How many poet's are among us? (page 4)

dolphman

Here's a poem I wrote about recovering from growing up a JW:

True Begginings

From depths of cold depravity
And sometimes hidden light
Comes a wind that blows so suddenly
As a warning to those who might
Hope to find it's resting place
In the souls for which it fights
And wish away its beautiful sadness
Into a world long since said it's goodnight
It's the power within The Everyman
The power that asks the question
"do I fear because I am afraid
or do I fear, because with this fear
I can silence those sounds that scare me
And wake from those dreams that show me
The path that has always truly laid before me"
Although I do not know my way through its darkness
It matters not
For from within it, all good things are born
And from this world without place. . .and without ending. . .
Can come the only. . .true beginnings

Richard D Cranor

codeblue

Ok...I am going to be brave and share one of my poems. I must say I have enjoyed what EVERYONE of you have written. Some made me just want to cry...I could feel the pain in which they were written.

This poem I wrote during my divorce....

Shattered Heart

How long does it take a broken heart to mend?

How long does it take to heal and for the pain to end?

When will the mind allow itself to truly forget the pain of the past?

To go on with the present life and think of peace and happiness at last?

The heart recalls the mind of the sorrow in its life.

The pain seems insurmountable and full of endless strife.

When will the peace of mind and true happiness begin?

When will the heart let go of pain and let uncertainty end?

Do we have to wipe out all memories of people in our past,

That caused our pain and misery to free us to our happiness at last?

Yes, how do we truly forget the ones who have brought us to our knees?

Who have caused such unending pain that we wish our lives would cease?

Barbie (July 17, 1998)

Badger

I can personally vouch for Maybesbabies' poetry skillz.

GentlyFeral

Me. I've had one poem published in Witch Eye, a Zine of Feri Uprising (it's a little pagan zine), and a sermon preached in an Episcopal church on another, unpublished poem.

GentlyFeral

Mac

TOSSING IN THE BREEZE

As she offers me her silence

And I don't know what it means

As my mind is turning traitor

Building nightmares from my dreams

With perception oft times cloudy

Things aren't always as they seem

I'm like an upward falling feather riding captive on your breeze.

And in times when I most need her

She will sometimes drift away

This bittersweet alliance

To remain...or back away?

But, my heart will not release her

So it's in this void I'll stay

I'm an upward falling feather circling hopeless on this day.

Quiet night....perhaps it's healing

Helps to clear the fog away

Of a thought that was misspoken

Words sometimes get in the way

And the absence grows the longing

That is constant in my day

I'm like an upward falling feather'

being blown along the way

Yes your breeze tossed falling feather

ever hoping that you'll stay.

NEWWORLDSLACKER

I have a really weird feeling like something big has changed ,
my savior is found blood guilty ,
and this sinners now a saint .
Received the bad news this morning ,
that nothings quite the way its been ,
the chosen are the fallen ,
and the doorway is the sin .

Father is out to kill me ,
I am already among the dead ,
I will be one of the many innocent ,
who?s life blood shed .

The beauty of the evil
lies in the closeness of the skin ,
stab father and mother
the greatness of this sin .

Anger it is my water , and the burden is my bread ,
I stair into their faces and behold the lively dead.
Narrow is their roadway,
and cramped they find release ,
for they are happy in the work they are given ,
bringing disciples to the beast .
His name is now three sixes ,
and his coat is stained in blood ,
still they remain and worship,
this just and loving God .

The beauty of the evil
lies in the closeness of the skin ,
stab father and mother
the greatness of this sin .

NwS

NEWWORLDSLACKER

this one is about self mutalation so beware :

Five circles

One night burning a boy thinks about how his mother told him hes chasing away his
dreams. one strike of the match and this boys eyes gleam with desire , for you see the
thing this boy wants is to be set a fire .

Wife and kids are in there beds , he wonders what went wrong , why his life seems just so
dismal and how this pain could last so long .
He has a butane lighter and his thoughts are full of death and thats when the boy realizes
that there is only one beer left .

He lets the toung of fire heat an engine member hot , as he clenches his teeth tighter and
he draws it to the spot . one focused point of pain and nothing hurts worse than sin .

As the sweat pours down his forehead he lights the flame again .
now the pain it seems quite pleasant compared to the anguish that has been.

The pain it is my best friend and now I dont feel quite the same.
the room is oh so quiet as he burns away the shame.

The next will feel much better as the iron white it glows .
I have already done it two times , I dont give a Fuck the third one shows .

Anger rushes in beside him and stares at him in disgrace. tonight Im in here dying and no
one cares to see my face .

So I let another circle be the voice for all my pain .
religion for the pain this is the only a substitute for A death right now right .

Five it is the number so I have just got one more left . these things they really happend
while the world safely slept.

Crackling skin burns the obvious marks for all to see , The scars i will keep on hiding, I
will keep this dead rotting thing inside of me.

*
* *
* *

Five it is so human- it is pure flesh .

NwS

SheilaM

Detective: That is why you research and go with a reputable print on demand company, we prefer Trafford in Canada. In fact there were a few writers at the conference that had done both self-publishing and regular means. No, you didn't touch a nerve you were speaking about something you assume without having facts, Thunder and I researched this for over a year and I spoke with Professors that have used self-publishing.

For me I would rather get a good story in someone's hands so they can enjoy it, that is what writing is all about. I don't want to wait 8 years to have my book published, sent to book stores and you have 8 weeks to make or break in a book store. With self-publishing you can speak with the buyer since your book is with Barnes and Nobles online and Amazon and Borders. They will bring your book in and you have more time to sell it then just the 8 weeks as with a traditional publisher.

PS. As I said "Vanity Press" is a very OLD SCHOOL mentality, there are many books that have been picked up by pulblishing companies that they originally turned down, because they sold well self-published. That is what is so exciting about our time. We have options not given to previous generations and a whole knew mentality on the publishing world, it's quite refreshing actually.

SheilaM

This is one I wrote quickly yesterday about the Armenian massacre. I haven't worked on any revisions or editing but thought I would share it.

For the Armenian Child in the Film

A child stands clutching her Mother's cold blue hand, crying

She looks around for comfort but finds only dead blank stares.

They are all cold lying in a mound

arms, legs askew

thrown haphazardly as if they are garbage

Their stomachs protrude from internal gases

She sees beyond them desert, mountains and a brilliant blue sky

She sobs and sobs but no one is left to hear her pain

Finally, her eyes begin to droop

she places a dirty blood soaked thumb in her mouth

and lies down cuddling against her Mother's corpse

She sleeps alone in the Turkish desert

Elsewhere

Rub a dub-dub

Sit'in in my tub

Tell'in the JWs to go away.

How many poet's are among us?

True Begginings

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