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The Poetry Thread

Started by Solomon Zorn, September 15, 2013, 02:32:56 AM

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Solomon Zorn

Good morning, Shiranu! Up early, or up late? I like what you did so far, and I'm interested to see where you will go with it. :-D
If God Exists, Why Does He Pretend Not to Exist?
Poetry and Proverbs of the Uneducated Hick

http://www.solomonzorn.com

Shiranu

Quote from: "Solomon Zorn"Good morning, Shiranu! Up early, or up late? I like what you did so far, and I'm interested to see where you will go with it. :-D

Late... I think.

It started to feel like a Doctor Susess poem or something with the rhyming... probably cant do that sober. I'll see what I can come up with later, otherwise it will have to wait till tomorrow night to be finished.

Edit: Well, I have a bottle of Sake only half finished. I could take a couple more swigs and see if I can continue it. I feel the problem may be the next bit of the story is still a work in progress, and I am not so good at predicting the future :.

Also; I now want to try writing while high. Alcohol is fine, but... meh.
"A little science distances you from God, but a lot of science brings you nearer to Him." - Louis Pasteur

Solomon Zorn

#62
Here's the poem I wrote this week:



"A Quiet Voice"
http://www.solomonzorn.com/a-quiet-voice.html

If God Exists, Why Does He Pretend Not to Exist?
Poetry and Proverbs of the Uneducated Hick

http://www.solomonzorn.com

mykcob4

I may have posted this before but I thought I would submit it:
[center:16njutmv]A Brave Facing of a Scary Moment
By Myke

To all 'twas a good night, but an early summer night it was. Carried on the wind floated a hope of better times so innocent its entry. I in no cap laid not to rest, hopelessly tossing, wrestling with morbid futures not yet realized.  Like the rest I wished for a betterment of times, knowing full well it shall not come to pass.
I rose to view from my storied window down upon a tempest threatened bay. Could this squall foretell the fortunes of us all so blind? All storms end eventuality true, but with them they bring the cleansing rain a scourring wind that doth take those not prepared to yield. The god of power makes its demands and the economics of it determines that the weak and the stubborn are consumed by it.
Tarry not just on hope, and bother not to brace the feeble sash. So I will walk acceptingly into that wind trusting the compassion of it to not take me, relying on the foolhardiness of my action to weather it and not be my folly.
If I make it through? If it is true that I walk clear to the other side, whether that side is life or after life, I will have won but one victory of my own. That is the victory that I gave no fear just because the wind howled and the sky blackened and impending doom appeared before the horizon. It matters not where my foot falls, this world or the next, only that I took the steps necessary to reach that world.
The day hath found me drowned. My lungs filled with a wealth of emotion. My bones are tired and shake with fatigue, but I live in this world. The village is a buzz with rumor of me. No heroes welcome, no celebration of my deed. A newfound respect of my lack of sanity is expressed with every face. I care not. I am the knowing.
I have no need of explanation and will not satisfy any curiosity but my own. I will not bow to their reasoning or questions. There shall be no need to repeat my journey, so the moment ist passed. I retire in a smug repose, quite unintentional in disposition. To finally sleep with no dream, no images contented and exhausted. As easy as a child I fall asleep cradled in my confidences, fearing no more death or life.[/center:16njutmv]

Shiranu

Neon lights shine bright.
Outside, the city breathes out.
Across, sits happiness.
Oh, her time here is fleeting.
Soon she will leave me once more.

I grasp out for her,
Yet she slips through my fingers.
The harder I hold
The faster she falls away.
Doubt begins to take my mind.

Neon lights now cold,
The city is calm and silent.
I alone stay up,
Trying to recall her face,
had she ever existed?

My memories blur.
Useless, I cast them aside.
It was just a dream
Of a world I don't belong to.
Isolated is my home.

Not my best, but I feel like shit and it helped a little bit so...
"A little science distances you from God, but a lot of science brings you nearer to Him." - Louis Pasteur

Brian37

Quote from: "Shiranu"Neon lights shine bright.
Outside, the city breathes out.
Across, sits happiness.
Oh, her time here is fleeting.
Soon she will leave me once more.

I grasp out for her,
Yet she slips through my fingers.
The harder I hold
The faster she falls away.
Doubt begins to take my mind.

Neon lights now cold,
The city is calm and silent.
I alone stay up,
Trying to recall her face,
had she ever existed?

My memories blur.
Useless, I cast them aside.
It was just a dream
Of a world I don't belong to.
Isolated is my home.

Not my best, but I feel like shit and it helped a little bit so...

Been there, it was nice, I can identify.
"We are a nation of Christians and Muslims, Jews and Hindus -- and nonbelievers." Obama
Poetry By Brian37 Like my poetry on Facebook Under BrianJames Rational Poet and also at twitter under Brianrrs37

Solomon Zorn

Well I just did it! I put my writings into an e-book on Amazon! It should be available by tomorrow some time. It's called, IF GOD EXISTS, WHY DOES HE PRETEND NOT TO EXIST? by Solomon Zorn. It's $2.99, which is the minimum price. It's a very short book. Takes about an hour to read. It's just my poetry and proverbs. The ponderings of an uneducated hick.

All of the writings in the book, and a few more, can be read for free on my website however: http://solomonzorn.com/home.html

I can read everything on the website, out-loud, in under 90 minutes. You are all welcome to check it out. I think I finally have it how I want it. I welcome any feedback.
If God Exists, Why Does He Pretend Not to Exist?
Poetry and Proverbs of the Uneducated Hick

http://www.solomonzorn.com

Solomon Zorn

#67
Just checked...I'm on Amazon! Cool! Doesn't mean much really, though. Anyone can do it. I just got the idea from a couple I saw on the news. They lost their jobs and started writing steamy romance novels to sell on Amazon. If anyone wants to write a review, it's only three bucks...  8)
If God Exists, Why Does He Pretend Not to Exist?
Poetry and Proverbs of the Uneducated Hick

http://www.solomonzorn.com

Brian37

Solomon post the one you sent me in PM or I will beat the shit out of you, it is damned good!
"We are a nation of Christians and Muslims, Jews and Hindus -- and nonbelievers." Obama
Poetry By Brian37 Like my poetry on Facebook Under BrianJames Rational Poet and also at twitter under Brianrrs37

Solomon Zorn

#69
It's on my website.

Here's one I wrote after listening to the Governor of Indiana last week.

I Like Pizza
Solomon Zorn

I like pizza
Most people do
In fact you could say
I support pizza

I don't like liver
Some people do
There are a lot of
Liver-eaters out there

I don't feel a need
To outlaw liver-eating
Just because
It disgusts me

How does their
Eating liver
Possibly affect my
Eating pizza?

I'll still be free
To eat pizza
Even if the liver-eaters
Are liberated
If God Exists, Why Does He Pretend Not to Exist?
Poetry and Proverbs of the Uneducated Hick

http://www.solomonzorn.com

Brian37

It's a metaphor about kittens?
"We are a nation of Christians and Muslims, Jews and Hindus -- and nonbelievers." Obama
Poetry By Brian37 Like my poetry on Facebook Under BrianJames Rational Poet and also at twitter under Brianrrs37

Solomon Zorn

#71
Kittens who want to marry each other.  ;)
If God Exists, Why Does He Pretend Not to Exist?
Poetry and Proverbs of the Uneducated Hick

http://www.solomonzorn.com

Shiranu

Not poetry, but wasn't sure where stories should go so... here is something short I am working on. Like poetry, I have never really written that much outside of pure fantasy.

[spoil:2wtlntzm]
Quote"The worst part is getting started, isn't it?", she asked, peering me over from across the table.
"Huh?"
"Starting... it is always the hardest part.". She stared me down, peering at me as some sort of oddity, some puzzle to figure out. And then as if I had been solved just like that, or she had lost all interest, her attention was gone to some passing car or a bird perched on a building across the street.
"I would suppose it is." I mumbled back. Of course, she wasn't there. No one was. Not even an empty chair. Just me, a table, a laptop and an empty patio. Every once in awhile a noisy truck or a city bus, occasionally the loud choppers revved up so that they could announce their existence to the world would zip by, interrupting the gentle hum of the smaller cars that went through.

I couldn't help but wonder who "she" was. Had I met her, or was she purely imagination? That seemed unlikely, given the detail I could see in her from the corner of my eye. And yet if I turned to look at her, all that greeted me was the red walls of the café or one of the various other patrons enjoying the sunny, windy afternoon.

  The city was a nice reprieve from the solidarity of home, or this pale imitation of one, and the small confines of the coffin others referred to as "my room" and in it the T.V. I would spend hour after hour escaping from one world to the next. Occasionally the solidarity would be broken, mostly when I came out to eat or to watch someone with a hundred times my motivation make the most of their life. I suppose there was some semblance of socializing to be found in my distraction; from time to time me and my friend would log into a game together, substituting the reality, the art, of soccer with a pale imitation. Yet no matter how "fun" it would be, it could never replace the the real thing; friends just 15 minutes apart who never saw each other, choosing instead to enjoy each others presence through television tubes, microphones and speakers.

Of course the "companionship" of the city was not much different. Though they sat, flesh and blood, around me, we did not interact besides the occasional glance or the, "pardon" as we would walk past one another. Still, in their solitude I found a odd companionship; they sat alone with their books, their laptops and their coffees as did I. Together we made a strange fellowship of loners, each with our own stories to tell and yet no one around to tell it to.

She looks at me again from across the table, and I cant help but wonder if she is looking straight through the back of the screen and to the words I am writing. I have little choice but to muse about the concept of my subconscious being unaware of the words I write, and yet there she sits, curiously looking at me. Perhaps she is wondering not what I have written, but what I have yet to write. She seems to have taken a curiosity to that, and has also chosen to hide herself again.

She only appeared recently, so far that I can remember. This would give some weight to the idea that she is someone I know, or at least mimicking her. If she wasn't being so damn elusive I could perhaps get a good enough view of her to figure that out, maybe even ask for a name or to hear her simultaneously familiar and foreign voice again.


Back in the coffin, I find myself unable to enjoy the distractions I have spent my life apart of. While lacking enjoyment is nothing new, as it has been several years since they could hold my full attention, I suddenly find myself more drawn to writing than escaping reality. She sits at the foot of my bed, staring at the closet as if beyond it's doors she can see into a different world. I find myself eying the doors as she eyes me, but just see them closed, four white rectangles making a cross through the middle of them. I hear her sigh, yet she has already disappeared.

I cannot remember when the distractions began, nor the desire to indulge in them. To ask when I started being alone is to ask when the sun first rose upon the Earth; after such a length, it is irrelevant. It simply always has and always seems to be. And yet lately I have been offered brief glimpses of what companionship means, what it is like to share this life in all its glory and all its suffering with another person. Like an eclipse it appears out of no where, and like an eclipse it disappears, until all that is left is the fading memory of something you know was amazing yet cannot recreate no matter how hard you try. It simply lays outside of your control.

I cannot help but wonder how much of this is of my own making. It was only within the last year that I learned what true friendship was. Yes, I had my few friends who I would hang out with, kick the ball around, make fools of myself with in public, and yet there is a difference between a friend, even a best friend, and a true friend. A friend and a best friend is someone you enjoy life with; a true friend is someone with whom you can share your pain and fear with. For 22 years I have kept these true pains bottled up, and even the little I have revealed of myself is only a drop from the container. I fear that if I was to fully open the bottle it would flood and wash them away from me.

Doubly odd is the fact that I have never met one of them in the flesh. Hundreds of miles away, they feel more a concept than a person, and yet I cannot help but feel attached to them. Through their words I can feel them as a human being far more than nearly anyone I have ever met in  the flesh, and their concerns and fears are my concerns and fears, even if I am unable to express this.

The second was forged in a rush of feelings; attraction, sorrow it wasn't shared, admiration for their drive, remorse that it had to end so quickly. If not for the fact we only had two weeks, perhaps this friendship would have never even formed; given a deadline, what we had to say came out in a rush with little time to think about if it was awkward. The pain of it being taken away is perhaps rooted to the same thing that brought it to fruition, and though it was short I learned much and experienced more than I had before. It was the first time I can recall anyone sharing something "private" with me, and only the second time I had put the "real", raw me out for another soul to see. As cliché as it is, what I found in this closing door has opened my eyes to the possibility that other doors may be opening and I just have to reach out and find them.
[/spoil:2wtlntzm]

I might work more on this if I feel inspired to.
"A little science distances you from God, but a lot of science brings you nearer to Him." - Louis Pasteur

Solomon Zorn

Quote from: "mykcob4"Fishing Village
by Myke

For out on a distance toils the men,
Pulling the nets each day.
They venture beyond sight as day begins,
Nothing but sea in their way.

They commune their thoughts,
They share their dreams,
They feel each others pain.

And seagulls mark their wake,
Cascading closer they come.
Marking the boats take,
Hoping that they share in some.

And they commune their thoughts,
And share their dreams,
And feel each others pain.

On the shore the women wait,
For men and boats to come home.
They hope all are safe,
And they'll not go home alone.

And they commune their thoughts,
And share their dreams,
And feel each others pain.

Everyday is the same,
Of the men, the birds, and women.
A labor of love and need,
Of lives among them.

Communing their thoughts,
Sharing their dreams,
And feeling their pain.

The village sleeps for now,
Rest sorely needed.
By light they'll arise,
And their task will be heeded.

They'll commune again,
They'll share again,
And agian feel each others pain.

For the village lives to be,
An interwoven community.
A place knowing each,
And each knowing,

Their thoughts,
Their dreams,
And their pain.
I just re-read this poem and realized that I never gave it the proper respect. Great poem, Myke!
If God Exists, Why Does He Pretend Not to Exist?
Poetry and Proverbs of the Uneducated Hick

http://www.solomonzorn.com

Solomon Zorn

Shiranu, I like what you've written there. It is very poignant. It could easily be a poem.

There is a writer's thread: viewtopic.php?f=6&t=811  but it hasn't had any posts in awhile.
If God Exists, Why Does He Pretend Not to Exist?
Poetry and Proverbs of the Uneducated Hick

http://www.solomonzorn.com