zabu of nΩd
Free Insultation
- Feb 9, 2007
- 14,620
- 805
- 113
I might read the first page. 
Zeph, very nice piece there. Most of the rhymes were handled pretty well.
Zeph, very nice piece there. Most of the rhymes were handled pretty well.
Poetry
- Thread starter Dazed and Brutal
- Start date
Zephyrus
Tyrants and Slaves
Thanks. I'll have over a year to revise it, consulting with English professors and what not. I hope to have it performed readers-theatre style.
wandering_taco
Minstrel of Woe
Alright here it is, its called Becoming the Endless.
I did not see you
Raspberries and cheese
Changes heads now to taros
Lost in the grey
Emerge into black
Rabbits and eyes
Staring within him
Laser shoots in a water and spaceium
Slam between shards
The bark of the forest
Beasts of the wood
Blades of the flight
Sorrows unnumbered sing through the trees
Shoes stepping softly
On meadows untrod
Leaves on spirals and
Whispers of Faust
Lain in the doorstep
A figure unclean
A likeness of daemon,
Legend of greed
Stars dare to whisper
And clouds dare to say,
That blackness is coming,
Earth building a scream
When emerald the sunset,
And darks in the bay
The moon soon will falter
Red fruit will die
A ringing, a ringing
Sounds in the rays
Of a lone shining lamp
A beacon of ease
The roaring, the roaring
Of darkness rising
Throbbing within me
The bells are aroaring
To heights of a giant
The shadow stood now
Time stands still
A flicker in coding
In frozen deserts
Beneath drifting moons
Time seems to falter
The sand, whiter than snow
It clamors for wind
To no longer stand still
Oceans of time, seas of space
And still it is not at peace
At the edge of vision,
Along the blur between sky
And nothing
A rising emerald haze
Sinister, sentient, the night
Is becoming
Not only black she wears now,
But a palette of color
Dissonant shades of
Violet and amber
Haunting auras lay upon
The vast, stretching forests
Rivers of shimmering light
Swirling above mountains
Of unfathomable height
Wreathed in crowns of
Pastel crimson halos
These adamant mountains bend
Before the majesty of this,
This new age of night
The lunar radiance
Falls from the heights
Shatters on the rocks
Like crystalline fragments
Untouchable jewels
With their twinkling discourse
Secrets they know,
Mysteries from afar
Spoken they have
With beasts and with stars
In limitless castles
On tainted Yuggoth
All forms of light gather
Wraithlike travelers
From distance uncounted
Within the threshold
Carved in malevolent stone
The emptiness welcomes them
Webbed, intertwined
With soaring celestial streams
This place and that place
Connected in time
The funeral for day
Attended by few
All beings cower, they
Cower in the dark
Afraid to see colors
And unknown hues
In hyper-spectral sight
Forms fluid and sleek
Writhe through the air
Living, breathing things
That dance and that sing
With freedom so new
Suddenly they stop, a hush
Now ensues
Silence pervading through
Green, and through blue
The life of the stars
Dripping out sadly
Pouring, now pouring
Spraying so forcefully
The weight of the cosmos
Crushing my eyes
Times speed increases
My eyes are growing
Outward, outward
Tunneling faster
Through all around you
Colors are splitting, by speed split asunder
The silence is screaming
Air piercing letters
Space time is boiling
The acid decay
Blood smoother than silk
Skin dripping like wax on a lone ancient candle
The night is a nightmare
The nightmare, the night
All time decaying
The moons light is melting
Her eyes become milk
And flow all away
Laughter behind the door that cannot be seen
Ethereal gateway into three dimensions
Pulsating faster, electrical stars flitter
To and fro across the vast vapor skies
Statues innumerable line the endless
Rocky wasteland
Arms null and twisted
Gray rough gentle edges
Away the horizon a saws edge of pine
A mirror, I am
I am a mirror
All day I see the past and the future
Bells ring within me
Vast fields of feathers sprout in my chest
The suns golden laughter fluid and faceless
The zero is infinite
The nothing evicted
The night sky is vomited
From echoes still placid
A ripple before me
Pressure succeeding
Again the speed increases
Floating through time
Unaffected Ive flown
For countless ages
In one single second
Eternities pass
I enter free into kaleidoscope colors
Arms of stone, never wither
Disease running rampant in balls
Of rubber splinters
Deep within the mind dwell worlds of skin and sickness
Pathways merciless
Roads of murk in the may
Immeasurable by any
Is the way to the stars
Are they falling?
Drips of light on the silky black
Melting, melting, ebon trees
The branches above purple skies
The chorus on the breeze, speaking
So softly rising and rising
Away beyond the clouds
The head of the world
Cloaked within the looking-glass
In the tower of green
The earth seems to shake with every step
But I am walking so still
Underneath overtones of ethereal breeze
The shades of sounds unheard
Through the haze
Of perpetual wakefulness
Warm in the autumn sun
But still under the sea
Rising within her crimson seabed
Matter becomes sound
Shattered in the waves
The rising and falling
Of humming streaming faces
Smiling forever
Wherever theyve been
Natures harmonies
Flying like birds, and sounds of chords
Wondering, forever
Sitting upon the brink
Of ancient unknown highlands
Bouncing with joy
Prancing about on the mountainside
With a flute and a fiddle
An orgasm of sound
Ringing through the valleys
And singing through the hills
The rivers run silver
Their eyes violently spinning
But I dont believe they knew
I was watching them from the bank
With a clear voice in the flawless air
A smiling call from the willow on the shore
Old Man Willow, a tale once had called
Him, and his ways and his shroud
Repeating the words of
A savior unheard
The reeds rustle with the gift, the
Gift of the wind
Soaring, soaring, chuckles with glee
A tickle in every limb
She rolls across the land
Blowing the night around
Galaxies appear, then vanish
In an instant
Rejected from life
In this sphere, undead
A burden unfathomed
Soft beyond measure
With a heart so kind, so gentle
She is content, at ease
The turning of gears
Of wheels, spinning the wheels
Sucking within
To a point far in the distance
Blackness in an instant
Time crawls, like a lowly beaten slave
Before its master, its order
Into the endless winter
Outside the corrupt deceiver
Out of tune to all within
And no remorse, this sinner
Spinning out, and farther away
Oblivious to its impending failure
Crushing, the weight laughing, disgusting
Stop the beeping
A thousand staring eyes
Recognized, though faceless
Falling, the pressure soaring
Sensory, audible my feelings fly
All my bones shattering
The power astounding
Beyond the voice, beyond the forest
My very being is tied, to this
This one whisper on the currents
Tachyon in nature
Every single piece, every bit of time is tied
Eternities compressed,
Beyond comprehension
A hundred thousand threads
Converging to this instant
And in this boundless source
The belching greets
The azure hue
Draped in the last morsels
Of history undefined
The fading pulse of ages weakens
Soaring orange clouds
Dissolving all matter that abound
Within their gaseous selves
Loneliness drifts alone
Through spaces untrod
The silence is singing
The voices of shadows
Everything shrinking
The expansion is waning, as
Chaos ascending
The empty throne is waiting
Speaking not with words, but calling just the same
Colored eyes glowing, with darkness they are glowing
Lighting the night with a black even blacker
Than the endless void and its hideous laughter
The apple is fading, the apple of my eye
Delicious the bounty
Of a fruit tree in solitude
The grey cloudy sky, never again alight
With the rays of the sun, no
Forever gray
The night holds the day
Locked within dungeons
With nothing to say
A chill wind is tickling
The back of my neck
First whispers of winter
Trespassing through mist
The moon flashing past me
A hundred more times
No distance is shrinking,
And still I see no day
Perhaps it is true, night shant go away
The hours flashing past me
Floating into a pool of infinite
Crushing me down to the size of a pea
Vibrant colors, all is rich within
Falling into nothing
The mists below, wisps of delicate spite
The rhythm behind vision
Dwelling inside the mind
Walking slowly through the primordial
Woods of beasts and snow
Deep inside the iris,
Dwells a hundred thousand skies
Vibrating in caverns
The giants, the giants
Return from over the hill
Paralyzed, the night stands agape
Shouting in anger, bloodlust was his name
Draped in the cloak of imperial might
The haunting echo
Of organs that slither and grow
Tales of no man
Bloodletting sure to begin
Yet peaceful in the same
Way as the star-kin
The whispers of moonlight
The lost dimensions
Unnoticed patterns escaping
The eyes of the master
Where is time? Asked the scribe
In the delicate
There is music in my eyes,
She said
Is not time a sweet music?
Time, he laughed,
Time is the rhythm
The heartbeat of ages
The tune of the sages
Cry out my lass, over rock
And over tree
The joyous truth of the one thing
The divine right of
Time insurrected
From the chains of the taste
Of the haunting spiritual warmth.
Sitting the giant rested
Along a landslide, with a biscuit
Dancing alongside the cliff,
A raven came and asked him
Why does the sky grow dark,
From whence comes the night?
I know not, he says
From the grass
From the rested?
It is a gentle taste,
Her sweet darkness
And her smooth, brief caresses
Perfection, nearly
Her home in the mountains
They stand stark
On the edge of all that is known
A child in grey
Before the rising pale day
The sound of sludge
Vibrating in her spine
The meandering branches
With putrid vapor petals
Spiraling above the sea
Swishing and sailing away
Anxious vanilla taste
On the air in which they dwell
Slowly creeping droplets
Of sunlight, but it is not day.
The words try to say
That they cannot be seen
They are waving to the rhythm
Falling backward, made of clay
Spinning perpendicular
Twitching so peculiar
Yanking me down,
My sight rising ahead
A slow, faint-heard footstep
In the chapel of the hideous
Hard to swallow,
The air is growing thick
My chest rising slowly,
Ghosts staring quick
Green, I can see their voices
Scratching like serpents,
Their tongues hold tight secrets
Standing off the page
The words of nature rise
To take back the sacred
A forest of these ghosts
Their footsteps surround me
I feel their presence in my knees
Memories wither, but still they remain
A scant reflection
The chords are heavy
In their singing war tune
They open the sky
It screams for the prize
Rising like thunder
Theyre marching up high
Giants streaming
Through the azure void
Sailing in ships,
Too many to count
Vessels of war that
Cut through the stars
Insane laughter is heard
Fingers numbing
Unfeeling in the cold
Prepared for battle,
This is when the true night came
Her hordes vast and numerous
The drums of war were beat
Her attack like the second coming
Of the might of the son of the morning
Strumming the minstrel told us this tale
In a voice deep and sad
Laughing hysterical
His strumming lute played aloud
The notes rich and vibrant
Golden in tuneful air
Back to the tale he came to
Of the assault of Night
The deeds of fell
Beasts, our blood
Their cold droughts
Sensations unknown before
Spread through their bodies as they drank
And so they consumed lust
Moments of insight
In the frigid waste
An uncharted tundra on fields
And deserts old
Soaring once again
Through space unforgotten
The emptiness roaring
Fluid formed shapes pouring
Huddled together within
The bosom of the forest
Amorphous, her children sat
In a strange way, they resembled
Summer, in all its fair splendour
The rising clear voice
Rolling over the green hills
With grass in the breeze
Beneath the sun so clean
Sinking, my mind is draining
The rustic sounds, of days
Rank with glory
When the sun did shine, and
Night was not our day
Longing for the sun, this
Sun Ive not seen
For aeons, eternities even
To me, but a moment ago
The sons of man climbed
From their beastlike stupor
I remember the day,
And the way the sun did shine
Silent now, the brightest you see is grey
Time does not matter
It is all one, and the same
Day has always been night
It seems, the memories fading
Faster
Fewer and fewer, the sound of
Bird cries
Rings through the heavens
Or scarce winged things
Grace my sad, drear eyes
It is here where things are lost
Relics of days gone by
Whispers lost moon-rays
And so the minstrel continued
For hours this way
What did I just hear
A growling behind the drapes
As we sat round the fire
In hallowed groves
Of autumnal shade
The sky above grey
Meandering clouds, heavy with rain
Mirrored in the still water
Of a silent lake, by the cave
The dwelling of beasts, and darkness
A swelling within me
A chasm of freedom and dreams
That perhaps it is not as hopeless
As this night so endless
Makes it seem
Climbing down into this well,
Darker than the pupils
Of the devil, Satan
Blackness so awesome
It cannot be fathomed
Deep in this place
I search out the night
To speak to this darkness
And pray to be freed
Release us I say,
From your chaos intact
To feel it swelling in my head
Her anger so vile
Is something I will not forget
The voice so empty of human emotion
The voice of an apparition
Oozing and corrupted
The shouting of many
Clogging the thoughts
We were lost
To feel the noise inside
Coming from within
Is a thing not to be taken lightly
The dust of stars
Rising as mist does
The light of the moon
A haze over the water
Relaxing like nothing
Ever felt before
The calming sounds
Of the forest pervaded
The still air
Floating olden melodies
Of oak, and of ravens
Away the raven flies
From the giant, and his questions
Soaring to unknown
Without fear or laughter
His shining blackened feathers
Glowing like jade
As of an algae covered moon
The arch of the horizon
Does not escape his notice
Is this the final sunset, he wonders?
The culmination of earths days
To be hidden behind masks
Of infernal black silk
The mind is tired,
In vain, it starts to wander
Though on such weary limbs
It shant get much farther
Ancient, the withered man stood
Like a gnarled tree
In the dusk, in the wood
The chorus of all things
Converging
Becoming one
But it has always been this way
All is the same
The past is the future
Hidden behind cold mirrors
The reverie the nightmare,
The nightmare, the reverie
Mystic shades held in
The divine hand
Silhouette on the hillside
Of the last swirling
Nightside
Horrid the magic
That is cast by the trees
In the beginning
On vast membranous wings
Did the night transverse the ether
From the furthest reaches of nothing
To the innermost core
Of substance
Appearing in the form
Of a shining white light
Shrouded in moonlights
Delicate flesh
Welcomed with grace
Unknown how insidious
She was
And so it becomes
Clear to the eyes
The boiling inky black
Destroys all that is sane
Distorting the fabric,
The fabric of time
Ignoring the laws of
Most glorious nature
Tearing at the spheres
That frolic through space
Spilling the innards
Of the sun and the heavens
Pushing aside the pillars beneath
Collapsing the void
In upon itself
Unleashed
At long last, the culmination
Of the night in this instant
The blackness flows
From the Shining Trapezohedron
The cosmos in a haunting
That will never be ended
The endless abyss
A monument to her reign
No one is listening
To the songs of the void
No one is left
To hear what the stars have to say
This night, never ending
This way will remain
Time has been halted,
But it continues to crawl
Disjointed, disfigured
Broken and pale
Forgotten the sunlight,
Forgotten the moon
All is a swirl in the heights
Black on the ebony
And I have lost all sight.
Conscious of nothing,
Do I truly remain?
I did not see you
Raspberries and cheese
Changes heads now to taros
Lost in the grey
Emerge into black
Rabbits and eyes
Staring within him
Laser shoots in a water and spaceium
Slam between shards
The bark of the forest
Beasts of the wood
Blades of the flight
Sorrows unnumbered sing through the trees
Shoes stepping softly
On meadows untrod
Leaves on spirals and
Whispers of Faust
Lain in the doorstep
A figure unclean
A likeness of daemon,
Legend of greed
Stars dare to whisper
And clouds dare to say,
That blackness is coming,
Earth building a scream
When emerald the sunset,
And darks in the bay
The moon soon will falter
Red fruit will die
A ringing, a ringing
Sounds in the rays
Of a lone shining lamp
A beacon of ease
The roaring, the roaring
Of darkness rising
Throbbing within me
The bells are aroaring
To heights of a giant
The shadow stood now
Time stands still
A flicker in coding
In frozen deserts
Beneath drifting moons
Time seems to falter
The sand, whiter than snow
It clamors for wind
To no longer stand still
Oceans of time, seas of space
And still it is not at peace
At the edge of vision,
Along the blur between sky
And nothing
A rising emerald haze
Sinister, sentient, the night
Is becoming
Not only black she wears now,
But a palette of color
Dissonant shades of
Violet and amber
Haunting auras lay upon
The vast, stretching forests
Rivers of shimmering light
Swirling above mountains
Of unfathomable height
Wreathed in crowns of
Pastel crimson halos
These adamant mountains bend
Before the majesty of this,
This new age of night
The lunar radiance
Falls from the heights
Shatters on the rocks
Like crystalline fragments
Untouchable jewels
With their twinkling discourse
Secrets they know,
Mysteries from afar
Spoken they have
With beasts and with stars
In limitless castles
On tainted Yuggoth
All forms of light gather
Wraithlike travelers
From distance uncounted
Within the threshold
Carved in malevolent stone
The emptiness welcomes them
Webbed, intertwined
With soaring celestial streams
This place and that place
Connected in time
The funeral for day
Attended by few
All beings cower, they
Cower in the dark
Afraid to see colors
And unknown hues
In hyper-spectral sight
Forms fluid and sleek
Writhe through the air
Living, breathing things
That dance and that sing
With freedom so new
Suddenly they stop, a hush
Now ensues
Silence pervading through
Green, and through blue
The life of the stars
Dripping out sadly
Pouring, now pouring
Spraying so forcefully
The weight of the cosmos
Crushing my eyes
Times speed increases
My eyes are growing
Outward, outward
Tunneling faster
Through all around you
Colors are splitting, by speed split asunder
The silence is screaming
Air piercing letters
Space time is boiling
The acid decay
Blood smoother than silk
Skin dripping like wax on a lone ancient candle
The night is a nightmare
The nightmare, the night
All time decaying
The moons light is melting
Her eyes become milk
And flow all away
Laughter behind the door that cannot be seen
Ethereal gateway into three dimensions
Pulsating faster, electrical stars flitter
To and fro across the vast vapor skies
Statues innumerable line the endless
Rocky wasteland
Arms null and twisted
Gray rough gentle edges
Away the horizon a saws edge of pine
A mirror, I am
I am a mirror
All day I see the past and the future
Bells ring within me
Vast fields of feathers sprout in my chest
The suns golden laughter fluid and faceless
The zero is infinite
The nothing evicted
The night sky is vomited
From echoes still placid
A ripple before me
Pressure succeeding
Again the speed increases
Floating through time
Unaffected Ive flown
For countless ages
In one single second
Eternities pass
I enter free into kaleidoscope colors
Arms of stone, never wither
Disease running rampant in balls
Of rubber splinters
Deep within the mind dwell worlds of skin and sickness
Pathways merciless
Roads of murk in the may
Immeasurable by any
Is the way to the stars
Are they falling?
Drips of light on the silky black
Melting, melting, ebon trees
The branches above purple skies
The chorus on the breeze, speaking
So softly rising and rising
Away beyond the clouds
The head of the world
Cloaked within the looking-glass
In the tower of green
The earth seems to shake with every step
But I am walking so still
Underneath overtones of ethereal breeze
The shades of sounds unheard
Through the haze
Of perpetual wakefulness
Warm in the autumn sun
But still under the sea
Rising within her crimson seabed
Matter becomes sound
Shattered in the waves
The rising and falling
Of humming streaming faces
Smiling forever
Wherever theyve been
Natures harmonies
Flying like birds, and sounds of chords
Wondering, forever
Sitting upon the brink
Of ancient unknown highlands
Bouncing with joy
Prancing about on the mountainside
With a flute and a fiddle
An orgasm of sound
Ringing through the valleys
And singing through the hills
The rivers run silver
Their eyes violently spinning
But I dont believe they knew
I was watching them from the bank
With a clear voice in the flawless air
A smiling call from the willow on the shore
Old Man Willow, a tale once had called
Him, and his ways and his shroud
Repeating the words of
A savior unheard
The reeds rustle with the gift, the
Gift of the wind
Soaring, soaring, chuckles with glee
A tickle in every limb
She rolls across the land
Blowing the night around
Galaxies appear, then vanish
In an instant
Rejected from life
In this sphere, undead
A burden unfathomed
Soft beyond measure
With a heart so kind, so gentle
She is content, at ease
The turning of gears
Of wheels, spinning the wheels
Sucking within
To a point far in the distance
Blackness in an instant
Time crawls, like a lowly beaten slave
Before its master, its order
Into the endless winter
Outside the corrupt deceiver
Out of tune to all within
And no remorse, this sinner
Spinning out, and farther away
Oblivious to its impending failure
Crushing, the weight laughing, disgusting
Stop the beeping
A thousand staring eyes
Recognized, though faceless
Falling, the pressure soaring
Sensory, audible my feelings fly
All my bones shattering
The power astounding
Beyond the voice, beyond the forest
My very being is tied, to this
This one whisper on the currents
Tachyon in nature
Every single piece, every bit of time is tied
Eternities compressed,
Beyond comprehension
A hundred thousand threads
Converging to this instant
And in this boundless source
The belching greets
The azure hue
Draped in the last morsels
Of history undefined
The fading pulse of ages weakens
Soaring orange clouds
Dissolving all matter that abound
Within their gaseous selves
Loneliness drifts alone
Through spaces untrod
The silence is singing
The voices of shadows
Everything shrinking
The expansion is waning, as
Chaos ascending
The empty throne is waiting
Speaking not with words, but calling just the same
Colored eyes glowing, with darkness they are glowing
Lighting the night with a black even blacker
Than the endless void and its hideous laughter
The apple is fading, the apple of my eye
Delicious the bounty
Of a fruit tree in solitude
The grey cloudy sky, never again alight
With the rays of the sun, no
Forever gray
The night holds the day
Locked within dungeons
With nothing to say
A chill wind is tickling
The back of my neck
First whispers of winter
Trespassing through mist
The moon flashing past me
A hundred more times
No distance is shrinking,
And still I see no day
Perhaps it is true, night shant go away
The hours flashing past me
Floating into a pool of infinite
Crushing me down to the size of a pea
Vibrant colors, all is rich within
Falling into nothing
The mists below, wisps of delicate spite
The rhythm behind vision
Dwelling inside the mind
Walking slowly through the primordial
Woods of beasts and snow
Deep inside the iris,
Dwells a hundred thousand skies
Vibrating in caverns
The giants, the giants
Return from over the hill
Paralyzed, the night stands agape
Shouting in anger, bloodlust was his name
Draped in the cloak of imperial might
The haunting echo
Of organs that slither and grow
Tales of no man
Bloodletting sure to begin
Yet peaceful in the same
Way as the star-kin
The whispers of moonlight
The lost dimensions
Unnoticed patterns escaping
The eyes of the master
Where is time? Asked the scribe
In the delicate
There is music in my eyes,
She said
Is not time a sweet music?
Time, he laughed,
Time is the rhythm
The heartbeat of ages
The tune of the sages
Cry out my lass, over rock
And over tree
The joyous truth of the one thing
The divine right of
Time insurrected
From the chains of the taste
Of the haunting spiritual warmth.
Sitting the giant rested
Along a landslide, with a biscuit
Dancing alongside the cliff,
A raven came and asked him
Why does the sky grow dark,
From whence comes the night?
I know not, he says
From the grass
From the rested?
It is a gentle taste,
Her sweet darkness
And her smooth, brief caresses
Perfection, nearly
Her home in the mountains
They stand stark
On the edge of all that is known
A child in grey
Before the rising pale day
The sound of sludge
Vibrating in her spine
The meandering branches
With putrid vapor petals
Spiraling above the sea
Swishing and sailing away
Anxious vanilla taste
On the air in which they dwell
Slowly creeping droplets
Of sunlight, but it is not day.
The words try to say
That they cannot be seen
They are waving to the rhythm
Falling backward, made of clay
Spinning perpendicular
Twitching so peculiar
Yanking me down,
My sight rising ahead
A slow, faint-heard footstep
In the chapel of the hideous
Hard to swallow,
The air is growing thick
My chest rising slowly,
Ghosts staring quick
Green, I can see their voices
Scratching like serpents,
Their tongues hold tight secrets
Standing off the page
The words of nature rise
To take back the sacred
A forest of these ghosts
Their footsteps surround me
I feel their presence in my knees
Memories wither, but still they remain
A scant reflection
The chords are heavy
In their singing war tune
They open the sky
It screams for the prize
Rising like thunder
Theyre marching up high
Giants streaming
Through the azure void
Sailing in ships,
Too many to count
Vessels of war that
Cut through the stars
Insane laughter is heard
Fingers numbing
Unfeeling in the cold
Prepared for battle,
This is when the true night came
Her hordes vast and numerous
The drums of war were beat
Her attack like the second coming
Of the might of the son of the morning
Strumming the minstrel told us this tale
In a voice deep and sad
Laughing hysterical
His strumming lute played aloud
The notes rich and vibrant
Golden in tuneful air
Back to the tale he came to
Of the assault of Night
The deeds of fell
Beasts, our blood
Their cold droughts
Sensations unknown before
Spread through their bodies as they drank
And so they consumed lust
Moments of insight
In the frigid waste
An uncharted tundra on fields
And deserts old
Soaring once again
Through space unforgotten
The emptiness roaring
Fluid formed shapes pouring
Huddled together within
The bosom of the forest
Amorphous, her children sat
In a strange way, they resembled
Summer, in all its fair splendour
The rising clear voice
Rolling over the green hills
With grass in the breeze
Beneath the sun so clean
Sinking, my mind is draining
The rustic sounds, of days
Rank with glory
When the sun did shine, and
Night was not our day
Longing for the sun, this
Sun Ive not seen
For aeons, eternities even
To me, but a moment ago
The sons of man climbed
From their beastlike stupor
I remember the day,
And the way the sun did shine
Silent now, the brightest you see is grey
Time does not matter
It is all one, and the same
Day has always been night
It seems, the memories fading
Faster
Fewer and fewer, the sound of
Bird cries
Rings through the heavens
Or scarce winged things
Grace my sad, drear eyes
It is here where things are lost
Relics of days gone by
Whispers lost moon-rays
And so the minstrel continued
For hours this way
What did I just hear
A growling behind the drapes
As we sat round the fire
In hallowed groves
Of autumnal shade
The sky above grey
Meandering clouds, heavy with rain
Mirrored in the still water
Of a silent lake, by the cave
The dwelling of beasts, and darkness
A swelling within me
A chasm of freedom and dreams
That perhaps it is not as hopeless
As this night so endless
Makes it seem
Climbing down into this well,
Darker than the pupils
Of the devil, Satan
Blackness so awesome
It cannot be fathomed
Deep in this place
I search out the night
To speak to this darkness
And pray to be freed
Release us I say,
From your chaos intact
To feel it swelling in my head
Her anger so vile
Is something I will not forget
The voice so empty of human emotion
The voice of an apparition
Oozing and corrupted
The shouting of many
Clogging the thoughts
We were lost
To feel the noise inside
Coming from within
Is a thing not to be taken lightly
The dust of stars
Rising as mist does
The light of the moon
A haze over the water
Relaxing like nothing
Ever felt before
The calming sounds
Of the forest pervaded
The still air
Floating olden melodies
Of oak, and of ravens
Away the raven flies
From the giant, and his questions
Soaring to unknown
Without fear or laughter
His shining blackened feathers
Glowing like jade
As of an algae covered moon
The arch of the horizon
Does not escape his notice
Is this the final sunset, he wonders?
The culmination of earths days
To be hidden behind masks
Of infernal black silk
The mind is tired,
In vain, it starts to wander
Though on such weary limbs
It shant get much farther
Ancient, the withered man stood
Like a gnarled tree
In the dusk, in the wood
The chorus of all things
Converging
Becoming one
But it has always been this way
All is the same
The past is the future
Hidden behind cold mirrors
The reverie the nightmare,
The nightmare, the reverie
Mystic shades held in
The divine hand
Silhouette on the hillside
Of the last swirling
Nightside
Horrid the magic
That is cast by the trees
In the beginning
On vast membranous wings
Did the night transverse the ether
From the furthest reaches of nothing
To the innermost core
Of substance
Appearing in the form
Of a shining white light
Shrouded in moonlights
Delicate flesh
Welcomed with grace
Unknown how insidious
She was
And so it becomes
Clear to the eyes
The boiling inky black
Destroys all that is sane
Distorting the fabric,
The fabric of time
Ignoring the laws of
Most glorious nature
Tearing at the spheres
That frolic through space
Spilling the innards
Of the sun and the heavens
Pushing aside the pillars beneath
Collapsing the void
In upon itself
Unleashed
At long last, the culmination
Of the night in this instant
The blackness flows
From the Shining Trapezohedron
The cosmos in a haunting
That will never be ended
The endless abyss
A monument to her reign
No one is listening
To the songs of the void
No one is left
To hear what the stars have to say
This night, never ending
This way will remain
Time has been halted,
But it continues to crawl
Disjointed, disfigured
Broken and pale
Forgotten the sunlight,
Forgotten the moon
All is a swirl in the heights
Black on the ebony
And I have lost all sight.
Conscious of nothing,
Do I truly remain?
zabu of nΩd
Free Insultation
- Feb 9, 2007
- 14,620
- 805
- 113
Hm, from the first two stanzas that actually looks pretty interesting. I'll have to go through that when I have some time.
zabu of nΩd
Free Insultation
- Feb 9, 2007
- 14,620
- 805
- 113
I'm bored as hell at work, so time for an epic poetry critique:
Starts off overly random sounding. And what exactly is a "spaceium"?
Nice, succinct sequence of imagery. Some effective repetition too - especially "Stars dare to whisper / And clouds dare to say". Man, that's cool! "Red fruit will die" is a nice line too.
The ideas seem more generic here, and many of the images seem to be slight variations of each other. Not as impressive.
I love the 'shattered crystals of moon light' part. That's pretty interesting to imagine. Most of this still sounds rather overblown though.
The underlined parts I thought sounded great. Otherwise, still not really interesting me. I'm starting to wonder if there's some underlying logic or story to the piece, as I'm not seeing any yet. I'd kind of like to feel like the "plot is thickening" or that we're actually heading toward some interesting conclusion, but I'm really not getting any momentum. Just a general comment.
Wow, there's some nice scenery here. Statues across a wasteland? A saw's edge of pine on the horizon? Nice! Also, interesting placement of repetition for the "mirror" lines, though it's something of a novelty.
Seems like these ideas have already been expressed in so many ways in the earlier stanzas, so this particular stanza feels virtually unnecessary.
The "haze of perpetual wakefulness" part is striking to me somehow. Reminds me of having stayed up all night and then walking outside the next morning, which always feels extraordinarily distant despite the brightness - much as your "Warm in the autumn sun / But still under the sea" suggests. I don't know if you had that in mind when you wrote it, but that's my interpretation.
Another general comment: the basic rhythm/flow of the poem hasn't really changed since the beginning, and it makes it hard to maintain one's attention span while reading. The whole sequence of incomplete sentences starting with (<verb> + "ing") just hammers relentlessly upon the reader after a while. I'd recommended trying to change your "voice" a bit if you're writing something this long.
Some interesting mythological ideas here. I'd like to see those developed more - maybe expand on the characters of the river, the willow and the wind, and give them more personality. As it is, their appearance seems like just a passing mention like with most of your imagery in the poem. I'm just yearning for something to hold onto throughout the piece - something that will develop and evolve as the story unfolds.
I'll stop here for now, and get to the rest later. I hope the comments so far have been useful to you. I think this could be a pretty good poem if it were condensed down a lot, but of course I understand that you were doing a school assignment with a page requirement.
Starts off overly random sounding. And what exactly is a "spaceium"?
Nice, succinct sequence of imagery. Some effective repetition too - especially "Stars dare to whisper / And clouds dare to say". Man, that's cool! "Red fruit will die" is a nice line too.
The ideas seem more generic here, and many of the images seem to be slight variations of each other. Not as impressive.
I love the 'shattered crystals of moon light' part. That's pretty interesting to imagine. Most of this still sounds rather overblown though.
The underlined parts I thought sounded great. Otherwise, still not really interesting me. I'm starting to wonder if there's some underlying logic or story to the piece, as I'm not seeing any yet. I'd kind of like to feel like the "plot is thickening" or that we're actually heading toward some interesting conclusion, but I'm really not getting any momentum. Just a general comment.
Wow, there's some nice scenery here. Statues across a wasteland? A saw's edge of pine on the horizon? Nice! Also, interesting placement of repetition for the "mirror" lines, though it's something of a novelty.
Seems like these ideas have already been expressed in so many ways in the earlier stanzas, so this particular stanza feels virtually unnecessary.
The "haze of perpetual wakefulness" part is striking to me somehow. Reminds me of having stayed up all night and then walking outside the next morning, which always feels extraordinarily distant despite the brightness - much as your "Warm in the autumn sun / But still under the sea" suggests. I don't know if you had that in mind when you wrote it, but that's my interpretation.
Another general comment: the basic rhythm/flow of the poem hasn't really changed since the beginning, and it makes it hard to maintain one's attention span while reading. The whole sequence of incomplete sentences starting with (<verb> + "ing") just hammers relentlessly upon the reader after a while. I'd recommended trying to change your "voice" a bit if you're writing something this long.
Some interesting mythological ideas here. I'd like to see those developed more - maybe expand on the characters of the river, the willow and the wind, and give them more personality. As it is, their appearance seems like just a passing mention like with most of your imagery in the poem. I'm just yearning for something to hold onto throughout the piece - something that will develop and evolve as the story unfolds.
I'll stop here for now, and get to the rest later. I hope the comments so far have been useful to you. I think this could be a pretty good poem if it were condensed down a lot, but of course I understand that you were doing a school assignment with a page requirement.
wandering_taco
Minstrel of Woe
Thanks for all the comments vihris. Let's just say I wasn't.. myself.. when I wrote a majority of it. Thus all the random tangents I go on and the general incoherence of the thing as a whole. I look forward to your further analysis.
Zephyrus
Tyrants and Slaves
More progress on Aeneid VI. Here are lines 268-300:
They went through the shadows of solit’ry night
through vacuous, hollow dominions of Dis,
as under the glare of the moon’s obscure light
in forests where Jove hides the realms that he rules,
by nocturnal darkness all color’s purloined.
Foremost in those jaws, there in Hell’s vestibule,
Depression and vindictive Cares have their haunts,
here pallid Diseases, and woeful Old Age,
and Fear, tempting Hunger, dishon’rable Want,
and here Toil and Death, ghastly sights to behold,
then Death’s brother Sleep, and the mind’s evil Joys,
and death-dealing War in the facing threshold,
Eumenides’ strongholds and mindless Discord;
blood-drenched is her hair, with dread vipers asnare.
An elm midway down stretches branches outward,
False Dreams hold in throng the abodes of this tree,
and cling fast beneath all its manifold leaves.
Diverse come these bestial monstrosities:
Stabled are Centaurs, and double-formed Scyllas,
Briareus hundred-armed, and with her hiss,
the bane of Lerna and flaming Chimaera,
Gorgons and Harpies and Geryon formed triple.
Aeneas in dreadfulness unsheathes his sword,
to what may draw nigh, his eyes are kept watchful;
and lest his wise partner advise that these shades
are bodiless ghosts, but mere phantoms in flight,
in vain he’d rush forth slicing air with his blade.
Hence leads to Acheron, stream of Tartarus,
a whirlpool of muck seething through the abyss,
which all its silt vomits into Cocytus.
A ferryman watches o’er these waterways,
called Charon, in squalor: upon whose gray chin
hangs a long scraggly beard; his eyes stand ablaze.
They went through the shadows of solit’ry night
through vacuous, hollow dominions of Dis,
as under the glare of the moon’s obscure light
in forests where Jove hides the realms that he rules,
by nocturnal darkness all color’s purloined.
Foremost in those jaws, there in Hell’s vestibule,
Depression and vindictive Cares have their haunts,
here pallid Diseases, and woeful Old Age,
and Fear, tempting Hunger, dishon’rable Want,
and here Toil and Death, ghastly sights to behold,
then Death’s brother Sleep, and the mind’s evil Joys,
and death-dealing War in the facing threshold,
Eumenides’ strongholds and mindless Discord;
blood-drenched is her hair, with dread vipers asnare.
An elm midway down stretches branches outward,
False Dreams hold in throng the abodes of this tree,
and cling fast beneath all its manifold leaves.
Diverse come these bestial monstrosities:
Stabled are Centaurs, and double-formed Scyllas,
Briareus hundred-armed, and with her hiss,
the bane of Lerna and flaming Chimaera,
Gorgons and Harpies and Geryon formed triple.
Aeneas in dreadfulness unsheathes his sword,
to what may draw nigh, his eyes are kept watchful;
and lest his wise partner advise that these shades
are bodiless ghosts, but mere phantoms in flight,
in vain he’d rush forth slicing air with his blade.
Hence leads to Acheron, stream of Tartarus,
a whirlpool of muck seething through the abyss,
which all its silt vomits into Cocytus.
A ferryman watches o’er these waterways,
called Charon, in squalor: upon whose gray chin
hangs a long scraggly beard; his eyes stand ablaze.
Einherjar86
Active Member
Awesome Zeph. If one day your translation of The Aeneid is published, I'm definitely buying it. The only translation I've ever read was Fitzgerald's, but your is shaping up to be far more interesting.
@Fleshmountain:
Your style is not my strong suit. It reminds me of Ginsberg, who was never one of my favorites; but some of your imagery is certainly fantastic, as Grant already pointed out. The vague nature of the poem sometimes makes me wonder whether you were writing simply to fill space; but on the other hand, some passages seem rife with vigor and meaning. I think you could do well to cut it down some, actually. T.S. Eliot's "The Wasteland" was originally much longer than the finished version that we know; but he ended up cutting it up and severely editing/shortening it, mostly due to the advice of Ezra Pound. I think that in your case, your poem could benefit from careful scrutiny and editing.
I also agree partially with Grant that some parts could be expounded upon; but not too much, and I think if anything, you would do better to cut it down rather than lengthen it.
This is all meant to be constructive, I don't want to seem presumptuous. It's an interesting piece, and although I'm uncertain of its central idea, I enjoyed several parts of it.
Well, I've actually composed something lately. It's relatively short:
Hymn to War
If I condemn in the tongues of men and of angels,
But have not war,
I am a futile clarion, a worthless harbinger.
And if I have prophetic powers,
And understand all mysteries and all knowledge,
And if I have firepower, so as to remove mountains,
But have not war,
I am nothing.
If I am blessed with the power to conquer,
And if I raise my body upon the dais,
But have not war,
I gain nothing.
War is ambitious and cruel;
War is not patient and kind;
It is not humble or polite.
War does not concede;
It is not understanding or passive;
It does not rejoice in the right, or in the wrong, but revels in the absence of both.
War bears all things,
Believes all things,
Begins all things,
Ends all things.
And war endures, endures, endures all things.
War never ends;
As for prophecies, they will pass away;
As for tongues, they will cease;
As for knowledge, it will pass away.
For our knowledge is imperfect and our prophecy is imperfect;
But when the perfect comes, the imperfect will pass away.
When I was a child,
I spoke like a child,
I thought like a child,
I reasoned like a child;
When I became a man,
I gave up childish ways.
For now we see through a looking glass darkly,
But then face to face.
Now I know; without sense, without light,
I know.
I understand fully.
So Fear,
Hate,
War
Abide, these three;
But the greatest of these
Is...
Weve celebrated all that life affords!
Weve tasted all our fragile tongues can bear,
And reaped the stimulus of just rewards,
And reveled in the sensual sincere;
To know this world and wallow in its grace,
To feel the soft caress of perfumd winds,
To sink into the gift of sweet embrace,
Collapse into the fancy of our minds
So yes, weve known the pleasures of before,
Of flesh and blood; the temptress of our lust
And of our souls. Into this age she thrust
Our aching bodies, begging her for more.
Weve sacrificed our hearts so we can sate
The appetite of excess she employs;
The time has come to shun what we create,
And praise the might to which her wrath destroys.
@Fleshmountain:
Your style is not my strong suit. It reminds me of Ginsberg, who was never one of my favorites; but some of your imagery is certainly fantastic, as Grant already pointed out. The vague nature of the poem sometimes makes me wonder whether you were writing simply to fill space; but on the other hand, some passages seem rife with vigor and meaning. I think you could do well to cut it down some, actually. T.S. Eliot's "The Wasteland" was originally much longer than the finished version that we know; but he ended up cutting it up and severely editing/shortening it, mostly due to the advice of Ezra Pound. I think that in your case, your poem could benefit from careful scrutiny and editing.
I also agree partially with Grant that some parts could be expounded upon; but not too much, and I think if anything, you would do better to cut it down rather than lengthen it.
This is all meant to be constructive, I don't want to seem presumptuous. It's an interesting piece, and although I'm uncertain of its central idea, I enjoyed several parts of it.
Well, I've actually composed something lately. It's relatively short:
Hymn to War
If I condemn in the tongues of men and of angels,
But have not war,
I am a futile clarion, a worthless harbinger.
And if I have prophetic powers,
And understand all mysteries and all knowledge,
And if I have firepower, so as to remove mountains,
But have not war,
I am nothing.
If I am blessed with the power to conquer,
And if I raise my body upon the dais,
But have not war,
I gain nothing.
War is ambitious and cruel;
War is not patient and kind;
It is not humble or polite.
War does not concede;
It is not understanding or passive;
It does not rejoice in the right, or in the wrong, but revels in the absence of both.
War bears all things,
Believes all things,
Begins all things,
Ends all things.
And war endures, endures, endures all things.
War never ends;
As for prophecies, they will pass away;
As for tongues, they will cease;
As for knowledge, it will pass away.
For our knowledge is imperfect and our prophecy is imperfect;
But when the perfect comes, the imperfect will pass away.
When I was a child,
I spoke like a child,
I thought like a child,
I reasoned like a child;
When I became a man,
I gave up childish ways.
For now we see through a looking glass darkly,
But then face to face.
Now I know; without sense, without light,
I know.
I understand fully.
So Fear,
Hate,
War
Abide, these three;
But the greatest of these
Is...
Weve celebrated all that life affords!
Weve tasted all our fragile tongues can bear,
And reaped the stimulus of just rewards,
And reveled in the sensual sincere;
To know this world and wallow in its grace,
To feel the soft caress of perfumd winds,
To sink into the gift of sweet embrace,
Collapse into the fancy of our minds
So yes, weve known the pleasures of before,
Of flesh and blood; the temptress of our lust
And of our souls. Into this age she thrust
Our aching bodies, begging her for more.
Weve sacrificed our hearts so we can sate
The appetite of excess she employs;
The time has come to shun what we create,
And praise the might to which her wrath destroys.
wandering_taco
Minstrel of Woe
Yea, I'll probably edit it and submit the final version for the portfolio we have to turn in at the end of class. And yes, I was trying to fill space. I was actually one of the few in class who did make it to 15 pages. I'm kinda thinking after editing I could intensify a lot of the parts I got rid of or whatever and make some more shorter poems based on those sections. Cause I like most of the stuff I came up with in the poem, it just doesn't all flow well together.
Zephyrus
Tyrants and Slaves
My terza rima translation/rendering of Aeneid VI.268-312
They passed through the shadows of solit’ry night,
through vacuous, hollow dominions of Dis,
as under the glare of the moon’s obscure light,
in forests where Jove hides the realms that he rules,
by nocturnal darkness all color’s purloined.
Foremost in those jaws, there in Hell’s vestibule,
Depression and vindictive Cares have their haunts,
here pallid Diseases, and woeful Old Age,
and Fear, tempting Hunger, dishon’rable Want,
and here Toil and Death, ghastly sights to behold,
then Death’s brother Sleep, and the mind’s evil Joys,
and death-dealing War in the facing threshold,
Eumenides’ strongholds and mindless Discord;
blood-drenched is her hair, with dread vipers asnare.
An elm midway down stretches branches outward.
False Dreams hold in throng the abodes of this tree,
and cling fast beneath all its manifold leaves.
Diverse come these bestial monstrosities:
Stabled are Centaurs, and double-formed Scyllas,
Briareus hundred-armed, and with her hiss,
the bane of Lerna and flaming Chimaera,
Gorgons, and Harpies, and Geryon formed triple.
Aeneas in dreadfulness unsheathes his sword,
to what may draw nigh, his eyes are kept watchful;
and lest his wise partner advise that these shades
are bodiless ghosts, but mere phantoms in flight,
in vain he’d rush forth slicing air with his blade.
Hence leads to Acheron, stream of Tartarus,
a whirlpool of muck seething through the abyss,
which all its silt vomits into Cocytus.
a ferryman watches o’er these waterways,
called Charon, in squalor: upon whose gray chin
hangs a long scraggly beard; his eyes stand ablaze,
and down to his knees filthy clothes he displays,
propels with a pole and attends to the sails.
The rusty old skiff ev’ry spirit conveys.
Though ancient his green immortality’s fresh.
And hither a multitude flooded the banks,
of mothers and men, and the shades stripped of flesh:
magnanimous heroes, boys and unwed girls,
and youths placed on pyres before parents’ faces:
like as autumn’s cold casts off leaves in a whirl
or birds forced by troublesome waters to land
when wintery weather takes flight ‘cross the sea
unleashing itself on the sun-loving sands.
They passed through the shadows of solit’ry night,
through vacuous, hollow dominions of Dis,
as under the glare of the moon’s obscure light,
in forests where Jove hides the realms that he rules,
by nocturnal darkness all color’s purloined.
Foremost in those jaws, there in Hell’s vestibule,
Depression and vindictive Cares have their haunts,
here pallid Diseases, and woeful Old Age,
and Fear, tempting Hunger, dishon’rable Want,
and here Toil and Death, ghastly sights to behold,
then Death’s brother Sleep, and the mind’s evil Joys,
and death-dealing War in the facing threshold,
Eumenides’ strongholds and mindless Discord;
blood-drenched is her hair, with dread vipers asnare.
An elm midway down stretches branches outward.
False Dreams hold in throng the abodes of this tree,
and cling fast beneath all its manifold leaves.
Diverse come these bestial monstrosities:
Stabled are Centaurs, and double-formed Scyllas,
Briareus hundred-armed, and with her hiss,
the bane of Lerna and flaming Chimaera,
Gorgons, and Harpies, and Geryon formed triple.
Aeneas in dreadfulness unsheathes his sword,
to what may draw nigh, his eyes are kept watchful;
and lest his wise partner advise that these shades
are bodiless ghosts, but mere phantoms in flight,
in vain he’d rush forth slicing air with his blade.
Hence leads to Acheron, stream of Tartarus,
a whirlpool of muck seething through the abyss,
which all its silt vomits into Cocytus.
a ferryman watches o’er these waterways,
called Charon, in squalor: upon whose gray chin
hangs a long scraggly beard; his eyes stand ablaze,
and down to his knees filthy clothes he displays,
propels with a pole and attends to the sails.
The rusty old skiff ev’ry spirit conveys.
Though ancient his green immortality’s fresh.
And hither a multitude flooded the banks,
of mothers and men, and the shades stripped of flesh:
magnanimous heroes, boys and unwed girls,
and youths placed on pyres before parents’ faces:
like as autumn’s cold casts off leaves in a whirl
or birds forced by troublesome waters to land
when wintery weather takes flight ‘cross the sea
unleashing itself on the sun-loving sands.
Zephyrus
Tyrants and Slaves
Update on the Vergil project. Here's Aeneid VI.430-474. I'm over halfway there!
Next those with death’s sentence whose charge true was not,
Assigned weren’t these realms without judge, without lot:
For Minos th’ inquisitor stirring the pot,
calls silent assemblies whose sins they confess.
Here sorrowful shades by whose own hand brought death,
despising the light of the sun, though guiltless,
their spirits discarded. How now they think better
to’ve borne in the aether both begg’ry and toil!
The sorrowful swamp by decree keeps them fettered;
the Styx them imprisons nine times circling round.
Not far off stretched in all directions outpoured
the places they call Fields of Mourning are found,
of those by love’s ruthless decaying consumed,
sequestered in forests of myrtle and glades:
from cares not released by the hour of doom:
See Phaedra and Procris, Eriph’lë in tears,
displaying the wounds of her barbaric son;
Evadne, Pasiphë, Laodamia’s here,
a youth named Canaeus, in womanly flesh,
by fate to her earlier figure transformed.
Phoenician queen Dido, the stab-wound still fresh,
was wand’ring this forest: whom Ilium’s knight
through shadows obscure standing there recognized,
as one at the fall of the month’s op’ning night
thinks sees he or saw the moon clouds rising through.
Tears falling with love he addresses her thus:
“Sad Dido, the message, therefore it was true
that thou perished, pursuing thine end with a sword.
Did this cause thy death? Oh, if there’s any faith
under earth’s furthest depths, by the stars and their lords,
unwillingly, queen, did I exit thy shores.
The mandates of gods through these shades bid me go,
through lands of deep night, realms of ruins ignored,
from thine empire freed; lo! I cannot believe
that I brought thee such grief, when disembarked I.
Withdraw not from sight, halt thy step, do not leave!
Whom dost thou avoid? Fate makes these words my last.”
The words of Aeneas her animus cooled,
her grimness relaxed by his tears flowing fast.
But turned she away with her eyes downward locked.
No more is her countenance moved by his speech:
it stood like hard flint or as Marpesian rock.
She stole herself off, so averse to Aeneas,
to shadowy groves in retreat to her spouse,
who soothes her concerns with his love, dear Sychaeus.
Next those with death’s sentence whose charge true was not,
Assigned weren’t these realms without judge, without lot:
For Minos th’ inquisitor stirring the pot,
calls silent assemblies whose sins they confess.
Here sorrowful shades by whose own hand brought death,
despising the light of the sun, though guiltless,
their spirits discarded. How now they think better
to’ve borne in the aether both begg’ry and toil!
The sorrowful swamp by decree keeps them fettered;
the Styx them imprisons nine times circling round.
Not far off stretched in all directions outpoured
the places they call Fields of Mourning are found,
of those by love’s ruthless decaying consumed,
sequestered in forests of myrtle and glades:
from cares not released by the hour of doom:
See Phaedra and Procris, Eriph’lë in tears,
displaying the wounds of her barbaric son;
Evadne, Pasiphë, Laodamia’s here,
a youth named Canaeus, in womanly flesh,
by fate to her earlier figure transformed.
Phoenician queen Dido, the stab-wound still fresh,
was wand’ring this forest: whom Ilium’s knight
through shadows obscure standing there recognized,
as one at the fall of the month’s op’ning night
thinks sees he or saw the moon clouds rising through.
Tears falling with love he addresses her thus:
“Sad Dido, the message, therefore it was true
that thou perished, pursuing thine end with a sword.
Did this cause thy death? Oh, if there’s any faith
under earth’s furthest depths, by the stars and their lords,
unwillingly, queen, did I exit thy shores.
The mandates of gods through these shades bid me go,
through lands of deep night, realms of ruins ignored,
from thine empire freed; lo! I cannot believe
that I brought thee such grief, when disembarked I.
Withdraw not from sight, halt thy step, do not leave!
Whom dost thou avoid? Fate makes these words my last.”
The words of Aeneas her animus cooled,
her grimness relaxed by his tears flowing fast.
But turned she away with her eyes downward locked.
No more is her countenance moved by his speech:
it stood like hard flint or as Marpesian rock.
She stole herself off, so averse to Aeneas,
to shadowy groves in retreat to her spouse,
who soothes her concerns with his love, dear Sychaeus.
panzerfaust666
German Asshole
well, a couple months ago I posted some questions in here.I have gotten furhter in regards to poetry and lyrics, but I came upon another question today. I was trying to find some imagery to describe morals, or the absence/decay of them.I was wondering how all of you go about creating imagery to a certain topic.(?)
Thoth-Amon
Hypochondriac
- Apr 4, 2006
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divine_torture
leVel
This is something that varies from one writer to the next. I'll give you an example of something I wrote that has a couple moments referring to morals. I'll explain the meaning with // separating the lyrics from the meaning.
"Deprive"
When the Silence washed over the Fall
And they stopped listening to the persuasive tones
Complete without presence of dismay you rode
Twists and turns of spite lie in the wake
No one was the wiser
I wrote the letter dispelling your name
Complementing sorrow without a second glance
You couldn't take a moment to open your eyes
An apathetic man would grieve
A man cursed with knowledge and realization
Toppled over and covered with stone
So the sky would shudder and fall with pleasant sighs
The familiar face in the mirror would soon die out
And the plain consumes your every motion
Foolishly praying for salvation
The theory was that time would heal you
But then time turned against me
So I will bring back a gift of departure
Say farewell and be on my way
I hope you will forgive me//end
I'll break down the first few lines. If you want more, let me know.
Line 1: Silence= realization, Fall=death, people grieving
Line 2: They=the grievers, persuasive tones=people saying 'she's in a better place', 'it was god's will', 'the pain will subside with time'
Line 3 (involving some morals): Complete=without feeling; without the presence of dismay=no longer caring about other; hoping to see others in pain; the presence is gone because it's become who you are...hurting others because people don't actually matter
Line 4: This line simply means that he/her/they will hate. They will hurt. 'wake'=death
Line 5: Inability to show others your pain, because no one else deserves to hurt this way. Even though you wish others to hurt, you don't want them to hurt. Morality catches up to some degree, creating a problem
Einherjar86
Active Member
You could always take a nod from the Bard himself; disease is always classic imagery for depicting moral corruption and decay.
"Something is rotten in the state of Denmark."
divine_torture
leVel
Too obvious. Dress it up around other stuff! Haha. That's how I like to write. I took a true story, dressed it up, dressed it up again, added thoughts about outside thoughts, meshed it together, and there you are.
Einherjar86
Active Member
Yeah, I was kind of joking; you could always throw in a nod to Shakespeare though. It can never hurt to reference the Bard.
Thoth-Amon
Hypochondriac
- Apr 4, 2006
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Yeah, I was kind of joking; you could always throw in a nod to Shakespeare though. It can never hurt to reference the Bard.
Indeed. *points to sig*
Einherjar86
Active Member
I was looking through some old poems recently and stumbled across this; just a little piece I wrote at night on the ferry to Stockholm.
"Musings III (The Baltic)"
A nightly vision sweeps along
In silence, so that I might keep
Its presence for a whispered song…
Now Stockholm is asleep.
An ebbing glow above the trees
Blends soft into the haze of night,
And so creates a twilight breeze
That blows just out of sight.
We hovered in a darkly cloud
It seemed, and peered towards the shore
That fleeted through the dreamy shroud
And then was seen no more.
We strove into this veiled abyss
Of smoke and sea; of fog and snow,
And tempted we could not dismiss
What we’d not come to know.
And dreams were like nocturnal calls,
But drunken laughter had its say;
It echoed down the fairy halls
And drove the dreams away.
"Musings III (The Baltic)"
A nightly vision sweeps along
In silence, so that I might keep
Its presence for a whispered song…
Now Stockholm is asleep.
An ebbing glow above the trees
Blends soft into the haze of night,
And so creates a twilight breeze
That blows just out of sight.
We hovered in a darkly cloud
It seemed, and peered towards the shore
That fleeted through the dreamy shroud
And then was seen no more.
We strove into this veiled abyss
Of smoke and sea; of fog and snow,
And tempted we could not dismiss
What we’d not come to know.
And dreams were like nocturnal calls,
But drunken laughter had its say;
It echoed down the fairy halls
And drove the dreams away.
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