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Poetry
#1
I'm not the best poet in the world.
Somehow, it doesn't seem to matter. When I'm choosing the perfect words to form elegant lines and verses and create the perfect ambience, when I'm connecting 26 simple letters to form something more, I could write for hours.
Here's a poem I wrote a few days ago when I was procrastinating studying for midterms.


The war’s gone on forever
Though no soldier remembers why
Throughout a scorching wasteland
Dust blows across the sky.

Beneath a blood-stained banner,
Two figures huddle near
They are lone survivors,
Eyes dulled by death and fear.

Once, they were fueled by patriotism
Long ago, it was burned away
For years they've fought only to protect each other
And their existence from day to day.

Now, they march on wearily
To make their final stand
Twin tracks of footprints to be forgotten,
Lost to wind and sand.
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#2
(12-16-2016, 02:22 PM)CatGoddess Wrote: I'm not the best poet in the world.
Somehow, it doesn't seem to matter. When I'm choosing the perfect words to form elegant lines and verses and create the perfect ambience, when I'm connecting 26 simple letters to form something more, I could write for hours.
Here's a poem I wrote a few days ago when I was procrastinating studying for midterms.


The war’s gone on forever
Though no soldier remembers why
Throughout a scorching wasteland
Dust blows across the sky.

Beneath a blood-stained banner,
Two figures huddle near
They are lone survivors,
Eyes dulled by death and fear.

Once, they were fueled by patriotism
Long ago, it was burned away
For years they've fought only to protect each other
And their existence from day to day.

Now, they march on wearily
To make their final stand
Twin tracks of footprints to be forgotten,
Lost to wind and sand.

Fascinating...
and nice flow.
I had stopped writing 'cause my inspiration kinda died.. figuratively.
But then I came across this "creativity project" in one of my classes.
I started a short story, just some dialogue for the most part,
procrastinated too long and ended up writing up a poem the hour before it was
time to present. The result, this:

I think I will be Unique
Away from the usual flocking of sheep
Look far in the distance and stand on a peak
-- I'll take a great Leap
Into the depths of the yet to be known
Where nothing is certain and minds are blown
Sit for awhile and wake to a dream
Where nothing is quite what is seems
From there --
Resurface and breathe in new air
Realize new knowledge and visions to share
With all of the sheep still flocking here
Show them there's nothing to fear
But life unexplored; but wasted years


I've yet to present it though.
When it comes to presenting
I've been known to hide my work
and say I didn't do it.
"It is no measure of health to be well-adjusted to a profoundly sick society."
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#3
Hey, nice poem. And, don't worry about presenting; most people are to preoccupied with thoughts of embarrassing themselves that they'll hardly take note of your presentation. And as you said,
Quote:there's nothing to fear
But life unexplored; but wasted years

I've also noticed that your poems (from this one, and from one of your previous threads) are a lot more subtle than mine, which are rather matter-of-fact. Hmm.

As I surrender to the inevitable showdown
And the seconds tick toward the end
I see moments stretch on to eternity
Dispassionately, I watch time bend

I reflect back upon the life I've led
The lonely times interspersed with gold
Those brief moments of happiness will
Be extinguished by death's icy hold

Such petty treasures of a cynical mind
To be swallowed by the humans so soon
Such a pity that they won't taste any love
When I'm chained to the dark side of the moon

Now, I think, I've prepared myself
Time returns to its normal rate
As they come to lock me up and discard the keys,
I stand and meet my fate


And I also tend to write only in four stanzas of four lines each; I should probably break that habit.
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#4
We INTPs seem to have a similar writing style. (Or maybe that's just poetry for ya...). I've been trying to break out of the "form" for a while now, but I have a hard time doing it. I want my poetry to have more of an "organic" feeling to it, but it's always so mechanical (which makes it cold, dead, and bland.). Too open, and it's juat rambling words. Too closed, and it's a greeting card. The balance... I'm not sure how to mentally break myself of it. Most of the "open form" writings have felt nonsensical and amatuer-ish, ao they typically never live long.

That said, I love the war-themed one. It's fun and clever. The visuals are very vivid. I've been working on maintaining a more poetic flow utilizing iambic structure, but once again, it becomes mechanical... (I have that same problem with musical composition, though I haven't dabbled there in years.)

I write a bit of rhyme. I keep it on my tumblr page. (Saltfield). It's a bit fun to see if people like what I write, though a bit unnerving simultaneously. It's devolved into more of a poetic journal now... Moments of inspiration interspersed with emotional outbursts. It helps, methinks... (Though sharing it IRL is a gray area for me now... Introversion does not do well sharing emotional things.)

Best of luck, fellow word wrangler.
Not knowing the place, I set out for the land of my dreams.
Having arrived at the land of my dreams, I found I did not know the place.
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#5
Here are two of my recent ones that use iambic things. Sadly, overwhelmingly formatted.

http://saltfield.tumblr.com/post/1543799...sightation

http://saltfield.tumblr.com/post/154435828425/castles
Not knowing the place, I set out for the land of my dreams.
Having arrived at the land of my dreams, I found I did not know the place.
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#6
I wrote a poem, I call it "Existential Risk."

The world is held suspended
Above an abyss of fire
By the tenuous bands of mankind's sanity
We are all going to hell.

Everything is culminating
We cannot compute the Chaos Theory
Technologies and ideologies
Interact spectacularly
We are all going to hell
I came up with a very clever signature, as a matter of fact it's cleveritude was so clever that merely listening it would cause you to ascend to godhood. But then I forgot it, so instead you can listen to my gibbering inanities. I'm sorry.
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#7
(12-16-2016, 02:22 PM)CatGoddess Wrote: The war’s gone on forever
Though no soldier remembers why
Throughout a scorching wasteland
Dust blows across the sky.

Beneath a blood-stained banner,
Two figures huddle near
They are lone survivors,
Eyes dulled by death and fear.

Once, they were fueled by patriotism
Long ago, it was burned away
For years they've fought only to protect each other
And their existence from day to day.

Now, they march on wearily
To make their final stand
Twin tracks of footprints to be forgotten,
Lost to wind and sand.
I'm gonna put on my literature lover hat here and adopt the battle stance of a high school English teacher and ask you to elongate this poem with more details about who these two figures are. Are they comrades, or adversaries? Did they know each other before the war? Are they related in some way? Foils?

I need moar.
"Well if I were You-Know-Who, I'd want you to feel cut off from everyone else. Because if it's just you alone you're not as much of a threat." -Luna Lovegood
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#8
@YordleSandwich: Ah, nice poem. Recently I've been contemplating existential risk, the fragility of existence, etc.

CatGoddess Wrote:Suspended on a knife's edge
Living
In the calm before the storm

The slightest tilt will bring us
Falling
Into the void of oblivion

So feel these ever-fragile
Moments
Inexorably passing us by

Before our world is
Shattered
And we're forced to say goodbye


@MoonMoon: MOAR?! I am afraid moar is not currently in stock! CatGoddess Inc. will work on restocking warehouses; please stand by until a later date.
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