The Temple's Colouring Book

Poem. :p 'inspired' by the mention I got from a volunteer helping care for the homeless (Leamington Christian Mission) about people sending in childrens' colouring books with the pictures coloured in already to give to homeless children.

Temple lit by moonlight, priest walks up the stair
Lady at the window, face showing despair
She looks pretty enough, 'Please pull up a chair.'
Sympathetic eyes but he just doesn't care.

Ragged child starving, the priest passes him by,
Comforts shaken conscience with another lie
Closes temple doors, and leaves the child to die
'Please expire quietly, there's no need to cry.'

Walks home, heart in silk purse, but drowning in sin
Sees unhappy stranger, very tired and thin
Knows at once his purpose, and greets with a grin
Gives the temple's colouring book, already coloured in.

~:thumb:

Another one, written in the boredom of waiting for exams to 'finish'. Written pretty much in the same style. Small fireworks-war comparison.

Reflection (I)

Grating sounds for garish faces, it gets old
They spiral into deep night, die in the cold
Their final bright explosions, radiant gold
Burning out in night sky, for this they are sold

Swallowed up by the night, open their hearts at height
Unknown to man

Crouches by the red stump, a match in his hand,
Brushes fuse with flame, edges back in the sand
Children scorn the clear night, all boring and bland,
Powder touched, they go, they're all going as planned

Going forth to excite, must make the evenings bright
War known to man

A more general pointless one, with an execution theme. Again written waiting for the end of an exam.

Mediocre Days

Mediocre days, gone in a haze
Open your eyes, open the lock
Just try to lose time, still pantomime
Sever all ties, shatter the clock

Noone can refuse, blow out the fuse
Escape this hall, escape the dark
But all of the nights, electric lights
Distantly call, destroy the spark

The lead ceiling looms, in crowded tombs
Beg for a friend, beg for release
Just choking your life, twisted midwife
Reveals the end, revels in peace.

You can see the outside, more time to bide
Wait 'til he says, wait for a sign
The deadening air, electric chair
Rotting for days, release is mine

Nice!

A very short romantic poem

Lady of the Waves

Lady of the waves, rising from the sea
My lady of the waves, turn your eyes to me.
Never let the cloud return again to this bright heart,
Never let the shroud of a widow hide your face,
Never let the moon over England see us part,
Never let the tune of soft sobbing take your grace.

Lady of the waves, I hear tapping feet
My lady of the waves, your rhythm so complete
Always let the words of Sinatra show the way
Always let the birds in the morning sing above
Always let the skies shelter, loneliness decay
Always let the eyes of my lady tell our love

Updated to my satisfaction.

Seeing if my significant other likes it...

Indeed she does :) Orb is t3h lucky :)

Reflection (II)

Stars in the night sky, the fish in the sea
In the middle of deserts, lonely as can be
Run for some shelter, fleeing from the sun
My spotlight's lightless, but he's having fun

Imitations, he screams but no control
For an image, I sacrificed my soul

Bathed in napalm, drowned in liquid hype,
Unlike each other, but copying same type,
Another lover, another night to rot,
So long since sunrise, forgotten what he's got

They follow movements, all pre-ordained
He did it first, so my soul's not stained

Give me your hands, I'll lead you in the dance
Follow on, some tortured spectre of romance
Be my doubles, perpetuate the great scam
And when you die, your life ain't worth a damn

And in a tragic moment, the individual falls
Closed the only doorway, your talent no more calls

---

A darker poem, with heavy progressive stylings (OK, well, written with heavier progressive music in my mind).

Anyway, more feedback would be great, even if only a :thumbsup:, :thumbsdown: or 'Poetry? Are you living in the 19th Century?'

Poetry is not for me,
But you are the ace.
Next time add a killer robot
and a fiery car chase!

Quote:

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Originally Posted by Orb

Anyway, more feedback would be great, even if only a :thumbsup:, :thumbsdown: or 'Poetry? Are you living in the 19th Century?'

---

I am really no good at poetry, so I'll leave it at ~:thumb: .

Water's Edge

Patient by the pond, tests the water with a paw
Still waiting on the pillow, the perfume that she wore
Is gone. Go on.

Sleeping in the afternoon, lover of the sun
Loves still more the night, passions overrun
By the pain. Refrain

From the mention of a past wound, sweetness in her eyes,
From the thunder of an ancient day and hunger she denies,
Because of what? Forgot

-ten not all the mishaps that made the self complete,
Looks with adoration, yet with caution obsolete
In present times. Replayed rhymes.

She's still at the water's edge,
Still on a mountain ledge
In her mind.

---
Sort of improvised with a somewhat Floydian theme in the mind. The last verse was an entirely improvised addition (go figure) which just sort of came to me as I randomly tried to fit it to a tune.

Miles, I don't know whether to thank you for that or to demand more updates to A Fox In The Desert.

It's a 'thumbs up', so you are more than welcome. I'm trying to work in the part where Miles and the killer robot have a fiery car chase!:laugh4:

Two things:

1. In a few moments I'm going to update Water's Edge (maybe a little song-y, since I basically just added that on when thinking of a tune to it).
2. I'm working on another slightly more complex and developed one at the moment. I hope it'll work out well, but Tales needs more attention than my usual 10-12 liners.

And, just to fill the post, a major influence of mine deserves a mention:

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by Peter Sinfield

Grass in your hair stretched like a lion in the sun
Restlessly turned moistened your mouth with your
tongue.
Pouring my wine your eyes caged mine glowing
Touching your face my fingers strayed knowing.
I called you lady of the dancing water.

Blown autumn leaves shed to the fire where you laid
me
Burn slow to ash just as my days now seem to be.
I feel you still always your eyes glowing
Remembered hours salt, earth and flowers flowing
Farewell my lady of the dancing water.

---

Lyrics to King Crimson's Lady of the Dancing Water, a truly beautiful song.

A more sarcastic brief historyish one:

Madness of Cambyses

He ascended to the throne, once his father's, now his own,
Lydians and Greeks his slaves, can't resist now from their graves,
And wise Amasis, the king, whose praises Egyptians sing,
Had dared to refuse to please, to send his daughter overseas...

To Cambyses

The Persian was now enraged, immediately engaged
Whatever help he could find, traitors, Arabs, all entwined
by oaths with blood, cloth and stones, shattered empire, shattered bones
Psammenitus, on his knees, defeated with such great ease...

By Cambyses

It was then his fortunes turned, his ambition too bright burned
For the Apis' bleeding thigh sent his steady mind awry,
And the desert was too strong, fifty thousand men went wrong,
And the day he once would seize, was filled with despondencies...

Of Cambyses

Soon he left his brother dead, watching from his sisters' bed,
Sacred things he'd confiscate, using bloodshed shun his fate,
But his brother's namesake rose, as he rode out to oppose
Apis whispered in the breeze, 'Madness releases, death frees...

Poor Cambyses.'

Well, a semi-breakthrough after a long pause of inspiration.

Mindless

I always wait on rainy days by the Styx
And stay, until the divine light leaves the banks,
To see the timeless ferryman wave to gilded eyes,
I wait, the shades beg me to perform life for them, perform tricks,
Like an animal at Circus, though they are without thanks,
I perform. I leave my pride by the water, there it lies.

The veilless, lifeless ladies draw me to the stream,
And with a graceless art drain both halves to the dregs:
Body. Soul. Lone bell's toll sings of my surrender -
And I wonder if ever I fought against this dream,
And if some terror truly seized and stilled my legs,
Or am I forever fleeing, giving life back to its sender?

It's warm by the river: fevers and sweating dreams give heat.
The valley and perfumed hags, ash, sand and thorn-ringed vine
Give it some humid appeal, squalid moment, bones, sore.
I wait, and wait. Feeling sickened, aware of the deceit,
But trailing weeds worship me, 'Great Self!' I resign,
and sit down. Knowing I should go, I wait a moment more.

A shorter conversational one:

Muse

Enter, severally, discordant.

Poet: Lady, will you give to me that which I desire?
Muse: Sir, what could compel you to retire?
Poet: The green, tormenting kiss that once I felt, rejection.
Muse: And why should I subject you to such dejection?
Poet: Give me that strength, I'll go to any length...
Muse: To do what, sir? My hatred would be unmeant.

Poet: My pen is tamed to stab words and mutilate them on the page,
oh please don't let this burning flame be caged.
Muse: Why, sir, do you not simply turn again your pen to other arts,
Reconcentrate, and write of fluttering hearts.

Poet: That's not my style.
Muse: Pure self-denial.

Poet: I do not care for the lighter thoughts,
Wit, and swift off-hand retorts.
Muse of mine, recarve the scars,
And raise my arts to higher stars!

Muse: Sir, your thoughts are futile, infertile ground,
You'll never pen another violent sound.
Another path, sir, has been laid out for your feet,
Romance, joy and our eternity so sweet.

Exeunt, together, blessed.

I wasn't quite sure how to present it, it's currently in play format, but that could change.

Nice :2thumbsup: .

Indeed. The play format works well.

I like your poetry, especially the Prose/Play one. One thing you might want to keep in mind is watch for the rhythm. Sometimes simply changing word endings and order can make all the difference. For example:

Quote:

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Originally Posted by Orb

Temple lit by moonlight, priest walks up the stair
Lady at the window, face showing despair

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I'd change to...

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by Orb

Temple lit by moonlight, priest walks up the stair
Lady at the window, her face shows despair

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As "-ing" endings have a caesuric effect on the rhythm.