The Writing/Poetry thread

[Clare]

Jun 17, 2008 19:49:04 GMT @birdwhistle said:

You probably don't care, but I don't think it got the ending it deserved, from "Shit, ..." onwards. Not as in "MAKE IT A HAPPY ENDING", Jesus, no, but it felt like you were withholding from some final thought. I was sort of wanting a last line that daggered the douchebag of a subject right in the gut, not necessarily to indicate your victory but at least something with that sort of sharpness.

Mjeh. Again, though, I don't imagine you're too worried about making it a perfect piece of prose.

No, no, I'm really interested in your thoughts and criticisms of it. Initially I wrote it with the idea of it being not a strong piece, but a subtle one, that ended quietly and was a very soft, unpleasant affair altogether. Endings give me so much difficulty. I was thinking of swapping the second last and last paragraphs (because the linking is really really awful there) and then expanding what would then become the final paragraph.

I'll give what you're saying a wee think, because I do value your opinion.

[Gladiolus]

. I don't know whether this is good or bad. I haven't really written anything since 5 grade or something. Its not woflboardstandard (I mean brutally good) but at least I'm trying to do something.
I don't know anything about poetry but here it goes, ts kinda short:


I hear you mumble.
Words form clouds in your sweet mouth,
whirling up in the violet evening sky.
I'm sorry to say
but you're not that tall

I hope your not choking,
but you're not saying a thing.
Repeating noises that goes away.
I believe
you've got nothing to tell me

you get lost
on your way up.
I'm trying my best to comfort
I'm struggling with holding you back to the ground
I hold you in a tight rope

Someone is screaming joanna
its your name
voices from other places
I lose concentration and lose the rope.
You were doomed to swirl away.

[Rhiflect]

I really like it! The first and last verses are my favourite

[nouveau]

Whoa this is all intimidatingly good and serious. Sadly i must lower the tone a bit, the other day my friend emailed me all this stuff i used to write for her over msn including this that i wrote when i was 14, its amazing really i even passed my English gcse, but it made me laugh never the less.


At Breakfast:
She stared intently at the back of the cereal box, the world a haze as she studied the pictures of the free gifts, the hidden treasure, dug deep down, in the chocolaty-hoopy goodness, made for no other purpose but to entertain her endlessly.
She shook the box a few times and pressed her ear expectantly to the cardboard waiting for the scuffling crackling sound the plastic parcel would make, begging to be free.
She reasoned with her self while looking at the bright miracle display on the back of the box.
If I get the ball, it will be a rubbish day.
If I get the spinning top, it will be an alright-ish day.
If I get the retractable spoon, it will be a brilliant day.
A retractable spoon would be amazingly handy she thought, completely indispensable. I could keep it in my pocket. Now that’s what I call lunchbox friendly.
Tentatively she opened the box.
The bowl was within pouring distance.
The milk was on standby.
She watched riveted as the weetos tumbled out freely, hearing the tinkle of china as they hit the bowl slap bang on target.
Stopping she noticed there was nothing of a plastic nature inside the yellow Ikea bowl.
Undeterred, she plunged her hand in bravely, navigating past the gaping mouths of chocolate hoops, as they made a b-line for freedom, spilling out o the top of the box like chocolate fireworks. She had it! Something there, clasped tightly in her fist.
She pulled out her hand with a flourish, spraying the FUCKING fdfghjkKITCHEn table with hoops.
Today was going to be a brilliant day.


I would like to add the Homer-esq tale of Patrick Wolf's adventures in the skittle forests, but alas that one spanned several days and would bore you all to death.

[Rhiflect]

Oh wow! Hhaha, it's brilliant!

[dee]

er, more gloom (sorry). I had this picture in my head, just a single image but this is what I thought the picture was of.


They all laughed the first time he told us- every one of them He had stood straight, righteous, younger somehow than when I had seen him last. A crowd gathered around him- a puddle of people pooling to watch the old man with his timber, and his tools. I didn’t move closer to hear him over the mumbling and the jeers as the group squeezed me further back, but through the rabble I managed to catch the words “sin”, “rain”, “boat” and “the end”, as though they alone were the words that I had been meant to hear. I did not know what they meant- how these simple words belonged to each other, but I knew that I believed him: I knew that as surely as I knew that the sun would rise in the morning, and that fire would always burn.
He explained it to me that night, and, again, between guilty kissed and secret fingers, I heard only those words: “sin”; “rain”; “boat”; “the end”. I didn’t think to laugh; he held me as I trembled. He spoke to me of love unending, and I fell asleep with his arms around me and my hair in his mouth.
When the day came, the sky was blue. He’d been very quiet that week- passionate, but silent. I’d told him that it would all be fine, that I’d see him on the day. He replied in smile, but never said a word.
I saw the boat from a great distance, but its size frightened me instantly, terrified me when I was closer. I was barely near the thing at all, had barely entered the jeering crowd, when he appeared. I waved, but he did not see me: his eyes were fixed elsewhere.
She was smaller than I thought she’d be- his wife-, a simple, unintelligent looking woman, His smile for her was easy, but yesterday that smile had belonged to me.
Then came the rain, and everybody then knew that he had spoken the truth. They scattered like rabbits- only I remained still. I didn’t wave again, I knew that he would not see me- that’s what his silence had meant. I felt like paper.
Then he saw me and I’d rather he’d hit me than look as sorry as he did. He ushered his family inside, and that was our goodbye- that was me left in the rain.
I didn’t move, stayed on my feet for days as the rain poured. At night I saw him, a figure in a window: tired, guilty and suffering. The water was at my knees now but, still, I would not move, and every night I saw him watching.
I never saw the ark take float, never saw it rise. It had been night when the water filled me. He stood at the window and wept. I could not see his tears, but I could taste them everywhere, could feel them in my lungs, could hear them thunder around me. My final smile spoke to him, and all it said was, “Farewell, Noah.”

[stationtostation]

Right I'll read that properly when my head in clearer Dee, BUT I couldn't help but catch the last word there, is this Heroes fan fic?

I might post my parody Doctor Who fan fic if anyone is interested.

[arielle]

PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE
I have begged for it enough...

[dee]

Jul 3, 2008 1:16:33 GMT @stationtostation said:

Right I'll read that properly when my head in clearer Dee, BUT I couldn't help but catch the last word there, is this Heroes fan fic?

I might post my parody Doctor Who fan fic if anyone is interested.

hahaha, nope. Think a bit more Biblical

[stationtostation]

Jul 3, 2008 20:08:52 GMT arielle said:

PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE
I have begged for it enough...

Ok, but I'm not sure what the best jumping in point from a continuity point of view or as a preview.

Basically, it is the spin off adventures of a former Doctor Who companion called Ben Chatham (played by Adam Rickett) and features his emo kid nephew Craig (who was force to live with Ben following his mothers death in an alien situation) and Kyle a "noble chav" who met Ben while attempting to mug him. Craig's extraterrestrial girlfriend Isobel is currently detained at Torchwood for observation..

Here is my Chathamverse/Torchwood crossover..

Black Swan

Ben is urbanely draped over his opulent designer couch - in the midst of reading Marcel Proust's In Search Of Lost Time for the third time, whilst sipping an absinthe - when he is disturbed by the the volume of the My Chemical Romance album Craig is playing upstairs reaching an intolerable level. Ben angrily ponds on Craig's bedroom door, "turn down that derivative trash Craig!"
Affronted by receiving no response, he forces his way into to Craig's room to face a most disturbing sight; Craig screaming the lyrics to "I'm Not Okay" into the mirror whilst weeping profusely. If this wasn't a harrowing enough sight, Ben's eyes soon become drawn to blood dripping down Craig's hoodie.
Craig stands up, shocked by Ben's presence and is about to bemoan his invasion of his privacy, when the troubled lad passes out. Ben is concerned. He checks over Craig, who has cut himself badly. As he lifts up Craig's right sleeve, he is shocked to discover he has carved the word "ISOBEL" into his forearm.
Ben calls out "oh goddness sake, call an ambulance!" to Kyle who is downstairs doing some plumbing work for Ben.

Menwhile at the Hub in Cardiff; headquaters of Torchwood. The team are conducting some tests on an unconscious Isobel who lies strapped to the operating table in her underwear.
"When are we going to let the poor girl go free?" coos Gwen Cooper in a sensitive tone.
Jack has no time for this line of thought, "shut your mouth Gwen, if what happened in our tests yesterday recurs the last thing we need is your goddamn bleeding heart."
Suddenly the power to the hub flickers on and off, until the room is finally cast into darkness. In that darkness Jack, Gwen and Ianto swear they see the astral projection of a demon-like creature with angel wings - riving in agony as if battling with itself - seeming to emanate from Isobel's prone body.
Jack is frantic, "it happened again! Do you see Gwen, do you see?"

Back in Cambridge, a concerned Ben and Kyle stand in a hospital waiting room, deep in conversation.
"So is he alright, like?
"Yes, he's going to have stitches and some scaring, but this really will not do. It's time for an end to this self harm nonsense."
Kyle tries to mediate with Ben, "look, when are things gonna finally move forward with Iz? Surely Jack's got things sorted by now? Shes been in that place forever and a day, I think the kids need each other, like."
"Hmm, rather simplistic take on things Kyle, but it's worth a try, I'll get in touch with Jack."
Ben whips out his mobile and gives Jack a bell on his direct line to the hub.
"Hey, gorgeous Ben, how are you and that sweet perfectly formed ass of yours doing?"
"I'm fine, but it's not me I wish to talk about it's Craig."
"Ha, well Ben his ass is pretty sublime too.."
"Yes yes Jack, I was wondering, whats going on with Isobel? Surely your tests must be coming to an end, if not could another visit be arranged for Craig?"
Jack's voice suddenly takes on a sober hue, "no Ben, there's been a development with Isobel.. I can't tell you what but trust me, she needs to remain under observation."
Ben exclaims, "how long is poor Isobel going to be in effect your prisoner Jack? This is unacceptable!"
Ben is unaware Craig has risen from his hospital bed and has overheard him.
"I can tell you how exactly how long he's going to hold my darling captive: not one second longer. I'm breaking her out and neither you, nor Jack, nor God himself can stop me!"

TO BE CONTINUED!

[Rhiflect]

If I knew who you were on about, i'd have enjoyed that more than i did, but it was still brilliant fun to read.

Torrential Times

I hear you whispering behind canvas walls,
In between wafting fabrics
and in rubber soles.
Your secrecy ties me up, binding me
a slow-growing ivy, curling round helpless limbs,
entrapping those final buds of hope in green tendrils.
The surrender is coming soon, but I need this downpour to end fast
because white flags can't fly in the rain.

[stationtostation]

More trolly Doctor Who crap from me. Given up on Chatham..

Heres part one of my Sally Sparrow/Jenny femslash odyssey...


Sally Sparrow lounged outside her business establishment on a scorching July day. Her very posture gave off an air of disinterest and apathy. The romance and adventure seemed to have drained from her life. Life with Larry was nice and everything, but no matter how many Karma Sutra related DVDs she *nudgewink* accidentally left laying about the place, everything they got up to seemed somewhat pedestrian. I guess anything would compared to the thrills of hostile statues who whiz poor unfortunate chaps and chapettes back in time and lanky sexpots who swan around time and space in police boxes, she pondered.

Sally's contemplative thoughts flew off track like Thomas the Tank Engine on acid, when she laid eyes on a blonde girl who had slipped her notice, stood at the counter inside waiting to be served. Sally surveyed her features; the glowing blonde locks up in a ponytail, the perfect blue eyes, the pert little boobs.
"I'd sure like to serve her alright.." purred Sally.
She was a little taken aback by her instinctive lustful reaction, steaded herself and went inside to try and deal with the lovely customer in a professional fashion.
The customer began to speak in a sparky mischievous voice that made Sally's heart jump like Super Mario on poppers, "hi I'm Jenny. I'm looking for my Dad; skinny, side burns, smart casual, runs a lot?"
Sally spluttered out, "erm erm I met someone a bit like that once.. but well it was a long time ago.."
Jenny smiled an angelic naughty smile, "hey less of what I'm looking for, what are you looking for?"
Jenny gently place her hand on Sally's cheek, "such a shame to see such a pretty face so glum."
Sally though near breathless at this point tried to retain her cool, "well I've alway said, sad is happy for deep people," she said in a slightly stand off-ish manner.
"Oh, you big silly," said Jenny playfully slapping Sally on the arm. She then took Sally's hand and said "come on, come with me. Those sound like the words of a girl who needs showing a good time."
'But wait!" cried Sally; "I need to mind the shop!"
"Oh shop snop," countered Jenny.

Sally gasped at the impressive sight of Jenny's spaceship.
"Oh goodness, it's so big.."
"I know, I like big things, but size isn't everything. It takes technique to show a girl a good time.."
Sally giggled, "you can say that again.."
Jenny continued, "I've been whizing around the galaxy for a while now and it's just no fun without a play mate to keep me company. What do you say to a trip?"
Sally's beaming smile answered her question immediately. The two girls happily skipped hand in hand into the spaceship and into adventure and thrilling new experience and exploration.

TO BE CONTINUED!!!!

[obeseguy]

STONES!
What are they good for?
One cannot digest them
Or use them for fuel.
They are uncomfortable to sit on
Unless very large
Or soft
But a soft stone
Is hardly a stone at all.
Oh!
If stones were soft
Perhaps I could finally
Be happy.
But stones continue to rattle
Through my troubled mind
Like SHARDS of GLASS in a tumble-dryer
'Til eventually,
Through erosion,
They become
Sand.
Soft.
Sand.
Soft.

[Rhiflect]

That's beautiful. AND TRUE!

[bluesexplosionrob]

this is a little chunk of 'poetry' I wrote for a troubled young lady, which I accompanied with a drawing of her playing the bass. It was for her seventeenth birthday:

"There is a fire in your iris
burning bright, yet hard to see
Bravely keeping you from falling
Pretty Queen, of seventeen

but you'll be brave enough to fall
when our love comes to call"

I'm actually trying to turn 'When our love comes to call' into a song, but I want it to be of a REALLY high standard, which is probably why I have a whole sketchbook full of potential lyrics and edits and no finished songs yet.

I should have easier role models, then maybe I'd be really impressed with what I 'do'!

[allison]

a song:

you are my sunshine,
but only sometimes.
we are content,
but you're not perfect
by any means,
my messy jellybean,
for now i'm happy to have you here again.

the last lines don't quite fit

[ducksale]

Here are three of mine. The first one, She, is partly about a girl I was in love with once. I don't know if I like it or not. The second one, You and Me, was really fun to write. It's one of the very few poems I've written which actually has some sort of structure. I think I like it. The third one, Destruction, used to be my favorite out of the three, but I'm not so sure anymore.

I have written more poems, but they're either too long, too personal or in Norwegian. I might translate some of the Norwegian ones, though.

She
She’s beautiful
Like a cherry tree in bloom
She’s a blossom
Fragile and new to the world
Opening her white petals
Exposing her face
To the sun

She’s bittersweet
But her lips taste of salt
And so does her skin

She’s a gift
But a demanding one
Always wanting more
Craving more
Yet giving
Giving even more then she gets

She’s distant
She got lost somewhere
In the vicinity of another galaxy
She’s a star on the sky
At night
Still, she’s lying on her back counting
Those small dots of lights
Wondering how far away they are


You and Me
We’re all alone
You and me
Floating in space
Lying on the ground

Your skin is fire
My skin is ice
Your lips are honey
And mine are salt

We’re bittersweet
You and me
I’m bitter
You’re sweet

I’m a book
And you read my mind
You’re enigmatic
My very own mystery

We’re water
You and me
I’m the wild roaring sea
You’re soft summer rain

You look at me
But avoid my eyes
I long for you
Though have you right by my side

We’re love
You and me
I’m your world
And you’re my life

I’m your desire
You’re my passion
Dangerous and tempting
Essential to one another

We’re the universe
You and me
Nothing without each other
But everything together


Destruction
Waves rolling in
Crushing sand castles
Dragging garbage out into the sea
Hitting against rocks
Never resting

Mountains on my shoulders
Pushing me down
Legs breaking under my weight
Falling
Destroyed by gravity

Nails on my back
Teeth on your neck
Two identical drops of blood
One on my skin, one on yours
Bleed, my darling

Furious hurricanes
Ripping trees and people
Into the air, away from the ground
Falling towards death
As soon as they are released

Yet nothing can break me
More than love already has

[allison]

She is a rattle when she walks.
Just a jumble jumble of chemicals
All cozening for
Top spot.
Crazy eyes and red stained thighs,
She’s gone again,
Infantine,
Helpless girl,
Stupid useless girl.


kind of a product of sleepless nights reading sylvia plath (obvious, much), and kind of..personal.

[Bonanza Jellybean]

Ok here's some prose about the nervous six-year-old, I've never really shaken off.


Jun 11th

Blood trickles into my mouth. Mum always says I shouldn’t bite my lip but I’ll do it anyway. I don’t know why I have to stand in this row, in this field on this day that’s ‘Perfect, real lemonade weather.’ That’s what Mum said this morning, in a too-bright voice, as if everything was normal though we both knew it wasn’t.

If I was wearing nail varnish, I’d chip it off but you aren’t allowed here, you have to stack the chairs if you forget to take it off on Sunday night. Sundays are my least favourite of all the days. We have to go to Granddads, his house smells of cigarettes and there are pictures of Jesus anywhere. Mum isn’t too keen on going either but ‘What can we do for Lord’s sake, he’s family.’ That’s what she says to Dad whenever he moans about it.

The sun warms the back of my blue aertex and my plimsoll rubs on my little toe. I don’t like it here. I don’t want to try my best, I don’t want to beat the other girls, I don’t even want the blue ribbon. I wouldn’t mind the wagon wheel and the barley water on the table over there but we only get that if Chapel House wins the cup. Its silver with green ribbon, the other girls want to win it. That scares me because if I don’t do well then I’ll have ‘Really let the house down’ and no one will want to be my partner for things.

‘Ok, Upper Prep, let’s get ready to try our best.’ I’m not too sure why Miss Fitzgerald says ‘we’. She’s the kind of woman that looks as if she’s always been in her forties. I can’t imagine she was ever in Upper Prep aged only six. I don’t think the other girls wonder about these things, they’re far too busy shaking their pony tails and chatting as loudly as only race-winners dare.

I don’t chat. I tuck my hair behind my ears, I clench and unclench my jaw, I play nursery rhymes in my head, anything to stop me thinking about this field and this line of girls and this healthy competition.

‘Listening please, Upper Prep. Ready. Set. Go.’

[Radio_Dance]

hmmm.... I was in two minds as whether or not to post anything on this thread (mine are bad), but as its Halloween (and most people seem to lose their inhibitions on this day..here I go)

- bad title: beat, beat, nothing -

Concentration curls in on your face,
whispering away the dark eyes that forever shroud you.
Making it through this is getting harder.

Bright red lipstick,
and electric eye shadow,
to brighten up your forgotten dreams.

The beat of the music,
circles and swerves,
filling your head with the sweet nothing,
as a new day dawns.

Where are you going to?
Your mirror asks,
contorting itself into a pessimistic curtain.
Is this all you've become?

- unknown -


I slip in to the shade,
I slip into the night,
I walk amongst the idols of people I hate.
I wash the graze on my shoulder,
I capsize my heart,
I Place it into a box,
To keep it safe,
Safe from you.

Your power is overwhelming,
Bending my back,
Twisting it, deforming it,
My shadow is gone,
No friend to help me fight against your love.

You know that anything you say,
I will do it,
As a puppet master you sway me both ways.
Kneeling on the floor,
Begging you for more,
I need you,
My shell begins to break,
Revealing bones that lie beneath this defence,
My last defence,
Before hierarchy is fixed.

I don’t know what to do.

( bad / awful / terrible take your pick ( : )