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Mirror21
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06 Aug 2012, 12:55 am

Well I have been conversing in another thread of poetry and i posted a short verse with word play. I liked it a lot so here it is!

I had a hole
The whole world fell through
And a hole field
Where a whole lot of nothing grew



Guppy
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06 Aug 2012, 4:42 pm

JakobVirgil wrote:
Guppy wrote:
Would be happy to show off something I've written... but it's all in Swedish. Awh.


Jag är intresserad.


Very well. This is far from my best piece, but certainly the shortest, and the only one I've had published. It's a highly localist thing, in a fairly Romantic vein, so very unlike what I usually do.

Hav wrote:
Han vinkar farväl till sina nära och kära, till de som står kvar på den rangliga bryggan med solen i ögonen. Fadern ler dystert, systern snyftar. Mor visar samma bistra och fördömande uttryck som alltid. Han bryr sig inte. Inte en dag som denna. Solen må blända dem där borta i den allt mer avlägsna hamnen, men honom värmer den genom kropp och själ. Efter ett par mörka månader på landbacken är han äntligen hemma.

Hemma, det har han aldrig känt sig med fast mark under fötterna. Ingen i familjen verkar förstå vad som driver honom, men det gör han ju i och för sig inte själv heller. Allt han vet är att han vill bort, ut på de blåa vidderna.

Vinden tar snart i och fyller seglet. Hamnen är snart långt bakom dem, stadens kvava duster likaså. Förbi fyrarna i Sunningesund och ut ur Byfjorden far fullriggaren fram, mot Orust och vidare. Han njuter av vinden, av det vackra vädret, av havets doft. Vågorna slår mot förstäven, fiskmåsarna skränar, och det dröjer inte länge förrän öppet hav är nått.

Detta är lycka.



JakobVirgil
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06 Aug 2012, 9:42 pm

Guppy wrote:
JakobVirgil wrote:
Guppy wrote:
Would be happy to show off something I've written... but it's all in Swedish. Awh.


Jag är intresserad.


Very well. This is far from my best piece, but certainly the shortest, and the only one I've had published. It's a highly localist thing, in a fairly Romantic vein, so very unlike what I usually do.

Hav wrote:
Han vinkar farväl till sina nära och kära, till de som står kvar på den rangliga bryggan med solen i ögonen. Fadern ler dystert, systern snyftar. Mor visar samma bistra och fördömande uttryck som alltid. Han bryr sig inte. Inte en dag som denna. Solen må blända dem där borta i den allt mer avlägsna hamnen, men honom värmer den genom kropp och själ. Efter ett par mörka månader på landbacken är han äntligen hemma.

Hemma, det har han aldrig känt sig med fast mark under fötterna. Ingen i familjen verkar förstå vad som driver honom, men det gör han ju i och för sig inte själv heller. Allt han vet är att han vill bort, ut på de blåa vidderna.

Vinden tar snart i och fyller seglet. Hamnen är snart långt bakom dem, stadens kvava duster likaså. Förbi fyrarna i Sunningesund och ut ur Byfjorden far fullriggaren fram, mot Orust och vidare. Han njuter av vinden, av det vackra vädret, av havets doft. Vågorna slår mot förstäven, fiskmåsarna skränar, och det dröjer inte länge förrän öppet hav är nått.

Detta är lycka.


It is a prose poem or a vignette about the sea.
lighthouses so he is a fisherman? not a viking but going on a long journey.
I like it but I really I speak danish but with a little sounding out and translate it was very nice.


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Guppy
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07 Aug 2012, 3:38 am

Since the collection of short stories / vignettes was a very localist thing (published by the municipality), I decided to write about something that relates to me. I based the character on my great great grandfather, who was a sailor on the seven seas, but always came back here in the end. So it's set somewhere in the late 19th century. Said lighthouses were once located right outside my city, and if I looked out my window I could see where he and thousands of others have sailed past for thousands of years.



JakobVirgil
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07 Aug 2012, 9:28 am

Guppy wrote:
Since the collection of short stories / vignettes was a very localist thing (published by the municipality), I decided to write about something that relates to me. I based the character on my great great grandfather, who was a sailor on the seven seas, but always came back here in the end. So it's set somewhere in the late 19th century. Said lighthouses were once located right outside my city, and if I looked out my window I could see where he and thousands of others have sailed past for thousands of years.


It is really a beautiful piece thank you.


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?We must not look at goblin men,
We must not buy their fruits:
Who knows upon what soil they fed
Their hungry thirsty roots??

http://jakobvirgil.blogspot.com/


puddingmouse
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07 Aug 2012, 9:39 am

I liked it, as well (I ran it through a translator). It actually still sounds very good translated.


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Guppy
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07 Aug 2012, 10:37 am

Thank you.



EnglishJess
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08 Aug 2012, 9:33 am

Everything I don't want to do I end up doing
Everything I don't want to see I end up seeing
Everything I don't want to hear I end up hearing
Everything I don't want to know I end up knowing

Everything I don't want to happen always happens
And I can't reverse it
Can't forget about it
I was practically forced to, and now it stays with me
I wish I could stop thinking 'bout it easily.

I saw it coming
But just a bit too soon I find myself running
I want this over
But trying to avoid it only brings it even closer...



Last edited by EnglishJess on 10 Aug 2012, 4:31 am, edited 2 times in total.

BrandonSP
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08 Aug 2012, 11:47 am

A brief fantasy vignette set in a world inspired by the Roman Empire:

Quote:
Ulric had never expected ruling the world’s most powerful civilization, the Valerian Empire, to pain his head so much until he finally wrested that post for himself.

Sitting on a marble bench on the edge of his palace’s front courtyard, he savored the twittering birdsong and the midsummer evening’s balminess. Within the courtyard, cypress and date palm trees surrounded a rectangular pool which had a marble dolphin statue breaching from its center. In fact the Emperor couldn’t turn his head without spotting some marble, for grooved marble columns supporting arches surrounded the courtyard. Except for the roof’s brick-red tiles, all of this architecture shone whiter than snow in the Valerian sun.

Yet in truth it was the courtyard’s greenery that pleased Ulric the most, for it recalled the verdant temperate forests of his native Nodria. Perhaps he should have stayed in those tranquil woods after all. At least his own tribe loved him enough to elect him their jarl, much more than anyone could say for the Valerians he thought he had liberated.

Although Ulric donned the sparkling violet and white toga customary for Valerian Emperors, one glance at his physical features sufficed to betray his Nodric origin. His broad and stocky body’s musculature bulged through his white skin. Straight, sun-yellow hair cascaded down his head, with his beard woven into two plaits, and he had blue frost for eyes. Scars streaking his face attested to his years of struggle against Valeria’s rapacious legions, a struggle he thought he had won once the previous Emperor Claudio fell to his broadsword. What a naïf Ulric had been!

Sandals clipping against mosaic tiles shattered the Emperor’s solitude. Antonio, one of his highest-ranking advisors, swaggered past the surrounding columns towards Ulric. A contemptuous sneer crossed his middle-aged face, which had the olive-brown skin and curly brown hair typical of Valerians. Red fringed Antonio’s otherwise white toga, a uniform that marked him an important official in the Valerian government. He carried a parchment scroll in his fist.

“What is it this time?” Ulric muttered. “Has another riot broken out?”

Antonio chuckled behind closed lips as he nodded. “Pity I couldn’t report something less predictable,” he said. “As a matter of fact, there’s been more than one within the past moon.” He unfurled the scroll and read out a list of recent riots scattered throughout the Empire along with their death tolls and property damage.

“By Thunder, when are the Valerians going to show some gratitude for once?” Ulric said, “I’ve freed the slaves and allowed the plebeians to vote for my successors, and yet everyone continues to give me hell for it. What have I done to anger them?”

“For one, freeing the slaves obviously won’t win you the patricians’ sympathy, and then there’s the little matter of your banning the gladiatorial games. Words cannot do justice to how much everyone in Valeria loved those games.”

Ulric snorted. “So you Valerians amuse yourselves by watching men and women cut each other to pieces, yet you have the nerve to call my people barbarians.”

“Ha, as if you Nodrians never fought each other back in the day! Anyway, if you really cared about your subjects’ loyalty, you’d either reverse your earlier reforms or...somehow try to distract the Valerian people from their problems. You know, like Imperial expansion. That worked very well for many past Emperors.” Antonio grinned greedily.

“You mean pick a fight with another country, don’t you?” Ulric got up from his bench to tower over Antonio, glaring down into his eyes. “The world has seen enough war already, and I certainly have too.”

“Oh, you don’t necessarily have to be the aggressor this time…at least not in a pure sense.” Antonio rubbed his chin in thought. “Recently our provinces in the eastern desert have suffered attacks from Shemitic raiders. If you could bring those camel-riders under the Imperial thumb, you’d earn yourself the reputation of a peacemaker.”

“Then why couldn’t I simply reinforce our eastern borders’ defenses---you know, like building a wall? I don’t want any more conquest. All that would do is anger the Shemites and give us yet another province, and administrating this Empire is a headache as it is!”

Antonio shrugged. “I merely wanted to offer suggestions to improve your reputation, but I see you place your principles over political practicality. Fine with me, but don’t accuse me of not trying to help.”

Ulric grumbled curses as he stormed away from the courtyard into his palace’s atrium. Servants in tunics were scrubbing the floor.

“You lot have toiled all day, haven’t you?” the Emperor said. He pulled out some gold coins from his purse and lent a couple to each of the servants. “Why don’t you all take the week off to spend time with your families? The place looks clean enough for my taste.”

One of the servants smiled up at him. “Whoah…thank you, Your Imperial Majesty,” she said. “Our old Emperor would’ve never done such a thing for us.”

“Indeed, he wouldn’t even pay us anything,” another servant said. “Praise be to Emperor Ulric!”

“For future reference, please don’t call me an Emperor anymore,” Ulric said. “Call me a Jarl, the way my people called me back in Nodria. Enjoy your time off!”

Ulric grinned as pride swelled in his chest, phasing out his former rage. If only everyone in Valeria would show him that kind of respect. Maybe talking with his wife would help him brainstorm ways to win the whole Valerian people over the way he had won over those servants.

He entered his scarlet-walled bedchamber. Empress Neferseti, who reclined atop the bed, greeted him by curving her luscious lips into a beam. Despite wearing a dress similar to that of Valerian noblewomen, Neferseti was every bit a foreigner as her husband. Her glistening cocoa-brown body and woolly black dreadlocks, which she tied into a bundle, showed that she hailed from the continent of Sudria, and her black eyeliner and golden jewelry specified that her native country was the ancient kingdom of Kametu. Although Ulric had married her originally for diplomatic reasons, her slender and exotic beauty always stirred his heart and loins.

“Had a busy day again, I presume?” Neferseti asked. She slid off the bed to massage Ulric’s shoulders.
“Even a break in the courtyard made me busy,” Ulric muttered. “Why don’t the Valerians appreciate me, Neferseti? What have I done to incur their disapproval?”

“Those servants seemed to appreciate you from what I’ve overheard, dear. Don’t be hard on yourself, my Jarl. None of it is your fault.” Neferseti planted her lips on Ulric’s cheeks to give him a stunning kiss.

“Then whose fault is it?”

Neferseti’s smile reversed to a frown. “In truth, the only reason the Valerians by and large resent us has nothing to do with our governance and everything to do with our…backgrounds. They can’t stand any kind of ‘barbarians’ ruling as their Emperor and Empress, and especially not a Nodric man or a Sudric woman. Why, I can barely visit the forum without Valerian women glaring at me and whispering the word ‘shit-skin’!”

Ulric’s face reddened again while he clenched his fists. “No Valerian b***h, nor anyone else in the world, calls my wife a shit-skin!” He pounded one fist against his chest. “How can I rule an Empire of people with such racial prejudice against our family?”

“Perhaps you could give out coins or bread to the people the way you gave to those servants? That could win many hearts, particularly from the plebs. Unfortunately I don’t know if such charity would suffice for them to overlook our heritages.”

“They better overlook them, or I’ll…I’ll show those Valerian dogs my broadsword’s full wrath!” Ulric brandished another fist above his head and roared.

Neferseti pushed her husband’s arm down and embraced him. “Oh, you wouldn’t have to heart to do that, would you? You should take your mind off politics for the day. Perhaps I could help you with that…”

The Empress ran her fingers along the edge of Ulric’s toga, tugging at it gently. The couple pressed their lips together and exchanged tongues, caressing each other and disrobing each other, until Ulric was ready to enter Neferseti on their bed.

Nothing could drown away a man’s troubles like the woman he loved.


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19 Aug 2012, 5:42 pm

Guppy wrote:
JakobVirgil wrote:
Guppy wrote:
Would be happy to show off something I've written... but it's all in Swedish. Awh.


Jag är intresserad.


Very well. This is far from my best piece, but certainly the shortest, and the only one I've had published. It's a highly localist thing, in a fairly Romantic vein, so very unlike what I usually do.

Hav wrote:
Han vinkar farväl till sina nära och kära, till de som står kvar på den rangliga bryggan med solen i ögonen. Fadern ler dystert, systern snyftar. Mor visar samma bistra och fördömande uttryck som alltid. Han bryr sig inte. Inte en dag som denna. Solen må blända dem där borta i den allt mer avlägsna hamnen, men honom värmer den genom kropp och själ. Efter ett par mörka månader på landbacken är han äntligen hemma.

Hemma, det har han aldrig känt sig med fast mark under fötterna. Ingen i familjen verkar förstå vad som driver honom, men det gör han ju i och för sig inte själv heller. Allt han vet är att han vill bort, ut på de blåa vidderna.

Vinden tar snart i och fyller seglet. Hamnen är snart långt bakom dem, stadens kvava duster likaså. Förbi fyrarna i Sunningesund och ut ur Byfjorden far fullriggaren fram, mot Orust och vidare. Han njuter av vinden, av det vackra vädret, av havets doft. Vågorna slår mot förstäven, fiskmåsarna skränar, och det dröjer inte länge förrän öppet hav är nått.

Detta är lycka.


Dude. This is very good. Great job! I mean it. Write more. Publish. Take over the book business. Please



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20 Aug 2012, 8:08 am

When steps are heavy.
When steps are heavy. It does not help. You take three, four, five, and are back at the start. From the ground you feel force, pressing against the sole. It is felt upwards the body like a stream, a cruel reminder. It provokes resistance, the force is not stopped, it is there, and man wanders on, seemingly unaffected. In an onward march of death, the sky and the air does not feel as present. The force from the ground is not reflected in this height. There does not exist anything but black clouds, fog and unfiltered hatred. Hatred for everything, everything that followed the pitiful initiative you once started with. Step by step. Endless. Helpless. In the next step, the force is more persisting. It does not let go. The human being's foot raises. The next step hits different ground. In this place the force is ubiquitous. It hits you.

You notice the struggle. The effort. You're pushed down towards the ground, but you continue. Another dimension. You have left what you were walking away from. The force is felt, the body is pushing against, darkness has no place. The steps are pushing man forward, you can't be indifferent to what is happening. Force is obstructing the body, provoking life. Darkness surrounds the silhuette of man which will not stop. One, followed by new steps. Man appears strong. Death will not. It stands lower. It is trampled upon. One new, one new continues. The world shakes, vibrates, crumbles. World is not meant for this human.

The impressions blinds it. No more steps. Dimensions are done. A whole new world. Paramount power liberation. You have left what you once surrounded yourself with, you have left everything you knew what was. An intense happiness is standing right in front of you, it does not move, it is observing you, looking at you, straight in the eyes, smiling, embracing you, multiple instants, long-lasting moments. The body is not burdened, it has never felt lighter. It flares up. Frissons. Upwards to the blinded head, downwards to the outermost limbs of its feet. It has found a place. Looking behind itself. What was. Looking in front of itself. Absorbed. By the outmost, colossal extremity of.. presence.

Then yet again ground is felt under its feet.






I just translated a text I just wrote into English. It was so hard.. :evil: But here it goes. Just wanted to "publish" something for my own sake, to try it out.



RoadWarrior7
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23 Aug 2012, 11:21 pm

Living in seclusion high above the city,
I see the mass of humanity down below.
Wishing I could connect with them in some way,
I know better than to approach those I don't know.

Living in fear of how others will judge me,
Knowing that many people wish me harm,
I wish I could extend a friendly hand,
Without fear of losing my entire arm.

Living in fear of appearing rude and boorish,
I've learned to keep my heart to myself.
Loneliness and depression are all I know,
Having put my human desires on the shelf.

Living without even the basic relationships,
That many take for granted every day,
I only wish I could reach out to touch you.
If only you could show me the way.


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EdomKing
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26 Aug 2012, 5:44 pm

At 38 years of age, I was recently diagnosed with Asperger's Syndrome. And I am the same as the rest.... I've struggled to define me, structure me, process me, and like me. Over the years I've been haunted by one thing. A thing which I could never see, hear, smell or taste. It's ability to pull me back from the shores of reality was and remains one of my greatest challenges. Once held firm by it's infinity possibilities, I succumb, and recede into the world which exists between the senses. A world where fantasy patterns and abstract philosophies glide effortlessly over the round edges of my reason.

Absurd is how I feel, to be here, on this site, communicating blindly to people I do not know. Yet I wish to share. Here is a poem I wrote many years ago, a poem which now, in hindsight, is clearly about Asperger's. Between the time it was written and now, it has floated misunderstood. I have never titled it.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------

Have fear o'child for the monster is real,
In the depths of your mind it burrows and steals,
It borrows your dreams and creates a mine,
A yours,
A time,
A nothing but confines.
Before you were born it laid it's seed,
It's honey,
It's vine,
It's hidden teeth.
From the dirt of lore,
Africa and Thai,
Rocky shores and glistening pines,
It all comes to past,
This demon you see,
In your center the horror will be.



EnglishJess
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27 Aug 2012, 4:56 am

And now there's something I don't want to do
Because it has been done by you
Something I'm now afraid to do
Cause it'll make me think of you.



LunaticOnTheGrass
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27 Aug 2012, 9:19 am

I wrote this insult to organization and meter whilst I was feeling very blue yesterday because of an Ex.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I’m so tired.

You have the beauty of some feyish being of wordless beauty.

Impossible to pin down, but just there all the same.

But you—And I point fingers—You

Tore me to shreds and then put those through a shredder

Scattered that over the soil; your new man picked a flower from there

To give to you, and you fell for him. He held you up while I merely fell down

And I have yet to land with a sickening thud;

To hit rock bottom,

But I see no handholds to grasp onto to break the fall.



EdomKing
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27 Aug 2012, 11:42 am

Inside the House of Singing Floors,
Narrow halls and tiny doors,
A booming voice is heard to say,
"Come dance my brother, pay your way."
A heart is ignorance lost in bliss,
A brain so formed from the formless mist.
A chord is plucked,
A tune so scattered,
Ear drums broken.
And eyes are shattered.
The Singing Floors claim their own,
In dance, and nails, and rotten boards.