The Poetry of Stardestroyer.Net

[jenat-lai]

Subconcious Depths of Poem


In the dark late hours alone
asleep I am composed.
The words form without words
and live and die in a world of their own
And somehow with expressions of subcoucious
yet expressionless and void
the poems and music comes alive in manifest
yet only to themselves, like one hoarding a treasure.
But somehow, perhaps by skill alone
the poet struggles through pen to sturr the words up
and to push them, unwilling subjects of the mind
into coherence, to mount them apon their throne
And together they might exist as an expression
of the expressionless. Like a life
amongst the lifeless
and in their existance, evoke love or passion.

[Sriad]

Here is a sestina I wrote for my Creative Writing class a couple years back, based on my job the Summer before. If anyone wants to know what it means to be a sestina, you can go here. It doesn't need to rhyme and it doesn't have to have 10 syllables per line, but I thought "what the hell" and did it anyway.

Dishwashing Sestina

Summer is come and offers many joys;
Wine, song, and women; bliss floats in the air;
These things will all be mine, or so I think.
But guardians raise up a raucous noise:
If I would enter I must pay the fare.
That’s why I’m scrubbing dishes at this sink.

Hands wrinkled, I stand, I wonder, and think:
Are all my desires and all my joys
Worth enduring this stench and noise?
Wasted food's miasma floats in the air.
My cut and pappy hands still scrub in the sink
At the endless dirt for my puny fare;

And hot peppers' perfume wafts through the air,
tears flow, and my spirit starts fast to sink,
As I stand scrubbing I can't help but think
that the math is against me, for my fare
may pay my way to twice as many joys,
but time is a different currency. Noise

pounds my skull. The disposal in the sink
howls. That obnoxious line cook makes the noise
that means he needs more plates; now I don't think,
I Know I'm in the wrong place. I need air
not reeking of putrid grease and no fare
should chain me here, away from all the joys

which were first my goal. Waitresses' noise,
dull chitchat, heard and forgot, fills the air,
dishes forever renewed in the sink,
Sisyphean tasks leech the joy from my joys
and the pitiful recompense, my fare,
becomes less relevant each moment. Think

It’s high time to leave, to say "Screw this noise!
I'm gone!" Leave them their crusty-dish-filled sink.
I breathe lightly as I leave and I think
Of- women and song. They, among my joys
shouldn't cost money and won't demand fare;
I can breathe greaseless and untainted air.

And so I will not sink my hope for joys
Into earning a fare enduring noise,
stench in the air; now I'm freer, I think.

[Shinova]

On the Spot

It's screaming toward me,
Gigantic, seemingly impossible in size and power.

I feel so small, and the bat in my hands
feels weak and fragile, like a stick bent by
the wind.

My friend has left me, and I am all alone
to face the doom that has come from the stars,
shooting through the sky toward me.

I'm on the spot, and I don't know what to do.




-Inspired by Furi Kuri.

[Asst. Asst. Lt. Cmdr. Smi]

I have a haiku:

The grinder turns on
Pig rectum is ground into paste
The hot dogs come out

And, "The Arminus Limericks"

It it has four legs, I'll screw it,
If it goes "Hee-haw" I'll do it,
If you find it in a barn,
It would do me no harm
To sodomize it, because last time, I blew it.

My head is stuck up my ass
And even worse, I have gas
But I do not care,
As I don't like the air
of logic outside, so I'll pass


My poetry only sucks because I'm thinking of it on the spot, and even then it sucks relative for stuff improvised on the spot, I guess.
(Insert line with same number of syllables as previous line, and ending in something that rhymes with "guess")

[jenat-lai]

Here is a poem I composed whyle sitting at university, looking down a street in the city. It is an attempt at use of alliteration mostly. Reflected the mood I was in, partly morbid, alot sarcastic, somewhat ironic, and a bit self-hating... though it is also contemplative and whatnot. Here it is:



Spatial and Colour Concepts

The banging of the drum announced his coming
The comic clumsy Petruska
and his theme echoed through the streets
with laughter and song.
Through dark alleyways where dubious deeds were done
and down parks where lovers wondered hand by hand.
Over docks where laborers worked heartily - Panting,
and into the sky where birds looked down - Chirping.
'Round memorials of stone which blazed gloriously
in solemn sadness, showing names of those fallen.
men long forgotten, decades ago.

Vibrant air glittered with glitter
Flashes of light from lights
flung over curious heads
free and fun,
and frivolous folly of the fair.

Until further and further, fair flew yonder.
Echo's of fun beat the cooling air.
Slow breeze blew bare branches
anonymous sound whispering in air
and ignorantly, a single wonderer wondered back
with sound echoing empty chasm
Grey and dull.
Life stood still. Time moved forward.

And far off blue became further black.
The silvery twinkle of newborn star,
the rustling of leaves in the dark.
The wind picked up - chilled cold.
The depths of space spun slowly onward.
His theme drifted eternally upward.


Copywright: Me, 12/4/00

[haas mark]

"Wonderland"

I wake up each and every day,
Staring at the same four walls,
Like the inside of a box of cards,
And hiding from the Red Queen.

If I begin to wonder where I am,
All I have to dois look around my room,
And know I'm across the looking glass,
Hiding from the Red Queen.

When your life is a daily hell,
The walls are not always white,
And though it may seem like Paradise,
You're reallly living with the Red Queen.

If I begin to wonder where I am,
All I have to dois look around my room,
And know I'm across the looking glass,
Hiding from the Red Queen.

In Wonderland, there is nothing that's
Exactly as it would seem.
It's like Alice with the Cheshire Cat,
With soemthings that will disappear.

In a world where left is right,
Right is left, and mirrors are wrong,
This is how we deal with daily life,
Hiding from the Red Queen.

We're all living out our lives,
But is it earth, or is it Wonderland?
Sometimes we act like Alice,
And we evn play the Red Queen.

I wake up each and every day,
Staring at the same four walls,
Like the inside of a box of cards,
And hiding from the Red Queen.

If I begin to wonder where I am,
All I have to dois look around my room,
And know I'm across the looking glass,
Hiding from the Red Queen.

~ver

[jenat-lai]

Three Abstract Poems
Based on my feelings on my first hearing of "Turangulila Symphony" by Oliver Messien

1: Blur
2: Darker Places
3: Stasis


Just a -blur-
Shocked to life - no awakening
Colours, patterns - more, mosaic.
Movement and flurry for a time,
activity and bustle - (music and noise).
Nowhere to go, but hurry!...;
blur to dazzle?
Or -darker places-
deep alleyways in transit
the eternal dank damp,
dripping.
Heavy mist,
the empty abysses
putrid and hidden
from lives and death.
Passage to
darker places. -stasis-.
Timeless darkness,
scurrying nothingness.
The eternal pulsing of time
far away. Detached
and unknown.
Eternal nothingness...
Stasis.

[jenat-lai]

Abstract poem IV
--Modern Atonality--

Out of the caress of life
slowly like some newborn, but also water
A stream, slowly making its way, logically, to the sea.

Bit by bit, condensing in little pools
Which by force of nature push down into the crevaces of earth,
or windblown, scattered to void by the howling sheer.

But as the storm blows wide, the chaos of ripples
and windsheer might overwhealm;
But order, somehow at the molecular seems paramount in keeping.

For in that chaotic soup of wild winds and water spray
extends a clockwork, deep down. Barely perceptible to perception,
yet integral to everything

Atoms in spiral to nanometic parsecs
Minute measurings of unbelevable precision
Flowing liquid like time.
Bit by bit, condensing in little pools
of blood.

[jenat-lai]

To Lizzie

Your beauty, it shines like rays of light
into the very depths of my soul

There is nothing quite, can compare to it
It blazes out like the hot golden glaze
of the sun

The hurling rush of time
even secondary to the pounding
of the flight of the flood within me
Gushing blood throughout me
Blood-red bursting within my innnermost soul
appreciation, love and life. Of beauty pure and innocent.
The crimson sheen all but glowing somehow
like the whirlpools of blood, moist yet dry
the pressure and exhilleration of the rush of pulsing red in my heart.


Lizzie is a distant crush of mine. She's the most beautifull redhead I'v ever laid my eyes on. Not almost... or arguably... simply is. Although I rarely speak to her, she is still my object of droolage. I wrote this about her in the style of a monologue to her. She hasn't seen it.

I wrote this during a performance of the String orchestra at my university where she was playing front desk second violin. I was not in the orchestra, and had no reason to be at this performance since it was an assesment. I joined the small audience in a very discreet position, and then whyle they played, I wrote this elergie to her in my mind. Some time later I recompiled it. I remember it being so much more fluid and obvious that it was her I was talking about, somehow it seems to have lost some of it's impact in transition, but it is the closest thing I could come, with mere mortal words, of painting a picture of her we call Lizzie, The cutest and most beautiful girl at university.

Compiled March 24th, 2003 from script (scrap of paper) dated sometime August-October 2002

[Shinova]

Long live the poetry thread!



A passing moment


After a short moment follows the ebbing
sensation of a passing memory.
What was, we now remember, trying to grasp
what significance of it there was.
And what is to come is something we think
about only in those waiting moments in which
the world stops for a moment to allow for
recollection and memory.

All else is nothing.

[Darth Fanboy]

Time to go to bed all you kind people
Time to sit and reflect on thoughts that are evil
The Day's burden, gone through tears
The Night's sorrow here for years
the Sun has set and the moon has rise
Time to close these heavy eyes.

df

[jenat-lai]

Salute to the World
(The world remembers)
Spent the day with the world in salute and embrace
to the loss of our comrades a year ago.
To the memories of terror and horror,
a horror the world still failing to understand.
Hoping for peace in this battered world, and yet
understanding well what it means as well as last year.
Cried tears with the world wide crowd
Remembering the confusion when America was the target of hatred and injustice.
Remembering the glory days of the great city from far away
in a great city of my own.
Yearning for an embrace,
and praying for the world.


11/09/2002

[Raoul Duke, Jr.]

Childe Raoul To The Dark Altar Came

What malady befalls my sleeping form
This wracking gulf of gnawing, building quick
My spirit, free and soaring dawn skies warm
Must now descend, perform a mammal's trick

Disruption of the bonds, cellular fix
The death through which base life must always spring
Now add excitant potions to the mix
This drug which hoists a most foreboding thing

Dark priestess now has come to lend her touch
Descends to spread herself upon the Plain
Just so! Lest she should circulate too much
And steal away the beauty of the grain

Now sacrifice of old has made its mark
Upon this altar clean and white as snow
When pressed, it sang with smoke, and steam and spark
Which isn't bad, as sacrifices go.

The blades descend upon the screaming host
Who lie in terror 'pon my breakfast plate
The shrieking eggs shall I enjoy the most
You oughta see me on a dinner date.

[haas mark]

For What It's Worth

In my time,
Also in yours,
Much is left behind,
All at great cost.

Nothing kept like memory,
Nothing real or true,
Nothing but the heartfelt virtue,
Deep inside of you.

Leave behind emotion,
Leave behind despair,
Leave behind your hopes and dreams,
You'll know why when you're there.

Journey quick, O child of mine,
Get thee fast to the temple.
Keep in mind your life's advice,
For all it might be worth.

Strafing through the midnight forest,
Dodging trees and bears,
The child hastens, ever quicker,
Underneath the twilight sky.

Like the sphinx' riddle,
Or the hydra's heads,
Will yourself through the impasse,
All for what it's worth.

Nowhere left to go,
Trapped in a far-off land,
The child cries for his mother,
Insurmountable fear is rising.

He knows he must go on,
But knows not yet how far,
And keeps on trekking,
To the far-off land of war.

The child grasps his coat tightly,
Wandering amidst unkown peoples,
Moving forward, ever forward,
Wondering what it's worth.

Lightly sleeping by the roadside,
He rests far past sunset.
Dishevelled and unclean,
He moves again at daybreak.

Stepping forward, he's almost there,
He sees the camp in the distance.
He starts to pick up speed,
When he realizes he was wrong.

In territory of enemy,
He's nowhere else to go.
He submits, but they don't care,
There are no prisoners here.

He is slapped down to his knees,
and forced to sit there, still.
A gun is raised to the back of his head,
And with one shot, he's dead.

And none will ever hear from him,
And none will ever know.
The price, the pain of war,
Is this really what it's worth?

~ver

[darthdavid]

Always here, never present,
Always lurking, unrepentant,
Hidden from sun, hidden from moon,
This hand of mine shall be your doom.

[Spanky The Dolphin]

Written basically just know, but began to draw a blank from sleepiness, so I had to stop prematurely:

Are we marked for sleep or for death
In the long nights where our dreams betray our sins
To those who we are afraid to love
And doubt we have reason, for such to be returned
In the broken baskets we call the centre of our soul.

My life that remains forever trapped away
Seems so distant and, hopeless
Reaching out my hands, feel cold
Holding on to nothing but an empty cage
Without those embraces you used to give.

Comfort.
Gentle.
Sorrow.
Like a mother, but equal.

Drifting away you whisper, it was never your fault
Swim back to the sea in your heart
You rest your eyes without looking back
To sadness aching through, your breast
We first shared fatefully once.

Welcome.
Soft.
Warm.
Protective and, inviting.

[Spanky The Dolphin]

Yeah, I guess I thought it was pretty lame, too.

[haas mark]

Yeah, I guess I thought it was pretty lame, too.

If I may critique...

In both the first stanza and the second stanza, the rhythms of the first two lines are different, and break it severely, IMO.

Third stanza makes absolutely no sense to me.

Fourth stanza same problem as first two.

Other than that, I can see why you said you stopped prematurely..

~ver

[Chardok]

Chardok no likey poetry anyway!
Are you still awake verilon? or just get up?

[haas mark]

Are you still awake verilon? or just get up?

Getting ready to go to bed.. What are you crazy, it's 6am!

~ver

[Spanky The Dolphin]

Yeah, I guess I thought it was pretty lame, too.

If I may critique...

In both the first stanza and the second stanza, the rhythms of the first two lines are different, and break it severely, IMO.

Third stanza makes absolutely no sense to me.

Fourth stanza same problem as first two.

Other than that, I can see why you said you stopped prematurely..

~ver

Truth be told, I've never liked to write poetry like most people do. I prefer a loose sense of abstraction and free verse, so with mine there's often no rhyming or continuous rhythm, and they're more like reading a passage from a book.

I was too tired when I did this, so I forgot what I was doing and lost my edge. Looking at it now, I only like the first stanza, and only the second partially.

You should have seen the free verse piece I once did that was a single sentense that ran for about a page and a half.

[haas mark]

Truth be told, I've never liked to write poetry like most people do. I prefer a loose sense of abstraction and free verse, so with mine there's often no rhyming or continuous rhythm, and they're more like reading a passage from a book.

We call it "prose," friend.

I was too tired when I did this, so I forgot what I was doing and lost my edge. Looking at it now, I only like the first stanza, and only the second partially.

Actually, I can understand what you're saying about that. Though my best writing is when I'm half-asleep and dead to the world, my best poetry is when I'm wide a wake.

You should have seen the free verse piece I once did that was a single sentense that ran for about a page and a half.

Can I?

~ver

[Spanky The Dolphin]

Unfortunately, I never saved it (was an assignment for a HS creative writing class), so it's basically gone. I could always write something similar, though.

[Darth Fanboy]

Take me away from Tomorrow

You're walking alone on an empty street, praying for a pitch black night.
Indeed its completely dark except for that pale street light.

With nothing left to go home to and nowhere left to go.
you spy a nearby becnh sit down, and have a smoke.

The faint red glow of the match and that damned pale street light.
They only serve to remind you and ruin the entire night.

Because even a faint glow illuminates the road youve travelled,
that pale light blinds you and shows you how your plans unraveled

Shes not there, but shes right in front of you.
Shes gone, but shes sitting right next to you

Another puff of the cigarette, another deep tormented breath,
another memory invades your mind, never letting you forget.

What once was good has now been lost,
the price that was paid had a heavy cost

And youve tried to drown it with whiskeys and beers,
and when that didn't work you tried shedding tears.

The futures always changing and the past is set in stone,
and here in the present now you find yourself alone.

Theres only one thing left to do, since that light wont go away
Its time to seek redemption, seek destiny, and face the day.

Dedicated to fictional characters who enhanced my life, and real people that shaped it.

A second dedication to anyone who reads this and instantly knows the meaning.

[haas mark]

Touch Me, Tease Me, Tempt Me

Touch my innocence, and take it away.
Touch my youth, and make me grow older.
Touch my naiveté, and see me become wiser.
Touch my life, and end it all now.

Touch me, tease me, tempt me.

Tease my will, and see me strength.
Tease my sexuality, and watch it feed.
Tease my ego, and it will lust for more.
Tease my life, and end it all now.

Tease me, tempt me, touch me.

Tempt my grace, and let me fall.
Tempt my confideance, and watch me fail.
Tempt my conscience, and behold my decision.
Tempt my life, and end it all now.

Tempt me, touch me, tease me.

~ver