04-07-2018, 01:47 PM (This post was last modified: 04-08-2018, 01:33 PM by Todd.)
Rules: Write a poem for national poetry month on the topic or form described. Each poem should appear as a separate reply to this thread. The goal is to, at the end of the month have written 30 poems for National Poetry Month.
Topic 7: Write a poem inspired by a supernatural, altered consciousness, or ecstatic experience.
Form : any
Line requirements: 8 lines or more
when the noise is too much
you slip away in the night,
to take a swim in the lake.
the silence of darkness melts
into the indifferent firmament.
tiny stars drop into the calm surface
with you floating among them
and listening
to the orchestral voice.
melodies swell like a tide,
it is this music
that rips up the sky.
don´t listen with your ears
when the noise is too much,
though you already became
almost deaf to the world
you run away in the night,
to take a swim in the lake.
the silent darkness
becomes transparent and melts
into the indifferent firmament.
the calm surface mirrors the tiny stars
with you floating below them,
among them, listening
to their orchestral voice.
the melodies swell like a tide.
it is this music
that rips up the sky.
inspired by a movie scene.
and as most of the other ones edited multiple times after posting.
(04-07-2018, 07:35 PM)vagabond Wrote: don´t listen with your ears
when the noise is too much,
though you already became
almost deaf to the world
you run away in the night,
to take a swim in the lake
and the silent darkness
becomes transparent and melts
into the indifferent firmament.
the calm surface mirrors the tiny stars
with you floating below them,
among them, as you listen
to their orchestral voice.
the melodies swell like a tide.
it is this music
that rips up the sky.
I love the last two lines and the suggestion that there's something more than we can perceive beneath the surface so to speak. Its a solid metaphor.
There was a secret
whispered in my room at night.
When I would cry out,
my parents would say
the house was settling,
that it was nothing. Lies
are the comfortable clothes
we wear to keep us from being afraid.
Still, I would crouch down,
press my ear to the vent beneath
the bed, and hear the click, click, click
of retreating footsteps. I would wake
curled on the floor, words dark
as tar stuck to my tongue
in the mute light of morning.
They are always there.
Slithering, at the bottom
of a glass; hanging
beneath the shoulder
of a long-necked bottle;
waiting for my piss-poor
defences to weaken
so they can slip in,
like wet metal
cephalopods, a writhing
of memory and otherness
and an open mouth screaming
up into a cutting white light.
They are always there.
Watching.
for the sniper who hits,
or the artist who draws eyes --
for Annie the girl whom I loved,
I love, and will forever love,
may pseudonyms always protect you --
for Annie the anime artist,
who always posts fan art on Twitter,
who wins competitions on Tumblr --
for Annie the nineteen year old porn star,
whose ex kicked her out of the house,
whose dad is dying of cancer,
whose sis needs heart medication,
whose agent is one massive bitch,
whose wallet won't let her go home --
a Storm is blowing from Paradise
and has got you caught by your wings:
it drives you toward a future
to which our backs are turned --
yet the Lord still rests in peace.
A Cross...
For the Risen Lord,
may he rest in peace --
For the sniper who hits,
or the artist who draws eyes --
For Annie the girl whom I loved,
I love, and will forever love,
may pseudonyms always protect you --
For Annie the anime artist,
who always posts fan art on Twitter,
who wins competitions on Tumblr --
For Annie the nineteen year old porn star,
whose ex kicked her out of the house,
whose dad is dying of cancer,
whose sis needs heart medication,
whose agent is one massive bitch,
whose wallet won't let her go home --
A storm is blowing from Paradise
and has got you caught by your wings:
it drives you toward a future
to which our backs are turned -- 1
Yet our Lord still rests in peace.
1 -- From Walter Benjamin, "On the Concept of History"
Whirl, whirl sun streaks around a circle overhead feet are lost illusion scatters whirl, exhale the name, shout, sing inhale the sun, heart a circle eyes a circle whirl, whirl hands, arms are lost whirl, whirl breathe the name, world is lost, voice is lost lost in all, whirl, the name is all, all, allallallalla
I. can't operate without it,
stand it, can't get
Can't anything
C right, can't stop,
a can't make it, can't
n believe, can't fake, y
I can't, can't, can't, d
j u s t get over it al r e a
It echoes, escaping my brain:
"Be a shepherd to them, love all
and spread peace throughout the world."
A thousand years ago,
I'd have gathered followers for a pilgrimage,
smiled at the non-believers
like a doctor prescribing a new drug.
Whether labelled a prophet or heretic,
no more nights of waking up,
strapped to a bed,
a needle forced into me
because the voice
had gotten loud as thunder;
my mind a cloud that failed to cover it.
(04-08-2018, 05:51 AM)dukealien Wrote: Ecstatic Top
Whirl, whirl sun streaks around a circle overhead feet are lost illusion scatters whirl, exhale the name, shout, sing inhale the sun, heart a circle eyes a circle whirl, whirl hands, arms are lost whirl, whirl breathe the name, world is lost, voice is lost lost in all, whirl, the name is all, all, allallallalla
(04-08-2018, 06:57 AM)just mercedes Wrote: I love this - a whirling dervish of a song!
>< Woohoo! Glad I didn't put a spoiler on it
I am *not* being sarcastic. Had strong doubts the reference to dervish devotionals would get across and was overjoyed to see it did. Didn't mean to gush, though.
She hung with the smell of dry earth,
twisted in amongst forms of herself,
scratching black in the darkness
with long blooded finger nails.
she mouthed each cry to give it form
but only found
the guttural sounds of mourners.
The young couple wanted to remodel the cottage,
make it more open plan, party friendly.
The architect said the wall wasn’t structural,
so they played builder.
He should have stopped when he found the first cavity,
the lock of hair wrapped around three small bones.
With every thud of the lump hammer
Her body snapped back into position.
Splintered light seemed to paste flesh
over wasted muscle and decayed sinews.
The couple could only see the macabre,
they missed the escaping spiral
of dust that seemed to slow in the sunlight.
Angry and cold, absorbing
any source of heat to feed the blackness
that seethed inside her.
She entered her room
but everything had changed,
lemon drapes and fresh pale wood
decorated with a woodland mural.
Her face contorted into a hideous grin,
She had always wanted a baby.
If your undies fer you've been smoking through em, don't peg em out
< Woohoo! Glad I didn't put a spoiler on it
