So I thought to myself "What is this forum missing? It has very vague sub-forums so the topics can be pretty much endless...so how about add some forms of art in here?" So that's when I thought about adding my personal form of art (the only kind that I'm somewhat good at); poetry!
Din
Red with fire burned by hate,
tell me goddesses what's my fate.
Goddess of fire, power, and land,
it's your symbol on my hand.
Give me the strength to subdue this foe,
so I can conquer with this final blow.
Now I don't know if any of you have ever heard of "Battle Arenas" in forums, but it's essentially a battle of each other's writing skills. Anywho, for my "Battle Arena" warrior, I wanted to create some sort of Battle Prayer that he would say from time to time to pump himself up, and this is a small poem I created for him.---------------------------------------------
Valentine Letter
I got your letter just the other day.
Sorry for no response, I didn't know what to say.
I'm glad you got the Christmas card, though it was rather late.
I'm also glad you've been spending time with your Irish mate.
I'm sure the bovine were a bucket load of fun,
I've been lucky to be with friends before the day was done.
My address and phone number haven't changed,
but my priorities in life have been rearranged.
I've found myself looking at schools near a Boston street,
but what I've found were DJs for the wedding's fancy beat.
No need to say "Thank you, friend" I knew that all this time,
I couldn't find a word for "jealous" in this silly rhyme.
I'm not jealous of him, it's more of what you two share,
a love so grand that three years time could still never tear.
I'll hold you to that promise when you move to a different land,
and you better tell me when a certain Irish man takes your hand.
It's not that I've lost my voice, or have become shy,
it's for I have not much to say, or a reason why.
There really shouldn't be a reason to just call a friend,
however I'm afraid who will pick up on the other end.
I'd like to hear the soft voice who is ever so sweet,
rather than a burly man who I'd never like to meet.
I'll leave the calling to you my friend,
Hence I'll be waiting on the other end.
I must be going now, there isn't much to say,
but bless you and your family on this Valentine's Day.
Now here's a poem/letter I sent to my ex-gf/friend. FYI: the "Irish man" is her old boyfriend who she decided to go back to (after she dumped me...). And why I'd not like to meet him? He has this prejudice against Dominicans (which I am) and pretty much all dark-skinned minorities overall (because of an incident that happened to him years ago) so I just rather not be in his line of vision...---------------------------------------------
Seasons' Treasure
The white fog,
The black trees,
made me come to a stop.
As I glanced at the glass pond,
I saw two people.
One wasn't me.
Her icy blue eyes looked at me,
while Dawn's light shined on Her face.
Her eyes became the Sun and the Moon.
Dawn climbed the mountain and woke the town,
The banks were painted in gold from Her Autumn hair.
Her Spring dress gave Morning's chill a rest.
As I watched the Dawn with Her,
they filled my heart with the Summer's sun
I looked to the left.
No one was there but a wisp of fog at my side.
I continued,
searching. . .
This poem was about a girl I had a huge crush on during High School. The poem is talking about her beauty, and also how I had to move on from her. She was there for a brief moment in my life, but I just had to continue searching for my "one true love"...that is, if you believe in that sort of thing.---------------------------------------------
Dreaming Soul
A dream to come pass through everyday thought,
a dream to hope upon as to hope a sun shines in an eye.
For the heart dreams more than the night ...
a soul more than the heart.
Empty is the soul that dreams.
For time is the giving and taking of all,
and time is what holds all of dreams.
Dreams of which yesterday linger till today ...
dreams of which tomorrow phases to present ...
eternally a soul that dreams.
Empty is the soul that dreams.
In the passing of time all will happen ...
the coming of destiny ...
passing becomes modern history.
All will fall where needed ...
all will fall for the soul that dreams.
Empty is the soul that dreams.
I honestly can not remember when I did this poem...and knowing that would give me a better understanding of what I was talking about. In the past, I have found myself writing poems half asleep (when I get a good idea, I do pretty much anything to get it out of my head and written down somewhere...and I'm serious because I have the worst memory in the world) so this may be one of those cases. But what I do understand (of my own poem) is that people's dreams (as in life long goals, not sleeping images) are always thought of, but many people don't do much to try to achieve it.---------------------------------------------
A poem that is still in working progress...maybe you can help me find a name for it
Write in the moonlight, underneath the stars
while the children gather fireflies in crystal jars
Teach them constellations of beasts and Gods long ago
about Corvus, the Hydra, and the angry Apollo
Guide them through the stars to always make their way home
to find their mother, whom was born from the foam
Knowledge is something that no one can take away
teach methods of the past so they can forever stay.
Look through the scope where philosophers gaze
up towards the heavens where wonders still amaze.
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Please tell me what you think of my poems, and please feel free to share some of your very own.
-BGS
