Poetry

Well there was a topic on poetry here back in July, but where is it gone? Well I will start us off here, with a very crappy, but new poem from moi:

GRIM FANDANGO

By Red_Star

Where are that child's small hands
cupping all the sand into a castle
on that sunny beach?
Where has that lighthouse gone
a clear sign for the soul forlorn
where is that horizon mine?

I have aged too young, I didn't even try
this life's sweet wine.
Now I see you, my friend, you have come to
me again to dance that grim fandango.

Remember when I dreamt that I had my
life in my hands?
That I had all that endless time for
all those different brands...

Now the signposts on the road tick away
my precious force.
I am not invincible as I htough when
age wasn't knowcking on my door.

Life has broken this brittle thorn
nothing to see here, please move on.
Leave me to dance my grim fandango
on that always thining floor.

Too much is falling on unprepared shoulders
school's out but reality is moving in.
See how the light in lively eyes
si slowly melting into slime.
See how the aching hands are scooping
up the pieces of shattered dreams
and turn them into parodies,
bloated, bursting at the seams.

The table's set but the food is cold,
so with this old reality I will dance
my own, bitter-sweet, fandango grim.

Varna, Bulgaria
01/09/2004 23:46

Thank you, Comrade TIG!

I have lots more...but I am sure yours isn't so bad - no poet is ever satisfied with their own poetry!

So post yours!

Coungratulations comrade! Very good indeed! You are a Poet!

Should I feel special then!^^

what a worthless pile of shit.

nah I'm just joking, consider me a fan.

Quote:

what a worthless pile of shit.

Don't worry I wouldn't be offended - I have heard it often enough!

BLACK SHEEP

By Red_Star

I'm not a black sheep,
I'm not a white sheep,
I'm not a sheep at all
Never fitted in
and never will.

The rain's falling hard
as I spin plates in the dark.
Trodden on,
jumped upon,
dying on.

Living by others' expectations
dreaming their dreams and alien conveptions
the voice is killed at birth
buried by them i ntheir turf.

Always pushed into the flock,
always told to watch the clock.
Turning every dream into nightmare
their scars forever I will bear.

Mirror of their early lies,
picture of their failing tries,
they made me what I am,
they shaped me from their clay.

I'm not a black sheep,
I'm not a white sheep,
I'm not a sheep at all,
I'm a wolf in sheep's disguise.

Oxford, UK
05/05/2004 11:54am

Bumped as there is some interest in the Cafe Mir - maybe someone can post some poetry!!

Someone jumped,
missed the straw,
fell into a hole.
They gave him flowers
They gave him soil.
The year went by,
They forgot to try
to find some flowers new,
prayed they for forgivness,
while he smiled the truth,
as they weren't asking his soul
but instead the heavy soil.

These poems are very good, comrade. I like them alot.

Thanks!

But I was hoping some more people would post in here such as Kampfer as I liked his poem. And I am sure there is a little more creativity around here!

I'd post mine here but it's already somewhere else... if I ever type another one I'll put it up, though.