Thoughts in Print (The Non-Broken Version)

After over one hundred days I looked back at my old poetry thread and noticed it was...broken. As such, I am now opening this one instead. I just have two poems right now but please, please tell me what you think of them.

Improvisation

The stage is set; your costume donned
The spotlight is focused; your audience awaits
Appearing takes an eternity; your footsteps leaden with fear
Why is this so hard? It’s just as you rehearsed
Reality is harder; a constant drama improvised
Just go through the motions, like you’ve done before

The spotlight fades as you’re plunged into darkness
Memory takes over; you’re blind to the present
She’s crushing your possessions and dreams
Despondent in hatred and rage
You scream at her with malicious fury
Why do words come now?

She is storming out of the room now
Slamming the door in tears
You lash out at thin air
How do you know what to do?
It’s just another drama, but unprepared
Don’t think of what’s to come

Flash forward to the present
Disappointed groans go unmasked
Behind you colleagues curse in annoyance
One gets ready to fight, another breaks down
The farce is gone; reality returns
You know what to do

Insomnia

Gone are the hands of exhaustion
That grapple me through the night
No sense of time nor need to be
I flourish in the dark

For thought does not exist
In the blissful realms of night
I do not worry nor wish to sleep
As the darkness takes me

Not weary do I wish to be
As the darkness leaves the night
Not break of dawn nor peace of morn
From darkness can entice me

But doth the sun rise with no regard
For my fading grasp of night?
Not power of man nor strength of heart
Can save the waning darkness

And yet the sun doth rise above
Encompassing dwindled night
Not power of man nor strength of night
Hath saved the waning dark

Piercing day and throbbing norm
Replace the gentle night
Not brilliant light nor harshest sound
From slumber can awake me

Excuse the olde English in the second poem. I'm just starting to see why classic poets used it!

Damn, I didn't know you were such a great poet. ;;>> Very nice stuff; full of emotion. I like your utilization of blank poetry. I look forward to more.

You might be disappointed there. It took me nearly four months to write two poems. The last was written this morning at 2:46am. If the mood takes me again you'll see another.

But thanks for the nice comment! I feel warm inside.

I love the first verse (that word's probably not correct, but oh well) of "Improvisation". It sets the scene so well, with its balance between depth in detail ("Appearing takes an eternity; your footsteps leaden with fear") and lack of it (the first four and succinct lines, like sketching the bare bones of a picture in pencil). I like too the personification of Memory in the second verse, but I got lost after that, and am going to take one bold leap of a guess at what you're depicting: the main character of the piece remembers another time on stage, the bad way in which it ended; at the end of the flashback, the MC knows what must be done, though he comes to the conclusion belatedly; his colleagues are wondering what's taking him so long, et cetera, et cetera.

Then again, I am perhaps being too literal.

"Insomnia" seems almost a misnomer for the second poem, considering the treatment insomnia often receives in literature, the degrees of misery so often associated with it. I didn't expect the reverence the poem pays to night from its title, but it's beautifully done.

I love old English as much as the next person (unless, of course, the next person has been forced to read Chaucer in the original. Without translation. I may then have cause to doubt the extent of that person's love for OE, or whatever era of English Chaucer wrote in, xD). But after the first three stanzas (verses? =P), the sudden "doth" is distracting (though I adore the line, "And yet the sun doth rise..." - there's something so epic and timeless about that line); I found myself looking for further occurrences of that word rather than giving my full attention to the poem. But it's a minor matter.

I like how each poem has its own voice - "Improvisation" has a fire to it that "Insomnia" does not, and "Insomnia" is calm, blissful, and focused where "Improvisation" leaps about in its exploration of the idea. I find your poetry quite complex, in that while the ideas spring out effortlessly, your manner of exploring them - the way you use language - is complicated.

And on a note that sounds completely unrelated but actually is: do you recycle any of your poems? (Have you written any in the past that could be cleaned up and posted?) In other words, I look forward to any more poems you may have.

I've decided that instead of moping around and waiting for people to comment, I should be more active. I'll try to write a lot more poetry, in other words.

Selah, I have written two poems outside of school (three if you include the one I never finished and never will). Everything I've written is before you.

To commemorate the utter abyss Britain has become, I've written a poem for you all. Witness what reckless teenagers have done to my nation :3

Spore

Cower, Cower
Pray for death
The spore has taken root
Within your heart
Within your soul
Embedded in your dreams

Tear and gnaw with tainted hands
At your poisoned chest
Bloodied palms and bloodied mind
Apocalypse is now

Virus, toxin, plague of hate
Sweeping through the town
Lock your doors and cry for salvation
Penance falling on deaf ears

The spores, they scourge the frightened lands
Like demons in the dark
Drink, smirk, feed off the weak
Serenity is oblivion

There is no end
To Hell on earth
No end to frightened screams
Murder, rape, pillage and prey
Cower, cower
Pray for death

EDIT - 'Cajol' isn't a word, I know; I used poetic license

EDIT - Fixed. Got mah words mixed up.

Sounds like someone has isssssuessss.

xD

Very nice, but I am afraid I don't get the context, as Canada is frikken sweet.

Originally Posted by Euphoria

EDIT - 'Cajol' isn't a word, I know; I used poetic license

"Cajole" is a word, if that helps. But it doesn't really fit. ^^;;

Well. This poem certainly has rendered me speechless; I haven't the faintest idea of what to say. Except, perhaps, wow? Intense? Ouch?

I'm not be helpful, am I? But truly, Spores is extremely visceral, almost - shall I say? - violent in the intensity of the words you use and ideas you convey. The poem is a bit too vague for my liking (vague in that I don't get in concrete images in the reading, more a whirling mishmash of toxins and despair), but it certainly moved me.

The rhythm of the poem seemed off at times - the lines would flow and then would come a jagged line that doesn't stream with the rest. "Serenity is oblivion" after all those longer, more syllabled lines, for instance. But it fits the topic.

What I find particularly curious is that your poem is not the only one covering decayed Britain here on ZU. There was at least another, back in the day (of '05, xP) that "commemorate[s] the utter abyss Britain has become". I must needs update my knowledge of that nation, methinks. What I know of Britian is stuck in the 19th century, >>

Guess what? I entered a poetry competition through my school. Here's my entry:

Sway

Each star has a mirror in water tonight,
A glacial reflection of wonderful light.
Sea whispers to Heaven,
“In the water we’ll sway,
Till the soft funeral bell
Of the oncoming day.”

The moon gazes down from her perch in the sky,
As slumbering stars in the water do lie.
She breathes her contentment,
Like a wind through the night,
Her hand washed with droplets
Of water and light.

Slowly, but slowly does the sun also rise
And spread flecks of colour all over the skies.
Rosy pink fingers
Caress the dark day
And the still drowsy stars
Rouse and fleet where they lay.

Yawns crawl up from the half-dreaming world,
Which in the soft morning, from bed has uncurled.
The stars gently sway
And they wait for the night,
For the sweet swaying slumber
Of water and light.

I also like your poems, very nice indeed. I hope you do well in your school's competition with your poem.