Loneliness

I'm being lazy today and posting an ancient poem of mine. It was the first I posted on my Myspace blog. It is dated 7th October 2006, so it is one of the oldest poems I have on record that has escaped the mass burning of my old work. It is called 'Loneliness:'

A child was born,
Would this little person destroy the world?
From the mother's womb it was torn,
Into the London Underworld;
The child stands,
Tall and hated,
The forgotten land;
The child laughs,
The child conspires,
The wretched photographs of his departed parents,
Placed on the fire.

Animal Conference

The air stinks of putrid humidity,
The roting carcass of the baboon insults my nasal passages,
It is not just the primate's doing,
It is the intruding sunlight through the foilage,
Making a barbecue of the knave.

The flowers, so redundant in their indomitable beauty,
Radiate more light than the flamming rock above me,
An aurora of colour and light eminate from them,
A collection of crimson red and sunshine yellow,
Projects itself on the morose brown ground.

Not alone in my admiration,
I am joined by various different species,
Tucans, snakes, tigers and many others more,
Gather and revel in the fun,
So much so that they forget their differences,
Both in genus and belief,
Infatuated with the aesthetic of the jungle.

They seem to chant to each other,
In a variety of strange tongues,
Foreign to any human,
Yet just as fascinating to any human,
It is a ritual beyond my comprehension,
Proving that peace does exist,
At least to those we all primitive;
Something incapable to humanity;
Making me evermore guilty of killing that baboon...

Here Lies Integrity: Deceased

Like dominoes,
Cluttered in their individual plots,
The gravestones stand.
Beacons of all that was,
Sombre, solemn reminders of the past,
Contributing to the shadow.

The three or four odd lines on each,
A poem without a rhyme,
A brief synopsis of the man's life,
A dilute, edited description of their existence,
Sadly most are erroneous,
The posthumous hyperbole of grieving relatives,
Had little bearing on the cadavers underneath,
They always remain constant,
Static, yet gathering age.

Pendulum

Time, the incurable disease,
Aging, deaying everything in its wake,
Everything we once loved,
Everything we once loathed,
Everything we used to idolise,
Everything that shaped our primitive beliefs.
Now gone forever.

The virgins, the children and the wine,
Victims of sodomy, atrophy and sourness,
Unite in a clock of change,
They stand defiant,
It is useless,
The stream of time drowns them,
Burying them in the sea of progress and evolution.

Today things are no different.
The wrath of time still strikes upon us,
Soon we will endure similar fates of our forefathers,
Our flesh returning to the vast nothingness that is the beginning,
Sadly our only hope is that we will be remembered.

Nightingale

Her footwork, complimentary,
Her élan, admirable,
Her poise, aimable,
Truly she was the master.

My scruntiny had been more than appeased,
For her grace had shrouded me,
Into the trap of animalistic lust,
Into the shame of silence.

The music of the ball,
Usually dignified and inspirational,
Suddenly became blaring and superfluous,
My focus was on her.

She outshone the lamps,
The impending dawn,
The motives of her immediate company,
And enlightened us all.

Then of course, she opened her mouth,
With the deference of a nightingale,
She produced notes of elegance,
To an audience of tears.

More Annoucements

I apologise that I haven't posted anything for a week. It has been due to personal issues; the depression that I suffered with two years ago has returned. Also I lost five poems I written as I accidently wiped my phone which notebook contained my poems.

Hopefully next week I should be back on track. Tomorrow for Valentine's Day, I'll post an old poem which hasn't been published anywhere, except for my notepad. Unlike my usual work, it's about romance.

Enigma

Puzzles and riddles,
What are their purpose?
To tie up brain cells,
To ponder upon the meaning of existence,
To realise our minds are primitive;
Vast in scope and imagination,
Yet narrow in knowledge and experience.

Imagination we seem to dwell upon,
Absurdities make more sense to us than the truth,
Chess in heaven?
Salvage in hell?
Impossible but not implausible,
At least to the average human.

Knowledge is learning,
In a society based upon theory,
How is this possible?
Cognition is kept alive by sense,
But is killed by derisory creativity;
Abridging Man into a paralysed, idiotic idealist.

The System

A sea of blonde hair,
A sordid collection of blue eyes,
A paradigm of six foot humans,
Bred from obedience, corruption and callousness,
This is the future.

Diversity is blasphemous,
Contrary to the gods of the government,
Hypocrites.
Playing snooker in their penthouses,
Smoking reefers, drinking gin,
Being frivolous.

One day, this will be a democracy,
Overthrowing the black haired,
Bug green eyed fascists,
Like the snake, they slither,
Poisoning those closest,
With the venom named conformity.

The scars inflicted upon each is deep,
Denser than the emotions of the System,
Cool, calculated and idiosyncratic,
The System always wins.

Forest

The trees, brittle and poor,
One day they were tall,
Standing proudly amongst the sun,
They sulk and shrivel now,
Underneath the malicious moonlight,
Life seems indifferent to death.

Like the withered hands of their planter,
The trees collect dust out of duty,
Crouching with hunchbacks in their soil,
The insects crawling upon them have more life and purpose,
Photosynthesis is now obsolete,
Industrialisation is the norm.

Lost and dazed in their mysterious presence,
The trees eclipse the purple land,
Creating an ominous shadow,
Scaring the creatures living there,
Ants; dung beetles and lice,
Suddenly, they move,
If only realised their intention.

The trees: formerly a gift of Earth,
Presently an extraneous mass of pessimism,
They sit.
Examiners of the foolish humans;
Invigilators of the force of nature,
Archaic in their manner and role,
Fragments of Man’s life.

Gravestones of all that was:
All that could ever be,
Subliminal in their relative absence,
They continue to live their death,
Until they die.

Mega Man 9 Review

The Mega Man series of games is a series of platforming-shooter type games where the player controls the protagonist, Mega Man, whose job is to destroy the warped Robot Masters, controlled most of the time by Dr. Wily. Mega Man 1-6 were released on the Nintendo Entertainment System (NES), Mega Man 7 on the Super Nintendo Entertainment System (SNES) and Mega Man 8 was released on the Sega Saturn and the Sony Playstation. They are often considered to be among the best action games ever, with Mega Man 2 coming 33rd in a list of 200 games. If you’re wondering Mega Man 3 is my favourite, which I'll review one day. Anyway let’s cut the verbose nature of this review and talk about the latest game Mega Man 9.

I waited for MM9 with bated breath. The first 8 bit Capcom game for over a decade. I believe the last Capcom game released on the Nintendo Entertainment System was Mega Man 6 in 1993, but I could be wrong, regardless it was never released in Europe. Anyway, Mega Man 9 is available on Nintendo Wii Ware, Xbox Live Arcade and Playstation Network.

Contrary to most games which strive to appeal as photo realistic as possible, MM9 takes us back to the past, to relive the world of colourful sprites, slowdown and flicker. The difficulty is also reminiscent of an NES game and in my view, surpasses the insane difficulty of the first MM game. It is designed to be frustrating, to make you continue playing to perfect some of the tough parts of the game, mostly being pixel perfect jumps, or robustly stubborn enemies. The soundtrack too complements an 8 bit game. Some of the tracks, such as the Robot Master selection, menu and weapon initiation are taken directly from Mega Man 2 and is no doubt nostalgic to people who grew up with the games (sadly I didn’t as I was born in 1992). Of course, it’s not all stock. Quite the reverse. The score to MM9 is amazingly authentic. Sounding like previous MM games. Personally, my favourite pieces of music are Galaxy Man's stage, Tornado Man's stage and Splash Woman's stage. In my opinion it doesn’t sound as good or catchy as MM1, MM2, MM3 or MM5 but I think it kicks the music of MM4 and MM6 out of the park.

Robot Masters are constantly the point of interest of established fans. As usual there are eight to fight (except MM1 which only has six) and they are Galaxy Man, Jewel Man, Plug Man, Hornet Man, Concrete Man, Magma Man, Tornado Man and the first female Robot Master, Splash Woman. They sound ridiculous, but nowhere near as bad as some of them in the past: namely Hard Man (MM3), Dust Man (MM4) or Tomahawk Man (MM6). Names like Jewel Man are designed to be satirical, Capcom know they sound absurd, yet they include them as another tribute to the past.

To conclude, it’s very difficult. The disappearing blocks of MM1-3 make an unwelcome return. These may be discouraging to new gamers, but veteran gamers will be able to traverse them with relative ease. It may take a few hours to complete the game on the first time as you may be overwhelmed by the madness of the game. If persevered with, the established gamer can negotiate it within 50 minutes, while an uneasy gamer may clock up 90 minutes. There is longevity with Xbox style Achievements. Some are impossible, such as completing the game without firing once or not getting hit once, but I’m pretty sure at least one person has completed the list 100% with little satisfaction. Also there is downloadable content available. You can purchase additional difficulties. (All harder. Surprised?) As well as other modes, like endless play and you can even play as Mega Man's brother Proto Man who has the slide (MM3-MM8) and the charge shot (MM4-MM8), both removed for Mega Man in MM9. Sadly Proto Man takes less damage than his younger brother.

Overall, Mega Man 9 is a great game, which will keep away the casuals and attract the hardcore gamers.

9/10

Virtues:
Looks and sounds great and is authentic.
Invigorates the Mega Man franchise.
Game designers finally acknowledge the retro, hardcore gamer.

Vices:
Will be too difficult for casual gamers.

The Forgotten

Before I get to the poem, I have some announcements. With the new Red Dwarf specials coming in Easter, I'll be posting retrospectives of all eight series in the near future to celebrate the return of one of my favourite sitcoms. Also I'll be reviewing a video game soon to see how it pans out. The clue is that while it's a new game, it appeals more to retro gamers like myself.

I apologise that my first post this month is an old poem. Basically I'm still re-drafting my new ones so much so that they are not finished yet. I wrote this poem when I was suffering from chronic depression, so it mirrors my wreckless attitude I had. Like the subjects in the poem, the meaning is subliminal. so it's up to you divulge meaning from this poem, as I have no set guidelines to what it's about. It was written on 29th April 2007, so it's nearly two years old, and I've never been happy with it. Maybe modern scrutiny may be beneficial to it, but I doubt it.

The Forgotten

The foilage continues to grow,
Making the kingdom subliminal,
No one will rescue the inhabitants,
As their planet is forgotten.

Hostages of the world,
Suffocating under their own words,
They dread trepidation,
As their world is forgotten.

They are displaced by the glamour,
Suffering as a metaphor for life,
Finally their world is shrinking,
Why have we forgotten their society?