Well, it’s been a hectic month for me. I’ve flunked my English and History exams, I’ve started reading Dracula (I’m enjoying it by the way) and I’ve realised that Paradroid for the Commodore 64 is one of the best video games of all time in my opinion. Poetry-wise, my mind has been puerile and you can read the evidence on this website. So after each month I’ll be frivolous and name my worst (there are too many contenders) and favourite poems of mine for the month.
The worst poem this month is ‘Void.’ It was called formerly 'Ambiguity' as it was ambiguous what the hell it was about. However thinking about it, I wanted the title to be clichéd so I changed it. If you didn’t know it involves me trying to create an allegory between a dark night and a science fiction staple; a void. However I’ve never been satisfied with the final product. I managed to write a somewhat more successful version in 'Rings' posted exactly a week later, where I made it a straight science fiction poem, rather than a fantasy one.
My favourite poem I’ve written this month is 'Lights.' Influenced by the images of ’Perchance to Dream’ (The Twilight Zone, Charles Beaumont, 1959) which involved a man having a continuous nightmare of a theme park which had an enigmatic showgirl whom he believed she wanted to kill him. I changed the perspective to the park being the horror towards the narrator. I couldn’t really dwell upon the park too much as it was merely a poem but I’m going to write a short story adaptation of this poem for my anthology of tales, which I hope to write in the first person narrative and evoke more emotion from the unnamed protagonist.
So that’s it for this month. For February, I have some weird ideas and I’ve actually written two poems which will be posted next week. So expect the unexpected...
Friday, 30 January 2009
Thursday, 29 January 2009
Rings
The event horizon led to nowhere,
The disintegrating galaxy had seen better days,
Millions of sentient lives were perished,
Into the black hole,
Enforced by fear.
Its golden circumference was lying,
The evil, callous, black nucleus,
Consumed billions of useless lives,
Death was its breakfast.
A cruel trick perpetrated by nature,
A manipulation of reality,
A hole in the fabric of things,
A dropped stitch in the tapestry of existence,
It continued to gorge itself.
Robust in its impundence,
The last particle of the galaxy digested,
It had little purpose now.
Satisfied it finally retired,
And left space alone again.
The disintegrating galaxy had seen better days,
Millions of sentient lives were perished,
Into the black hole,
Enforced by fear.
Its golden circumference was lying,
The evil, callous, black nucleus,
Consumed billions of useless lives,
Death was its breakfast.
A cruel trick perpetrated by nature,
A manipulation of reality,
A hole in the fabric of things,
A dropped stitch in the tapestry of existence,
It continued to gorge itself.
Robust in its impundence,
The last particle of the galaxy digested,
It had little purpose now.
Satisfied it finally retired,
And left space alone again.
Wednesday, 28 January 2009
Arrows
Daybreak,
An isolated field,
Gorging itself on action,
The men led to their ends,
An unflattering fate.
The tears of the doomed men,
The sweat of their foreheads,
The determined endurance of them,
Was worthy of medal,
Sadly their commandants were miles away,
Polishing their bookcases.
Unaware of their men’s bravery,
They smile and take the credit,
Dismiss the battle as a laugh,
Place the controversy as experience,
And drink the blood of the tragic.
During war the men had tolerated fortitude, honour, and equality,
Afterwards they had to undergo much worse,
Callousness, indifference and hypocrisy:
None hurt more than the betrayal of their ‘superiors,’
It was worse than an arrow to the heart,
And it penetrated deeply.
An isolated field,
Gorging itself on action,
The men led to their ends,
An unflattering fate.
The tears of the doomed men,
The sweat of their foreheads,
The determined endurance of them,
Was worthy of medal,
Sadly their commandants were miles away,
Polishing their bookcases.
Unaware of their men’s bravery,
They smile and take the credit,
Dismiss the battle as a laugh,
Place the controversy as experience,
And drink the blood of the tragic.
During war the men had tolerated fortitude, honour, and equality,
Afterwards they had to undergo much worse,
Callousness, indifference and hypocrisy:
None hurt more than the betrayal of their ‘superiors,’
It was worse than an arrow to the heart,
And it penetrated deeply.
Tuesday, 27 January 2009
Lights
The sea of colours greeted me,
Reds, blues and greens beckoned me,
'Come in!' they seemed to be shouting.
I was indeed welcomed by a musky smell,
Of hot dogs, pizzas and candy floss,
My eyes were met by too many colours,
They were hypnotising and made me nauseous,
Coupled with the amount of activity happening at that time.
It was something from a nightmare.
The circus waltz from the fun house made me feel sick,
The jagged skulls outside the haunted house made me vomit,
Even the jagged zig zag pattern beside the helter skelter made me choke.
The wheel relentlessly circled; a solemn reminder of the repetition.
Mesmerised, I drew my attention on the patrons.
The children dillgently wore bright colours, designed to taunt me,
They shouted and laughed without sensitivity,
They sounded no different from the ghoulish automatons of the haunted house,
Ironically, they were enjoying themselves.
I tried to speak to one of them but they could not hear me.
Annoyed at the exterior, I tried the hex house.
The usual things that notoriously scared me were somehow tame,
Skeletons, witches, spiders and bats? Oh, Please.
It suddenly came to me in a flash,
The horror was outside, among the faceless children,
Among the relentless lights,
It was a fairground of evil.
It must be. Am I insane?
I eventually left the house and was once again at the epicentre of the fear,
I rapidly made my way towards the section marked 'Exit'
I tried, but it was locked; not by a padlock but by those lights,
Again and again I tried but I had similar luck.
Desperate, I shouted 'Get me out!'
As I write this, I'm still there.
It is perpetually night,
It is forever ravishing with activity alien to me.
I seem to be eternally trapped within these walls,
A prisoner in an amusement park.
Even I laugh at such a suggestion.
Without a clue or inclination as to why I'm here,
I stare at the nearby rollercoaster and it is called simply:
'Judgement Night.'
Amazed by the absurdity I look at the next ride's name:
'Purgatory.'
Reds, blues and greens beckoned me,
'Come in!' they seemed to be shouting.
I was indeed welcomed by a musky smell,
Of hot dogs, pizzas and candy floss,
My eyes were met by too many colours,
They were hypnotising and made me nauseous,
Coupled with the amount of activity happening at that time.
It was something from a nightmare.
The circus waltz from the fun house made me feel sick,
The jagged skulls outside the haunted house made me vomit,
Even the jagged zig zag pattern beside the helter skelter made me choke.
The wheel relentlessly circled; a solemn reminder of the repetition.
Mesmerised, I drew my attention on the patrons.
The children dillgently wore bright colours, designed to taunt me,
They shouted and laughed without sensitivity,
They sounded no different from the ghoulish automatons of the haunted house,
Ironically, they were enjoying themselves.
I tried to speak to one of them but they could not hear me.
Annoyed at the exterior, I tried the hex house.
The usual things that notoriously scared me were somehow tame,
Skeletons, witches, spiders and bats? Oh, Please.
It suddenly came to me in a flash,
The horror was outside, among the faceless children,
Among the relentless lights,
It was a fairground of evil.
It must be. Am I insane?
I eventually left the house and was once again at the epicentre of the fear,
I rapidly made my way towards the section marked 'Exit'
I tried, but it was locked; not by a padlock but by those lights,
Again and again I tried but I had similar luck.
Desperate, I shouted 'Get me out!'
As I write this, I'm still there.
It is perpetually night,
It is forever ravishing with activity alien to me.
I seem to be eternally trapped within these walls,
A prisoner in an amusement park.
Even I laugh at such a suggestion.
Without a clue or inclination as to why I'm here,
I stare at the nearby rollercoaster and it is called simply:
'Judgement Night.'
Amazed by the absurdity I look at the next ride's name:
'Purgatory.'
Monday, 26 January 2009
Perennial Solitude
These clothes I wear, strained from toil,
Devaluate as I sit here, just like myself,
My features suddenly disorientate,
Morphing into something I do not recognise.
My eyes are two cesspits, their shine mocks me as I stare,
My nose protudes outwards,
Why? I have not told any lies.
My mouth opens spontaneously,
Allowing me a risqué look at my rapidly degenerating teeth,
Like my jealousy, they are green and acrid,
The very essence of desertion.
For I am completely alone,
Miserably, abjectly grovelling in my own solitude,
I dwell in my disquiet,
And it has rejected me,
Just like the people I once knew.
Must I forever endure the omniscient silence?
The bellow of nothingness insults my ears,
Perforating my defences, leaving me shuddering with both fear and anger,
Laughing at my impotency.
I live this dystopia everyday,
Each passing day is a wasted opportunity,
A figment of what I could have been,
Isolation is my only ally,
As I am compelled to be alone.
Always.
Devaluate as I sit here, just like myself,
My features suddenly disorientate,
Morphing into something I do not recognise.
My eyes are two cesspits, their shine mocks me as I stare,
My nose protudes outwards,
Why? I have not told any lies.
My mouth opens spontaneously,
Allowing me a risqué look at my rapidly degenerating teeth,
Like my jealousy, they are green and acrid,
The very essence of desertion.
For I am completely alone,
Miserably, abjectly grovelling in my own solitude,
I dwell in my disquiet,
And it has rejected me,
Just like the people I once knew.
Must I forever endure the omniscient silence?
The bellow of nothingness insults my ears,
Perforating my defences, leaving me shuddering with both fear and anger,
Laughing at my impotency.
I live this dystopia everyday,
Each passing day is a wasted opportunity,
A figment of what I could have been,
Isolation is my only ally,
As I am compelled to be alone.
Always.
Friday, 23 January 2009
Echelon
This is another old poem and it was the last I wrote for my Myspace blog. It was written two days before I started this website, on Tuesday 16th December 2008. I've always wanted to post it since then but I haven't had the time to post it as I've been brimming with creativity this week. It is dedicated to the soldiers who gave up their lives for our freedom, much like 'Thicker Than Water,' but I prefer this poem a whole lot more.
That's it for this week, next week, expect more original poetry.
This poem is called 'Echelon:'
The piercing radiant moon,
Shone without purpose on its dead observers,
Its rays confused; it eclipsed with guilt.
The mist was no better, it was a solemn reminder of death,
Of paralysis, of impotency, of cynicism,
It helped none.
The landscape was a sorry sight;
Dark and imposing, like the war it represented,
Grieving relatives came to identify their cadavers,
It had an opposite effect;
They were considering who they were.
The bodies themselves were generic,
The typical young man killed for the promise of glory,
Regressed to a number and statistic,
Their insignia and I.D cards disintegrated,
Just like their owners.
Freedom, formally a word of peace, presently, an anachronism,
Mankind can never be 'free,'
For they carry the weight of their heroes,
Look towards the aloof sky,
Then beg for mercy through the same tears their heroes had to endure.
That's it for this week, next week, expect more original poetry.
This poem is called 'Echelon:'
The piercing radiant moon,
Shone without purpose on its dead observers,
Its rays confused; it eclipsed with guilt.
The mist was no better, it was a solemn reminder of death,
Of paralysis, of impotency, of cynicism,
It helped none.
The landscape was a sorry sight;
Dark and imposing, like the war it represented,
Grieving relatives came to identify their cadavers,
It had an opposite effect;
They were considering who they were.
The bodies themselves were generic,
The typical young man killed for the promise of glory,
Regressed to a number and statistic,
Their insignia and I.D cards disintegrated,
Just like their owners.
Freedom, formally a word of peace, presently, an anachronism,
Mankind can never be 'free,'
For they carry the weight of their heroes,
Look towards the aloof sky,
Then beg for mercy through the same tears their heroes had to endure.
Thursday, 22 January 2009
Void
The void of the night,
A symbol of menace and corruption,
Had grown upon the world,
The darkness was inescapable,
There were no outcasts.
They were destined to perish,
Reveling in their own fear,
Obtuseness was bliss,
The insatiable children were silenced,
The great catacylism had commenced.
Oblivion finally seemed possible,
When they were in close proximity to it,
Their interminal destruction was imminent,
Two millenia of progress,
Regressed to memories and rubble.
Why has nature foresaken us?
Have we provoked it?
What unforesable powers does it posses?
Have we any hope?
No? We'll all die together.
A symbol of menace and corruption,
Had grown upon the world,
The darkness was inescapable,
There were no outcasts.
They were destined to perish,
Reveling in their own fear,
Obtuseness was bliss,
The insatiable children were silenced,
The great catacylism had commenced.
Oblivion finally seemed possible,
When they were in close proximity to it,
Their interminal destruction was imminent,
Two millenia of progress,
Regressed to memories and rubble.
Why has nature foresaken us?
Have we provoked it?
What unforesable powers does it posses?
Have we any hope?
No? We'll all die together.
Wednesday, 21 January 2009
Behemoth
Its jade coloured eyes shone gallantly,
Reflecting the milky white beam of the moonlight,
Its feet moved prudently upon the moors,
Each step complemented its elegance.
The village on the cynical horizon,
Lay odiously underneath the night,
The citizens separated their swords from their sheaths,
As a creature was expected.
Cloaked in the darkness,
Ostentatious in its discretion,
Precise in its scrutiny,
It sat and waited in the hunting ground.
It was not invisible however,
Its foolish complacency had located its tail under the moonlight,
Its back towards the villagers,
It was a considerably effortless target.
The villagers approached perfunctory,
Rigid from fear and foreboding,
Frantically and frenzied they slashed the glacial air,
With the prospect of obtaining the creature's prized hide.
Perseverance prevailed,
The incisive metallic twang perforated the midnight air,
Estranged from its cadaver, the head impacted furiously upon the ground,
In disturbed unison, the people exclaimed: 'It's a cat!'
Blood on his hands, the killer took his own life,
The women and children wept,
The men bowed their guilty heads,
Who would have thought such a well meaning animal could cause so much stress?
The men suddenly heard some heavy, morose footsteps...
It was not over.
The expected creature pounced upon the pathetic, abhorrent party,
They had endured a fate worse than the feline.
Reflecting the milky white beam of the moonlight,
Its feet moved prudently upon the moors,
Each step complemented its elegance.
The village on the cynical horizon,
Lay odiously underneath the night,
The citizens separated their swords from their sheaths,
As a creature was expected.
Cloaked in the darkness,
Ostentatious in its discretion,
Precise in its scrutiny,
It sat and waited in the hunting ground.
It was not invisible however,
Its foolish complacency had located its tail under the moonlight,
Its back towards the villagers,
It was a considerably effortless target.
The villagers approached perfunctory,
Rigid from fear and foreboding,
Frantically and frenzied they slashed the glacial air,
With the prospect of obtaining the creature's prized hide.
Perseverance prevailed,
The incisive metallic twang perforated the midnight air,
Estranged from its cadaver, the head impacted furiously upon the ground,
In disturbed unison, the people exclaimed: 'It's a cat!'
Blood on his hands, the killer took his own life,
The women and children wept,
The men bowed their guilty heads,
Who would have thought such a well meaning animal could cause so much stress?
The men suddenly heard some heavy, morose footsteps...
It was not over.
The expected creature pounced upon the pathetic, abhorrent party,
They had endured a fate worse than the feline.
Tuesday, 20 January 2009
Life Through the Bloodshot
This is an old poem I published on my now obsolete blog on Myspace. I believe it's the only one worth salvaging. I wrote this on May 3rd way back in 2007. I had conjunctivitus when I developed this poem and my bloodshot eyes were a perfect inspiration to someone who's dying. Tomorrow I have homework to write a poem about a cat and of course I'm going to make it the bloodiest bloodbath ever so be sure to check back tomorrow as I should be able to post it on here also.
This poem's name is 'Life Through the Bloodshot:'
As I lie here dying,
There is an intruding thought corrupting my mind,
I cannot even see my own feelings,
My own will,
Or my own destination,
I've tried for years to hide my thoughts,
Even I cannot even find them.
I have served my corporeal life,
Now I must prepare for my celestial death,
My life has been a terrible atrophy,
Arguments, fights; unloving,
I am experiencing life through the bloodshot,
The perpetually scarce dimension.
It is time.
At last I have joined the...
This poem's name is 'Life Through the Bloodshot:'
As I lie here dying,
There is an intruding thought corrupting my mind,
I cannot even see my own feelings,
My own will,
Or my own destination,
I've tried for years to hide my thoughts,
Even I cannot even find them.
I have served my corporeal life,
Now I must prepare for my celestial death,
My life has been a terrible atrophy,
Arguments, fights; unloving,
I am experiencing life through the bloodshot,
The perpetually scarce dimension.
It is time.
At last I have joined the...
Monday, 19 January 2009
The Subtle Being
The being, majestic in its malevolence,
Contained within a dimension,
A dimension constructed with impenetrable obscurity,
A barrier of scrutiny.
Its omnipresent presence was provoking,
Its very mention was scolded for being ungodly,
Responsibile for murder and pilliage,
It showed no mercy or distinction.
Its movements were impossible to trace,
Despite leaving destruction and death in its wake,
It was subtle and normadic,
Ignorant of its deplorable deeds.
It left a relic of a society,
A victim of hysteria,
An unprecedented order of mourning,
A scar on the vicar's hand.
For Sickness was its name.
Contained within a dimension,
A dimension constructed with impenetrable obscurity,
A barrier of scrutiny.
Its omnipresent presence was provoking,
Its very mention was scolded for being ungodly,
Responsibile for murder and pilliage,
It showed no mercy or distinction.
Its movements were impossible to trace,
Despite leaving destruction and death in its wake,
It was subtle and normadic,
Ignorant of its deplorable deeds.
It left a relic of a society,
A victim of hysteria,
An unprecedented order of mourning,
A scar on the vicar's hand.
For Sickness was its name.
Thursday, 15 January 2009
Thicker Than Water
This is an unpublished poem I made back in November 2008 for my sixth form, commemorating Remembrance and the lives of the soldiers who gave up their lives for our freedom. It is not a carbon copy, I have added some lines to it, despite that, I have never been happy with this poem, and I'd appreciate your feedback (I know I haven't any fans). The poem is entitled: 'Thicker Than Water.'
The waterlogged field, sitting ugly under the dusk,
The tragic fortitiude of men, from security they are torn,
The once garrulous face of the human,
Reduced to the obscurity of silence,
When will it end?
Bullets produce our want of disquiet,
I tried to stop him, beyond my reach,
Now he is beyond everyone's reach.
Get down!
Our sorrow immortalised in splintered wood and broken dreams,
When will it end?
Victory! Victory...
How do we define the word?
The answer is scribed in the blood of my consorts,
And of my own,
Has it ended?
The waterlogged field, sitting ugly under the dusk,
The tragic fortitiude of men, from security they are torn,
The once garrulous face of the human,
Reduced to the obscurity of silence,
When will it end?
Bullets produce our want of disquiet,
I tried to stop him, beyond my reach,
Now he is beyond everyone's reach.
Get down!
Our sorrow immortalised in splintered wood and broken dreams,
When will it end?
Victory! Victory...
How do we define the word?
The answer is scribed in the blood of my consorts,
And of my own,
Has it ended?
Monday, 12 January 2009
Annoucements
Sadly due to two exams weighing heavily upon my concentration, I cannot commit to a new poem just yet. I have a plan for it and one verse, however I cannot finish it yet. It will be up sometime next week.
It's an ample time to discuss my writing style. I have a strong preference of gothic and supernatural literature and my poems are invariably written in this style. My last poem 'Charades' was my failed experiment at romance, a department now spared from my erratic pen and mind. The poem I intend to post next week will revert back to this style of being dark and edgy; themes omnipresent in supernatural and gothic literature.
Also worthy of note, I have several ideas for my novel. It will be a collection of dark short stories addressing different themes, from archaic historical values to psychology. I'm grabbing at straws, every part of my work has been utter drivel and shovel ware and I'm sure this will be no different.
Most importantly, it's time I gave a big shout out to my friend Sarah. You can view her work at sarahf09.edublogs.org. She has political views so close to my own it's phenomenal. She is American so her views on American politics are parallel to my views on the British government. Not that her blog needs advertising of course.
It's an ample time to discuss my writing style. I have a strong preference of gothic and supernatural literature and my poems are invariably written in this style. My last poem 'Charades' was my failed experiment at romance, a department now spared from my erratic pen and mind. The poem I intend to post next week will revert back to this style of being dark and edgy; themes omnipresent in supernatural and gothic literature.
Also worthy of note, I have several ideas for my novel. It will be a collection of dark short stories addressing different themes, from archaic historical values to psychology. I'm grabbing at straws, every part of my work has been utter drivel and shovel ware and I'm sure this will be no different.
Most importantly, it's time I gave a big shout out to my friend Sarah. You can view her work at sarahf09.edublogs.org. She has political views so close to my own it's phenomenal. She is American so her views on American politics are parallel to my views on the British government. Not that her blog needs advertising of course.
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