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Golden Canvasses



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Points: 1735
Reviews: 43
Sun Apr 19, 2020 3:52 pm
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Elfboy says...



Thank you so much, Alliyah and Awru!
Life is real! Life is earnest!
And the grave is not its goal;
Dust thou art, to dust returnest,
Was not spoken of the soul.


--Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, A Psalm of Life

(formerly EthanHoover)
  





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51 Reviews



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Sun Apr 19, 2020 4:47 pm
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LadyGemstone says...



EthanHoover wrote:
Insomniac Dreamers

How can you stay asleep in your cold steel bed
When the night air breathes such beautiful music?
This symphony of stars composed
For insomniac dreamers, Apollo's children,
To dance by in the sacred moonlight.
While scientific fools slumber at night,
We drink poetry with the satyrs
Like the beautiful madmen we are.



That shook me to the core. I felt that poem, and it felt like I lived it. Maybe because I did... Or do all the time.
Respect is felt and lack of respect is also felt. If we all would respect eachother then the world would be better.
  





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43 Reviews



Gender: Male
Points: 1735
Reviews: 43
Sun Apr 19, 2020 7:04 pm
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Elfboy says...



Thanks Gem! I'm glad I finally wrote something that made someone feel things, that's big for me.
Life is real! Life is earnest!
And the grave is not its goal;
Dust thou art, to dust returnest,
Was not spoken of the soul.


--Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, A Psalm of Life

(formerly EthanHoover)
  





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43 Reviews



Gender: Male
Points: 1735
Reviews: 43
Sun Apr 19, 2020 7:05 pm
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Elfboy says...



More free-verse, a little longer than normal. Enjoy!

Nightblood

Why do my dreams taste of blood
On some empty holy nights
When I know where I should be
And it's just where I'm not
Just where I can't be

Sometimes ancient tales remind me
Of what you really did, what you really do
How you bleed each night
Only to forgive me
And we don't even care

Some men talk of miracles
But when the time comes to rely on them
They turn their backs and call them myths
But are we sure just where the border lies
Between myth and truth?
Life is real! Life is earnest!
And the grave is not its goal;
Dust thou art, to dust returnest,
Was not spoken of the soul.


--Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, A Psalm of Life

(formerly EthanHoover)
  





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43 Reviews



Gender: Male
Points: 1735
Reviews: 43
Sun Apr 19, 2020 7:46 pm
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Elfboy says...



Here are two poems I co-wrote with Gem today. She'll be posting them here as well.

Poemverse

Passionate words flow
On a stage of their own
Enacting scenes from unwritten scripts
Made of dreams never spilled from our lips.
Vacant eyes watch from afar
Epic tales of who we are
Run like holy water from divine players' souls
Slippery limericks from day of old
Echo like fire through this temple of gold

Replacing Stars

Dancing in the moonlight, stars light the sky
Even as we watch them slowly burn out
Can we light candles to replace a star?
All we need to live, what we write about,
Shining light from the curtained void so bright
Yet still so very dim, our little lives
Laced with tapestries sewn of ancient gold.
Leave it all behind to find something new,
A better today, a bright tomorrow
Blast off with the hope of new paradise
Introducing dreams of iceless wingtips
Come with me to our new reality
Life is real! Life is earnest!
And the grave is not its goal;
Dust thou art, to dust returnest,
Was not spoken of the soul.


--Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, A Psalm of Life

(formerly EthanHoover)
  





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43 Reviews



Gender: Male
Points: 1735
Reviews: 43
Mon Apr 20, 2020 7:00 pm
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Elfboy says...



Wow, two thirds through NaPo already? I'm celebrating with my longest poem yet, enjoy!

Beautiful

Sometimes a tune
Even a single note
Ringing from a guitar's string,
Or a piano's key,
Or some angel's lips
Stirs something inside me.
Some small, beautiful creature
Who sleeps under the mud,
And raises her weary head
Just for a moment
To enjoy the fleeting melody
Before sinking back into the brackish water
That is my mind.

A strange creature she is
So bright, so perfect
Yet she hides until she finds something
As beautiful as she is
She flits out to meet it for a moment,
To see warm springtime rain
And cold mountain ice
And sunsets over the sea
But the only thing she lingers for
Is not the sound of music
Nor the sight of nature.

Angel's tunes and scenic views
Don't hold a single candle
To the sunlight that is you.
Not your face, or your voice,
Though I'm sure that they alone
would wake my little friend,
But simply your presence
Your words, your thoughts,
Just you
being you
Is the truest beauty
I'll ever know.
Life is real! Life is earnest!
And the grave is not its goal;
Dust thou art, to dust returnest,
Was not spoken of the soul.


--Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, A Psalm of Life

(formerly EthanHoover)
  





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43 Reviews



Gender: Male
Points: 1735
Reviews: 43
Tue Apr 21, 2020 4:44 pm
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Elfboy says...



Another poem for another day! More free verse, still too short, but it is what it is.

Nails

A hammer strikes,
Once, once again,
A thousand times,
Driving endless stakes
Into my soul,
Like nails through my wrists.
Each swing locks me
More firmly in my place
Slowly, surely, day by day
Becoming more irrevocably,
More unchangeably
Myself
Even if that's just who
I never wanted to be.
Life is real! Life is earnest!
And the grave is not its goal;
Dust thou art, to dust returnest,
Was not spoken of the soul.


--Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, A Psalm of Life

(formerly EthanHoover)
  





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43 Reviews



Gender: Male
Points: 1735
Reviews: 43
Wed Apr 22, 2020 7:44 pm
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Elfboy says...



Bonus poem from yesterday I forgot to post. That's right, I wrote a Terza Rima poem about writing Terza Rima poems, so sue me. Also, I worked the thread name in there!

Poet's Web

Carefully spinning a long tapestry
A web of inked words intricately twined
Sewn to mimic a poet's artistry

Myriad spools of magic thread unwind
Forming letters on golden canvasses
Yet not in the patterns I seek to find

Some silken thought always encompasses
Each bright portrait in all its majesty
Which the artist carefully balances
Life is real! Life is earnest!
And the grave is not its goal;
Dust thou art, to dust returnest,
Was not spoken of the soul.


--Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, A Psalm of Life

(formerly EthanHoover)
  





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43 Reviews



Gender: Male
Points: 1735
Reviews: 43
Wed Apr 22, 2020 7:46 pm
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Elfboy says...



April 22nd's poem.

Sinking

My vision blurs like a rain-streaked window
My mind's trapped in a pool of molasses
Like I just awoke from a sleepless night
A restless, dreamless void of bitter black

Struggling to get free from this thoughtless web
I grow more entangled each passing hour
The more I fight it, the quicker I sink
And God knows how hard I can really fight

Sometimes there's simply nothing I can do
To help myself out of such cold madness
Your hand reaches forward to pull me out
But will I take it, or shall I die here?
Life is real! Life is earnest!
And the grave is not its goal;
Dust thou art, to dust returnest,
Was not spoken of the soul.


--Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, A Psalm of Life

(formerly EthanHoover)
  





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Reviews: 26
Thu Apr 23, 2020 5:34 pm
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mckaylaam says...



Your imagery in Sinking is stunning! I especially loved the last two lines.
Your hand reaches forward to pull me out
But will I take it, or shall I die here?

Having to make a decision between accepting help to end the struggle and choosing to die is really interesting. Keep up the great work!
And I love the thought of being with you,
or maybe it's the thought of not being so alone.


  





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43 Reviews



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Points: 1735
Reviews: 43
Fri Apr 24, 2020 1:49 am
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Elfboy says...



Thank you, mckaylaam!
Life is real! Life is earnest!
And the grave is not its goal;
Dust thou art, to dust returnest,
Was not spoken of the soul.


--Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, A Psalm of Life

(formerly EthanHoover)
  





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43 Reviews



Gender: Male
Points: 1735
Reviews: 43
Fri Apr 24, 2020 1:54 am
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Elfboy says...



Ah, whoops, forgot to post this earlier, almost missed a day! I decided to take a page out of the book of Gem, today I wrote an acrostic.

Gethsemane

God himself strolls the silent garden,
Eleven men too tired to love lay behind him
"Take this cup away from me," he asks the
Heavens, though he knows he must drink.
Silent, now, he takes the wooden chalice,
Emptying every drop of poison, so that these
Men who betray him will never have to taste it
As his friend murders him with a kiss,
Never does a spark of anger mar his face, for
Every man has a cross to bear, and Judas bears the hardest
Life is real! Life is earnest!
And the grave is not its goal;
Dust thou art, to dust returnest,
Was not spoken of the soul.


--Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, A Psalm of Life

(formerly EthanHoover)
  





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43 Reviews



Gender: Male
Points: 1735
Reviews: 43
Fri Apr 24, 2020 9:44 pm
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Elfboy says...



Today, I was inspired by this rhythm/rhyme pattern(or whatever you call it), and the poem just kind of fell naturally into place. Enjoy!

Dust

In the ancient dirt I scrawl
Something not profound at all
Feels like writing on the wall
Yet I don't know what words I write

Something huge and bright and true
Sunsets over oceans blue
Perfect thoughts I never knew
Are bringing fire to the night

As the words spill out I see
Why they first seemed strange to me
They speak of things I'll never be
Of something good and true and right
Life is real! Life is earnest!
And the grave is not its goal;
Dust thou art, to dust returnest,
Was not spoken of the soul.


--Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, A Psalm of Life

(formerly EthanHoover)
  





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43 Reviews



Gender: Male
Points: 1735
Reviews: 43
Sun Apr 26, 2020 2:46 pm
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Elfboy says...



Whoops! Wrote this yesterday, but because of internet issues, couldn't post it. It's lyrics to a guitar melody I came up with, maybe I'll post a recording one of these days.

Chained

Sometimes when I see the skies
I wonder just what lies behind the blue
Sometimes when I close my eyes
Theres nothing I can think about but you
And some things that I ask about
You answer even though I really knew

Why do these people walk their lives
Pretending that they never loved a soul?
Why do some martyrs wear a knife
How can they bear to take their bloody toll?
Why are we broken bound and chained
Who keeps us dying in this darkened hole?

And yet a million walk on by
Can’t spare a moment’s time to cry
For in this world it’s kill or die
And very many die
For now just one can sing of love
Can serenade the stars above
Descending like a little dove
It’s you

They bring blackened bloody men
In droves to die in this infernal place
But when they finally brought you in
I just forgot about the human race
For what’s the value of the world
If it no longer holds your pretty face?

And yet a million walk on by
Can’t spare a moment’s time to cry
For in this world it’s kill or die
And very many die
For now just one can sing of love
Can serenade the stars above
Descending like a little dove
It’s you

Despite the darkness growing, love,
I think that you and I might make it through
Despite the skies a-storming, love,
There’s always something left for us to do
I can bear these frozen chains
As long as I’m forever chained to you

And still a million walk on by
Can’t spare a moment’s time to cry
For in this world it’s kill or die
And very many die
For now just one can sing of love
Can serenade the stars above
Descending like a little dove
It’s you
Life is real! Life is earnest!
And the grave is not its goal;
Dust thou art, to dust returnest,
Was not spoken of the soul.


--Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, A Psalm of Life

(formerly EthanHoover)
  





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Points: 13818
Reviews: 431
Sun Apr 26, 2020 5:14 pm
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Liberty says...



Ah, Nails is so chilling and Poet's Web is so beautiful - I could picture it perfectly. I love your poems! =)
LadyBug is the best frister ever <3
(everyone please know that LadyBug's the coolest goose you will ever meet)
(this goose blushes too much)
(lol imagine a blushing goose xD <3)
  








Love is not an emotion. Love is a promise.
— 12th Doctor