View Full Version : Poetry Submission Thread

May 12th, 2005, 01:07 PM
Poetry Submissions
-Lasting from Thursday, May 12, until Wednesday, May 18
-Submit in the Submission Thread (Here)

-2 poems per member
-Please include a title of some sort for your poem, even if it's [no title].
-All normal writing forum rules (http://www.onlinedebate.net/forums/showthread.php?t=2399) apply.

Please be familiar with the rules (http://www.onlinedebate.net/forums/showthread.php?t=3089) of this contest.

May 12th, 2005, 01:26 PM
Wet Leaves and Ice - 11/22/02

Wet leaves and ice - you can slip on them twice

like beans over rice or dubious advice

A touch of darkness and a little lack of sleep

can land you in a heap and make your friends weep

You can slip as you slide - you can dip as you glide

You can sway as you pray - you can pay on the way

A wet road is like a sweaty load - it's hard to grab hold

It'll keep you from getting old - and leave you out in the cold

Just like a friend that leaves you in the end - at a tricky bend

and leaves you to defend a friend on whom you can't depend

Wet leaves and ice - you can slip on them twice

like beans over rice or dubious advice

May 12th, 2005, 02:15 PM
Alright, these are songs from my friend and I. I've tried my hardest to show tempo with this, but if you want to hear the rough-cut acoustics, i'll have the links there. We're going to record my parts and fill in the rest "eventually". But, feel free to check out the site and leave feedback.

Take Me Home (http://garvinmusic.com/wordpress/?p=32)

I finally found comfort when I sit alone and wonder on the stoop as if the cold was okay.
With the cold air frozen as I blow out a dozen of smoke loops with a meaning, they say.
Nothing bothers me now. Nothing startling or seemingly calm, and yet it all goes away
with a night of wondering. I’m scared cause thoughts are flooding and I pray that this will all go away

singing, “Lord, take me home.”
singing, "Lord, take me home."

I pulled up another drag for the summer as I breathe in the air that I make.
My body feels sweaty, yet its only seventy and the coffee sets in for my sake.
I shuffle another deck. My luck seems pretty set on keeping me unsatisfied.
I’ve spent three years running, but I guess I’d rather run then come to you with nothing to say besides,

“Oh Lord, take me home.”
singin', "Lord, take me home."
"Oh Lord, take me home."
singin', "Lord take me home."


Painting The Sunrise Blue (http://garvinmusic.com/wordpress/?page_id=4)

I'm just a false hope, in a world of contraception, where everything's conflicted, and I give in.
She says she likes my voice, and sings it everyday to me.

I just can't sing the right note, when you stand in front of me
You just hand me a paintbrush

There's fingers in my hair, and voices in my ears
Telling me, all these years
Of constant rejection was just the warm-up to
The feeling of the sunrise when I wake up next to you
And now she wears my clothes, she takes me out to lunch
She's shown me to all her friends.
She still wears the ring that I've found, on the ground.

I just can't sing the right not when you stand in front of me
You just hand me a paintbrush

Painting the sunrise blue
so when I wake up I
only see you

Painting the sunrise blue
so when I look up

Painting the sunrise blue
so when I look up I
only see you

Painting the sunrise blue
so when I look up
I only see you.

Does it still count if it's a song?

May 12th, 2005, 05:03 PM
Does it still count if it's a song?Sure, but your music for it doesn't count. They look like they can stand on their own as poetry.

I'm hearing these piece in a high-pitched, hamster voice. :)

May 12th, 2005, 06:57 PM
cynic's fairy tale (a waltz)

the earth spins around
the sun it goes down
there's blood all over the moon
and the rats, they say
in the old time way
make love in abandoned rooms

so the picture book aisles
and the syrupy smiles
do their best for a poison dream
but a mail order life
with a ready made wife
is a gasp in a long, long scream

the bills they come in through the front door slot
the lovers by back door stairs
so draw the blinds over conscience's eye
it's time for the animal fairs

the dead silent rooms
they make cold plaster tombs
where the hate
freely flits up and down
then he tips his black hat
and blows his gray nose
on the hem of a soft, white gown

so the covers come off
and the teevee comes on
the clock hands spin wildly around
there's a crack in the door
a hole in the floor
and the walls come tumbling down

so the people they leave
but the memories stay
to try it again on their own
the picture book aisles
and the syrupy smiles
are left there all alone

May 12th, 2005, 08:54 PM
The "easy gal" poem:)
he offered her honor, she honored his offer, and now all night he'll be on and off her.

May 13th, 2005, 06:16 AM
Sure, but your music for it doesn't count. They look like they can stand on their own as poetry.

I'm hearing these piece in a high-pitched, hamster voice.

Hehe, kewl beens, yo. By the way, he does have an amazing voice. I just provide backup and lead guitar (whoo!).

May 15th, 2005, 09:12 PM
I just wrote this poem for Buddy, our beagle dog who died one hour ago. I am the only one home, except for my 8 year-old daughter who is sleeping. I'm still crying and will be for some time. I really do believe that Buddy didn't want to die alone, and that he was waiting for me to be with him, to pet him, so that he could let go as he died only moments after I went to be with him.

I hope that he found comfort in me.


For Buddy, Secretly for Me.

A little girl who loves you sleeps restlessly in her bed.
Before her eyes closed, she knew you were suffering
and that you might not keep breathing through the night.

I have never watched a thing I love die…not even dreams…or a dog.

For weeks now you have been showing all the signs, and no one wanted to see.
Selfish humans who find comfort in pretending.

We were not much for friends.

You were mostly an inconvenience to me,
barking me out of my slumber at 3 a.m. most nights.

To go out,
To feel the cool country breeze…
Only to howl moments later to come back in
because you got a chill in your old bones.

I’m sorry now for the time when the frustration and exhaustion of the mid-night awakenings took over in me.
I staggered down the stairs angry and gave you a kick to get out the door and then left you out there howling til sunrise.

But being sorry will only make me feel better.
Selfish humans who find comfort in pretending.

We were not much for friends.

You annoyed me,
stealing peanut butter and jelly sandwiches out of a small child’s hands.
How could you jump even that high, being a short, fat beagle dog?

I’m sorry now for the times I did not give you my table scraps,
Not because you shouldn’t have them being fat as you were,
But because you barked at me, demanding I give them to you
rather than begging me for a taste.

But being sorry will only ease my suffering,
Not erase yours.

All day, you did not move from the family room.
You just looked sadly at anyone who looked sadly at you.

As I put my light-haired little girl to bed, her shaking voice asked me to wake her if anything should happen to you.
I assured her that you had held on so long with all your struggling these last few weeks that surely you’d still be struggling in the morning.

We were not much for friends.

I had not been in the room you spent the day in for some time.
I had been seeing to life’s routines while you painfully panted and fearfully gasped for breaths.

When I finally came to see you, your back legs were not working anymore and you looked sadly at me because I looked sadly at you.
When I finally came to see you, you had managed to get from one side of the room to the other and up the ledge into the kitchen.

I wondered how long it must have taken you without your back legs moving anymore,
how frantically you must have worked to get there and get up that ledge.

I wondered mostly where you were trying to go.

I walked over to you.
To help you to stand,
To help you to get where you were trying to go.

I stroked my hand on your side and patted you softly,
through your brown patch of fur, then your black and white patches,
and you let your head fall down to rest on the hard kitchen floor.

You did not want to die alone.
(Selfish humans who find comfort in pretending.)

I stayed with you, patting you,
long after your belly stopped moving up and down,
long after your paws and head stopped twitching,
long after your urine saturated the floor,
long after the drops of blood leaked from your mouth.

But patting you only made me feel better,
since you had left me there alone some time ago.

“Buddy, I’ll help you to go out into the cool country air.”
“Buddy, I’ll help you to go where you want to go.”
“My friend, I’ll help you to go.”

May 16th, 2005, 12:59 PM
The path
of life
has none
but strife
the meaning's
no height
to be reached
no wall to
be breached
no light
in the forest
but the wood itself
like living lava
dripping with
false prophets
on The Answer
thier rancor
that pours
like cement
over what
they see bent
and hidden
in me
and I'm
stuck in
a sea
with no knife
to form


meaning of life

"Don't freeze the living"

May 18th, 2005, 06:27 AM
My second submission.

My Angel’s Wing Is Broken


My angel’s wing is broken,
And though she can not fly to me,
She can hear me crying out,
For her soothing serenity.

She knows my desperation,
And the sound of my familiar cry.
But my angel’s wing is broken,
She has her own tears to dry.


I remember when my angel
First wrapped her wings around me whole.
Her gentle hold tried to heal my heart,
Her light labored to lift up my soul.

She knew my sadness was drowning me
In a dark and sorrowful place.
She hoped that she could rescue me
With her gift and her grace.

The ache seeped in too deeply,
Her grace alone would not do.
In a voice as light as air she sang,
“Here, I give my wing to you.”

In her trembling hands she held her wing,
And lovingly placed it in my arms,
“The grace I have is not enough,
Keep this and it will keep you from harm.”


She took my sorrow with her to her kingdom,
And her lovely wing went everywhere with me,
But soon the feathers frayed and tattered,
One by one, I lost them clumsily.

For some time the memory was enough
To keep me hopeful through all my days,
But she is the only one who can save me now,
From this dreadful deathly haze.


As I stop myself from breathing,
I ask God to take my soul with ease,
“God, give my angel one new wing
And tell her I’m sorry I lost hers, please.”

While lying lifeless in the cold and dark,
My angel appears before my weary bones,
“Breathe your sadness into me,
My love, you are not alone. “

Her own tears stream like quiet waterfalls,
Down her luminescent face,
“Your need filled me with the strength,
To fly here with my last gift and saving grace.”

“I have only one wing left to give you now,
Then at last I have no more.
You must use it to make a difference,
Do not let it go like the one before.”


In one defining moment I realize,
“It isn’t just your wings you give,
It is your breath, your light, your spirit,
And all that makes you live.”

I reach my hand out to touch her tears,
“Your last wing I will not need.”
I gently kiss her giving hands,
“For me, you will no longer bleed.”

“I see now how you mourn for me,
And you will mourn no more.
I know now what I have to do
I’m sorry, I didn’t know before.”


"You must go back to Heaven now,
Where you will fly one-winged and divine.
I can not return the wing I lost to you,
But I can take back what is mine."

I wrap my tired hands around her face,
And whisper, “My angel, you are free.
These are not your tears to cry,
It's time to give them back to me.”

When I feel the darkness creeping in,
I will think of all my angel gave.
Her breath, her light, her spirit…
Give me hope to keep me brave.

May 18th, 2005, 12:26 PM
"Travel on"

On an island in the ocean wide
A sand floor that's 5 by 5.
Looking out into the vast
Blue their bobs a wooden raft.
He sails in from the eastern sea
But this young man is rowing to me.

We stand atop this sandy shore
Many are we, but we welcome more.
He lands his craft amongst our own
and soon he finds he calls it home.

They come and go, and many stay
This young man is the latter way.
He joins our group, with friends he talks
Hears their tales and takes his walks.
Soon he stands with scope at eye
Watching others drawing nye.

The rulers of this island small
Standing there, so proud and tall
Appraise this man and see his merit
He could join them, if he dare it.
This young man though, will take the offer
Though volunteer, to fill no coffer.

He rules the island, just and fair
Policing travelers, here and there
A citizen too, he walks around
Greeting friends in deed and sound.

But after time has come and gone
We see him stand, his face is long.
He recollects, his time was fun,
And stares at the setting sun.

This island with it boisterous crowd
minds so keen and mouths so loud.
was this young man's element
but he finds his heart is rent.
He sits thinking through the night
and at the dawn, he knows he's right.

As the sun is just arisin'
He watches the east horizon.

With a stick gripped in his hand
he scrawls farewell in the sand
And sets his raft to the Eastern sun
On a straight brisk wind his sail does run

Waving at the man who's left
I can feel my heart bereft
Of one who was a leader strong
Whether right or whether wrong

Life goes on, 'tis not the end
But mars as departs our friend.

Dedicated to Neverending, AntiMaterialist, and GodlessPagan.

Xanadu Moo
May 18th, 2005, 03:20 PM

I would even talk to you
Once in a great long while
And perhaps look just your way
With no hint of a smile
Your compass it would follow me
Around the glorious globe
To lose your poor, confused mind
When to me you’re close
That's what we'd do instead of living
If each other we were giving

There’d be a place you’d often wait
In hopes that soon I’d come
You’d want to have me drawn inside
As I stayed far from home
You couldn’t break me from my sleep
Still unconvinced of lofty aims
Wouldn’t be bothered with such things
While you climbed my exalted frames

I’d know you once and forget you twice
Your name would no bells ring
I’d fail to take your grand advice
Of spreading forth my wings
A sorry sight your eyes would be
When they on me not gaze
Deeper emotions, they would flee
I could not bear the praise

I’d find my home oblivion
You, an asphyxiated wreck
My friends would all be plebeian
Fate’s hands around your neck
I’d grant the time to fit you in
If only the next century
Not as if I cared all that much
For one such trivial injury

Me and you, the both of us—
Colossus and homunculus
That's what we'd be instead of living
If each other we were giving

A worthy plan this all would be
I scorn you, while you love me
Fairness in chaotic states
Nurturing the things it hates
Equilibrium devoid of force
Ripping tongues from the gift horse
Label for an impossible
Relationship disposable
I win, you lose, so equitable
We ride this destined course

Then you'd write a wondrous poem
And rave on all about me
To sing my name as joyfulness
And never at all doubt me
Me… I'd go on with life
Not even contemplating…
Precisely what your caring means
To this tender, naive psyche

That’s where we’d go instead of living
A reversal trip... all too befitting

Mr. Hyde
May 18th, 2005, 07:34 PM
Forum in the Sky - SnoopCitySid.

A forum in the sky - no need to see eye to eye
because there are no eyes - just empty skies
no need to talk or even to listen
no need to think about what it is you're missin'

A forum in the sky where stars are being born
from stars that are dying - it's life that's in reform
we pass from a planet and blend into its' dust
and hope and pray that this is what we trust

Jumbly Wumbly - Mr. Hyde

Jumbly Wumbly was so cute
But that bugger was a mute

He never screamed though he cried
when the robber took his life.

Now we sit though we don't wonder
why 911 was such a blunder.

Good bye Jumbly dear old friend
You were so quiet until the end.