The Poetry Thread

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To You, Myself-- To Me, Yourselves

I see a myriad angles,
A myriad faces before, and now.
Each a story like a fable:
A fantasy of long past lives still loud,
Resonating against all the epochs.

Eyes sparkling as immaculate ludicioristies,
Those orbs that shine against deep penumbra.
They go against waves, oceans of black:
What strength do these fables hold?

I perceive meaning, beheld in the skin,
But deeper tissues I cannot conceive!
Such porcelain, bronze, amber skins!
They shine with encryption and intuition.
Yet like a fairy melody in the throes of May,
So small, pure, light is my understanding.

I look harder.

Yes, I know these faces are my friends:
They are imaginary visages of them.
And sprinkled about is my image,
Angled in a myriad ways before, and now.

Such is a juxtaposition, a connection:
Between selves beyond, and selves inside.
We, They, I are connected somehow.

Do we self actualized with this perception?
Do we become whole from the faces?
Are we one in the same, the same in one--
Each eyes looking out to dreams far off
In the deep ocean of penumbra?

What confusion these images be,
Yet I feel a little now I know:
Beyond the seas, the myriad, and all,
There are simple things, simple glances
That we cherish the most of all Before, and Now.

Either in the Past or Present, we hold onto
These faces of simple connections
That guide us forever-- forever
Down the avenues of hidden lights.

I say this, then:

So To You the Images, Myself I give,
And to myself, Yourselves you give.
 
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The Summer Airs
Hello, glorious sunshine of melted honey!
Your amber sunrises mixed with autmnal accents,
the oranges and reds that skip about above--
They are, indeed, a joy to see from above.
Yet... how I cannot stop myself thinking,
As the oceans of green flow around,
That those colors accent something more...
A foreshadow beneath the layers of light.
My reflection of memories in this summer fair?
A forgotten saudade that none could ever bear?
Something... something so cold in this summer air:
In that orange, pink, and lustrous red rising forlorn.
I guess... when you live season after season
You know that underneath lies a bitter dark,
A bitter cold from the winters not far before.
That, from brillant color to little grey.
One can't help but feel a little chill in summer.
Because, in the end, winter never really leaves.
 
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This is an old one I found

Prelude in Two:

In night in light
In warm in cold
In words and thought
Of thee, and me.

Remember this,
Two in three
And four in one.

Seasons in Three:

I love thee, sounds of Spring
I love thee, sounds of Cold
Yet I love thee evermore
When you play your songs
Of Storms and winter falls.

Winter sings, winter sings
In cold joy does it sing.
Winter songs, winter songs
The many words it sings.

Flower songs, flower songs
In warm joy does it sing
Flower songs, flower songs
The many words it sings.

Words in Four:

The fable words that none have heard
The sounding songs that echo on.
The rays of light, the trumpet sounds
The words, the words called hope and light.

On hope the Bells do toll for it
On light the Bells do sing for it
The Bells of Earth, the Human beings
The beings who wish for both combined.

In simple words, the Two are formed
In simple thoughts, the Three are formed;
The three of Light, of hope, and love
These Two and Three are one combined.

The fable words that none have heard
The fable sounds the Bells do sing
In two of four the two are one
Of love and hope, and light and might.

Both in One:

In rays of gold the spring and eve do dance
In words of hope the songs do play throughout.
The winter's eve, as cold as crystal glass
And full of words that sing of cold and death.
Yet rays of Light are seen in later times
The times of dawn which are beyond the grave.
 
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I'm making one up on the spot.
I call it poems.
Poems:
Poems, poems, poems,
poems are really neat
Poems, Poems, Poems,
Poems cannot be beat.
I read them every day,
I recite them every night
Poems! Poems! Poems!
They should be in my sight.

I have an addiction to the words in ink
that sing sweet songs of solitude
They really make me think

Poems, poems, poems
You may think this is insipid
But my heart only beats
to these literary treats
The only thing worth living.

Poems, I say! Poems, poems, poems.
I like reading short things! Unlike tomes, tomes, tomes!
My garden is infested with Gnomes, Gnomes, Gnomes!
And now I must eat a whole mattress of Foam.
Foam.
Foam.
Poems.
 
The Beleaguered Ballad of Bearycool's Funeral

"Always wear the rubber
whomever thou bangst."
As he was a forgetful fool,
Alas! So did Bearycool hang himself in angst.

Dynastia attended his funeral
as he was dedicated to finding and cucking Null.
Unlike anything he had expected,
he came face-to-face with a fucking bull.

After Dynastia mounted the bull,
which was a marvellous gray,
he rode off into the sunset,
yelling, "What a beautiful day!"
 
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OriginalName said:
The Beleaguered Ballad of Bearycool's Funeral

"Always wear the rubber
whomever thou bangst."
As he was a forgetful fool,
Alas! So did Bearycool hang himself in angst.

Dynastia attended his funeral
as he was dedicated to finding and cucking Null.
Unlike anything he had expected,
he came face-to-face with a fucking bull.

After Dynastia mounted the bull,
which was a marvellous gray,
he rode off into the sunset,
yelling, "What a beautiful day!"
Click to expand...

lol, you're banned, but your poem forgot the scene where @Dynastia fucks my corpse nerd.
 
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Anyway, another angst poem because this is my thread fam.

A Little Fear

I feel like multi-colored glass.
Colors so brilliant, so bright,
Yet any moment that I'm dropped,
I'll be scattered, shattered, torn apart...

I am weak. Passionate, but weak.
My heart shines as a star in the night,
Like a drop of red that hangs above.
But how the darkness profound surrounds it.

And how too like glass it is,
Like any moment it'll fall away.
And I'll vanish within the void.

And this light I have... will it go out?
Will my eyes turn from blue to grey?
These sparks of love forever put out?

I'm scared, and nobody knows it.
I'm utterly terrified beyond words.
And I feel I am treading the waters.
And there is no one around.

Yes, I feel like painted glass.
I have a soul that glistens vibrant in the sun.
Yet so fragile I am it even hurts to say,
and how I worry that I cannot be strong
For those I love and hold dear to heart.

How can I be strong when I feel like shattered glass?
 
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Nemesis
by HP Lovecraft
Through the ghoul-guarded gateways of slumber,
Past the wan-mooned abysses of night,
I have lived o'er my lives without number,
I have sounded all things with my sight;
And I struggle and shriek ere the daybreak, being driven to madness with fright.

I have whirled with the earth at the dawning,
When the sky was a vaporous flame;
I have seen the dark universe yawning
Where the black planets roll without aim,
Where they roll in their horror unheeded, without knowledge or lustre or name.

I had drifted o'er seas without ending,
Under sinister grey-clouded skies,
That the many-forked lightning is rending,
That resound with hysterical cries;
With the moans of invisible daemons, that out of the green waters rise.

I have plunged like a deer through the arches
Of the hoary primoridal grove,
Where the oaks feel the presence that marches,
And stalks on where no spirit dares rove,
And I flee from a thing that surrounds me, and leers through dead branches above.

I have stumbled by cave-ridden mountains
That rise barren and bleak from the plain,
I have drunk of the fog-foetid fountains
That ooze down to the marsh and the main;
And in hot cursed tarns I have seen things, I care not to gaze on again.

I have scanned the vast ivy-clad palace,
I have trod its untenanted hall,
Where the moon rising up from the valleys
Shows the tapestried things on the wall;
Strange figures discordantly woven, that I cannot endure to recall.

I have peered from the casements in wonder
At the mouldering meadows around,
At the many-roofed village laid under
The curse of a grave-girdled ground;
And from rows of white urn-carven marble, I listen intently for sound.

I have haunted the tombs of the ages,
I have flown on the pinions of fear,
Where the smoke-belching Erebus rages;
Where the jokulls loom snow-clad and drear:
And in realms where the sun of the desert consumes what it never can cheer.

I was old when the pharaohs first mounted
The jewel-decked throne by the Nile;
I was old in those epochs uncounted
When I, and I only, was vile;
And Man, yet untainted and happy, dwelt in bliss on the far Arctic isle.

Oh, great was the sin of my spirit,
And great is the reach of its doom;
Not the pity of Heaven can cheer it,
Nor can respite be found in the tomb:
Down the infinite aeons come beating the wings of unmerciful gloom.

Through the ghoul-guarded gateways of slumber,
Past the wan-mooned abysses of night,
I have lived o'er my lives without number,
I have sounded all things with my sight;
And I struggle and shriek ere the daybreak, being driven to madness with fright.
 
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Sonichu vs. Perfect Chaos

Hey! Look at me! I’ll sprint across the land
Through thunder, rain, and lightning full of fire.
Such a bad sign that I don’t understand
The power in shades of dark desire.

You and me standing here under steel skies,
All the pain at stake to not hear you say,
“You are the enemy that I despise!”
I will battle against those words all day.

And I see the chaos roaming around.
It’s you and me, both the same (but not quite).
And I never want to hear that one sound
When you’ve finally given up the fight.

I close my eyes and feel them burn with rage.
Tell me why this is now my destiny.
Open your heart, break that sad, lonely cage.
Tell me why you have to drive me crazy.

You teach me, I’ll teach you this one way track.
Tell me now how long this lonesome heart’ll last!
Confusion, hopeless wrath in your attack.
You’ve never met a heart so truly fast.

I have not, not, not gotta think this way,
Nor can I count on you as my best friend.
There will be no future after our fray.
There’s no way that I can lose in the end.

Gotta open up your heart to the fire,
Gotta catch your last roar before it forms,
Even though our situation seems dire,
With ancient cities blazing in our storms.

Stuck in this danger with water rising,
So need an end to this clamor and clash.
Your awesome strength is somewhat surprising,
But I’ll claim my true place with a spindash.

Never say it, now! Heart will pull us through.
Yeah, yeah, yeah it’s going to be alright
When you’re gone and the sky turns back to blue.
The best snuff out soon after burning bright.
 
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The Iron Stars

I held a dream cold as death,
Born of this world in the dark:

Balls of iron hanging alone in the night
Ten to fifteen hundred years from now
When nothing but them exist.

Once they were stars burning brightly,
Now they compact, chill and fall.
I touched them in that nocturnal vision,
And their texture was destroyed of memory.

And I awoke, in a fit of sweat.
I was freezing to my core.

And outside my window, there was snow.

To this day, I do not know the meaning.
But when I recall, there is a feeling.
A feeling of some shadow lurking below.

Like a beast on the edges of time:
Eternal, ravenous, ever there--
Hiding beneath a curtain of iron stars...
 
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This View
Take in this cold air, love.
Here is the edge of infinity
Wrapped in starlit cloth.

Now,
Breathe
Step

And fall.
 
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Hymn to Pan
By Aleister Crowley
Thrill with lissome lust of the light,
O man! My man!
Come careering out of the night
Of Pan! Io Pan!
Io Pan! Io Pan! Come over the sea
From Sicily and from Arcady!
Roaming as Bacchus, with fauns and pards
And nymphs and satyrs for thy guards,
On a milk-white ass, come over the sea
To me, to me,
Come with Apollo in bridal dress
(Shepherdess and pythoness)
Come with Artemis, silken shod,
And wash thy white thigh, beautiful God,
In the moon of the woods, on the marble mount,
The dimpled dawn of the amber fount!
Dip the purple of passionate prayer
In the crimson shrine, the scarlet snare,
The soul that startles in eyes of blue
To watch thy wantonness weeping through
The tangled grove, the gnarled bole
Of the living tree that is spirit and soul
And body and brain — come over the sea,
(Io Pan! Io Pan!)
Devil or god, to me, to me,
My man! my man!
Come with trumpets sounding shrill
Over the hill!
Come with drums low muttering
From the spring!
Come with flute and come with pipe!
Am I not ripe?
I, who wait and writhe and wrestle
With air that hath no boughs to nestle
My body, weary of empty clasp,
Strong as a lion and sharp as an asp —
Come, O come!
I am numb
With the lonely lust of devildom.
Thrust the sword through the galling fetter,
All-devourer, all-begetter;
Give me the sign of the Open Eye,
And the token erect of thorny thigh,
And the word of madness and mystery,
O Pan! Io Pan!
Io Pan! Io Pan Pan! Pan Pan! Pan,
I am a man:
Do as thou wilt, as a great god can,
O Pan! Io Pan!
Io Pan! Io Pan Pan! I am awake
In the grip of the snake.
The eagle slashes with beak and claw;
The gods withdraw:
The great beasts come, Io Pan! I am borne
To death on the horn
Of the Unicorn.
I am Pan! Io Pan! Io Pan Pan! Pan!
I am thy mate, I am thy man,
Goat of thy flock, I am gold, I am god,
Flesh to thy bone, flower to thy rod.
With hoofs of steel I race on the rocks
Through solstice stubborn to equinox.
And I rave; and I rape and I rip and I rend
Everlasting, world without end,
Mannikin, maiden, Maenad, man,
In the might of Pan.
Io Pan! Io Pan Pan! Pan! Io Pan!
 
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I'm working on a rap song about "Syrian" refugees in Germany. Here it is so far:

This is the story, all about how
My life got flipped turned upside down
So just take a little moment just sit right there
And I'll tell you how I became a migrant in Berlin


Iiiiiin Western Tunisia, born and raised
But in Berlin is where I now spend most of my days
Chillin out, rapin, burning homeless men
Calling for a caliphate, fucking children with my friends
Well a couple of guys who were up to no good
Started saying "migrants are ruining the neighborhood"
I called them racist and intolerant and Merkel got scared
And that's how I got carte blanche to fuck shit up in Germany

(That last line doesn't really rhyme, but I'm working on it)
 
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Varg Did Nothing Wrong said:
Loosen up your pronunciation (and the stick in your colon for good measure)
Click to expand...
This is the story, all about how
My life got flipped turned upside dow
So just take a little moment just sit right there
And I'll tell you how I became a migrant in Berlin

Iiiiiin Western Tunisia, born and raise
But in Berlin is where I now spend most of my days
Chillin out, rapin, burning homeless men
Calling for a caliphate, fucking children with my frien
Well a couple of guys who were up to no good
Started saying "migrants are ruining the neighborhood"
I called them racist and intolerant and Merkel got scare
And that's how I got carte blanche to fuck shit up in Berlin
Click to expand...
Now it all rhymes.

Kek.
 
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