[x]

I Am a WriterI am a writer.
Yes, it’s easy for me to fall into a dream.
But there is nothing wrong with being tighter
With a story’s theme.

I am a writer.
That is all I will ever want to be
In the end, my story will be lighter,
And my characters will finally be free.

I am a writer.
There is nothing easier to say than that.
I will never let a story wither
Nor let a story fall flat

I am a soon to be author.
With several books ready to be read,
I want them to have great honor
And wish there will be tears shed.

To HooverHoover state: waking up to sleep
because that’s all I’m good for;
out of work, out of time again
and my brother won’t spare a dime.

Blanket sweat reminds me of this
Hoover state: waking up to sleep
in depressions of this planet;
the moon weeps for me in daytime.

I yank my pockets out, like it's
my country's flag; punch-line of the
Hoover state: waking up to sleep
in my sagging skin on decline.

I've no penny to my name,
jumping out the window (one
last time) makes me worth more in this
Hoover state: waking up to sleep.

Twinkle StarTwinkle twinkle little star
Noone cares just who you are
When you fall the fall is far
Twinkle twinkle superstar.

The Soldier's Letter To HomeI write this from my death bed
My eyes fading in the light
Drowned in crimson red,
Drowned in shaking fright.
The enemy has won
The war now has ended
And though killed by my son
May his sins be ammended.
For this is Civil War
I cannot change the tide
So from you I implore
Do what is right.

Bury me somewhere nice
Near, and fair to look at
And forgive my son his sins;
For in war, no one wins.

Through an Angel's Eye

Some see the world through their rose-colored glasses,
some see it only as bad.
Some see man split into one of three classes,
some see it only as sad.

They say the eye to the soul is a window,
some find such introspect lame.
Still others prefer to focus on shadow,
some look for fortune and fame.

To see the world softly through colors sublime,
requires a heart that is pure.
Yes, to see the world as an angelic rhyme,
the eye must be steady and sure.

Through the eyes of an angel she captures our world,
the wonder of God in her lens.
By virtue of her work beauty is unfurled,
earning her many a friend.

Aur si plumbUn gând de aur, dar se simte
mai greu ca un pumnal de plumb
ce intră-n coaste, se învârte,
și caută să iasă prin minte...
Stilou de aur, scrie versuri,
dar lasă urme ca de plumb,
pe foi mânjite de cerneală,
și de cafea, și alte resturi...

Un glonţ de aur, dar se simte
mai tandru ca o zi de plumb,
îl pun aici, închid capacul,
și ca un gând, îl scot prin minte.

Take Death's HandI do not fear Death.
My life has been long enough.
It's time I take my last breath.
I shall not rebuff.
Death stands by my side,
his hand extended for me to take.
His face is veiled like that of a bride.
This life I now forsake
as Death takes me away.
I do not regret
for I am free of the fray.
Please do not fret
for I am okay.

ContrariwiseSilly little Alice,
Forget all you thought you knew,
For deep inside your head,
Everything is all askew.

If they tell you that one plus one,
Equals twelve and half, my dear,
Don't worry yourself about it,
For two is so last year.

Don't even try to be different,
Or it'll be "Off with her head!",
And you'll find it's better to live a lie,
Than it is to end up dead.

So heed this socially accepted advice,
Ditch any scraps of your insanity,
To cavort with the Hare in March,
Join the Hatter for a cup of tea.

Fritter your days away,
Dancing under a Cheshire moon,
Don't mind the surrounding chaos,
Ignore impending doom.

But even as you join in

Continuous VoicesIt all began when I was ten
I found what lingered in my head disturbing
And it wasn’t until I grabbed a pen
And saw what truly lingered when I began writing.

There were continuous voices within my head
I was not one to favor them dead
Although, they had violet images attached
The way I wrote them matched.

Since then, the voices have changed
Octaves have risen and lowered
Their words have exchanged
And eventually became uncensored.

These continuous voices have brought war
Ones with an uprising roar
And at moments I want to kill the sound
For they are so profound.

Yet, they continue to crescendo
And welcome me to a hidden story
And so

EndlingHere am I, the captive thylacine
Treading my tiger-striped, ungainly way
Around the metal-mesh confinement of my cage
Here am I, exhibited, exhumed
Brought from the brink to pace another day
A living testament, a final thumbmarked page
Here am I, the only specimen
Bereft of mate, of pups, of kin, of kind
Watching the claws of history extending
Here am I, the final thylacine
The only one, the last, the lost, the endling.

Who Was HeHe stood at the average height for men.
His built was quite average.
His eyes were that of cyan.
Nonetheless, he was average.

His hair was that of blonde,
Nearly, white.
His walk and personality had a great bond.
He was a confident sight.

His skin was a delicate peach.
His muscles were quite firm.
So irresistible, a teasing reach.
His appearance had its own term.

One that the dictionary cannot confirm.

Who was he?
That man with his own sea?
He was one without a name.
His appearance was a taunting game.
He was one without a number for an age.
Forget it, he’s fake on this page.

SuicideThere's no blood on her hands
Bullet holes in the door
Nothing but colored pills
And her lying on the floor

You look at her face
There's despair in her eyes
And you wonder what she thought
As she fell and died

And maybe you're begging her to come back
And maybe you're asking why she let go
The hurt in your chest feels like a heart attack
And now you finally know

Maybe you could've helped her
If you'd looked past your own nose
Maybe she'd be alive now
You had a chance, this is what you chose
Now maybe you'll learn from things
That you didn't see
Maybe you'll open your eyes
And rescue him, or her, or me
Maybe she cried a prayer
For the oth

Stand StrongI stand in awe at the strong winds blowing
Hurricanes rising and tornadoes growing
Housing blown away and long hair flowing
Killing the crops of this year's sowing.
Stay strong, dear brothers; Strong in disaster
Stout in the winds that blow ever faster
Stay strong for your children, strong for your wives,
To get to the morning you must first traverse the night.

What may be a dream?Oh, what may be a dream but wishes mute?
Those thoughts that dance and prance a time or two?
The silent longings of the heart set free
To lift the spirit from chambers dark and cold.
A dream is as a morning mist of spring;
Refreshing, light, and gently promising
To all who sleep and wake in time to catch
The welcome peace and glory they behold.
But woe to waking hours; the bitterness they bring
When dreams escape the loving hold of thought!
The plaintive heart starts longing once again
To sink into the realms of possibility.

WarWhen stories of battle are shared,
They are full of fame and glory.
No one knows what war really holds,
That is, until they hear this story.
At first there is much excitement,
Your chance to be a hero.
Then homesickness begins to set in,
The sorrow makes you feel like zero.
Then the supplies get cut off,
Your stomach cries out for food.
It rains then it droughts, and then you want out,
You'd laugh at your situation but you're not in the mood.
No sanitation, no garbage cans,
You are living in human waste.
The tents are torn up, the beds full of lice,
You wish you were in a different place.
Then you finally go to fight,
This is your chance to prove yourself.
All your comrades are shot down,
So much for fame and wealth...
Cleaning up the bodies,
Of those who used to be your friends.
Not even time for a proper burial,
Too many injuries to attend.
Then there's the sneak attack,
You are all caught by surprise.
A brutal, bloody, massacre,
A bullet between your eyes.
In this little game o

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Verset 1Verset 1

Prendre le ciel dans mes mains
Y mélanger la couleur de tes yeux
L'odeur des feuilles qui s'échouent tendrement sur ta bouche
Et deux caresses de tes lèvres d'eau.

Verset 2Verset 2

Courir dans des champs électriques
Glisser sur un grain de guitare
Sauter sur la saturation
S'emporter dans la cavalcade
Et hurler rien qu'en ouvrant la bouche.

VoyagesVoyages

De ma tête si petite
Partent des routes vers l'infini
Dès que l'envie m'en prend
Je les emprunte joyeusement
Et grave une stèle
Pour chaque destination nouvelle.

vertigevertige
je tangue cours
meurs
Horreur !
trop tard

je vomis toute ma colère veule et rageuse ça m'arrache et me brûle les cordes de la gorge et je pleure ce qui me reste
je me vide
je veux mourir

puis

je me recroqueville
comme un papier qui brûle
et attend de s'éteindre

JourJour

Courbure du sol courbure du ciel
L'arche apparaît dans une grande lumière
Entre deux nuages
Apathie des eaux et
Les mots meurent

Manège de feu
L'azur dressé
Colère
Crac
L'arbre tombe

Dieu s'éteint doucement dans le lointain couchant de l'horizon

bol d air marinBol d'air marin

Voilà un monde
Comme on en voit
Un monde où on marche sur des fonds marins

Dans ce monde
La lumière bouge un peu
Aquatiquement
Comme si des courants l'élastifiaient
L'emportaient
Tremblotant comme une bougie lointaine
Le soleil

Et les nuages sont solides
Distillent leur gasoil
À ces êtres que leur air empêche d'articuler
Cette eau salée qui brûle les poumons
Ce sel qui couronne le silence
Et toujours ces coques noires solides
Longues comme des barreaux
Qui s'arrêtent avec le Temps

Désert
Où les oasis sont ceux où il y a de l'air chaud et pas d

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Submitted: November 26, 2011
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Mon paysage

by ~jack0998, Nov 26, 2011, 10:57:37 AM
Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Traditional Fixed Forms

Mon paysage (rêve)

Je suis le paysage qui fond
Dans ma bouche entre ces deux nuages.
Dans ma bouche ouverte, tout au fond,
Soleil illuminant ce visage.

Je me perds dans cette carte de
Moi, le lac au fond duquel grandissent
Poissons, plumes de mes ailes raides,
Des algues, mes cheveux rafraîchissent.

Des poils verts sur tout mon corps abritent
Les barrières courant leurs querelles
Enfantines, ranimant les mythes
Cachés entre les brins des airelles.

Et le vent caresse tout ensemble
Chaque dehors du corps frissonnant
L'enlace doucement quand il tremble.
Et je suis ce concert assonant.

Je goûte toutes les notes pures
Coulant dans le couloir de ma gorge
Amours pressés et jus de fruits mûrs
Y versent un soleil sucre d'orge.

Je m'envole entre les arbres comme
Un nénuphar flotte sur mes larmes.
Je nage au-dessus des fleurs, ma flamme
Est dans chaque étang et partout, reine !

Mon paysageby ~jack0998

Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Traditional Fixed Forms

Un rêve où je devenais une partie du paysage et tout le paysage...

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~Anemathenae May 11, 2012 Writer

Wa superbe description d'un reve! j'allais te citer mes passages preferes mais en faitc'est....tout le texte!

~jack0998 May 16, 2012

xD c'est gentil merci beaucoup ^^

~Elfiane Dec 3, 2011

Chouette rêve ^^ J'aime bien ton texte, même si j'ai pas compris la 3e strophe. Ma préférée c'est la cinquième, belles images ^^

~jack0998 Dec 4, 2011

En fait les poils verts c'est l'herbe donc dans cette strophe je suis la terre!
Merci beaucoup en tout cas

~Elfiane Dec 4, 2011

De rien ^^

~saturnfox Nov 29, 2011 Professional Photographer

Tu fumes quoi avant de dormir ? :-p

~jack0998 Nov 29, 2011

XD des recueils de poésies ;-P

~saturnfox Nov 29, 2011 Professional Photographer

Ah ben tiens à ce propos, si tu as de la culture dans ce domaine, peut-être pourrais-tu m'aider ? Je recherche des auteurs à l'écriture un peu surréaliste et légère, dans le même ton que Boris Vian dans "L'écume des jours"... Peux-tu me conseiller ?

~jack0998 Nov 29, 2011

Mais il y a quand même moins d'image dans nadja en fait c'est une histoire vraie où il se passe pas énormément de choses contrairement à l'écume des jours mais le ton et l'ambiance est tout aussi folle je trouve! Par contre d'auteurs qui fassent des trucs aussi délires que Boris Vian et qui ressemblent vraiment je sais pas trop dsl... Kafka fait des trucs un peu dans la même idée de monde presque réel mais en plus sombre!

~saturnfox Dec 1, 2011 Professional Photographer

Merci pour les conseils, je vais essayer de trouver ça et je te dirai ce que j'en pense !

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Mon paysage

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