meadows dance down below,
And nature doesn't seem to mind
That from men's veins rivers flow,
But she smiles with a smile kind.
As surely as the breeze blows;
As nobly as the sun shines;
So do men fall by the rows,
Yet this doesn't disturb the pines.
Nature's heart runs truly cold,
Caring not for human blood;
But rather smiles as men bold
Fall forever into mud.
She oversees great sacrifice;
And doesn't shed a single tear.
For to her, these are but mice
And their deaths were always near.
============================================================
Regarding the unseemly array of imagery upon my wall-
Considering the content all;
Is it an honor or a fall
To be displayed upon my wall?
On a whim and little more,
Better much than those before;
I put up sweet old Edinburgh.
Men dream to break a picture's shroud
Yet cannons cannot break his cloud;
Is Edinburgh ashamed or proud?
Far from him, geometric bore,
Cereal bowls, a little closer more;
Such is the company of Dear Edinburgh.
Despite unworthy being crowned,
And though the breakfast does abound,
Surely still can be honor found.
Teddy
This is sort of an attempt, I guess, at one of those long poem narratives. (See That Mulga Bill poem, and the Cremation of Sam McGee)
The sky is black when he climbs out-
With thunderous step he begins to emerge
And without raving gaze or shout;
But rather in his upright pout-
He displays his foothold on insanity's verge
Many a man has pondered his reality;
With little or less to show for their time-
Besides,perhaps, acceptance of the futility
To try and uncover one such as he-
Who beds at dawn and wakes up at nine!
He raises an arm, a mighty limb-
With cleaver in it's monstrous hand!
And the jungle recognizes Teddy Tim-
Falling from his rock through air dim-
As he drops into his wonderland!
His steady step falls on the ground
He follows the trail of his chosen prey-
Being solely by his wits bound-
Bound only not to make a sound.
And in the midst of trees is grey-
The grey that is his very prey.
The beast is massive, maybe more-
But the same can be said of Teddy Tim.
Both of them beasts of ancient lore;
Belonging in an era much before!
The beast knows not of him-
Nor of his poised and ready limb!
A slice through air - he hits it's bone
The beast howls and throws Teddy away,
And his terrible strength, the terrible tone
Nearly makes Teddy wish he weren't alone!
But Teddy has come a very long way-
And the least he can do is stop to play.
The beast lunges at him with burning fear-
And Teddy identifies the same's putrid scent
And as the beast comes drawing near-
He strikes, he misses! His cleaver's bent!
Yet Teddy surely shan't repent-
Shan't give up the battle here-
But rather, with a cunning leer-
He retreats and runs as the noblest deer.
The beast, enraged, runs in fury
And Teddy, grinning, blazes forward
Even as in his shoulder a tusk does bury
And yet Teddy races faster onward
The beast unaware of what they fly toward-
The final stop for Teddy's quarry!
Yet the best of plans are prone to fail-
As certainly Teddy now has been taught-
For the beast, with a mighty wail
Jumped and screamed and, with a flail-
Threw Teddy high up in a single shot-
So high he thought he'd die for naught!
With frantic grip he grabs a vine-
His arm jerks back with shattering force!
His grip holds tight, his arm his lifeline-
And then he drops, and lands all-fine!
Teddy turns and screams a curse
And starts to run, none the worse!
He halts! Rolls into a ball, He grabs onto a tree-
As his beast flies off the ledge-
And thunders down into history!
Yet Teddy, more pleased could surely be-
For climbing down the jagged edge
Greatly devalues his victory.
The wolf pack trembles at his gaze-
The vultures retreat with many a squeal-
And the dreaded beast lies in a daze-
By it's fall driven from it's craze.
Teddy with his hungered zeal-
Swiftly kills his hard-earned meal!
The beast is cold as stone-
And once more Teddy is alone;
For once with life this monster shone
Yet now his shattered cranial bone
Shall make for Teddy's pristine throne
One of shattered bone, yet still his own.
-----
The sky is black when he climbs in-
After his hunger his feasting did purge-
And without raving gaze or shout;
But rather in his upright pout-
He displays his foothold on insanity's verge
=============================================
This one is perhaps one of my best, if not THE best. It was one of many poems written after I had gotten frustrated with my lack of inspiration and began writing about that - this one was more an experiment in 'emotional' poetry, as much of mine is more monotone.
Inspiration, Dear old Friend
Inspiration! Dear old friend;
Shall you come back in the end?
Shall you some great riches send -
And will you these riches lend?
Inspiration! Your I miss!
You've saved me from the great abyss
Wherein lie things that growl and hiss.
Inspiration! Treasured thing!
You built me up to make me king!
Yet on my throne you make me thin;
And give me for a plate a wastebin!
Inspiration! You I lack!
Do forever return back -
Alone, for poems, I have no knack!
Inspiration! Dear old friend!
Do stay with me 'till the end -
And do great riches to me send -
And do, please do, these riches lend!
=========================================================
Greetings
Hello the wrinkled sea,
My last and only friend.
Little more is left to me-
On the shore of world's end.
Remembrance
Truly raging was the sea;
It tossed me far into the wild.
Yet, today, the sea and me
Have joyfully been reconciled.
================================================================== (man these are random each time theyll probably look so weird)
The Winds of Wit
(I'm basically making these titles up as I go along. I didn't really plan them out before. :V)
Inspiration comes and goes-
It roams as freely as a bird-
When it leaves, there come my woes,
That, perhaps, I'll live unheard!
============================================================
Mother Nature's Wondrous Love
Gently do the eagles fly,
Softly do the great winds sing;
Yet down below, great men die,
Slain in service of their king.
The meadows dance down below,
And nature doesn't seem to mind
That from men's veins rivers flow,
But she smiles with a smile kind.
As surely as the breeze blows;
As nobly as the sun shines;
So do men fall by the rows,
Yet this doesn't disturb the pines.
Nature's heart runs truly cold,
Caring not for human blood;
But rather smiles as men bold
Fall forever into mud.
She oversees great sacrifice;
And doesn't shed a single tear.
For to her, these are but mice
And their deaths were always near.
============================================================
Regarding the unseemly array of imagery upon my wall-
Considering the content all;
Is it an honor or a fall
To be displayed upon my wall?
On a whim and little more,
Better much than those before;
I put up sweet old Edinburgh.
Men dream to break a picture's shroud
Yet cannons cannot break his cloud;
Is Edinburgh ashamed or proud?
Far from him, geometric bore,
Cereal bowls, a little closer more;
Such is the company of Dear Edinburgh.
Despite unworthy being crowned,
And though the breakfast does abound,
Surely still can be honor found.