[x]

I Am a WriterI am a writer.
Yes, it’s easy for me to fall into a dream.
But there is nothing wrong with being tighter
With a story’s theme.

I am a writer.
That is all I will ever want to be
In the end, my story will be lighter,
And my characters will finally be free.

I am a writer.
There is nothing easier to say than that.
I will never let a story wither
Nor let a story fall flat

I am a soon to be author.
With several books ready to be read,
I want them to have great honor
And wish there will be tears shed.

To HooverHoover state: waking up to sleep
because that’s all I’m good for;
out of work, out of time again
and my brother won’t spare a dime.

Blanket sweat reminds me of this
Hoover state: waking up to sleep
in depressions of this planet;
the moon weeps for me in daytime.

I yank my pockets out, like it's
my country's flag; punch-line of the
Hoover state: waking up to sleep
in my sagging skin on decline.

I've no penny to my name,
jumping out the window (one
last time) makes me worth more in this
Hoover state: waking up to sleep.

Twinkle StarTwinkle twinkle little star
Noone cares just who you are
When you fall the fall is far
Twinkle twinkle superstar.

Pieces of chessKings and pawns are all the same
All but pieces in a game
A stroke of luck
A touch of ill fate
Decides in the end who will be
Checkmate

The Soldier's Letter To HomeI write this from my death bed
My eyes fading in the light
Drowned in crimson red,
Drowned in shaking fright.
The enemy has won
The war now has ended
And though killed by my son
May his sins be ammended.
For this is Civil War
I cannot change the tide
So from you I implore
Do what is right.

Bury me somewhere nice
Near, and fair to look at
And forgive my son his sins;
For in war, no one wins.

Take Death's HandI do not fear Death.
My life has been long enough.
It's time I take my last breath.
I shall not rebuff.
Death stands by my side,
his hand extended for me to take.
His face is veiled like that of a bride.
This life I now forsake
as Death takes me away.
I do not regret
for I am free of the fray.
Please do not fret
for I am okay.

Aur si plumbUn gând de aur, dar se simte
mai greu ca un pumnal de plumb
ce intră-n coaste, se învârte,
și caută să iasă prin minte...
Stilou de aur, scrie versuri,
dar lasă urme ca de plumb,
pe foi mânjite de cerneală,
și de cafea, și alte resturi...

Un glonţ de aur, dar se simte
mai tandru ca o zi de plumb,
îl pun aici, închid capacul,
și ca un gând, îl scot prin minte.

~Evil creatures~

They're evil creatures in the night
Lurking in the shadows but still seeing there sight
From they're pale skin and glowing eyes
Out there graves they will rise
Moaning and groaning is what you hear
Your body will soon fill with fear

They walk or run in a fast pace
Here they come for the chase
Get ready for the fear
Coming through the door they are here
Board up the windows to keep them away
This is the place you don't want to stay

It's too late now they're breaking in
It's a fight you may not win
Grab you shotgun prepare for the fight
This battle may last all night
Pain and blood come from your arm
A bite from these creatures can cause muc

EndlingHere am I, the captive thylacine
Treading my tiger-striped, ungainly way
Around the metal-mesh confinement of my cage
Here am I, exhibited, exhumed
Brought from the brink to pace another day
A living testament, a final thumbmarked page
Here am I, the only specimen
Bereft of mate, of pups, of kin, of kind
Watching the claws of history extending
Here am I, the final thylacine
The only one, the last, the lost, the endling.

Who Was HeHe stood at the average height for men.
His built was quite average.
His eyes were that of cyan.
Nonetheless, he was average.

His hair was that of blonde,
Nearly, white.
His walk and personality had a great bond.
He was a confident sight.

His skin was a delicate peach.
His muscles were quite firm.
So irresistible, a teasing reach.
His appearance had its own term.

One that the dictionary cannot confirm.

Who was he?
That man with his own sea?
He was one without a name.
His appearance was a taunting game.
He was one without a number for an age.
Forget it, he’s fake on this page.

SuicideThere's no blood on her hands
Bullet holes in the door
Nothing but colored pills
And her lying on the floor

You look at her face
There's despair in her eyes
And you wonder what she thought
As she fell and died

And maybe you're begging her to come back
And maybe you're asking why she let go
The hurt in your chest feels like a heart attack
And now you finally know

Maybe you could've helped her
If you'd looked past your own nose
Maybe she'd be alive now
You had a chance, this is what you chose
Now maybe you'll learn from things
That you didn't see
Maybe you'll open your eyes
And rescue him, or her, or me
Maybe she cried a prayer
For the oth

Last RoadTwo people, both alike in personality,
Shared a home where the scene was played,
From shattered souls to new beginnings,
Where screams were heard on this doomsday.
From golden moons crisp as the sun,
A mother who has not yet won,
The illness will strive until the deed is done,
Even if the daughter has not begun.
The road that lies ahead,
Is now a mother who is dead,
With hugs and kisses that are gone,
The daughter who will beat them all;
Thy which your eyes and ears can pretend,
What here shall be a transformation undid.

WarWhen stories of battle are shared,
They are full of fame and glory.
No one knows what war really holds,
That is, until they hear this story.
At first there is much excitement,
Your chance to be a hero.
Then homesickness begins to set in,
The sorrow makes you feel like zero.
Then the supplies get cut off,
Your stomach cries out for food.
It rains then it droughts, and then you want out,
You'd laugh at your situation but you're not in the mood.
No sanitation, no garbage cans,
You are living in human waste.
The tents are torn up, the beds full of lice,
You wish you were in a different place.
Then you finally go to fight,
This is your chance to prove yourself.
All your comrades are shot down,
So much for fame and wealth...
Cleaning up the bodies,
Of those who used to be your friends.
Not even time for a proper burial,
Too many injuries to attend.
Then there's the sneak attack,
You are all caught by surprise.
A brutal, bloody, massacre,
A bullet between your eyes.
In this little game o

One WindowOne window is all I need
To see the world for what it truly is
With my mind a system of creed.
My talent can depict or dismiss
This world of goals, so hear my heed.

I sit down beside a journal,
My fingers clutching a pencil.
I will make my character’s life spiral
And send them off to a council
Where they must advance through the next trial.

One window is all I need
To watch them afar a long, hazy field,
Where I can study their speed
Of understanding when they will yield
Of life, itself, so they need to hear my heed.

My character’s goal,
As well as mine,
Is to be whole
And see how bright life can shine
Even through the darkness

Faded bluesShadows dance of patented hues,
Yellow folded somber blues
Fear I tried in vain forbidden.
As all I long for is e'r hidden;
Shadows coved in bloated lies
My heavy heart, buzzing like a thousand flies.
Shadows Welcome by means of trust,
Yet terrified of misted dust.
Shadows threaded within the dawn,
Ever soon to be gone, unseen.
Motions treated in colored hues,
And my wold is simple now...
Shadows of faded blues.

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Undying traditionJogging, her ponytail bounces, twisting and twirling in the wind that teases it. Passing by, her feet pound the pavement, setting out a steady beat that my heart flip-flops to.

She smiles to herself, and my eyes drop instantly, my eyes burning with an after image of her face. It is hard to focus on setting gardenias into the garden bed. Even when my vision clears, I know how I must look with my oversized and clumsy hands, loose apron and lopsided hat.

A beetle to a firefly.

Regardless, I would offer these flowers as a bouquet. Raw and honest rather than dried and dying. Why is love treated as if it is a ritual killing, a sacrifice to guara

A Cautionary TaleChiefly, the clear path
of restraint is less wicked -
faith in family.

Jellyfish DreamsFlashes of stinging white crackle across satin. If you stared at it for too long, wishing for stars, you would surely be driven mad. Only the omnipresent hum of vehicles grounds me while I am in transit, preventing exactly that.

Despite frightening posters of malicious stars, their light bleeding into blood being my earliest memory, I continue to peer out the window and search for the malicious stars. Once there was a time when you could just see them beside the faint halo of street lamps, ornate and cheerfully painted. Sometimes, even a globe would blow and in that little patch the stars would glow brighter.

When I heard that rumour there

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These desolate dreams

by ~ozzla, Dec 18, 2012, 10:14:19 PM
Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Traditional Fixed Forms

Seashells and echoes
skip across the seas
faintly,
whispering the pasts
of gilded farces;
softly,
there are many calls.
Skip across the seas.

Mirrors and sunrises,
the birds all take flight,
quickly,
depart before night
before their dark light,
briskly,
so as not to fight
seashells and echoes.

Gravel and diesels,
they scratch at the eyes,
roughly
concealing the lies,
bombarding their cries.
Harshly,
their livelihood dies.
Skip across the seas.

These desolate dreamsby ~ozzla

Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Traditional Fixed Forms

Edit: omg, a DLD!! Right at this [link]!! Never would've expected it with a piece that I'd considered experimental!!

In the Lai Nouveau form as required for Day 18 of

[link] I found this form much harder to adhere to with the combination of a strict syllable count, rhyming scheme and repetition of the very first two lines.

About the lai nouveau. Taken from [link]:

an octave, 8 lines made up of 2 tercets followed by a rhymed couplet.

syllabic, syllables per line, 5-5-2-5-5-2-5-5.

rhymed aabaabaa

Questions:

Is there any meaning that you can draw from this? I feel that it seems like nonsense in some parts.

How well have I adhered to the rules of the form?

Any other comments?

I like the images of the piece and later I'll rework it into a free verse. I'm sure I'll improve it, because appropriating my own work seems to do so.

=Sammur-amat Jan 13, 2013 General Artist

Hooray! Congratulations on the DLD, darling imouto!

~ozzla Jan 13, 2013 Writer

Thank you ane-chan!! I was so pleasantly surprised to find a DLD on this! I endearingly call it my "nonsense piece" because it relies on feelings rather than thought

=Sammur-amat Jan 14, 2013 General Artist

Hey now, never berate the impact of feelings in poetry, it is the very essence, hand in hand with eloquence.

I am such a proud nee-chan!

~ozzla Jan 16, 2013 Writer

Exactly, hand in hand with eloquence - no eloquence if it's nonsense

But I know what you mean, it's just so startling because I've never written something like this before.

=Sammur-amat Jan 19, 2013 General Artist

Yeah well, maybe you should start then, no?

~Laeneris Jan 9, 2013 Student Writer

Never heard of this type of poetry before! It's certainly unique.

Is there any meaning that you can draw from this? I feel that it seems like nonsense in some parts.
I'm terrible at understanding the meaning behind poetry.

But I interpreted it as a dream that slowly turns into something bad. While reading it I envisioned a long, empty beach and a calm sea, but the scene wasn't peaceful, it felt lonely. Sometimes I was unable to make sense of it, but if it's a dream as implied then I don't think there's any need for it to make complete sense.

How well have I adhered to the rules of the form?
It seemed as if the rhymes didn't completely fit at times. I read it out loud and for example, fight and echoes don't rhyme. Or am I missing the point?

Any other comments?
I really liked the repetition of certain lines, such as skip across the seas. Congratulations on your DLD.

Sorry that I wasn't of much help.

~ozzla Jan 9, 2013 Writer

Definitely unique, and definitely nonsense

I struggled to try and get across some meaning amongst such a restrictive form, but yes, it is a dream of sorts. The way it repeats is like an echo that changes the more times you hear it, and those changes reveal a reality where not everyone is satisfied. So, the first paragraph is longing for the past, of opulence, the second is the element of fear, and the third is the realisation of the harsh urban environment, and the ominous reminder to "skip across the seas".

Ehh, it's a slant rhyme but yes, a very weak one at that. It was just unlucky that "fight" slant rhymed with "sunrises", but not echoes

Skip across the seas is my favourite line too. Thanks, and you've been absolutely helpful, I really appreciate it

~Laeneris Jan 10, 2013 Student Writer

I see, thanks for explaining.

I never would've guessed that meaning. I should read a lot, a lot more poetry.

Glad I was able to be of some help.

~ozzla Jan 10, 2013 Writer

haha, no, I don't think the meaning was that clear

~raido-ehwaz Jan 9, 2013 Professional Photographer

it's a beautiful form, and you used it very well. certainly worth a dld!

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