I am so glad to have found this little corner of Hip Forums...and hope to share a few snippets here and there. I don't think I'll ever be a great writer...but if you'd like an audience or some constructive criticism.. just lemme know. ~@~ Mother: She rarely spoke of her start in life Or the years she'd worked to overcome strife And all anyone saw was the smile in her eyes Too smug and self-righteous to ever realize Her tenderness, fragile, like a dream on the wind Made her easy to crush when she needed a friend When the love of her life loved someone else And spun her joy into a version of hell She sought out her comfort in the hugs of others But it was clear from their words they felt so far above her: it could be worse - don't cry do not weep you have no right here you sit so sad and sighing while half the world is dead or dying they shamed her heart with verse upon verse of "just remember - it could always be worse" She moved on and found new smiles Worked at making life worthwhile But soon enough the hard times hit The kids were hungry in clothes unfit She toiled from dawn till late at night Though sad and worn she did not cry Until one day in weariness She wept to friends of her distress But once again they could not see Past their own big heads to their friend in need it could be worse - don't cry do not weep you have no right here you sit so sad and sighing while half the world is dead or dying they tore her heart with verse upon verse of "just remember - it could always be worse" Then one day on a warm spring morning She fell to sickness with little warning The doctor confirmed her silent fears And told her she'd reached the dusk of her years Her heart was sad and she ached for friends For someone who'd hold her and help face the end But alone she drew her final breath And her "friends" were surprised when they heard of her death By way of GoodBye she left a few simple words And prayed they'd be heeded and not go unheard: You always told me not to cry That as for weeping I had no right When I was sad and fell to sighing You said just think, you could be dying You broke my heart with your careless verse Don't you know I knew it could have been worse? I only wanted warmth and love But no matter my need it was never enough My last dying hope is that somehow you'll see How hurtful and careless your actions can be And maybe the next time a "friend" needs some care You will be kinder, and you will be there So farewell, remember, the point of this letter: It could have been worse, but it should have been better. I knew you better than you you thought. ~@~12/12/2005
Holy shit man, that was great! I mean, damn, get that thing published! (i like, too, how you call that a short work. I wonder what a long work of yours is... )
*blush* thanks for the praise... I dunno I thought I'd just start one thread and dump everything here., that's why I thought to call it Short Works. haha most of them are anyway.
Awesome. Well here's an old one but it has a clear message at least I hope it does.. This bitter charade ended... I make my trek to unknown lands. And although I know my way, I seem lost to those around me. Perhaps a dove has more direction, Perhaps the rain has more power, all I know is where I am going... and that is unknown.
i love the mother poem. you dont hear many like that. a lot of poems are about being happy or being sad or other variations, but i dont read to many 'story' poems that are just beautiful. wonderful job
Thanks again I'll be sure to check some of yours moonlight phoenix. When I write., it stems from something I'm feeling at the time, this feeling could be general or very specific, I don't really strive for balance. There really isn't any method here. I just start to write and then it takes on a life of it's own. The initial feeling that drove me to write is still there, which is more important to me, I want it to remain genuine. So I guess I really don't have a 'style'... I don't particularly like the way Art is categorized, like it's some kind of structure to be admired.. Art is Art, it's messy, it's not, it's what it is...and above all, it's personal. Here's one I finished yesterday: Where I go, we speak in hushed tones, we sit side by side, eventually you put your arm around my shoulder in that gesture usually reserved ~ for equals, friends, as if we'd accomplish something together, like climbing a hill or drawing a portrait Stripped of our shells, our wildness, we should sit in sleek silence, innocent, forgiving what we'd said, what we'd done our breath slowing. Like a couple of kids slumped on a dock in the sun, looking down into the clear depths of the water admiring each other's reflections.
something new I have been working on for a long time... Forced into adult decisions, With the wisdom of a child, Hard to live an honest life, When I've been lied to and beguiled. Trying to pick up the pieces Of my shatttered princess crown. Once displayed hopes and dreams, Of a deeply rooted town. Strip me bare, don't let me breathe. So strip me to my skin. Strip me down, let me clean off All the things I've been. Inseminate the good now, Inseminate the pure... Inseminate all the shit ~ I'd forgotten how to cure Show me how. . ~*~<3
Man is an upturned Pentagram, of outreaching head, arms and legs, by nature he's a telegram. Projecting ghost world messages, hatched from microcosmic eggs; fledglings perched on appendages. Man's eye spy-symbol stimuli, connecting his inner wires; crystals that shine to blind and lie or fluid that fills a true mold..something always fuels the fire, what points is how the message is told. Man is an open and splayed hand reaching to grasp the meaning from space. Objects, ideas, yield to touch. but without roots he feels displaced, when carried by rivers, flows and such. Man stands as the spokes of a wheel; rolling down the slope of Progress. Speed unrelenting and fate sealed, his leanings guide the direction. Nothing allows him to regress, there's no chance of insurrection. Man often closes himself in, figure fixed in magic circle, eyes closed as the world around spins. The Brave focus and aim their Will, while others wait for miracles. Nevertheless the world blurs still.
When Times are bad And all you know is pain Remember the days you had The nights that kept you sane Your mind has doors that open wide Don't be afraid to look inside... When being alone is unworthy When being shy is contagious When inspiration is in need amended 05.09.06
