Poetry

Post Reply New Topic

I'm not very good at critiquing others' work, but here's one of mine.

Barren Landscape

Locked in
Blinded by light
Twirling around
And around
Searching for the door
But all I find
Are walls
Closing in fast

I hear a voice
Calling me over
With my bare hands
I begin to scratch
Pound
Beat down the walls

A sliver of freedom
A glimpse
Of the outside world
Appears at eye level

I peek through
Hope swelling
Heavy in my chest
But all I see
Is a single sword
Standing tall
In a barren landscape

I stop
Cradle my bleeding hands
Sit
And wait
Hope shattered but not dead

I wrote this with the Iroqouis in mind. Their ecological creed sometimes known as "seventh generation sustainability" essentially says all decisions must look forward several lifetimes into the future to insure survival. The Great Blue Heron is a North American species viewed as a symbol of wisdom and good tidings by the Iroqouis. This is a response to the neglectful nature I perceive within U.S. society. If modern society were to crumble, I think we would be much like the old tribes. Wise and considerate to the world, but it might be too late, a world left wizened.

Rome

Burn, burn it all down
to a blasted heath
ash covered ground

Waste, no more of your time
fettering away
nickel and dimed

Grand, the scale of the lie
There's nothing more
but to die

As mountains become hills
grass into dust
oceans barren
city's rust

A decrepit mill
on land overtilled
a tribe of men
a dead blue heron



This is a quasi-existential piece about trying to ignore someone you're attracted to who doesn't seem to notice you even exist. You spend your time pretending disinterest while shoring up deeper feelings, sometimes an entire fantasy world where that person would make your life perfect.

Windowpane

your same view
the mask I wear
bend out of focus
the way that I do

crescent moon
sullen edge
you don't know
without a care

stars on strings
too short to see
quiescent tunes
you reveal t'me

ego nebulose
words unpossessed
I'm in love with the girl
I ignore nonetheless

Something I wrote and published in 1997

A ROBOT IN A BOXS

I’m a robot in a box’s
Who works from nine to five
With for money for my living
To keep myself alive

My box’s is my house
To keep myself contained
I have the weekends off
To recharge my brain

I’m part of the system
I have a systematic life
One Cat and Dog
And don’t forget the wife

I work all year round
With four weeks holiday
I’m a robot in a box’s
I have no other way

And when I’m old and senile
When my life is at the end
It’s because I was a robot
A part of the system
That drove me round the bend...

Something I wrote after imagining working in a factory for forty years putting the tops on berger buns. A job people actually do for packaged buns.

It would be enough to send anyone mad, around the bend...

I LOVE writing poetry!

Here's one of mine:

Your eyes
Your movement
Your speech
Make me
Want to speak
To reach,
But here I am:

Hidden. My tongue unable to speak,
unable to describe what stirs in this heart.
The one thing I can do
(Hide)
I do inefficiently

Nice stuff, people.

-------

Stasis


This is my home, now,
And I will stay here forever.

No more fires to walk through
With an obligatory smile.
No more burnt, dead flesh to abrade away with
Stiff, bloody brushes.
No more pretending
That that's fine.

Like skin, a soul grows back, but
Not the same as it was.

That other place is so bad;
I will never go back.

found this on deviantart.com wish i could vocalise thoughts like this to my uni flatmates

This is a bit of a light hearted effort to try and make a positive out of the feedback on my Early Maladaptive Schemas and clinical symptoms tests that I recently did with my new Psychotherapist.

It is a 'multi media' experience in that you have to read it to the tune to ‘My Favourite things’ from 'The sound of music' starting with “Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens...” part. Sing-a-long a thereapy?

Schizoidal
Dysthamia
With Paranoid Ideation

Depression
Psychoticism
And Emotional Deprivation

Obsessive Compulsive
With a sense of Failure

These are few of my personal schemas.

Somatisation
Anxiety
With Emotional Inhibition

Hostility
Abandonment
Social Isolation

Rejection
Incompetence
With Aspergers Syndrome

These are a few more of my personal schemas.

When Negativism bites
When Self punishment stings
When Unrelenting Standards make me feel so bad,

I simply remember it isn’t my fault
And then I don’t feel............. so bad.

2/22/13

This is like that walk around
The simple block – charcoal labyrinth.

Each quiet street, separate
And unique universes imposing.

It gets easier, houses mouth
Doltish secrets, shooing away passersby.

Chimney smoke rises into highing sky
Of path reminiscent of startled hens.

Cackling leaves to misdirected shoes
Earn the smell of solitude.

Foul chill in bones, again, a turn
Each way, wrong, and each length longer.

Stenciled trees align like holes
Upon notebook paper.

A breath grows to more than inhale/exhale.

A single fear pulses as bloody as war.

One block becomes more vast than
Any country, and one child more vast
Than any map.

Charting birth to death we can’t decide:
Inside or outside?

The mystery of time concludes when
There’s no compass to be broken
And we pay close attention to the sun.

I guess you could call this poetry..
here is some of my music if you would like to listen..
sorry some of it is heavy and deep and more to the rap/ hip hop culture side of poetry. but atleast it's not the s**t you see on television

have a listen if you have a spare moment thanks guys

https://soundcloud.com/evan-wright-5


and here is a verse I wrote recently


Swear I’m lost when I travel these lands,
had it like a hatter lost strategy plans,
it’s concrete I’ve vanished like alakazam,
eyes closed like my heads in the black of my hands,
this is the start of the wreckoning for,
the sun he departs can almost tell he is gone,
it’s factual that happiness is sat in his lap,
racing dove,
brave enough depict the mess of it or,
in sweet dreams my princess is deformed,
I’m sleepy not dreamy don’t get it abort,
sometimes I feel like less of a burden, When I’m
hung in the closet like electrical circuits,
my interest is the morgue,
… space will be my address on a form,
shoot paparazzi be depressing some more,

You guys are good!
Here's mine, tried to make it rappy:

The Boy Who Was Never There

Two in the afternoon,
Party soon,
That’s how we do,
We’re just that cool,
Still go to school,
But that don’t matter,
We still rule,
Got my Dr Dre beats,
Brand new Doc,
Marten,
Sneaks,
Now I’m ready,
Let’s roam the streets,
Show all those other freaks.

Drinks on me,
Where’s your ID,
We’re not too young,
We’re wild and free,
Role models on tv,
Pass the paper round,
Tell my mum,
I did a paper round,
Hope I don’t get found,
Brush off haters,
Drinking squeezed potaters,
That’s vodka right?
Dance in the light,
MTV,
We’re just like Snookie, Ricci, Vicky.

Back to school,
Get in line,
Cafeteria,
Hysteria,
Those year sevens,
They’re bacteria,
But year elevens,
They’re superior.

That boy over there,
What is with that Bieber hair,
His weird, alien stare,
Touch him,
Go on,
I dare,
Why’s he in school today,
Pulled a sickie yesterday,
And every other day,
That’s so gay,
Back of line,
We don’t care,
‘The boy who’s never here,
Move from here,
To the rear,
That’s more your style,
You stupid queer’,
Hahaha,
Now we’re in,
Let’s go order us some pasta king.

Period six in room D6,
Substitute reads the list,
Teacher’s called it quits,
Coz of our hilarious antics,
That boy’s name she reads,
Look at him freeze,
Let’s move beyond the tease,
Till he leaves and we are pleased.

Now she’s gone to get the head,
His face is filled with dread,
Take your seat,Begin the test,
Silence please,
Work, Work, Work,
Biology,
Anatomy,
Psychology.

We’re off to university,
Gonna get that degree,
Have children,
Raise a family,
Wonder where that boy has gone,
What we did was just for fun,
Just a joke,
No harm done,
He’ll survive,
What’s his name,
We don’t care,
He’s The Boy Who Was Never There.

I graduated from high school nearly a year ago.
And this is what I wrote for the event.

Graduating

Shade shelters me
From burning Sun
I watch those walking
Down a concrete aisle
Up wooden stairs
Up to the beckoning platform
Diplomas jump into to their hands
As they scurry back to their seats

It’s my turn- now, really?
My turn- My turn
Cameras clap
I walk down the aisle
Onto the platform
Receive my dimploma
And sit back down

Those long days
We watched the white board
Marker eyes staring
Strict teaches always
Expecting us kids
To always understand
It’s all over now

No more bus rides
No more school afternoons
No more homework
No more teachers

The past begs for return
Alas, we cannot
Our future is awaiting.

guard your eyes
turn away
scatter with the winds
but
searing iron pressing deep
branded image inside your lids
melted deeper through your core
eternal carvings
forever within