Poetry

[The Imfamous AKA]

It is spelled funny...

[The Imfamous AKA]

MM-kay. New crap... Been working on it for a few days...

Welcome to the dark, she told me,
Welcome to the night.
The fire’s not yet ash in you,
But we can make that right.
Through the wind and pouring rain,
That spark’s still burning bright,
But I’ll be sure to cause that flicker
Quite the fatal fright.

Past the fear and anger lurking,
That little spark’s still burning.
Inching closer, closer yet
To your impossible yearning.
But soon enough that little spark
Will begin its painful learning
Of fate’s obnoxious tricks and ticks
That always end in spurning.

As fate’s agent, I will sneak
Upon the spark with stealth.
Stealing away its utter warmth,
And all its golden wealth.
And all this she told me,
Destroying my mental health.
But I have to take the consequences
Of talking to myself.

[Seven]

Amazing Aka, I think I have a new favorite poem in your collection. (Does it have a title so I can refer to it by?) The rhyme flows so well in this poem, and the content is so amazing. I like the tense you use as well; it makes it so interesting because you know it's already happened, but you still are on the edge of your seat hearing it in chronological order. I loved the beginning, with the 'she told me,' part because it gave me the strong impression of entering some dark realm being greeted by some wryly smiling, sly host. Like the Cheshire Cat in the horror macabre video game of Alice in Wonderland. Someone with a silver tongue that makes it sound like they're on your side so much that you don't notice that what they're saying is harmful to you. In this case, the fire being this inner light, hope, ambition, passion, or whatever, being extinguished. And the 'she' makes it sound like she's helping you--like she's a salesman selling you pest control!

And the twist ending! When you discover that the 'she' is actually herself. Now that was amazing. You destroy yourself to protect yourself. It's saying that it' best to destroy your fire yourself as a means of protection, so that no one else can destroy it, since it's already flickering, right? It's so sad. You can already see that the narrator's strength must have failed them for them to want to destroy their light, for them to split themselves into two personas like that.

[Asila]

Oh yeah, I definitely agree with Seven. The rhythm of the stanzas is incredible. As I was reading it, I could almost hear the music that I half expect to accompany the words. And the way you phrased every line...*shakes her head, speechless* It's just lyrical. Absolutely beautiful.

And the voice that is speaking, the one that is so kindly offering to extinguish what remains of the light, I know that voice. I want to smother it with a pillow. Or stab it to death with a rusty Denny's spoon. Or let my inner Molly free to take it out for me, or -insert spastic rambling here-

The story really does sound like a dark fairy tale. The tone is just so dark, mysterious...enchanting. *continues to shake her head* I just don't know what else to say. You've floored me. I think this is one of my all-time favorite poems. I like the ending, too. It reminds me of a couple short stories that I wrote three years ago.

And, while I'm here, the poem you posted before this one had some striking metaphors, too. It reminded me of what it feels like to get stuck in your own head, out of fear that if you emerge the people just beyond the armor of your skull will destroy you. But that's probably just my spin on the lines. I did like the black blood metaphor, too. It really did make me think of hatred and resentment.

Hmm, just for fun, here's a poem that I wrote a few months ago. I didn't really take it seriously, and I laugh whenever I read it, but it's...interesting. I know Rojo's seen it, because I posted it on his forum, and I think Seven may have, too, but I might as well post it here so that it won't be alone.

Repent! Repent!
Our lives are lent!
And shadows, now, I see.
For our souls; our Souls!
Treasured Dreams! Dearest Goals!
A dark master has savaged thee.
With the multitudes will
Our liege aims to maim, even kill
Those who are too fractured to bend.
And now broken...spent...
No! I shall NEVER relent!
To his promise of easy schemes.
Still...the temptation is real...
To give up! To not feel!
Oh! What it would mean to be free!

I wanted it to be longer, but I felt like any line I added was just redundant. So this is probably the finished product. The first poem I write in two years, and this is what I come up with.

[Forsaken]

This poem is entitled "Stupid Sucky Poem That Seven Wanted to See Because I Wrote it About a Phoenix". Enjoy.

The phoenix is a symbol of undying hope.
A bird of ever-blazing fire
A phoenix will rise from it's ashes
And leap into the light,
A creature of legend and eternal flight.

When the world in all it's horror
Throws you down to the deepest leagues of despair,
Remember that people too can rise from the dust
And soar to great heights.
We simply need faith and belief in what's right.

I wrote that four years ago, when I was in my "well, everything sucks right now but there has to be hope" phase. I wrote two others with a similar theme. That I actually like more than this one. *grimaces*

[Rojo]

I hate myself.

"The Man From The Town By The Bay"

There once was a man,
From a town by the bay,
Down by the seashore,
He would stand every day,
And the look he gave there,
Was one of dismay,
As the sea raged along,
And swept his wife away,

He remembers it hard,
He remembers it well,
The day his poor spouse,
Was swept away to Hell,
...
...
I need to be set aflame and crucified for this.

[Asila]

You're too hard on yourself, Rojo. I thought your poem had a good rhythm, and the twist was funny! It also made me think of a Gothic novel I read a while back. Which means it instantly rocks. *grins*

Now, this is the poem I wrote halfway through the summer when I was suddenly seized by inspiration. However, as quickly as the flow of words began, it stopped. So I didn't post this earlier, because I had thought it wasn't finished. I wanted to know what happens next. But Seven suggested that perhaps the open ending only added to poem itself, and since I now agree, here it is. It is my first entirely non-rhyming poem, and my current favorite.

I walked with him as we traveled
to the dark that lies within
a soul that has been savaged
by kin, neglect, and withdrawal.

Gazing inward, badly frightened
by the secrets that send drifting
forth their painful truths
on dappled, black-stained
sheets of paper.

There's nothing for it but to face them,
those fears and regrets that taunt me
as will demons, in this
place that I return to
for guidance and for hope.

A steady hand now on my shoulder;
I had forgotten him. I had forgotten me.
Standing paralyzed as the hoard of stained paper
knifed closer, I hadn't realized my
pause had stretched on for
so long.

[Forsaken]

Just for fun, I am including the first poem I had ever written. I was 13.

But first, some background information. This is the poem I wrote the night my father died. (Everything artistic I do seems to have a morbid start. Don't be alarmed, though. This honestly isn't a depressed rant. It's a sad story, but it's sweet. I promise.) That night was so surreal for me. I had fallen asleep at ten, for I was very much a creature of the day when I was young and I wanted to be well rested because I had to be up at six to deliver papers. My mother woke my sister and I at midnight, and told us that we had to go to our grandparents house. She wouldn't say anything else.

At this point, I only remember being irritable. Because I hated being sleep-deprived back then, too. For whatever reason, I didn't realize that there might be something wrong. Maybe I was just so used to being badgered by unreasonable people (*cough*mymotherandsister *cough*) that I just endured it silently and didn't ask questions.

When we arrived, I was confronted by a house full of mourners. My family was ushered up to my grandparents room where my grandma and grandpa told me that my father had just died in a car crash that occurred on the very bridge we had driven over moments before we arrived. I think my sister started crying. I know I didn't. I just didn't know what to feel.

We remained for a short while longer, sitting quietly in the hushed silence, everyone keeping their own thoughts company. Then we left.

On the ride home, I was suddenly wide awake. Alert, even. Something I rarely was at this point in my life. I was too withdrawn. But this night, I was suddenly thinking clearly. And though I never thought of poetry, never really cared for it all that much, I was suddenly asking my mother if she had a pen and some paper. Because words had begun to flow through my mind, and I wanted to write them down.

In the pale blue glow of the van's dashboard, on a drive home amidst a weighted silence broken only when I read aloud what I had written so far, I wrote these words. Remember that I was not a skilled writer at this time, and would not be for at least another five years, so the phrasing is simple. And notice, that even then, I realized that I was not writing this poem only for myself, but also for the mourners I had just left.Mostly for the mourners that I had just left, my father's friends, relations, and parents.

Time Passes

Time used to seem to pass so slow,
I heard a voice not long ago.
But then time seemed to go by fast,
And that person had to pass.

He is my dad, I miss him so.
Unfortunately, he had to go,
And leave behind the ones to him dear.
Well, Dad, I hope you can hear.
The ones you left love you so
And in our hearts you'll never go.

We'll always love you, you know it's true,
Though you left our hearts black and blue.
The seasons change, and leaves may fall,
But to our hearts you'll always call.

Our hearts may always be sore,
But we will love you ever more.

During the funeral, I was called up to read this poem in front of everyone. My grandpa, in the front row, broke down and started sobbing as I finished.

I placed a hand-written copy of the poem in my father's casket.

My grandparent's still have a framed picture of one of the funeral invitations, with my father's picture and my poem across from one another, framed in their house. They had it carved into his tombstone. And whenever they tell someone about how their granddaughter writes poetry, they show them that poem.

Which kind of has me groaning inwardly, since it is hardly a good representation of what skill I have, but it is The poem that they love. None of the ones I have written since feature such sweet sentiments.

So, within my family, it is that poem that defines me as a poet in their eyes.

[Asila]

Another poem, done in the same style as the last I'd written. This seems to be the style best suited to my poetic voice. It is effortless.

Tension

I can feel it
building within
me, like a storm.
It only remains
for a single
charged word
to lash forth
and set fire
to the dried kindling
prepared
by a volatile
past.
Then that burning
current, leaping forward,
would uncover
ravaging scars
only recently hidden
by renewed vitality.
And all gains gotten
would be lost.

It's up to you whether or not you want to ask why I wrote this, but this poem began when my thoughts turned into it, and I decided that the metaphor was just too good and enlightening to pass up. So I scratched it down on paper, against my best judgment, and since it was finished in five minutes I thought I'd jump on FF and post it quick. Even though I should be falling asleep now (since I have to be awake in just under eight hours) and not haunting Foxflame. Oh well.

Enjoy.

[Seven]

Ok, I'd like to apologize that this has taken so ridiculously long to respond to, but I've been busy. And, I'd like to apologize in advance since I know my response isn't going to be as good as the poem deserves.

I agree with you! The freeverse style that you wrote the poem in really suits you. Or maybe (to correct myself), I should say the style of the poem suits the poem itself. (Your other poems are spectacular, after all, and it would be false to say you should only do freeverse from now on when all of the styles you have written in are equally engaging.) What I mean by that is the style of freeverse...it's not like the other stylized forms, in which you can tell where the sentence or thought ends because of the parameter and the rhyme. Reading the poem as you wrote it makes it feel that more tense and intense because you don't really know what sort of rhythm is going to show up next. But there definitely feels like there is a rhythm...even if I'm not so articulate to be able to express it.

Like...do you remember that animation, "The Cat Piano?" The style of the poem you wrote seems really similar to the animation's I feel. Which makes me so jealous. I was watching the Cat Piano, pretty much like, "OMFG! I wantz to have mad poetry skills like that!"

I know I've been focusing on the tone the poem sets with its style, but that's because that's what stuck out to me the most. The rhythm of the poem. But of course, the rhythm couldn't have come about with out the proper word choice. Which is my second point.

They way you articulated the feelings of tension were so cool! It really almost makes tension seem like the constantly misunderstood, but hot bad boy of emotions. Like, tension to me has always been a sort of suffocating pressure of anxiety, but your rendition of it is equally, if not more, true to is nature. I love it! It's so fun!

I demand you write more poetry to intellectually stimulate me. That's an order. *smirk*

In other words, you are amazing and should feel proud.

[Seven]

Okay....So...I was walking home today, alone in the rain. It's been three years here, and I have still yet to get an umbrella. It's kind'a obnoxious....
But that's not the point. As I was walking back from class, I started getting ideas for a poem in my head. A sort of poem. *shifty eyes* I am a terrible poet. I know this for a fact. But, it kept tossing around in my head all through lunch, so I decided to rush upstairs to write it. It's very...inspired for a certain character of mine's point of view. It just goes to show you how obsessed and how easily obsessed I become. *rolls eyes* Anyways...it's kind of lyrical poetry (is that what you call it?) in that it reads more like the lyrics to a song. I hope you guys like.


Love me, Hurt me, Drive me Insane

Your affection is infecting me,
An affliction left for all to see.
I tried so hard to fight it, but,
You’ve affected me…

Red roses bloomed beneath my blade,
A silver streak—you called my name
Can you feel it?
Can you feel it building up?

You asked me once, you pleaded twice
For me to you to give divine pain
World spinning fast, I know at last,
I must ask you to give me the same—
Love me, hurt me, drive me insane.

My Delilah, my Persephone,
You betray me, you love me, and then you leave,
Repeat, like the cycle of the seasons,
But it’s my fault—I knew.
And though the knife is in my hand,
You’re stabbing it in my heart.

Walking home alone in the rain,
It’s so cliché—but hey,
It’s not as though I asked for it to rain.
Tell me, do you see the same stars I do?
And if I died, would you die too?
It’s a shame, such a god damn shame…


You asked me once, you pleaded twice
For me to you to give divine pain
World spinning fast, I know at last,
I must ask you to give me the same—
Love me, hurt me, drive me insane.

Love me, hurt me, you drive me insane.

And if love is bright, and love is light,
Then this is the blackest light I’ve ever seen
You twist and twine—oh so sublime—
Your fingers around my soul
And we scream.

Let me make love to you now
I’ll face you on the battlefield tonight.

EDIT: I have dubbed a term for this. I call it, "emo-try." I never knew I was or wanted to be capable of it.

[Asila]

I was just re-reading your poem, Seven. I'm kind of mad at myself for not commenting, but I told myself I would later and forgot...

Anyway, there are some really great lines in it. I especially like the lines that rhyme within themselves, such as "World spinning fast, I know at last". Choosing that for what would be the main chorus was a great idea. It's pretty catchy.

I know that there was more I wanted to say...I hate myself for not remembering. *is a failure*

I guess I might as well post the vague thing I wrote and move on for now. This poem evolved from a song that I wanted to write. I just had a melody in my head, and assigned it words so that I could sing it as I tried to plot out the rest of the song. But then, as I began to write the lyrics down to see where they would head, they just turned into a typical poem in my new style. All strange rhythm and vague repetition that fades at the end.

If Only to be Redeemed

No,
don't. I won't
fail you again.
Forgive me,
I was lost
without you.

Blood
has been shed.
I know you won't
forgive me.
Though it was
all for you.

I
was alone.
The search stretched on...
Forgive me,
but they died
as you did.

You
leave me now.
I will follow.
Forgive me.
I won't stay
without you.

Dawn
finds us here,
with those I killed
around us.
I found you.
I joined you.

Forgive me.
It's all over now.
I am with you.