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Another Artistic Thread - POEMS

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  • I have a problem,
    And it tears gently at my being.
    It seems comforting and safe.
    It makes me want it to stay.

    I have a disease,
    And it is the kind that makes one heart-sick.
    It is a desire and a need.
    It makes me long for what I can not have.

    I have an addiction,
    And he has a name.
    He is my best friend and my challenger.
    He makes me strive for a better life.

    I have a problem,
    And he tears gently at my being.
    He seems comforting and safe.
    He makes me want him to stay.


    • wow, i was really really impressed wiht your old one facility. That'll take a couple more reads to comprehend fully, but it still hit the first time through.

      And, another contribution:


      Every love I've found has
      found me incomplete.

      And every love has left
      it's own wound in my
      slowly fading heart.

      So I will build a wall
      so strong and so high
      that not the most resolute of
      loves can find it's way to me.

      History shall be the gatekeeper,
      and Trust shall be the escort,
      so that those journeying
      will have safe passage,
      and a roof over their heads
      at the end of the road.

      And those unwelcome shall
      find the passage barred,
      and the road broken.

      And none shall struggle to
      find and mend the incomplete.
      after a breakup. I figured it wouldn't happen, but it's how i felt. And, it didn't, fortunately. I just kidna like the image though.
      PhotoFx -[=]-"Visual forms are not inherent in themselves, but are granted by the act of seeing..." -Trevor Goodchild


      • roses are read
        violets are blue
        im a schizophrenic
        and so am i


        • I am a spead reader and it took me awhile to read all those poems. I am very pleased there are so many talented people on this board. Here is a poem I have read, I cannot remember the author:

          There the eye goes not,
          Speach goes not, nor the mind.
          We know not, we understand not
          How one would teech it.

          When I read this poem, it opened so many thought patterns and I instantly had it memorized. I hope it will shed some light into your brains as well.


          • I wrote this one a couple of days ago - very recently.

            Your Eyes

            The world melts
            and dissolves around me
            with the penetrating
            soul contorting
            of your deep
            dark and intense brown eyes,
            almost black with intensity.

            How they shake my soul
            my heart
            and how my knees grow weak
            and my mind grows fearful
            in this one moment
            this one eternity
            as we gaze
            into our souls.


            • Thank you Xarajodie, Alan (aka PhotoFx), Coop, Ian, Murmeli, Facticity, sscw46 and trista for keeping the thread so interesting during my leave of absence.

              Your poems are incredible, and Xara your poems are ever so interesting to read, though LONG, but interesting.

              I will like to welcome Blaugh for his classical interpretation of the roses and violets. And thanks for MrMagic with his contribution of 'mind'

              Xara for your unnamed poem maybe you can use this title
              <Reaching for a candle's light>, the poem is beutifully written and I felt the pain deep inside. Thank you.

              Facticity <a cold farewell> is one of the most bitter poem I have read. The realism in those words stings the very core of any broken hearted. Well done.

              And trista's <I have a problem>, what more can I say, she has a touched a true poet. Good work.

              sscw46, my favourite panda, <under the rug>, could not have said it any better about the pain and scar of relationships. In which I have my own rug that covers my old scars of war.

              For Ian, I sincerely hope that <Moving On> did you some good, just pick up the pieces friend, and keep on going.

              Alan's <Incomplete> is insightful and true. But there is no need to dwell in it my friend, no one is perfect and all of us have an incompleteness in us, that is why we fall in love, so that we can BE COMPLETE. No?

              Lastly, Murmeli's poem <I'm not willing to believe> struck a cord in me so strong that I will like to express my feelings of it in my contribution for today. Well written my friend.

              This is todays first contribution ...

              : a memory, an end
              Have you ever loved a memory
              one that you know is but a dream
              which is now so far away
              it seems like eternity

              Have you ever wished it was different
              that one time you hear me say 'I love you'
              without you ever feeling lost and run away?

              I have had you in my heart for ages
              and for ages it has ache
              Yet now I must accept the simple truth
              it has to end
              this dream of you
              for it is nothing more than
              castles in the air
              Your love, to me will not come true
              I hope you enjoy it.
              Sometimes it is just being me that counts
              By: izchan


              • Good to see your back, izchan.

                Heres anotherone of mine, just made it today:


                I toss and turn in my sleep,
                into my dreams the darkness creeps.
                It eats at my soul, relentlessly devouring,
                I just continue to hide, scared and cowering.
                The cold and the fear are all I can feel,
                I am lost in this world where nothing is real.
                This evil is powerful, it is overtaking me,
                No matter where I run, it won't let me be.
                All hope of escape has now been forever lost
                I will flee from it always, but at what cost?
                I dread each waking moment that I exist
                If I were to die would I even be missed?
                Answers to these questions, I will never know,
                Because six feet above me a cold wind now blows.

                Izchan, thank you very much for the kind words.
                Bound by chain of dwarven magic, A tale of trickery, long and tragic,
                Sword in jaw, awaiting the day, Ragnarok, when all gods shall pay

                Jesus-half brother.


                • ok ok, glad no one got mad about my roses and violets here's a couple serious poems i've had stored on my hdd for a while:


                  life comes to us in stages...
                  but while one of us is down, another is up...

                  remember that...
                  when you're heart is broken over a lost love, or
                  you are sad over the loss of a loved one

                  someone else...
                  is finding love for the first time, or
                  is finding joy in the birth of a new child

                  remember when you're up, that someone is down
                  remember how it felt, and how it would have felt
                  to have someone help you up again...


                  this is a sappy love poem i wrote about an ex-girlfriend in college:

                  as tears roll in darkness
                  life lays, dusty, on the shelf
                  beside useless books, paper

                  depression and poor grades were the least
                  she saved me from myself
                  pity, all that remains is but a vapor


                  last but my favorite...


                  when lights go off in here
                  the sun comes up out there

                  and unto earth the dawn is reborn
                  like breathing souls coming to and fro
                  the lifeless cry of death and scorn
                  follows after like the faithful


                  thanks everyone for you inspirational poems...i haven't written in a couple years, but i think i may just pick up a berol black beauty and take it up again...


                  • nicely written blaugh. No worries about the poems. as I said in my ealier postings, there is no such thing as bad boems, only misunderstood words.

                    <Scorn> is the best of the lot, definately.

                    It is good to hear that you will be participating in our little journey of the poets. Will await for more of your works.

                    Again welcome to Another Artistic Thread - Poems

                    Here is somethingelse to read ... enjoy.

                    : The old ways
                    There will always be times of turbulance
                    times when we question to the core of our life
                    seeking answers for unknown questions
                    and meanings which don't exist
                    in which the world keeps twirling by

                    Sometimes when we are sad and confused
                    the very thing that we take for granted
                    are the one thing that will save us
                    from the grieve and the pain from inside

                    Sometimes it is the old things that makes us safe
                    able to find all the right answers in places
                    Where we know that roses are red
                    and violets are always blue
                    Sometimes it is just being me that counts
                    By: izchan


                    • Izchan, thanks for the kind words. And these poems may seem long, but my personal favorite work is a poem that's extremely long. So worry not, I will not post it here. Too long. Also . . . "a memory" was beautiful . . . gorgeous, and something I can personally relate to.

                      Blaugh - the poem you wrote about your ex-girlfriend in college was very poignant. It really really stood out to me, and grabbed at me. I really liked it. So short, so concise, so intelligent.

                      So, I've been a writer for as long as I can remember - poems, short stories, you name it. As some points in my life I can just write about anything. In fact, I can write about anything, butit doesn't mean anything to me anymore. Recently - the past year or so - I've been inspired, and written something down, looked at it and hated it. I don't know how to get my true inspiration back, and to say what I really want to say anymore. It used to be so effortless, and it's not anymore . . . does anyone have any advice? Of all the things I do, writing is probably the dearest to me, and is something I will always always do, so I'd like to be able to express myself in poetry, again. I feel like everything I write now is just unsatisfactory and doesn't convey the ideas that I want. Thoughts?


                      • no comment, you can all decide what this means.
                        I know, but it's not relevant, and it ought to be general.
                        Song of Searching

                        There sailed a proud and snow-white ship
                        set forth from harbour long ago;
                        Her captain's eyes were piercing, cold,
                        but all his vessels brought him home.

                        She'd journeyed far from safer waters
                        known and into empty cloudless
                        skies where all the stars were strange;
                        But all her crew cried "Take Me Home."

                        There searching for a priceless thing,
                        that tears nor gold nor fame could buy;
                        A prize that safe her captain make
                        But not a gift to take men home.

                        She'd brought them under guiding hands
                        to rest where fableled lay beneath
                        the waves the treasure burried deep
                        But all her crew cried "Take Me Home."

                        There sitting calm at night she sat,
                        And sleeping lay her sleepless crew;
                        The pacing captain watched for dawn
                        to come so he could take them home.

                        But waiting for the tardy day
                        to come the Earth began to breathe,
                        And keep from them what none from life
                        or death by searching hope to keep.

                        And watched the captain grim and sad
                        as winds began to rip and rend
                        the tearing sails and cracking masts,
                        But all her crew cried "Take Me Home."
                        Her drowning crew cried "Take Me Home."

                        But now the silent captain couldn't ever take them home.
                        PhotoFx -[=]-"Visual forms are not inherent in themselves, but are granted by the act of seeing..." -Trevor Goodchild


                        • Originally posted by izchan
                          sscw46, my favourite panda, <under the rug>, could not have said it any better about the pain and scar of relationships. In which I have my own rug that covers my old scars of war.
                          Thank you.


                          • That was a great poem PhotoFx, I really enjoyed reading it. xarajodie,I'm sure you've heard tis before, but you should probably give poetry a break for a while and work on something else. This has always worked for me. At least wait until you've got some good inspiration though, if your not pleased with your current work. Or you could just post it and let us decide the quality of it.
                            Bound by chain of dwarven magic, A tale of trickery, long and tragic,
                            Sword in jaw, awaiting the day, Ragnarok, when all gods shall pay

                            Jesus-half brother.
                            WHERES MY FREE DIGITAL ASSHOLE?!


                            • To Xara,

                              Some people call it a writer's block, some call it an empty well.

                              I personally call it a sudden lost of ability to dream.

                              Now there are a lot of reasons that which causes that a person to loose that ability to dream, but the most frequent reason of all is that when one has lost all the urge to seek new dreams.

                              When we are young, our hearts are open to everything in our life, everything is new and chanlleging. Dreams form easily from what we see and hear.

                              When we grow older we start to feel less and less of the world, and more and more of ourselves. Thus the dreams starts to shrink and disappear.

                              Look at the majority of our poems in this thread alone and you will find that most of us, including me, addresses issues that is within us alone and seldom of things outside.

                              When we are only tunneling into ourselves for dreams, we run out of it very fast, because as an individual we are limited in our needs and feelings. Of course there are exceptions, but in a general whole, every one person can and will have only so much of dreams when all they can think about is for themselves.

                              Now try to think about others, whether people or places. Think of the gentle wind that passes the oak tress or the old man that mends shoes around the cornere, try and feel what they feel and see what they see in the corner and you will suddenly be opened to a whole new world of possibilities, because you are no longer limited with your own vision of life but accompasses all the other beings in it.

                              If I had one advice that I will give a person that is lost that ability to dream , that will be 'Just Start Dreaming Again'

                              : Just Dream Again
                              In the dark we cry
                              because we can't see
                              the paths are lost
                              and the end is not seen.

                              Some say that dreams are gone before it starts
                              that people just live by value set by others
                              where laughther is kept in a tomb of stone
                              hope but a faint distant memory

                              What I say is just dream again
                              for in dreams we will find a way
                              to roads that will lead us to something different
                              a destination that will give us a chance
                              to be someone better and make that change

                              Don't worry if you don't get it fast
                              for dreams comes slowly at first
                              but come it will always
                              just open your heart and start to feel
                              capture the possibilities
                              so that it becomes something real
                              and you will find yourself again
                              inside the dreams of lives around you
                              Hope that this helps you.
                              Sometimes it is just being me that counts
                              By: izchan


                              • Alan,

                                that poem is VERY GOOD!!!!

                                well done, wished that was the one that was posted in LPSIII, then I will have voted for you.

                                GOOD WORK.

                                And for Sscw46, you are welcomed. Your talent shines through even in the thickest clouds.

                                Keep it coming people.
                                Sometimes it is just being me that counts
                                By: izchan