Poetry by Lump

[Lump Clock]

Would it be a good idea for me to post my poetry here and expect actual feedback?

[DiscoBallClock]

Yes.

[Lump Clock]

Well I have quite a few to be looked at.

[DiscoBallClock]

Go ahead and post!

[Lump Clock]

This ones old, but still is one of my favorite works. Enjoy!

A dying day; a steadfast faith.
The Man who seeks the beautiful Woman's face.
The sore eyes of the seeker straining to see.
The tired back of the lover waiting to sleep.

A cry; a tear.
A slowly undone brassiere.
The sadness of one,
The joy of another.

To lay down slow, to lay down low,
You lay down hoping to Hell I don't go.
The beauty lay nude on the soft silken flow,
The hero's heart pounding; skin warm, face aglow.

A rich, green field. A soft, blue sea.
The Woman stands waiting in the misty shore breeze.
The sore eyes of the seeker straining to see.
The tired back of the lover waiting to sleep.

[Lump Clock]

Another old one. I'm not going to post everthing at once for feedback purposes.

Sleep.
Sleep forever.
Sleep under fire.
Sleep under dirt.
Live in a dream,
Live in desire;
Live in forever,
Make sure it hurts.
Eternal Light;
It doesn't matter.
Eternal Darkness;
It doesn't matter.
So, sleep.
Sleep forever.
Sleep under fire.
Sleep under dirt.
The worms will eat you.
Sleep forever.
Sleep under fire.
Sleep under dirt.

[Lump Clock]

Alright since there's no feedback yet, I'll just move on.

Look down at me again
Cause in pain I'm living well
They talk a lot, but never say anything
I'm lost in the depths
Of a Silent Hell.

Maybe things will det easier,
But I don't think they'll be simple.
I try to find love in bad places,
Like at the bottom of a bottle
When I should be searching in you
As my steadfast temple.

Yes, it's just so easy to give in.
I'm searching for love in elixirs again,
The tendrils of my bottle pull fast.
It's my sin.
The end of this tunnel
Comes- always- too soon.
I buy another bottle
Hoping that at the end of this one
Will be you.

[Lump Clock]

The character narrating this poem is supposed to be the same narrator from Dousing Elixir.

Sins.
I find myself dreaming of love.
My hope is sometimes feeble.
Some tell me to give up, yet I refuse.
Am I sin?
Am I pure evil?
Was I born as an avatar of Hell?
Forever, I push forward.
Sin.
What defines sin?
Who tells us right and wrong?
No man shall tell me what is justified!
Flesh.
My burning, tortured skin.
It's why I sin.
So is my guise, my guile.
Forgive me.

I watch the Devil.
I escape Oblivion,
Yet turn my back on God.
I am sinner, cleanse me last!

[Lump Clock]

Not inspired by the former clock.

Boulder.
You stand the test of time.
A monument of everlasting endurance.
Many try to move you,
Yet the always fail.
But unified they have pushed you,
Shoved you over the ledge,
Inspired you over the edge.
Now you're rolling strong;
Unstoppable down the mountainside.
Thos who provoked you thus far
Can only hope
The destruction in your wake
Will soon decimate,
Dissipate, Seperate, Coagulate
Into Nothingness.

Boulder.
You stood the test of time.
As you will, I shall fade to sand.

[Lump Clock]

Late night smoking was my inspiration.

My fingers twitter,
Flustering in my pocket.
I feel the rectangular carton against my digits.
Tugging rather restlessly
The box comes forth to heed my call
And I am rewarded for my struggles.

From within this miniature
Paper crafted crate
I render that small cylindrical stick.
I strike a match,
Hold it against the dead, open end.
It comes to life, ablaze.

I take a drag
And stare upon this burning cherry.
What life had I ignited?
Within this cinder
I now pull forth
A slow death into my lungs.

Before I realize,
I take my last puff.
What life will I extinguish?
I push the butt into the ground
And hear a wisp of relief.
I breathe deep and pull one more from the pack.

[Lump Clock]

I'll leave these up for a bit for feedback before I continue.

As they cling to the trees
They cry out to deaf ears;
Ears that do not hear
Because they will not listen.

In hopes to defy
Eternal fates
Pressed against them
In all ways,
They scream out of long lost destiny
That simmered away into nothing.

But if we were to only bear
An ear for us to hear
And listen,
We'd hear the truth of the Universe
Rasped out in chirping tongues.
Thus is the Ballad of the Cicada
And so it has begun.

[Lump Clock]

A poem written as song lyrics.

I can see
On the horizon
A deep red-orange gleam
Across the big blue.
Velvety clouds
Roll on the winds of the sky,
I witness
Those dark clouds
Crying!


They pour out
A soft, slow fallin' rain
That caresses my skin
Like love lost from the veins.
So dream
Of the streams
Made by
The slow fallin' rain.
The placid beauty of the water flowing down once again.



I wonder
What'll bring
The time that seams
To slowly be wanning.
I stare into your eyes
Searchin' for the answer;
They are the eyes of a storm
A maelstrom upon the main!



She pours out
A soft, slow fallin' rain
That caresses my skin
Like love lost from the veins.
So dream
Of the streams
Made by
Your slow fallin' rain.
The placid beauty of the water flowin' down once again.

Dream
Of the streams
Made by
The slow fallin' rain;
I wonder
What would happen
If I should ever see you again.

Would it even matter
If I found you?
Would it bring back all forgotten pains?

Please serenade me
One more time
In your slow rain.



I've dreamt
Of the streams
Made by
Your slow rain.

[Lump Clock]

How can I feel this way
For someone I can't touch?
It seems so rough and intense,
And it's harshly immense.
It just doesn't make sense,
But still it's true.
I'm turning blue;
I cannot breath.
These feeling spill out
Like blood,
Don't you see?
But I haven't told you;
I don't think you'd believe.
If you just knew the truth
Would you wish for it, too?
Maybe you already notice
All the blue I turn
Because of you.
Listen, please,
Pretty girl!
Don't you see,
Pretty girl?!
You pretend it's not real,
But it's me
Pretty girl!
And I'd spill,
Pretty girl,
All my will!
Pretty girl,
If it's you or the world?
No more Earth,
Pretty girl!
There's a pang
In My heart
And it's worth
Every curse
That the devil could rend
Or that God could reverse.
Chaos, Order, and Fire
All make me crumble;
So it hurts me that now
I continue to stumble,
Continue to fumble
My words into jumble!
I wish I could make this poor little rock rumble!
But I cracked when I tumbled,
And I'm trying to be humble
As I burst at the seams;
And I'm wanting to cry,
But can only scream!
Do you see that
I'm wanting you
Now,
Anyhow.
And I'm dieing
And writhing
Toward you somehow!
We are reaching a flat
To three little words that
Keep me falling and balling,
And stalling somehow!
Forced to open my mouth,
Forced to say it right out,
But it's hard
Cause I'm scared
To get re-broken down;
Difficult to convey,
Here I stand in dismay.
Please, girl, don't turn away.
I just wanted to say...

_ ____ ___
Fill The Blanks.

[SilverCherryClock]

on your poems that intentionally rhyme i suggest you pay more attention to your meter/rhythm because otherwise they end up choppy and awkward

[Lump Clock]

on your poems that intentionally rhyme i suggest you pay more attention to your meter/rhythm because otherwise they end up choppy and awkward

Would you care to elaborate? I'm not quite understanding.

[Loki Clock]

Would you care to elaborate? I'm not quite understanding.

The pattern and number of stressed and unstressed syllables in a phrase, and the length of that phrase.

Handy hand garotte
Has his cock twizzled

SUSUS
UUSSU

The two sentences, while with the same length in syllables, have very different stress patterns. The pairing by themselves sounds awkward, but if this meter is maintained, then that can go away. Without repetition, the meter could also be following some sort of pattern and still have a poetic quality. For example:

SSUU Jeep bats into
USSU the bar-bell of
UUSS an erased past

The key part about either case it that you are self-consistent.
So then look at the stresses of a section of your first poem:

USUS USSS A dying day; a steadfast faith.
Three syllables are added, a stress is gained. Major break of meter.
USUS USSU SUS The Man who seeks the beautiful Woman's face.
Syl. groups 1-4 and 5-8 switched, stress balanced across 5-11 flipped (3U 4S -> 4U 3S). If the first line shared the second line's stress pattern, this change would come off more confident.
USSU USUS UUS The sore eyes of the seeker straining to see.
USSU USUS UUS The tired back of the lover waiting to sleep.

USUS A cry; a tear.
USUS SUS A slowly undone brassiere.
USUU S The sadness of one,
USUU SU The joy of another.
Haphazard meter. However, reading these lines in the order 2,4,3,1 (or 1,3,4,2) would lead to a larger pattern, and thus a more savory meter.

USSS USSS To lay down slow, to lay down low,
USSS UUSS SS You lay down hoping to Hell I don't go.
USUU SUUS SUS The beauty lay nude on the soft silken flow,
USUS SUSS SUS The hero's heart pounding; skin warm, face aglow.
Especially haphazard.

USSS USSS A rich, green field. A soft, blue sea.
Extra stress from line 1, leading to mismatch.
USUS SUUU SUSS The Woman stands waiting in the misty shore breeze.
Major mismatch in syl. 5-8 between lines 2 and 14 (above), and an extra syllable. If the extra was unstressed, it might be overlooked.
USSU USUS UUS The sore eyes of the seeker straining to see.
USSU USUS UUS The tired back of the lover waiting to sleep.
Consistent.

So your meter moves around a million times in the poem, mostly without rhyme (haha) or reason. The structure formed from the sound of words is what separates poetry from other written language. So practice writing on a structure. You may not think of anything meaningful to say along the structure at first, but as long as you can say something, then that's practice enough for when you need to say something and you need to know how to make the structure that says what your words say.

[Lump Clock]

I hate to say this, but your elaborate evaluation kind of went over my head, but let's see if I'm understanding.. or at least following.

I'm- basically- not following a rythmic structure and therefore it doesn't really make it poetry?

[peyoteclock]

I hate to say this, but your elaborate evaluation kind of went over my head, but let's see if I'm understanding.. or at least following.

I'm- basically- not following a rythmic structure and therefore it doesn't really make it poetry?

he's saying it sounds like shit, it's still poetry but in the same vein as a child's fingerpainting is still a painting.

it's not done well, it reads disjointedly thus making it unpleasing to the readers sensibilities.

i can't really comprehend how what he said went over your head.

[SilverCherryClock]

yes thank you loki that is what i meant

[Lump Clock]

Eh, you're right Peyote, in hindsight it was kind of silly of me to not understand. Anyway, I have a couple more pieces that I want to share before I have to start writing more. These follow more of a structure and you will all probably find them more appealing than my previous, chaotic endeavors.

I am the Corpse,
You are the Grave.
Wrap me in your love-
Your longing earthen embrace.
Never let me go
For fear I might escape
And rise again
From the dead
To break our unity's grace.