The diamond disco

[true_noir_chloe]

Another wonderful poem, Icarus. ^_^ Ahhh, I sit in bliss when I'm able to read one of your poems. Thanks again.

[ShiroiHikari]

I just now wandered into this thread...you're really good at this, Icarus. I was never gifted with poetry -_-;

[Icarus]

Just when I think it's time to start sending them to Chloe in PM, some one else posts. Thank you for reading, ShiroiHikari.

/*[indent]"What if some one calls us 'A pair o' pathetic peripatetics?'"
"I don't think anyone takes the time to rhyme their insults."
"Well, shouldn't we have a ready retort?"[/indent] */

Randomly wand'ring,
strolling down suburban streets,
walking on a whim.

Feet following thought
traveling strange byways to
an uncertain end.

Retracing their path,
following a rail to its
junction, changing course.

Stalking a slim path,
they join another mid-step,
turning at odd times.

The feet trace a pattern:
cubist artwork on pavement,
rambling ever on.

The wanderings end.
The mind ceases activity
as the feet head home.

/* - */ From Calvin and Hobbes.

Extremely off topic, but /* - */ looks like a girl with pigtails standing in the breeze.

[Rachel]

cool beans, jonny.

[Icarus]

The bass walks,
providing a path
that the rythm will follow

The drummer kicks in
widening, elaborating,
preparing the trail for what will come.

The pianist comps sparingly,
throwing chords
to the coming solo.

The Bugler comes,
briefly treading the path
before stiking out alongside.



Terminology
A walking bass is when it plays on every beat, not just two and four. Comping is the pianist just playing the chords with out a melody.

[Zilch]

Nice....

[true_noir_chloe]

Do you play jazz music, Icarus?

I like your last two. I forgot I had to come and comment, because I read them on my email and just... forgot. *duh*

Pigtails in the wind. *hahaha* LOL Your mind wanders as much as mine, possibly more.

Speaking of more, post more, more!!!

[Icarus]

Speaking of more, post more, more!!!

[color=royalblue]... I tell you. More!*


Downed by the Count

Ten minutes until the show.
His signature horn onstage,
the Bugler sits in the audience,
listening to swing as the
crowd converses.

The noise stifles my attempts at rhyme.
Without his trumpet,
the Bugler begins to solo,
creating an island where none intrude.

While I transcribe, he plays]

[Rachel]

yet another good one icky. hehe. and just what is that supposed to mean, by way of ConvoyButterfly? that is not my name! my name is convoybutterfly! get it right or i'll shave off what little hair you have while you're asleep tonight! but i digress...cool poem.

[Icarus]

I'll get your name right when you get my name right.

Tell me if the following quote sounds familiar: "More. More, I tell you! MORE!"

[Rachel]

nope i'm not hearing any bells. and hey how are you online at the same time as me?

[true_noir_chloe]

I was wondering the same thing.

*haha* my favorite brother/sister team are on together. Icarus I have to say that you wrote another swingin' winner. Have you been listening to jazz a lot these days, or music in general? Thanks for writing another one. More, more, I say MORE!

[Icarus]

None yet.

How are we on at the same time? The computer lab at school. I assumed that convoy was on the one at Rider, but she was at home. There was a rather large storm yesterday, and the power was down at her school.

Jazz swings. I'm taking Jazz/Rock appreciation right now, and we just finished the jazz portion. I really don't care about the rock, but it's a package deal. Oh, Downed by the Count was written on the 2nd, before, during, and after a performance by "the swingingest big band around," The Count Basie Orchestra. Oh, so swing.

My idiom is spreading.

[Rachel]

somehow i get the impression that you don't like it when i call you icky. i don't see why. it's soo cute. just like me. hehe. anyways yes write more.

[Icarus]

Nearly a month later, and I finally have something to post. Oh, and starting on the thirtieth, dispensation is officially granted to call me "Icky."

The Bugler

There is no need to notice me. I have lived in this manner for some time, recieving recognition when I speak, but barely then. Such times are kept to a minimum, as I am uncomfortable in the lime light.

Please, let me work in peace. Give me assignments, and go away. Let me fade from your concious mind until I hand it in. Public praise is little better than public criticism, so kindly tell me in private.

Social activities. Need I even mention them? I only attend infrequently; and when I do, I either stay on the fringe, envying the socially adept, or stilling conversation with my ill-timed entries.

Please, don't let my presence annoy you, as I will soon be gone. When I do leave...

Miss me.

[true_noir_chloe]

Hi, Icky. ^_^ Nice work. I like the way you ended it.

[Rachel]

cool beans icky.

[Icarus]

{Edit: This is the final form, and what do you know, it didn't need to be changed.}


Blue.
The sky outside
is obscured by clouds,
chased across the heavens
by the same winds that
bear the gulls. Their cries
echo off the cliffs
on which the tower rests.

Blue.
Daedalus's eyes
squint as he pores
over his latest design.
His hair falls forward,
into a spot of ink.
He pushes it back,
the raven spot joining others
as the stylus continues to move.

Blue.
Icarus's coverlet shifts
as he stirs in his sleep.
Daedalus smiles at his son
in the light of the dying candle.
Tomorrow, he will ask for another
and save the drippings...

Blue.
A lone feather
in the white expanse
that his father hands him.
The waxen frame yields slightly,
clinging as he shifts his grip.
Wings, to fly their cage

Blue.
The firmament surrounds them
as they launch from the tower.
The sea rushes to hold Icarus
as he hesitates. Will they work?
He closes his eyes, spreads his wings...
And tastes the sea.

Blue.
Icarus's eyes open
to stare at his reflection
as he skims the waves.
The spray weighs on the feathers
and he climbs higher,
letting the sun dry his wings.

Blue.
The feather falls.

[Kesshin]

Wow, that was great, Icarus. ^^ I like your use of font coloring. It was used effectively, and really complemented the poem.

[true_noir_chloe]

Here, here, I agree with Kesshins remarks. ^_^ I really liked this one a lot, Icarus, and it was also so educational. You are truly remarkable. ^^

[Kesshin]

Yep, remarkable is the right word for Icarus. ^^ The question is, when will we be getting more poems?

[Icarus]

How does next week sound? For once, I have an idea what I'm going to write, but before that, I need to study for my finals. My quality time with my pens has been sadly lacking since I lost my backpack. But yes, this week end should be it.

And as for the remarkable, few have applied that word to me. Many thanks.

[true_noir_chloe]

I look forward to it. ^_^ *sits and waits in anticipation*

[Kesshin]

Ditto, Chloe. *sits down next to her and waits*.

[Icarus]

Ummmm...

You may not want to. I haven't had the chance to write anything for a while, and the home pc is acting up. I'll let you two know if I have anything.

[Kesshin]

'K, Icarus. Whenever you have the time.

[Jaltus-bot]

Bump, Ok, I like this. Icarus, please write more as you get the chance.

[Icarus]

The sad thing is that I started this back in May.

He walks through the crowd, noting peoples reactions, topics of conversation, and where they are going. He steps inside the big top, taking in the laughing faces before gazing at the clown.

It's a simple act. A boulder is rolled up a hill only to have it fall back down. The clown uses sticks to prop it up. Failing, he digs a hole, but the rock breaks his lever as he forces it in.

At this point, the manager leaves, knowing it will end with the "boulder" bouncing among the crowd. The skit was never intended to do more than keep visitors entertained while the main act was readied.

He travels to another tent, greeting those who he meets, and pausing just insidet the door. Another skit, this time a war. The causulties are as numerous as the pies that fill the air. The clowns fall as they are hit, but for one. Curiously, he stands, though covered in meringue. Spurning a volley, the hero turns for more ammunition, only to fall as a missile hits his foot.

Mimes. They did their best to prohibit it, but a careful count would reveal fourteen milling in the small space. Another would emerge from the center, stalking among them. He radiated from the center, taking lives in silent shrieks with a fearful feather. The pattern coninued, a fresh set of fourteen being brought each time the preceding was decimated. Finally, there was one mime that stood out from his hapless, clueless brethren.

[Jaltus-bot]

*interesting *goes off to ponder later.*

[true_noir_chloe]

hmmmmm, ponders, and then thinks Icarus has been very introspective lately. 0_o

I hate to say what I think this means because if I'm wrong I will be very stupid, and if I'm right... well, "how have you been feeling lately, Icarus?" *hehe* ^__^;;;

You're writing however, is superb as always. I hope you keep posting more stuff now. *pokes Icarus*