This must be what it feels like to be
a tombstone
i have sat here for ages motionless
recalling past regrets
just long enough to not remember
and the spectre looms over me
eroding what is left
you destroyed a forest
you destroyed a hundred years or more
of life
of memory
you destroyed a grove of cedars
proud ancient giants
ancestral guardians
you destroyed a chapel of moss
fern-flanked sacred ground
illuminated from the heavens
you destroyed a living dell
pulsating vein of Earth
selfless giver of life
you trampled
and chopped
and burned
it was for farmland
whatever
that's the way things go
but years pass
those charcoal graves lie unmolested
you forgot water doesn't stop running
aspens took root in (your) absence
the forest is back
worse for wear
but stronger for intent
if you want your 'farmland' back you have another fight on your hands and more of your frivolous money will burn because there are greater things all around us than your insane whims and your theft and your sickness so please do us a favour and turn yourself into fertilizer sooner rather than later you bloody Putz
Winter fog recedes; stone yields for none today; I fade back to fire.
I've been interested in Japanese death poetry recently, so that is what inspired this haiku. I thought it'd be inappropriate to write one from my own perspective, since I'm not on my deathbed. There has to be some poets in Dark Souls though, right?
she awakes from her long slumber
her cold companion at last, faded
the time for rebirth is over
long has she walked the paths
in the forest of her mind
but now, new life beckons
and what brightness beyond the window!
slowly she rises, timid
but her head and legs are holding
sweet liberty!
fairest Spring, how long has it been?
she emerges into a bright new land
walking confidently, as a young calf
who finds her balance at long last
if but for a moment
sprightly zephyrs caress her hair
carrying the sweet scent of wakefulness
her only coat the welcoming embrace of the Sun
the birds sing their triumphant lay
welcoming their sister once more
amidst trees of white and pink and greens innumerable
the streams and skies join the melody
and what song!
she can't help but to sing and dance along
in minutes that pass like hours
until it is time to rest once more
if but for a moment
farewell, old friend
for the time for thought is over
and the time for song is now
for Spring has returned
I just had the best walk to the mailbox I think I've ever had. I do love winter as I love all the seasons, but this year was a particularly cold one for the soul. Now my energy has returned from physiotherapy as the season changes, and I couldn't be happier to be able to walk in the bright warmth of the new season, to say nothing of being able to walk at all!
the fluid crash of contentment dropping from your sternum
would make the mightiest waves of the seven seas tremble in awe
to have the rolling rhythm of a content life
be for another a distorted paralytic shock
a perversion of that endless motion
to fall at once trapped in a static chamber
to lie stagnant as would a corpse
would be unfathomable as the moon
but they will roll on all the same
and no swells will wash onto your chest
to wash away that void
I don't really remember what exactly what provoked this one. Don't like how I reused 'content' so quickly.
sometimes i stood outside at the height of night
the wind would toss my hair in a fit of boredom
once more the air pleaded for spiritual company
but my skin was numb and my mind was locked
i could not join my friend in silent revelry
my mirth was hidden under jade carapace
and i thought she might never set herself free
i asked the sun to lend me her strength
she taught me how to sing in the long days
and with some help i stepped onto the green
singing a lullaby of wispy afternoon clouds
your smile set my happiness free
it was all i ever needed
I missed the midsummer festival that the local Scandinavian community puts on last year, and the year before that was pretty miserable. This year I managed to fight my dizziness enough to partake in a few hours of it, and I really enjoyed myself.
the more i think about retcons
the more confused i become
fandoms complain about them all the time
and my reaction would always be the same
no writer can take your experiences away
no editor can erase the past that you lived
but i heard a few words
and days of emotion wash away
a relief that cuts to the bone
and leaves no rotten scraps
even if those wounds did hurt
those were my wounds
i felt them
or at least i thought i felt them
for all my noncommittal confidence
somebody just retconned my life
and i am not so sure anymore
Solidarity with all the hardcore Star Wars EU fans out there
i am sorry my old friend
stuff
i found a new form of communication
waking daydream
ghost of her embrace
lines that dissipate
i did not mean to abandon you
i do not mean to abandon you
but i am good at forgetting
I'm hoping that I can get back into the flow of writing again. With baby steps.
Thoughtfound was a play on found poetry. I had been writing lines - ideas that had suddenly stuck in my head, and recorded them before I lost them. I arranged them into a skeleton to build between, but at some point I lost the frame of mind that allows me to write like that. (Stuff was originally just a placeholder.) As I was wrapping up, that pile of words actually looked nice so I decided that the above was the poem. So it sort of turned into found poetry using disparate thoughts of mine rather than physical media or stuff like that.
A forest floor almost completely covered in soft, green moss.
Carefully crossing a footbridge overlooking a waterfall that is almost completely frozen.
Picking my way through enormous redwoods, ferns brushing up against my legs.
Cresting a ridge in a certain temperate rainforest in the fall where the ground is completely covered by wet leaves.
A cedar grove where sunlight dances on a bed of clovers in the only clearing.
They're all precious to me.
Not my usual style, because this was part of something else entirely. It makes me happy, though, so now it's a poem.
with a sculpting tool
instead of a hacksaw
i can form obtuse pillars
instead of shredded twigs
but when i lose even the poem
and my clay falls back in the stream
how can I not feel
wolf fangs on my throat
all pillars wash away
with wind
and rain
and hammers
and the teeth of wolves
as they should
what is so special about that clayi already have another pillar
no less obtuse
a pillar of pillars
i shall name you pillar
you deserve more
and so much less
i give you shining light on my hands
rust on a sewing needle
dust in a bottle
these unmarred walls
and these still-blue sheets
however little they mean to me
they are all i have
This must be what it feels like to be
a tombstone
i have sat here for ages motionless
recalling past regrets
just long enough to not remember
and the spectre looms over me
eroding what is left
A Haiku of Moderation
adbot go away
get off the forum index
go scam somewhere else
Putz
you destroyed a forest
you destroyed a hundred years or more
of life
of memory
you destroyed a grove of cedars
proud ancient giants
ancestral guardians
you destroyed a chapel of moss
fern-flanked sacred ground
illuminated from the heavens
you destroyed a living dell
pulsating vein of Earth
selfless giver of life
you trampled
and chopped
and burned
it was for farmland
whatever
that's the way things go
but years pass
those charcoal graves lie unmolested
you forgot water doesn't stop running
aspens took root in (your) absence
the forest is back
worse for wear
but stronger for intent
if you want your 'farmland' back you have another fight on your hands and more of your frivolous money will burn because there are greater things all around us than your insane whims and your theft and your sickness so please do us a favour and turn yourself into fertilizer sooner rather than later you bloody Putz
This one felt unfinished, but there was nothing I could think of that significantly added to the thought.
I just had the best walk to the mailbox I think I've ever had. I do love winter as I love all the seasons, but this year was a particularly cold one for the soul. Now my energy has returned from physiotherapy as the season changes, and I couldn't be happier to be able to walk in the bright warmth of the new season, to say nothing of being able to walk at all!
I don't really remember what exactly what provoked this one. Don't like how I reused 'content' so quickly.
Solidarity with all the hardcore Star Wars EU fans out there
Thoughtfound was a play on found poetry. I had been writing lines - ideas that had suddenly stuck in my head, and recorded them before I lost them. I arranged them into a skeleton to build between, but at some point I lost the frame of mind that allows me to write like that. (Stuff was originally just a placeholder.) As I was wrapping up, that pile of words actually looked nice so I decided that the above was the poem. So it sort of turned into found poetry using disparate thoughts of mine rather than physical media or stuff like that.
Not my usual style, because this was part of something else entirely. It makes me happy, though, so now it's a poem.
dusty shelves of canned soup
tin ambrosia
locked away by bars of solid distance
i wonder if everyone else is incorporeal
i live in a house of ghosts
and the blanket is my only warmth