Poet's Nook

[shadokastur]

[Tony]

Intensely profound Shadokastur. I particularly like the line "Breaking at the bend." The imagery in that simple lyric helps one understand exactly how far one can go before utter decimation.

As per your belief, here is my contribution in honor of what you've shared:

~Suspire~

Filled twice capacity entwined,
Encircling joy denied.
Lost feeling dawned to dusken shrine,
Condemned and timely tried.

Whimsy, failure, lacking pyre,
Befall five times the pain.
Buckling waves forced to suspire,
Found breathless lips again.

Relinquished dreams in furnace burn,
Memorial from before.
Death returns for me to yearn,
As you walk out the door.

[Al the DLOE]

Many go forth seeking power, ignoring what there is around them,
They seek the obvious signs of but not the sources of power.
The greatest source is Love, pure and fine
It is fragile and small in the beginning, softly colored and sweet like a lilly
But its roots when given time and care grow deep and wide like a tree.
At its prime it will stand strong and fruit like a crabapple tree, tart but sweet, an acquired taste.
But ever at its strongest and most durable it like said crabapple tree, fade and wither with out constant care.
The strength an power of love is the fact that you are not alone and can face anything before you and it is thus why without it people crumble back into the dust they once were.

[FawkesFyre]

Nice dear...post the one you sent me today...

[Tony]

[shadokastur]

The Orator

His lips are moving but they don't match the motion of his words. He may as well be dancing in an empty room. Is it a speech or a story? The crowd only catches a word or two before their attention is swept away to somewhere else. They should be an audience but level of participation only merits the label of a gathering. If they had a purpose, say listening and participating, then the mere speech or story would take hold in them, of them, and even transcend its own narrow confines and rise to the lofty and coveted height of an experience. This gap that must be bridged is, in reality, the minutest of fractions but a completely uncrossable one until both sides resolve to build that bridge, to meet in the middle, to create an avenue of free and open exchange that in itself could lay the foundations of a brand new civilization. But the crowd only catches a word or two before their attention is swept away and away with it the possibility of a bridge. But hold. This assumes greatly that the fault lies completely with the crowd. What of the orator? Is it a speech or a story? If even this simple distinction can not be made then what hope have we (for if one is not the orator then one is surely the crowd) to understand if we should be learning or entertained? What is he babbling about? I heard one or two words in the beginning but then he stopped and looked at me expecting me to know just what to do or say to build that bridge all by myself. Is it a speech or a story? I still can't quite say. So where does that leave me? And where do I - and we - go from there? And what is the meaning of all this? And what was that last thing he just said? Who? Why, the orator, of course. The one giving the speech, or telling the story, whichever it was. The man right over... Well, he was right there a minute ago. I'd tell you all about him but I'm afraid I don't have much to say. You see, I only caught a word or two before my attention was swept away. Maybe if he had made the whole thing clearer or more clever it would've been harder for me to forget that I was listening. Now, all I can hear is the incessant buzzing of this crowd. Their lips are moving but the sounds don't match the motion. What are they saying? Is it a speech or a story? Whatever happened to that bridge I was building and why am I in this empty room?

[Akuko]

wow, some amazing stuff here. If you want a great place to publish your work go to www.poetry.com. It is amazing to see your words in a book and copyrighted.

My newest poem:

The Call

Frozen in time, calciferous, I remember that day,
Waiting for a call, ignoble, not able to face it.

A blustery day, wind whipping the leaves,
their scarred, scattered faces strewn over the street.

My ears burned as the phone rang its alarm.
My mother picked up the phone, trembling, as the doctor
mumbled in some secret language.

I laughed nervously, Doctorese, I had called it.
But I understood the words stroke and coma like an M.D.

A decision was made from 1600 miles away.
And the Father I knew was gone.

His life had ended with the simple pull of an
extension cord.

We held our breath as the tears hung, suspended
in the corners of our eyes.

And then the phone rang.

[shadokastur]

Yow. Powerful. But should my response be one of congratulations for the artistic expression or comfort for its source? You have both.


This is my first attempt at written slam-poetry. Hope it comes off well.

Oh terrible dawn
Feed me not the light of yesterday
For this morning holds new dew and is whet with the perfume and paradise of its original intent
Dare outshine me not, eclipsing sun
Your day has come and gone and been passed on to me
These brilliant rays will henceforth touch days I have yet to come and see
Continue on, though, if you must. in your predetermined fate
Windswept and put away by any passing cloud
As of late this ground has been drenched to its root to say how dare I make a villian out of you
But I think what's wrong here is the foot we got off on, dear sun
You and I are one
Cut from the very same cloth Rumplestiltzkin spun
Both capricious and reliable all at once
They say what goes up also comes down
So let me be your sermon on this mound
Give me my crown!
You had your chance and did your best
It's my turn now, friend
Don't fear to rest
I've 1.21 gigawatts in this chest so strikes of lightning hold no threats for me
At this point all bets are off, see?
So turn your head and cough
This check-up isn't checking out
Like soul-searching for the devout and brainwashed few that refuse to see the forest for all the happy little trees painted with just the edge of a brush that until now only you knew how to use
I can tell you're anxious
I know your past
And of all the things you were scheduled to outlast
You never even thought it would be me to rise above and beyond this solemn call of duty
But here I stand and so damn tall you'll never set on me
This empire is lit afire and God saved the King

[Akanari]

....Perhaps it is simply your apostrophe to the Sun that prompted this, but I'm reminded of Paradise Lost. Not in content, but this seems a reconciliation and reaffirmation of Satan's feelings (for the modern age of individual accomplishment?).

I don't mean to compare you to the devil, of course, but I may simply do that because Satan, in Paradise Lost, is one of my favorite characters of literature.

Anyways, weird sonnet for fun. Other things I've written have been either technical or a little too dark for comfort.


Those days of old, taken quite for granted,
Are swathed in fantasy; maidens and knights
Frolicking through fertile time, unplanted
And unconstrained by even death's dark light.
Ancient tales can often live forever,
Remaining immortal through the mind of man;
Mem'ry as soft and supple as leather,
Keeps those myths till there is need and demand.
Humankind grows from its faraway past,
Drinking from wells of knowledge so sweet,
We must still be wary of making casts,
For old men, we may in fact, truly meet.
A new time has taken today by force;
We cannot just recite, lest throats grow hoarse.


Half-assed, but I was amused by its production.

[Akuko]