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Cry of The fallen swords
Cry of The fallen swords

by Lord Anzius in Storybooks
Young Writers Society Forum Index » Contests

This thread was created on August 14, 2005
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Matt Bellamy   View This User's Portfolio
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PostPosted: Sun Aug 14, 2005 6:11 pm    Post subject: Poetry contest Reply with quote

Submit a poem, any topic, any length, the choice is yours. Winner gets 500 points, 50 points each for two runners up. Ends on 14th September so I expect a lot of entries Razz

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JesseJames   View This User's Portfolio
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PostPosted: Mon Aug 15, 2005 8:05 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

Your gonna get stacks of entries!
Good idea of yours to make the comp really open minded!
I'm not the best at poetry but I'll try one out later.
Well,
um... Later!
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PostPosted: Tue Aug 16, 2005 1:42 am    Post subject: The Steward and the Cow Reply with quote

The time is bright
Above the light

I see the sun
I get into a run

I'm at the house of the Steward
His first name is Jack his last name is Leward

He's a mean man
He owns a huge clan

One day I had a cow
The Steward wondered how

He wand to buy it
I nearly had a fit

He gave me a million
It should have been a billion

I said my final goodbye to the cow
He had to go now

" hope I see you again soon mate
As long as it's not on my plate"
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slytherinseeker   View This User's Portfolio
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PostPosted: Tue Aug 16, 2005 1:55 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

Hey Matt! How are you???

There once was a spaceship captain named Ted.
And also a spaceship captain named Ed.

Ted had a speedy, tidy neat ship.
He had a chair. He had a bed.
He had switches to flip.
He had a food replicator
And a 2 way communicator.
That was all that he carried.
That was all that he brought.
Said Ted,
"A ship ought to be tidy and taught!"

Ed's ship had all those things too.
And a few things more. Well,
Rather more then a few.
He had bolts. He had screws.
He had glop. He had ooze.
He had snails. He had eels.
He had bananas. They had peels.
He had papers. He had books.
He had niches. He had nooks.
He had raisins. And bread.
He had tofu, had Ed.
He had a copilot/wife
(Edwina, her name)
And all of their life
The mess was the same.
They had penguins. And squirrels.
Little boys. Little girls.
Wolf spiders and flies,
Hang gliders and ties.
They had Wook-Took-a-Zookers
And Aquarium Glookers.
'Cause Ted liked to travel with less,
But Eds like to travel with mess!

Said Ted,
"You are silly, Ed.
All that stuff bogs you down.
You're being a slob.
You're being a clown!"

Ted was right, too.
The stuff bogged down Ed's ship,
Kind of like glue.
It slowed down Ed too,
'Cause all the stuff
Was hard to wade through.

But one day by a fluke,
They dropped the bomb
And the Earth was nuked.
No one left. No one home.
Ted and Ed were on their own.
Because when they came back from Procoyon,
To their surprise, their world was gone!
With no more fuel they were stuck there--
Cause Ed's tanks were filled with junk,
And Ted's were filled with air.

Several days later their heaters broke.
Ed's family wore coats and burned papers.
The biomass kept his spaceship warm.
But Ted got chilly and got the vapors.

Several weeks later their bolts got loose.
Ed tightened his up and fixed 'em with glues.
Ted's bolts just kept getting looser and looser
Because he didn't bring wrenches and didn't brings gluesers.

Several months later their food replicators broke.
Ed's family ate their raisins and bread.
And they grew veggies in dirt.
But Ted got hungry instead.

A couple days later their oxygenators blew.
Ed's family and penguins breathed the air
From the plants that they grew.
And Ted?
Ted's dead!

Moral: Complexity is good.
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PostPosted: Fri Aug 26, 2005 3:07 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

This is one I touched up with crits from the members of this site...

She floats from place to place,
Living on the streets,
With no purpose left in life.
And although she is there in body,
She is not in mind or soul.



Her life was ruined
By people she thought were her friends.
There is no place to run,
No place to hide.
Sorrow always catches up to her.
Her eyes, once full of life,
Are empty of all emotion.
She is just another broken soul.

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You shout 'cause you're just as far in as you'll ever be out
And these mistakes you've made, you'll just make them again
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Areida   View This User's Portfolio
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PostPosted: Fri Aug 26, 2005 3:11 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

I'm not a poet at all... but...

Ah... what the heck.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Diana”

Visions of pink Care Bears called “Rainbow”
And movie scenes in black and white
Flicker across my mind before they
Collide with combat boots
And camouflage paint smeared across your cheeks

Clinging to a cell phone while simultaneously typing frantically
My eyes are glued to a glowing blue screen
The only connection with a best friend so far away

Names I can’t remember
Of people that I’ve never met
Mix and mingle and confuse themselves in my mind
Until I’ve forgotten every last one
But they’re still people you care about--passionately
Like you do everything else

Your room is still a burst of stars and burgundy
Purple pillows and cream-colored walls
It’s full of you
But now overflowing with muted sorrow
At being left behind:
Like me

Smiling faces ignore me as they beam their happy smiles
Hanging off your walls
Sitting on your dresser
Mocking me with silent laughter
Motion and ~light~ and color stuck for all time
In the same place

There’s a calendar on my wall
Marked only by dashes of red
Too long
Too much time until November

I bury my face into a Tigger
Its face worn from so many years of kisses and tears
And I let down my guard
Finally allowing myself to miss my sister,
Stolen away to her new and exciting life all too soon

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Last edited by Areida on Sun Aug 28, 2005 4:24 am; edited 1 time in total
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Sam   View This User's Portfolio
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PostPosted: Fri Aug 26, 2005 3:12 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

I wrote this ages ago...but I like it muchly so let's use it again, shall we? Very Happy

Mad Scientist

those infernal pink lines that surround your eyes
and cut across your forehead look
no offense
kind of strange like the deep cuts and marks
from chemical burns on your rough hands
that have never known the comforting touch
of a girl's palms underneath the table during
homeroom. I know
what they do to you, i seriously do, so don't
pretend no one else sees.

I know that their snide remarks hurt more than
the bite of raw acid on bare hands.

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PostPosted: Fri Aug 26, 2005 1:43 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

This one is untitled.

The mother cries for her babies
Hurt by cruelties
of a cold world.

The moon cries for mother earth
who has been packed up, vacum sealed,
shipped off somewhere.

The hobo cries for the business man
Confined to crunching numbers in cubicles
Sealing them off from the world
never seeing its beauty.
But the business man condemns the free spirit as a bum.

The poets cry for suburbia
Living in their fake realm of happiness
Behind their white picket fences
Who only accept conformity to the jones' standards
And are never free.

The world weeps for us
Always stuck between the tracks and never free.
Zombies slowly creeping through
Just copys of each other,
brainwashed by the media.
But we never cry for anything but ourselves.

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PostPosted: Sun Aug 28, 2005 2:09 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

Christ slytherinseeker!
Alright everybody lets get PROFESSIONAL.
A note to the readers- deeply sorry for any words you may not know!

A POEM
Walking one afternoon along the Strand,
My wondering eyes did suddenly expand
Upon a pretty leash of Country Lasses.
'Heavens! my dear beauteous Angels, how d'ye do?
Upon my soul I'm monstrous glad to see ye.'—
'Swinge! Peter, we are glad to meet with you;
We're just to London come: well pray how be ye?
'We're just a going, while 'tis dark.
Lord! come, for once be so polite,
And condescend to be our Spark.'—
'With all my heart, my Angels.'—On we walk'd,
And much of London, much of Cornwall, talk'd.
Now did I hug myself to think
How much that glorious Structure would surprise;
How much from its awful Grandeur they would shrink
With open mouths and marv'ling eyes

As near to Ludgate-Hill we drew,
Saint Paul's just opeing on our view;
Behold, my lovely Strangers, one and all,
Gave, all at once, a diabolical Squawl;
As if they had been tumbled on the stones,
And some confounded cart had crush'd their bones.

After well frightening people with their cries,
And sticking to a Ribbon-shop their eyes,
They all rush'd in, with sounds enough to stun,
And, clattering all together, thus begun:
'Swinge! here are Colours then, to please;
Delightful things, I vow to Heaven:
Why, not to see such things as these,
We never should have been forgiven.

'Here, here, are clever things: good Lord!
And, Sister, here, upon my word;
Here, here, look; here are beauties to delight:
Why, how a body's heels might dance
Along from Launceston to Penzance,
Before that one might meet with such a sight!'—

'Come, Ladies, 'twill be dark,' cried I, 'I fear:
Pray let us view St Paul's, it is so near.'—
'Lord! Peter,' cried the Girls, 'don't mind Saint Paul;
Sure you're a most incurious soul:
Why, we can see the Church another day;
Don't be afraid; Saint Paul's can't run away.'

Reader,
If e'er thy bosom felt a thought sublime,
Drop tears of pity with the Man of Rhyme.
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Nai   View This User's Portfolio
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PostPosted: Sun Aug 28, 2005 3:27 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

TARA!!

WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU??

I need my poetry partner.. ::makes sad puppy face::

And good poem by the way, Mistress Areida Very Happy

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PostPosted: Sun Aug 28, 2005 3:48 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

Life is a wind-tossed wave that rushes for the shore,
time rushes by, and we try to grab more.

Moments passing, gently whisking by,
like soft, hasty clouds in a blue summer sky.

Little things bother us, then they are gone and something else replaces them,
but we don’t mourn.

Chances taken, others lost, sighs are heaved,
but then, who’s the boss?

Songs stick in our heads for a while,
teasing and taunting, trying to beguile.
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PostPosted: Sun Aug 28, 2005 4:23 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

Why thanks, Nai. Very Happy I know that I'm no poet, but the offer of all those points was too strong..

By the way, Matt, I've edited my original post because I changed some stuff in the poem, just so you know. Thanks kindly. Very Happy

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PostPosted: Wed Aug 31, 2005 7:13 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

Heres mine:

Enjoy today
Persue tomorrow
Cherish yesterday


Grinning everyday behind your back, watching your soft ears turn bright pink,
someone once compared you to a lump of red clay.

Was it me?

I don't remember.

Listen to the cringe of pebbles as we walk down the concrete, Sean,
watch the rain splatter on our rose-rimmed hats,

Where were we going anyway?

Does it really matter now?

You can remember what Han Solo said in Episode 5 but what I told you last week
you can't seem to recapture

skip, Sean, skip to the beat of a broken drum
use those legs for something useful.

I can't understand.

I can't compute!

I can't stand here and wait for life to unwind,

Sean.

sometime I wish you could just say what you wanted to say
I wish I could do what my fantasies portrayed
sometime
I'll find yesterday.

And do what we missed.
Do what we couldn't say.
Sometime, Sean, I'll finally say I love you.

Leave the past behind you

Ah...someday I will

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PostPosted: Wed Aug 31, 2005 10:51 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

Mine as well join the fun..

Pain

If I slit these wrists would I feel pain?
If not then why?
These cuts are just openings in which the good fly out,
And I am filled with and sadness and emptiness

Crimson tears I cry when I think his name,
When I walk outside of my cave of coldness,
All I see is images of him,
Am I but a mere shell of my former self?

Living off my distance from others,
And relying on lies to get by,
I weep but for now these tears mean nothing.

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For now I will let the blood drip from my fingers...
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PostPosted: Sun Sep 04, 2005 9:06 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

Might as well give it a go...
---------------------------

I was flicking through an old book
the other day and came across
a postcard.

Just a simple postcard.

But withered and old,
Yellow, tea-stained
and dirty.

But under the remnant of years,
even decades,

lay a painting.

Not a real one, a print;
but still a painting.

Oil on canvas
121.9 x 90.2cm
Anonymous,
it was.

Painted by an inspired man,
unturned by fame,
painting to enjoy
and to upturn the corners
of a mouth.

And it did that.

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