Styx' Poetry Thread

I really liked that one! ↑↑↑↑
If only people cared...-_-
Loved it! Good job! <3

 

Reach

What measure is one's self
As opposed to everyone else?

Such a vice, the need to suffice
Let alone the need to overthrow
The hangar springs to life for you to greet
The Blade, The Weapon
The point to the wicked counterpoint
A tranquil fury, a verbal massacre
I write, I write by candlelight
Wicked scowls guide my vowels
I write, I write but all is trite
And your sprint to truth will erode my treshold
While I stiffen, beguiled by hurt
Reach, breach and bitterly teach:
The pattern demands one more overhaul
At least...

At least you went the Distance
The Distance why we breathe
The same Distance I can't go
I go far though, too far if I must
But never there, so never far enough

Your claws swim closer to the Distance
Tearing through my crippled resistance
In my chest grow blasphemous tongues
That drool sick honor in my lungs
Nipping every bud of function:
Innards crushed to a putrid unction
One is left intact to break
At some other time, some other mistake
The organ that pumps no blood but blame
A h***t unworthy of the name
Your claws swim closer to the Distance
Their nails pointing to its existence

Here I stand, a husk of a man
I am once again (b)reached
Lost the screw that held this machine together
Hearing its beat trail off in the Distance
In and out and in and out
And in and in and in and in...

Comment: Newest addition to my poems. About one who's pride is being shattered by their own mistakes. I don't like this piece much.

 

X Days Left

This leaf is not coping well,
Despite seeing spring turn to summer.
The shift makes fate look all the dumber:
Stubbornly reviving a verdant shell
Around a single person's hell.
This leaf dies young, what a bummer...

Should I struggle or undergo it all?
This visible loss of reason,
This visceral change in season...
Bleak skies should foreshadow fall,
My fall...
But outside summer skies are still a teasin'.

But this leaf still has places to go,
Even if leaves are of impact devoid.
In my recent nightmares I have seen
A destiny I wish to avoid:
To turn rotten before passing green,
To shrivel before my chance to grow.

Don't ask this sore leaf why or how
But the weather means so little now.
I just ask for all the seconds I can get.
Wind be still, be still as death
I hear your whistle and beg your breath
Not to scrape me off this tree just yet

Comment: This was a past poetry contest entry here. This is one of my poems that are easier to understand. It is about someone who is terminally ill but fights for his life regardless. I hope you like it.

 

It's Poetry Day, and since I haven't written anything new for it, you'll have to make do with this (assuming that I have any readers left at all).

Amber Jazz

There's one club in town that's never lonely
A secret that everyone has heard
The table's ready for just the two of us
Me and little Hummingbird
Things are going rather groovy

Every couple has its song
And while I don't think ours is the best
I try not to listen to the others
Why would I care for people who are not her?
For music that's not our amber jazz

Drunk on compliments, we stylize our love
Make room for personal tics
All the pairs have turned to their tables
And all tables have turned to copper
Her lips track the verses nearing

This is a warm kind of darkness
We discover each other with every note
I know where she'd hide if she were lost
In this club, in this song
In this world without words

My Hummingbird looks as if she's dreaming
Catching every spore of a sensitive sunrise
Passion bedded by the musician's dreary schemes
Weep for the world
But savor eachother

Comment: Romantic poems were never my forte, but I can live with this one. Thoughts?

 

Your poetry is refreshingly youthful. And I realise, you might scoff at that, maybe youthful is not the word I mean for? It is... it is honest, genuine, and you can ask of no more from a poet. Yes, you've still readers left. I like X Days Left.

Unintentional rhymes.

You don't try to be pretentious, I think. And so many try to. It is refreshing, yes.

 

I have these on my dA account so I might as well post them here.

Neck Eater

My memories screech ever louder
As you infest this room of skin
I let you nail my hands to the walls
Lest they close in on both of us

The life was vamped right out of me
You enticed behind stained windows
Until a crack fondled its surface
And I blew the glass shards in your face

The neck eater disgorges stolen flesh
That once complied for the need of love
A woman's tears, a claw finger's beckon
If I could refuse, I would have done so

I thrust myself into denial
Finding you ankle-deep in lonely blood
The praying mantis prays no more
What is it that you worshipped anyway?

Faintly I detect a maiden's hymn
Incanting all my oaths she heeds
But let no joyful voice be heard:
For I am intruded once again

"Infest me no longer!", I command
The preying mantis preyed too oft'
But I dare cry as it shrivels into
Vermin that begs the hand for mercy

Comment: Older piece, written in 2008 or 2009, I don't know.

===

Cloud-Covered Moon

A once cloud-covered moon is now exposed
Ominously looming fairness
As an angel's face stamped in loneliness
Handlessly groping to retrieve its shawl
To blanket the agony of its aching craters
The fog that left it is a vacant mind
Succumbed to the tyranny of liberty
Haunting its way to directions remembered
But having lost the light that made it worthwhile

For the better, they thought

Comment: Break-up poem. This is newer, but not written today. Hope you like it. Comments are greatly appreciated as always.

 

Knit In The Rhythm

She’s a cyclone of invisible fingerprints
Dazzling through, being the finest example of motion.
Shipping sensuality limb from limb:
Sentiment’s children on the playground of completeness.

An aurora of darklit skin knit in the rhythm.
She deciphers every encrypted beat,
As a gentle flail, a contagious trance.

Have mercy on them, have mercy on us.
But deliver your message and thrive.
I’ll move aside.

Comment: Some girls are just sexier than sex when they dance.

~

Fer-de-Lance

I need this venom: to be loved.
Shall I do what needs be done?
Into your will my fangs then shoved.
I need this venom to be loved:
Snakebite lies in charity gloved .
To truly relish what I’ve won
I need this venom. To be loved
shall I do what needs be done.

Comment: My attempt at a triolet. A fer-de-lance is an aggressive poisonous snake.

~

Maelstrom Of Mass

Some say justice is vacating this world, but I disagree. What mankind really lacks is grace. Good and evil are both abundant here, but they are practiced with the same crudeness. A sin may be forgiven but never overwritten, nor can a selfless act. And thus we become cesspools of heterogenous fact: Chaos.

“Too much mass, not enough volume.â€
The inevitable technocratic deduction.
When heaven and hell are overcrowded,
They both lose their meaning.
And who here can say with a straight face
That they are not contributing to the problem?

And yet we persist.
Because we have dreams, we destroy the reality
That permits us to have them.
Perhaps some rights should expire upon claiming them.
Perhaps society just should be that unfair.

Work shifts, fall in love;
Have children for all I care.
Teach them to aim high,
And to judge a man by his actions.
Just know that nothing you do is ever innocent.

Comment: Written on an insomniac whim some days ago. The spiteful tone may well be proof of that.

 

Road To Nowhere

Dead men tell no tales, but if they did,
they would revolve around this place:
a canyon shaped like a demon's grin,
a rock-solid brown embrace.

Every thud of the hooves I command
seems to stir another curse.
To me and my only friend, I'm sure,
this crag will be our hearse.

Arid heat scorches and fries my noggin'
but my sins flicker all the clearer.
Why is it that I think of her
while my doom is sprinting nearer?

A tavern wench rife with youthful folly,
who shot winks like twinkling rays.
My personal gold rush finished, convinced
to spend with her the rest of my days.

But the vastness of the west still impressed
me more than a woman possibly could.
I saddled my partner in the canvas of the night,
escaped my barless prison for good.

I'm certain she cursed my unborn son
since then, from the minute that she bore him.
"Men and women will despise him alike,
but bullets will adore him."

I knew not where to look or turn
when guilt is my opponent.
Hence I follow the road to nowhere
hoping to lead me to atonement.

Indeed, drifting isn't what it ought to be.
Freedom is but a term, no more.
I sense various twitches underneath me:
my companion's legs are sore.

"I'm sorry, loyal friend", I say
"I'll walk with you on foot."
Though he still quakes as if hit by bolts,
kneels in the desert's burning soot.

Exhaustion legible on his face,
his neighing reduced to a feeble tone.
With a heavy stomach I understand:
from this point on I roam alone.

At least the sands of the wastes are courteous
to shield me from the tragedy behind.
Perhaps I should have stayed with him:
What is it that I have left to find?

Remorse beats me, batters and harasses me
This raging sandstorm has woes to sell.
These doomed joints click into place
for one more leap into farewell.

The images of everyone I ever wronged,
like ghouls they enter my throat and choke me.
But it's not my love, son or deceased comrade
'Tis I and I alone who broke me.

Comment: Wrote this for a poetry challenge somewhere a while ago. Had trouble meeting the deadline, which hasn't given me the best. I've written better.

 

When I Woke Up I Realised That I Have Nothing To Dream About

From digitalization
To material again
I am awake
Enhanced, recharged
Just don't expect me
To feel better

My life comes in
Many versions
And all of them are dull
These streets have
Many shops but
Inspiration's not for sale

This city features
Apartments galore
Obelisks of gray
Flatten with their shadow
I am crushed
In this killer metropolis

Me and the city keep
Dragging eachother
Through countless mornings
Disintegrating
Having
Break fast for two

Comment: I wrote this one quite a while ago, and wanted this to have an "urban" feel. Please excuse the long title.

 

It's abstract, yet you do get your point across about it feeling "urban" It seemed to flow quite easily. All in all, I liked it ^_^

 

I. Yesteryear’s Cradle
Interlude: Eons Pass
II. One Skip From Eden
III. Boundaries
IV. Violet-Eyed Monsters
Interlude: Healing Factor
V. Lonely Blue Pearl

Yesteryear’s Cradle

It could have been the breath of the One
Or maybe it were the wiles of none
The day that birthed days

Snap the light, like a twig,
And make a spectrum spark
Creation is an aggressive event
Having more time and space than it knows what to do with
A feast ensues

The elementals waltz with one another
Soon they’ll all be kings and queens
Sprinkling gems across the expanse

Soon…

Eons Pass

Life is gushing growth
More than the sum of its parts
One Skip From Eden

True
Rapture
Lush and pure
“See who we are
We are the essence”
All in its rightful place
A sudden wind blows diff’rence
The established vigour startled
Cautiously welcomes a pompous thud
A foot of a new creature known as Man

Boundaries

Choosing matter over mind
Has me wondering every time
If there’s nothing more to find.

Understanding from start to finish;
It has me glinting through my limits,
Probably being good for business.

I’m striving for an end of daze
When my fingers split the drapes
And marvel at what’s outside the cage.

Boundaries subside before me
As bittersweet chapters in my story,
But to the victor goes the glory.

Choosing mind over matter
Turned me deaf to idle chatter,
Absorbing ambition all the faster.

I swear to have the present sutured
To its trophy wife named future.
I’ll craft the jewelry that will suit her.

To cut the edges like a razor,
To preserve the welfare of our races:
That’s why pencils have erasers.

Violet-Eyed Monsters

This is love, else we wouldn’t have bothered
A thirst for your splendor’s secrets, for a clue
Having our talons tilt the balance
Devastation just to gaze upon you

On solid ground our wonders dwindle
So on the firmament we’ll lean
Working to soon become immune
To the inadequacy vaccine.

Constrictingly thin
Fittingly slick
My conscience is feeble and
The choice not chosen
Is a harsh mistress.

There is a heat that will bribe this glass
To a humbled puddle it will be melting
The atmosphere we once held dear
Shall be in dire need of welting.

I tell the others horrific tales
Of being just one card in an endless deck.
I instill fear and hate by being afraid:
I am the cobra’s neck.

Beads of a new greed gleam their violet evil
As we rip the veil off the heavenly bride
Assumin’ we are therefore human:
One part self-loathing, an equal part pride.

This is love, else we wouldn’t have bothered…?

Folly’s thunder strikes in cycles.
By the next round I’m sure we will
Think that he who’s throned on a mount of bones
Is somehow still king of the hill.

…

Through our parallel carcasses we swear:
We’ll once again be with you.
Your ribcage grin will transform in-
-to a hair of the dogs that bit you.

Healing Factor

Eons are passing
Oh, the time this takes to mend
Forming boundaries

Lonely Blue Pearl

She was overcome

Hues and shapes draw closer
Resilient remnants checking back in
They, too, are no longer units
No longer science
They embrace the ravished matter
Work the magic of an untold compassion

Are you prepared, milady?
Ready for another round of all-encompassing irrelevance?
Ready for a torrent of headbutting dualities?
Shall I bring the guests then?
This survivor, she accepts
This demiurge, she is ready

She has overcome
(Quiet applause)
A momentum of matter
A phoenix made of stars
In chlorophyll necklaced and beshawled
Feeling a billion of yesteryears cradle


Comment: Behold! My magnum opus. Seven poems, one story. CAN YOU HANDLE THIS?!

 

The Ones That Squirm

What lies on that yonder hill?
I've heard it's a land with statues of mud
Where they kneel for black clouds
And eat bread made of dust

Shadows of dirt and scarcity
Slide across poisonous snakes
Begging not to be bitten
But being bitten nonetheless

Once a haven of exhaustion
There is nothing left to overuse
A cure for a disease they didn't have
Turned into a disease that has no cure

And we sit upon our silver towers
Celebrate the messenger Guilt
For he tells us to turn our backs
And turning our backs we will

Comment: Old piece.

===

Killswitch

There are tales to tell
As implied by clenched teetch yellowed by silence and disbelief
Sightings of well-dressed men feeding cough drops down a shaft
To ascertain that the dust remains in place

A brave intruder wandered into this oblivion
Shedding their flashlight on prototypes of the apocalypse
And even though his rope home was hatcheted
Undead arms clawed their way to the surface…to live the hermit’s life
Curiosity had broken the cat

Therefore I say we detonate, become the dreaded emergency
The belly of the ghast monster that had swallowed the bomb
Will explode into a treasure trove of booming truth
Our feet and fingers held upon the tissue flakes to keep them from re-fusing
There are tales to tell, and we want to hear them

Comment: New piece. Do you see an evolution?

 

I Refuse

The body is an observable nothing
With all its fleshy limiters
Arrogantly deemed irrefutable
How dare it pulse me into shirking
When I’m only halfway there

I’ll go beyond my inept self
Incinerate the schedule’s paper brakes
For if you can be defined in numbers
Then it’s time to lose count
I will not be a sum of parameters
No matter how much truth they hold

One more lap of addictive torture

The naked verdict, seasoned in the salt of sweat
Is that I am still organic weakness
But within it gnashes an ache betraying
That I prevailed nonetheless

Comment: My new mantra for running laps.

 

Wings Like Daggers

This falcon circles ‘round a shoulder
He’s no longer allowed to claim.
I tire myself out twirling, mesmerized
By a target that used to be more than just that.

Bless the carnage you left, little one…

I pluck myself, I hunt myself, I’ll
Do the damnedest just to keep busy.
I keep myself in the dark where there is less to fear,
Obsessing over togetherness,
Crying bitter tears over the corpse of sanity
Even though we were never close.
Would that I could spread these wings
To anywhere but here.
Alas, I’m still blocked by this monstrous cage:
(This ribcage housing guts of little value)
My daggers are deflected until
Gashes laugh their red regret.

Can’t I do this one thing right?
The time I waste…
Am I too sore to soar?
The life I drink…
I’m molting without hope of new feathers

Can you forgive this battered bird?
Hissing, roaring, producing
Sounds not entirely his own.
Wheezes scram from his blunted beak.
Encapsulated and stricken is he, by paradoxal metal:
The freedom he desires,
He desires not to need.
Not being able to leave
Without knowing he’d be missed.

 

The Receding Wave

Here I stand, atop a desolate coast
I cut my toes on coin and pressing matters
Twisting and whirling like sand in the air
Pocketsful of folly is what I lay bare
An offering to a foaming ghost
They are dragged to its depths as part of me shatters

I considered a dip, but a furtive dive
Would see me swallowed, keeled by the tide
Caught by an onslaught of youthful energy
And beckoning memories, but eventually
Mockery aplenty for the way I behave

No, I could slash the surface to bitter tears
Only to never find the years
Stolen by this receding wave

~

Beasts That Build

Civilization’s pillars are the hairy legs
Of a creature whose drool congeals
To glass, concrete and steel
Even in denial it fights tooth and nail

We strive for saint or settle for sinner
Never content that we’re already halfway
We fear the pleasures we can receive
The highs we can achieve
And construct our way around them
Bricks and bolts and stories and pills
Permitted indulgence though the veil is thin

For what is order but chaos frozen in place?
Sometimes we even leak:
The thaw is always but a threshold away.
Our arenas, carved in wood, layered in law
A limbo for the feral, and a reminder
To keep natural selection caged.

And what is trade then, but ravenous?
Buy, sell, hoard, feast, starve
Grow or be outgrown
The system is ever vicious
But the prospect of coming out on top
Has stayed our hand in casting it down

We are the beasts that build
Clever architects
Yet slaves to our senses still