CAA: Christian Anime Alliance

This is my thread for my poetry, past and present. I'll put some up as I find what works...but right now, enjoy "Dust And The Moon".


"Dust And The Moon"

Chalky breath drifts by the moonlight,

A mound of dirt reaches higher into the sky.

Look at the elegant moon! She drifts in content and beauty,

While this pile of earth is but a lowly hill.

But if unworthy is this lowly hill staring at his beloved moon

Than so deem I my eyes lifted to your face

Which trapped in light escapes me.

“Fling The Seraphâ€

"You Seem So..."


You seem so confused.

You seem seem so conflicted.

The idle gesture of suffering hands

or the brief caresss of a stealers kiss

made bright by the light

or made dark in the night.


You seem to fall apart.

You seem to be leaving.

The blackest abyss stretches out before you

the hungriest of stomachs embraces you now

suffering made right

or matyrdom in the Fight

You Seem To Be....

Gone.

You Seem To Be..

Alone.

I watch you escape to a grey life

I alone witness you jump

pushing the winds as your frame breaks barriers

or punishing your corpse as it fondles the earth.


You Seem To Be....

"Do You?"


Do you fall like a girl?

Or breathe like a stormcloud?

Do you drink like a window pane

that is, never suffering the rain?

Drip down the certain text

that flows like tap waters out of your mouth

it is the dragon inside of your appendix

composing epic verse for a certain sect.

CAN I TOUCH YOU?

Or will you break into sans existance?

If I could hold you down

in the waters of your christening

would you die?

would I drown?

Do you kiss like a picture?

do you caress like a sermon?
[
Do you pretend like a child, or Like the maddened man?

CAN I MAKE YOU FEEL?

Or would that misuse your cold exterior?

If I could make you sing

would your porcalean vocal cords shatter?

China doll, can you feel my hands across your spirit?

Or is it just the earthly embrace your needing?

Believing in the need to breathe

only limits your flying ability

don't desecrate your impresario style

you're too meaningful for a life in prison

a saint too eager for vaudevillian aftermaths

the stage of petty theaters and broken barstools isn't your home.


Can I?

Could You?

Would You Even Know How To?

Is It All Right?

IS IT?


Do you live?

Do I?

Did You Dream?

Did you...die?

I tried to compose a mamba,

But all I got were symphonies.

Why is no one reading this?

Working Title: Thoughts on Bikes At Night.

I am a child peaking through doorcracks under portals marked father;

My view of the heavens is obstructed by roads of telephone wires:

the night throws unseen things at my eyes.

Earlier today

I saw children play

I viewed the quintessintial "Odd Couple", the Old Couple

A gruff man, the picture perfect of the Honest Elder

A scented woman, the homage to the Grand Mother.



Today I ate a philosophers lunch:

That is, I gave sweet nothings away

and saved the firmer things for myself.

"Generic Geriatickan Ramblings"


When will you leave me again?

Chain gangs of love slaves

Crying out their lust for you

As wardens of warring emotion keep them in check

To continue their indentured existence in your honor



You give your moments away like diamonds

Your hours like hordes of precious jewels

There is not a second that is wasted.


When shall I have an original tongue?

A voice that you did not give me?

I stole my voice from Apes and Angels

From the angles of authors I took my cadaverous speeches

Corpselike in their antiquity and in their use


A better zombie for discussion than discovered in recent days.

If there is anything the Esoteric does not spoil in its essence

It is lost in the ether of subways and byways outside of existence

Less the truly fantastic come to be present in the skin.


Your droning voice is an ocean of fallacy banging like hands on the door of self

The spoiled waters of your spirit smash against the dry rock, thirsty for foolishness

I speak of liquid superstition and silent convictions that lose distinction in the haze-maze

Of your soul, till they become bread and doctrine.

Why is no one reading my poetry anymore?

I like your poetry, Zarn, but I'm never quite sure what to say to poems. "I like your poetry" is a lame comment; not being very good at poetry myself, I can't exactly give constructive criticism. I suppose when I have time I might explicate one of them like we have to do in my literature or philosophy classes, but when would I get a chance to do that?

So, for now, I say: I like your poetry Zarn. Really. Thumbs up for you!

Don't worry about offending me, Animus. To be honest, it's only a source for my self-agaggrandizement. I just enjoy hearing people say they like my poetry, and try to figure it out.

So yeah, pretty shallow and what not, but its what gets me through. Like those witty one-liners superheroes throw off all the time, it keeps me from buckling under the stress of it all.

"The Ruins of Me-Tower"


I poke about through the ashes, trying to see something wanting of worth.

The citadel burnt, they say...much to the dismay of carpenters, whose work had only recently found done as it had stood high, so high.


But now the brick layers will come, and the carpenters will come, and they will clean away the ashes, they will put away the rubble, and they will rebuild the Home again.

but Layers are gone

the carpenters are dead

and this tower burnt down many years ago

in the end

all that we realized

was so much a witches cackling

so much wizard contortionism

so much blood mixed with brewskies in an attempt to find love.


But still some noble stone resides

built from blocks of fire and time

the water fondles the thirsty rock with a tongue of iron green.


I am alone now

an Old Man

I poke through the ashes

the ashes of My Citadel

and I give thanks that I survived

yet all my family fell.



Now it lies, burnt away

and Now I die alone

sleeping in a field of hay

neath the barrow stones



I buried my sisters and my brothers there

and my mothers too

but the hardest one to commit to Earth

was the sacrifice of you.


Now I rest 'pon castle rock

bones of fortresses too soon dead

one day another shall find this house

though all spirits within have fled.

"Mika Remembers"
(Or, Mars Towards Earth)



“Encircled planet of ivory and green,

home of dwelling, children there

my loft which spun through sacred space.

‘lease my childer now from them

to defend the shatter soul of man-life

now the purpose put ‘pon self

I shall give life-new to the scattered birds.â€

You know, I'm really beginning to hate this thread. I get alot of views, but no one comments. EVER. So I think I'm going to stop posting in it, and post singular works like I used to. That being said, here is my next work.



For you Poetry-Core kids out there in discotopia.

I will explain none of this, most likely. It’s deeply personal. But I will let you agonize over its undoubtedly secret, sacred meanings. Have fun, wringing your hands and all that.


I wrote this in my own style, naming each particular paragraph, or section of thought…. I really, honestly, truly don’t care what poetry teachers call it, that’s just the definition that works best for me. In this style, something I may humbly claim, a poem is made up of sections, these sections having their own theme, which itself is apart of a greater harmony. My older poems are very reminiscent of this.

Anyway, enjoy.

"Heart Seasons"



“The Innocent Springâ€

I really like your poems; (yeah, using that line; but it's true!) they remind me of the feel that I get when I'm in a thoughtful, poetic mood, and see things in a new way. You put really good words to ideas and feelings. Sorry if this comment is rather lame.

I think feedback is something we all want/need. It's good; helps us to grow and encourage us. Unfortunately, a lot of people don't give feedback either because they're not sure what to say, don't have anything to say, or just can't be bothered. And unfortunately, when you don't get any feedback, you don't realise that people have actually been reading and enjoying what you've written.

I think you're a very good, competent poet, Zarn; I've seen a lot of your poetry around, and I like what I see. Although I have to say I'm more partial to shorter, more descriptive pieces like the first poem you posted on this thread about the moon. Ones that I can see where you're coming from, your perspective, and undersand and empathise with it, are easier to read; I don't get so confused as to what is happening. I also like the way there often seems to be a note of Christianity within your poems. ^^

A long thread can be harder to read just because, for me, I don't like to read a lot of poetry at once; whereas shorter threads can pile up, if you post a lot of poems. Anyway, do what you think's best. See how it goes.

Thanks alot Photosoph. Even something as simple as "I like your poetry" really means alot to me, and your honest commentary doubly so. As for writing shorter pieces, I do those on occasion, but I'm a lover of "Epic" poetry, grand, sweeping stuff...the High Classical Romance and the true roots of english poetry. Modern, Post-Modern, these are all interesting, and I've experimented with free-verse and wierd formatting, but in the end, I always come back to romance.




Anyway, because you commented, you get a previously unrealeased verse from one of my fave poems! Just don't pm it around, since I haven't decided to put it in or not.

I like your poetry.

Haha, haha.......funny.

All right, lets just wade on in.





"Tears Breaking Jars Of Clay and Other Absurd Swellings Of Engendered Emotion"
(Or, Jumping on the ridiculously long title train cus it's fun.)

"Can I cry into you?


Will you hold every tearstain like a present,

Every cry like a gem?


I cannot fathom

your hands inside me

you twist the empty vessel, lacking in blood

the frozen heart within me.


Yet you twist me still

killing my love and taking my will

you are not the Farther Flame,

the one who I desired.

IDOL! You are the broken thing

I have constructed you in my foolishness

the alter of my romance is scattered with the seeds of perversion


To the winds I throw you! Release me! I cannot bear your burden stone anymore.

Leave me! You golem of atrocities, I will not care for you again! Find your purpose in the shiftless sands, for I will not feed you anymore of my falselove, not again, you heartbound Chimera.


I shifted in the green fields;

you were the spring maidens reflection

I stole you from the shatterpools

the gathering of the rain.


Can I help the chaos of this poem?

Only you who scattered all my writings

Can answer my beggings.


How do I escape you? I made you! I made you in me.


And now even the sorrows fade, leaving me blackened

the ashes of a false desire cover my head with fear-shame

Do not call me a ridicule

But a blasphemy against your name, flickerflame.


I can ridicule you

I can cling to you

I can hate you

But I cannot destroy you, Flicker flame.


Death

But never for you. Only for me...My blasphemy, my half dark ecstacy, my bloody, my broken, my beautiful flickerflame.



The end will be as a dead thing, the same as the beginning."

Alright, Lets change the station to something better.


"Tai's Answering Machine"
(The Telephone Drones Like The Saxaphone)


"I would currently like

to transcribe to you

the emotional train I am already feeling.


Currently

I am.....


EMO! SELF LOATHING! MANIC! PANICKING! FIGHTING MY OWN DELUSIONS, MY SELF CONCLUSIONS OF A DAEMONIC SELF REVELRY MADE OF MADNESS!


Now

I would like to describe to you

the theme upon which I am running.


Now, I am...

INSANE! GIDDY! CHEMICALLY EMBALANCED! POETICALLY DISENCLINED! HATEFUL! HAPPY! DRUNK ON STEREO PSEUDOYNISMS! CRAZY!



I would like to try

to justify

the lack of poetic langauge in this certain epic verse-mart.


But I can't.



*Beep!*

Excuse for poet. here.






"Titular Existance Asserts Itself Here"
(I Am Annoyed With The Sound Of Wire-Taps)



Look.


I'm really tired of guiding you through the psycho-semantics embraced by fanatics who all wear the faces of me.

SO I'll drop the lingo, pick of the ring, dance, sing, do the monkey, whatever it is I'm supposed to be doing.

But I'm broke, so I think I'll take a toke

Of that good stuff, that strong stuff

What men call Music and women call Coke.


yes, a drug reference

But I don't smoke dope


My addictions are car crashes of sound attacking your ears.

Is it good enough?

DO I care?


Look, Heres the deal.


I'm crazy, behind the wheel


of a dish of a disaster called life.

yes, I sow strife!


Not a melody, nor love for the wife

'Cus I'm rejected, I appear unnefected

but I am Infected instead!


This isn't a song, nor a melody

insult me on the harmony

this is just a heresy

I cooked in my spare time.


It is SUBLIME!


Nah,

It's a mess of a melody

Or did I say it wasn't

Not half a line ago?


No, this doesn't qualify as poetry;

I mean look at me

I've become nothing more than a place to go.



So this location with an unhealthy fixation is moving away now

just remember to bump

and leave a message of your existance after the last Trump.


YAY!"

Chaotic, but cool poems. With the first one: "Tears Breaking Jars Of Clay and Other Absurd Swellings Of Engendered Emotion" (Or, Jumping on the ridiculously long title train cus it's fun.) I feel I can empathise: so many things you desire end up twisting and burning you. Perhaps the subject is most clear in the line: 'my half dark ecstacy'. Very cool description there. ^^

I can really feel your state as you write the poems; the mood comes through really well. I can't say it's the happiest of moods though; so I hope things go well, and better, for you; in your life and in your writing.

All the best!

Title: Written To A Black Parade Song



A broken soldier, you're existential by rote

theres always more to handle than you can emote

so you bang barstools and bellhops to try and get by

with your impossible dreams and your helloGod sky

this black ichor redemption, it's such a good drag

you'll smoke your contrition, it's such a good gag

and when drowning in puddles of your make-believe blood

don't call me to answer, just create your own flood



If others could build you they'd tear you apart

like taking a mortal and then making them art

but these would-be picassos all like to play tag

but with black blades and gunshots, all ready to shag

In your doll-like contempt, I won't serve you tonight

my words, they are sleeping; their the ones that don't bite

but if you remember to hand in your dreams

re-tailor your soul; I can see through the seams



So if your black heart redemption won't serve you tonight

Then come on my brother; I'm the one that won't fight

I'll mourn you and grieve you as ever you need

and I'll be at you're side to wave goodbye when you leave


because family is family, no matter what you say

and everyone gets angry but we don't stay that way

so if in hell you must stay, to hell will I go

till the caverns of fire are filled up with snow.

Wow. Amazing words. I could understand and relate with some of the points/ideas mentioned, though others went over my head. That's not a bad thing, though; gives more to think about and ponder and really discover when re-reading it. Gives it depth.

If I remember correctly, you've done this in your other work but I'd like to point it out again: your choice of words and just the way you express ideas and everything (gah wish I could say it better) is really, really good. Excellent poetry, Zarn.

So, I probably should explain...I was inspired to change my name. So I'm changing it. To De Luit. As in, I'm going to change my name on CAA. Yeah.



Holy hearts are underwater

Hesitating spirits play ‘neath the waves

The currents move to the sound of the beat

The hearts-tides wash away the shores of control.


Splayed across the sand of ages

A brittle castle purchases the rock midst the salty sea

Upon the crag of pain did we build ourselves a house

Away from the bitter seas, standing on the thirsty rock

The hands of the ocean beaten back by the bone-strength of mountains.


Search the sea-lands for a shelter

Hide your spirit ‘way in the bought stone

In the imported mountains

Find your way ‘way from the unforgiving waters

The waters that consume laughter, hearth, and final home.


De Luit, “Life As An Ocean Sceneâ€

The gods are drunkenly dancing round the sign of the cross

I hope that by catching their spittle I may distill to the essence

Some of that raw waking worship brought humbly from their lips

I am a heathen, cavorting

Twisted positions

Wrought with incongruity

Writhing chorus of snakes do sing praise

We scream to the Heavens
With our ten dollar Kasio key-boards

Our mewling voices

We shout awake to the skies

We offer ugly praises to our Lord.

Primality

Is it also Animality? Are we just beasts?

If so, let us be beasts of worship and praise.



Is there any merit praising in a beastly fashion?

Can primal screaming be contorted to become holy praises?

Can we dance out our ugly dramas before the Lord

Will he smile?


Or will we die trying?

"Ugliness In The Hymnal", De Luit.


(I wanted to experiment with something I realized during "A Hermit's Summit": Provoking ungainliness to create imagry. Now, I'm not particularly prone to that kind of worship myself, and I disagree with elavating that sort of thing to the same level as regular praise and worship, but some people just do it differently. I would hope that praise like that would be just as pleasing to the Lord, and I believe I'm right.

Come, come, O Caliphan! Ride upon your gilded horse!

Dance with me, O Caliphan! Prance upon the wooden corpses

The endless forests broke by ‘true stone!

The body sails the ocean

On the dead we stand

But forget with you your macabre ruminations

Dance with me, O Caliphan!


Master Caliphan went down to town

And found himself a brickle-bush

He tore it up and threw it down

Until the prickles bit his tush.

The Master’s Cave is Bric-a-brac

The gilded king finds a pawn

A teacher of the old camaraderie

Like the Oxford don at dawn!

So come oh Master Caliphan

Stranger king, the strangest man

With your gilded horse come ride

Or we’ll be gone with the next tide.

De Luit, “Caliphan, Ocean-boundâ€

Hmmm....I love your poetry, Zarn. You have a awesome talent of weaving words into beautiful designs. The words just flow together in harmony.
Wonderful writing as always. ^^

(I wanted to experiment with something I realized during "A Hermit's Summit": Provoking ungainliness to create imagry. Now, I'm not particularly prone to that kind of worship myself, and I disagree with elavating that sort of thing to the same level as regular praise and worship, but some people just do it differently. I would hope that praise like that would be just as pleasing to the Lord, and I believe I'm right.

I think that as long as a person's heart longs to adore, worship and bring honor to God, then their praise, even if ungainly, would be pleasing to God.

Yup, I guess the other bit about Caliphan could be good, but eh. The poem is good standing alone too.

I agree with Goldenspines. As usual your poetry is of a very high quality. You do indeed weave your words well, and I enjoy reading what you write. It's good to read more. ^_^

'De Luit'... It sounds French, but I can't indentify the word 'Luit'. Is it merely a name, or has it a meaning too? I'm guessing that the answer will be the latter, but I'm curious.

It means "Of Light"

Darn. I should've known that. >_< The word I know for lights is 'lumieres' (minus an accent, I'm sure ) but that refers to houselights, I think.
I think it's a good name. Sounds good, and the meaning of it is good too. ^_^
And 'de', of course, I recognised as 'of' . (Just needed to point out that I do indeed know some French ).