Break

I am and I'm not. I could walk past floor 13 of my halls at Uni without thinking that I am going to be murdered or something stupid like that, but then at the same time I got a pang in my stomach just because it was floor 13. Stevie Wonder seems to have got it sussed, alright.

I always thought sentences were relatively simple. They need a verb and an object. I don't think they necessarily need a subject - I know they don't need anything more in-depth, such as an extra clause or even an adjective. [i]I sneezed.[/i] This is a sentence. It has a verb ([i]sneezed[/i]) and an object ([i]I[/i]).

[URL="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-_ZEz38qC7s"][b]Cement Football.[/b][/URL] This makes me wet myself. The prank is funny, well both pranks, but the laugh... the laugh makes it. Enjoy.

Seems alright so far, it has depth at least. Try to limit your adverbs and adjectives - sometimes they are a little overused. Oh, and "a while" is two words, not one. ;) PS. I thought Rukin was "Ruskin" at first. Deary me..

For sheer endurance, well done. Work on grammar, it's so important to writing. :)

It sounds alright so far. A few problems with grammar, but carry on. Use more adjectives, it'll make it come to life more.

[QUOTE=sahkiryce][FONT=Arial Narrow][COLOR=DarkRed]Unfortunately, I'm not a real expert with sonnets, nor have I really constructed any, just maybe a few "pseudo-sonnets", so I can't really give any worthy criticism. And well, I felt like leaving a compliment rather than just criticism, because in truth, I read it over, and I can't find anything wrong. That's just how I see it. I can just say that I enjoyed reading this. I could picture the sea right in front of me. I really love this line "To float in frightful calm and drone" really really love that line. Hah perhaps the reason why I am liking this poem right now is because you have captured my mood at the moment.[/COLOR] [/FONT][/QUOTE] Haha. Well perhaps I have. And thank you. It's a Petrachan Sonnet. Look it up on Wikipedia or something :P

[size=1]This is a sonnet that I wrote. Comment if you like, or just read it. Or stop reading here, alternatively. :)[/size] Sonnet XXIII (If Cradles Are Our Ships) A sea more perilous I ne?er did see, That tossed and threw its waves like cliffs of stone Which loom above and teeter with a groan, Then fall and set their flailing tendons free; The foam dispatches hulls and leaves debris To float in frightful calm and roaring drone, Before the fragments of the boat are bone ? The mast a spine to drift on silently. If in the morning on the shore I?ve stood To cast a gloomy eye upon the wreck, Then I have lived unwholesomely and should, To prove myself, stand proud upon the deck. If cradles are our ships, all stuffed with down, Set mine off out to sea and watch me drown.

Gosh, that does sound quite crazy, if that is the buzz word of the topic. I am one of those kind of crazy exes, but not to that extent. I'm over doing that kind of stuff now, it's immature I suppose. I do regret doing some of it though, because I think maybe things could have been fixed if I didn't act like such an idiot! Oh well. Life goes on! :) And no, no crazy exes. Although there have been some... just crazy girls really. Ones that scare. :animeswea

Written a few more poems in my time. Feel free to criticise. ------------- Ennui Boredom has arrived, a woman drenched in torpor, Clinging to the skin like spent smoke and oily water. She, as girls do, holds on tight ? but maliciously, Gripping at our throats, a danger that we cannot fix. We laze; do nothing else in otiosity, And in adumbral, sluggish waters of the Styx We find ourselves sinking, feeling drawn and quarter?d. Ah! It calls; we hear thee scream at us, wretched bitch! Screeching siren! Harpy! Now we lie in your ditch. We, unslak?d, are bound to thee in wicked marriage, The ring bites into our nude and aching fingers. Captive and in grey thoughts, void of all privilege, We begin to fret that this evil cloud lingers Over us all, what a thought! Scared; we shake and twitch. I would that this gripping shadow?d make me cuckold, So I can shake these forced vows I?m made to hold. Cheat, and lie, and fornicate your ennui elsewhere, I have no wish in years to stay with thee so trapt; I?d rather leave thee to thyself without a care, But duly, here at my door it?s standing so wrapt In warmth and blankets, to keep out the awful cold. The vagrant slattern is now at my check?d mercy, She?s trudged through biting snows and show?d no courtesy. I throw the ring that?s bound me to dark, with a cry Out into the freezing air of a winter?s day, And shout to the hag who?s made me so bored and wry, ?Spinster! Thou cannot choose what thou might have to say, For I?ve overcome thee and thy wretched heresy.? With that I?d watch?d the bitch turn?d out upon her ear, Knowing Ennui the Strangler would not again be near. ------------------------------ The Duellist The duellist used to wander thus, The clouds he loved would wander thus Without a partner, paired with nowt. His days were vague, to none devout He prayed, nor praised; thereof the clouds Would so as he, make rain like dust Upon his head From walks to waits long dead. He?d lay a threat, a dare, to all Who?d let him speak so fine to all. With merry words he?d coax a crowd To step to him with gloves, and proud ? But hotly tempered, quick to rage ? With genteel tone announce and call Themselves by crest, To nation home atest. At dawn they meet in bleary light, A pair of men in bleary light, Esteem?d to lay his foe to ground With duellist?s shot ? the sweetest sound. And now the wind around them blows; The calm predicts the lightning fight As each doth pace. By ten each heart doth race. The duellist stepped his heavy steps, So light in heart with heavy steps, Each one a giant?s stride ? so loud. As ?round the gun his palp didst prowl, With skill he moved ? ne?er felt he cow?d ? With stealth, but from the trigger kept ?Till ten came by, When ?round whipped he acry. A wild shot, a solemn slump: Down one man fell in solemn slump. The duellist felt relief and bow?d, Could not elate, nor feel e?er proud. Again his thoughts start to confound. He wonders why he feels in sump And walks away To trials and dismay. He wanders still, the lonely man, He looks ever a lonely man. Where could his comfort be ? the clouds? Those mirrors floating high, encrown?d By glories of the father sun? He wants an end that means a thing, No endless stretch Of road for such a wretch; An end that he can sing. ---------------------------------------------------------

[color=darkorange]Count down. Count me in just fine. Count me in 3/4 time. Count the grains of sand. Hold me in your hand. Count those grains. Forget those pains. Watch this glass fill, Waste time, time-kill. Count me in 4/4 time. Time is gone, that's fine. No sound. Count down.[/color]

[size=1][font=franklin gothic medium]grey and white and white and white and white and black and mono-tone and thunder-zone and mono-chrome and super-chrome and "shine that dome" and black and white and win the fight and sleepless night and white and black and silent night and "mom is back" and six-string-brain and bring the rain and curse the plane and keep me sane and stay insane and black and grey and stay inside and run and hide and in my mind and nowt to say and far from play and two-bird-stone and mono-tone and white and grey and white and white and "what-to-say" and i am night and i am grey and i've lost sight in monochrome today.[/size][/font]

It sounds good, the rhythm and everything I get. I am not familiar with the band Rush, no, lol, but I take it that you've used some of the song names to create the poem. If so, that's very good; I find it hard to write something when I [i]have to[/i] add things in, but you seem to have done a good job of it! One thing that does irk me a little about this Ode to Rush is that there are no full stops anywhere! I will let it slide if it is [i]supposed[/i] to be like that, if not, try not to do it so much because if I tried to read that aloud I'd need a respirator. Other than that... ...Well done; I like it. Do an Ode about something everyone will get! =p

[QUOTE=Mitch]For the record, some of these are more prose than poetry. First off, the format is that of prose. Especially the first one you posted seems more like prose than a real poem - especially in the way what you're saying is presented. Maybe it'd be to your advantage to actually use stanzas and lines, which are obviously what poetry is? I don't know. I understand the desire to be different, to try something else out. I went through a stage where I wrote blurring the lines between what's poetry and prose - what I'd best sum up as "prosetry." I could show you some if you'd want, Break. Specifically, one piece I made, "gargoyle," I love to this day, and think packs power.[/QUOTE] Well thank you for your criticism and praise, I didn't think that the waltzy was very good myself. Why is that when you spend more time on something you end up killing it? lol, [b]I[/b] was spur of the moment! I've just 'translated' both the decent poems into stanzas and lines, and they look a great deal prettier. I did want to be different, but I was sort of too lazy to sort it out into lines etc. because I had the rhythm and sense in my head. But now that they're in stanzas and stuff now they [i]do[/i] look a lot better. I converted another prose type thing into stanzas; it is more personal and less general than the others I have shown so far, so hopefully it will be "powerful" and not so "forgettable" =p ________ [b]XXI[/b] The smell of another tragic love story Hit her as she entered the room. It reeked of light and dark, Of Heaven and Hell, Of opposites, Of positive and negative, East and West, Of the poles of the earth. Snow-capped desires like frigid peaks Here jutted out through a mountain range Of thresholds and boundaries ? Every risk was a sheer drop; Every dare a smiling face with no footholds. A fall to death Marked the end of a struggle, A battle against the elements And Fate And Time. Ascension came to those who had earned it, Though all thought they should have Through their ice picks, boots, Sunglasses and winter coats: ?Morituri te salutant? And they did. The mountain stared back with not even a word, Knowing silently that none would reach the top, That they would all succumb to the cold And freeze to death on those old peaks. They would stick To their own pathetic advances As she turned the cold shoulder, Snow beating down on their frozen gazes. They daren?t smile, As it would fracture their tired, worn faces, Like the old marble floors Left for time to consume. And as she surveyed the room, Petals on the floor glowed with warning; The intersection of her bedroom Was alive with red-lights that said Stop, Stay, Go no further; Turn back if you want to live. It turned out that so many were blind, So many saw green, Go, Advance. She knew this, she would think As she clipped the heads from roses That littered her bed Like discarded cigarette ends. I know this. __________ Any better? Mitch: I would very much like to see your 'gargoyle' poem/prose (proem?)!

[font=franklin gothic medium][i]As I sleep I know they weep, [indent]And I, as mud and dust, keep[/indent] My promises. Before I went they gave me words, [indent]But I, as a puppet, could only[/indent] Listen to the birds. Now I sleep, and far down, deep, [indent]I am but soil, my flesh seeps[/indent] From my bones. For now they weep, but, in time, [indent]They will forget the life[/indent] That was [indent]Mine.[/indent][/font][/i]

I mainly walk around the house very nearly naked (when no one else is in of course!) and sometimes I'd dance to songs in front of mirrors and stuff. In public I don't do these things.

[FONT=Franklin Gothic Medium][size=1][b][u]Code Name / Call Sign:[/u][/b] Joseph [b][u]Gender (If Applicable):[/b][/u] Male [b][u]Location:[/u][/b] Istanbul, Turkey [b][u]Age:[/b][/u] 26 [b][u]Personal Appearance (Images are acceptable):[/u][/b] [URL=http://olegvolk.net/olegv/newsite/gungames/photographer-oleg.jpg]This is Joseph[/URL] [b][u]Personality/Behavior:[/b][/u] I'm not sure what it is, but there's just something about tonight that is making me stay up, [b]thinking[/b]. Of course, in my little hotel room, [b]the television is off[/b] and [b]I am reading[/b] a newspaper I picked up earlier. If it weren't for the constant stream of late night traffic outside [b]tonight would be quite comfortable[/b]. I am ready for the morning, the cleaners usually check the drawers, so I hide my valuables in my suitcase - under tight lock and key: [b]You can never be too careful[/b]. I'm glad that there are no customs when travelling by land, [b]I have far too much to hide[/b]. There were a few checkpoints I had to pass through, border control and all the rest of it. They didn't do much, just asked me if I had anything illegal in my car, to which I [b]calmly replied[/b], "[b]No[/b]." You'll always find young, caucasian males driving around Europe though, and the camera around my neck is [b]a guise that they all fall for[/b]. Indeed, I only got here today, but I feel already that I have accepted the new job. There is just a tense feeling in the air, I suppose. It could just be another hoax, or some wimp who just can't carry the deal through; it happens all far too often. [b]I can tolerate it[/b]. [b][u]Personal History:[/b][/u] Last night was [b]strange[/b]. The mood when I arrived in Istanbul was very tense, but, now, already, I've [b]adapted to my surroundings[/b] and had a chance to walk around the city. I'm glad that more people than I thought know some [b]english[/b], it helps a lot when getting around. It makes me think of the time when I first [b]became a photographer[/b], when I travelled out to Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia to take pictures of the amazing cityscape. With the [b]connections[/b] my family has in [b]powerful circles[/b], I was able to find a job at a popular magazine [b]back home in Moscow[/b]. It's been a very long time since I've been home; I'll always remember the day my parents sent me away to be [b]tutored in England[/b] when I was [b]six[/b]. Twenty years ago, it seems such a short amount of time... I just send the photos back to the magazine office at home, so that I don't have to waste time coming back from abroad to deliver them [b]face to face[/b]. I can't believe that I got inolved in all this [b]other stuff[/b] when I was so young - I was [b]eighteen[/b]. The [b]shooting club[/b] in England, which I belonged to whilst I was being schooled, had some [b]dark ties[/b] to.. [b]dodgy[/b].. characters. I was a [b]good shot[/b], so they recommended me to a gang that wanted to be rid of someone; I was offered a handsome reward if I did so. Despite the [b]nervousness[/b] I felt at the time, my [b]first time[/b] was not as bad as I thought it'd be. It's so [b]impersonal[/b] - not like sticking a knife into someone's gut... those are times [b]I don't like to remember[/b]. Then, if I remember rightly, that gang introduced me to another, and them to yet another, and I get [b]more and more jobs[/b]. Slowly, I become heard of much more through this.. criminal [b]grapevine[/b]. All this time has gone by so quickly, like I've [b]enjoyed[/b] it... [b][u]Special Skills or Abilities:[/u][/b] I remember all of the [b]photography classes[/b] I took in the latter years of my tutelage in England. It was there where I found what I knew would be my life's [b]calling[/b], well, that [b]and photography[/b]. A boy in my class after a lesson once asked me if I would join him at the [b]shooting club[/b] attached to the school, I wasn't, however, sure if I wanted to go. Then he, apparently having seen the [b]quality of my photographs[/b] in earlier lessons, said, "It's just like photography. [b]Point and click[/b]. Simple." So I decided to go with him. I did enjoy the shooting, and was, as [b]predicted[/b], very good at it; I became a member after my schooling finished. In letters to my parents I told them [b]all about it[/b] and they, after hearing the nature of [b]my new job[/b], sent me my first gun. My [b]first and only[/b] - the finest for only the [b]finest shot[/b]. [b][u]Player's Availability:[/b][/u] Quite often. [b][u]Thread Rating:[/b][/u] M. ______________________ I will be able to post pretty regularly, though this Sunday I go away for two weeks, come back on August 28th. I shouldn't miss too much, I hope..? At least twice a week after that! [/size][/FONT]

Can we post again...? I hope!! ___________________________ understand that i, [size=3]a fish[/size], can feed five thousand. wish that i, a king, can make the wisest decision. place bets on my feet standing on water, but don't think that i [size=3]can't[/size]. i am blondin, do you believe in me? no! i will now, with permission, fall through this canyon fall through the water. plunge pool water fall. waterfall. flash dust and here we go down again, my cardboard cutout survives! this play, on words, can be played only once. the actors expire tomorrow, so let's use 'em up fast. [size=3]save[/size] the best 'till last? save the worst. lose the saved. i, a fish, have saved [size=3]the lost[/size].

Wow, I love your analysis! Nice and in depth. First off, thank you, it's been a while since I've shown anyone any of my writing and I was worried lol - obviously I know now not to be! I prefer [b]I[/b] better than [b]XXIII[/b] myself, I think the second one just flows better. The first is not so much about relationships - though I never thought of it that way, it seems a good way to look at it - but is about war, particularly the First World War, how everyone followed orders (the idea of the waltz [orders] imprinted in someone's head - everyone's got rhythm!) and whatnot. The second, more religious one - I don't know what I was thinking, but I liked your interpretation: Change is a good subject. :) I presume it's okay for me to post another? __________ XXXI I am bread. Repent. Advent. Overdose on these fine tomes, Lent sees to it that we forget wine. Bloodlet the messiah in time, we?ll get it again. Sin. Lime. Spent are the hours, spent are their coffers and ours; spent is my charity. Faith seems to come and go like a cold. I am bold. I am bread. Hope is weighed down like lead, less done, much said. I?ve won. I?m dead. Upon this rock I have spun many a tale of woe and not failed, spoken of miracles and overcome the misery entailed. Blessed are the meek, blessed are the gullible, blessed are the weak willed so easily overcome when blood is spilled. Here are three nails. Now believe.

I don't really follow, it goes over my head really. What's the difference between metal and metalcore, for example? I don't tend to class what I listen to into any stupid genres, because a) I'm lazy and b) I don't know what half the genres mean anyway. Someone used an expression once, "Genre whore" I believe, lol. That's what I'm not.

sixteen steps away from the door we stopped and admired knelt and smelt the roses we'd doze for a while then go caught up in the flow with whatever music fit the moment, "some talent" you'd say as we sang, done up to the nines. we brang drink clear and pure as the night but foul, the taste would bite back as it ran down our throats. another step further toward salvation we picked our way through whilst you caught your dress on a thorn "lets have some more" so it was that we cleaned the bottle straight. those sixteen steps became hardest, you'd taken the bait and now i didn't want to follow through. it was new, but now it was here it became as old as crumbling graves, save your voice from me. trees and grass and leaves turned grey as we both fell onto the ground. there was no sound but that of some singing crickets. behind the white pickets we slept, neither of us in debt now.

I am British, though can track my family back to Denmark. I am, if it makes any difference at all, 1/32 Danish lol.

[quote name='Ilium][COLOR=DarkRed']I don't understand what you mean, I've studied a lot about evolution and it makes a hell of a lot more sense that humans just... were. Human Evolution probably makes the most sense. How life came to be is considerably more complicated, I don't fully understand it, but the basics make sense.[/COLOR][/quote] What, then, would be situation if one person [i]hadn't[/i] studied a lot about evolution; if they, like you, did not fully understand how life came to be, but [i]didn't[/i] have the basics, or didn't think that the basics made sense? The situation would be a belief in religion. To be honest, if someone wants to think either, that God created everything or science is the answer to everything, then that's totally cool. No one can really win, since both arguments, in my opinion, are valid.

I've [i]recently[/i] finished reading [b]Angels and Demons[/b], Dan Brown (we all know what that is about), and also [b]Birdsong[/b] by Sebastian Faulks. That is about the First World War, from the perspectives of a guy called Stephen Wraysford and another called Jack Firebrace, one is an officer and the other is a tunneler who lays down the mines underground. It's an interesting story that switches between 1914-1918 and 1978. The character in the 1978 sections is the granddaughter of Stephen Wraysford, and she tries to find out about him and stuff. It's a good read, if you like emotional war-time stuff. Another book I've recently finished is [b]All Quiet On The Western Front[/b], by Erich Maria Remarque, it's different because it gives a German's perspective on the First World War, being the only decent book about it that has come out of Germany. It is pretty much an anti-war novel in which all of the main characters die throughout the book, showing the life in the trenches, etc. (I have to read a lot about First World War works for my English Literature synoptic unit) I am [i]about[/i] to read [b]The Problems Of Philosophy[/b] by Bertrand Russell. It addresses, as the title suggests, the problems that can arise in the field of philosophy, and - says the blurb - apparantly has "never been supplanted as an approachable introduction to the theory of philosophical enquiry." In it is discussed existence of matter and its nature, idealism, knowledge, etc. Sounds pretty interesting, I'd say.

I'm quite bored so I thought I'd just post a couple of my poems on here to see what everybody thought. They're not so much poems as an unconscious flow of what comes out of my brain, but, you can be the judge of that. ________ XXIII The ballroom echoes with a waltz that anyone can follow, and this happens shortly after the music starts. The men move stiffly in their suits with the creases ironed in and the women move elegantly in their billowing nightgowns. One, two, three. They can follow the rhythm like it is printed in their heads like a set of orders. These ballroom dwellers continue to waltz outside of the ballroom, twirling through alleyways, car parks and shopping centres. A hundred years ago the ballroom was much less rich, but the decorum within it remained the same. For four years millions of men waltzed and waltzed without a partner, longing to see them. They would dance into hellfire, but not back from it. They would be burned and they cannot help it. Their partners have no idea why they are dancing, their print says to stay put and wait for them to return to a more homely ballroom. But as the men are in position they all know that this will be their last waltz, dancing alone into a hail of fire. The music of this old song came from those with no taste but plenty of romantic meaning, yet it still was imprinted within our men?s minds, like some terrible order. This order played like a stuck record until it was shattered by clashing notes, irregular, continuous and horrific. Thank God that we will never have to waltz like that, to Hell and never back. ________ I In the beginning was the word, and in the beginning was the potential, and in the beginning was the inevitable. The fall from grace, the avarice of the human race. The call for arms, the need to bring deferrers to harm. This is my time, my Psalm. My crime, my Sunday Palm, bleeding of stigmata for the Cross and the Calm. The woman in blue, the businesses interested in you. She cries a tear for every penny made in interest, for every billboard. She is best seen in her petrified state, weeping through the lacquered wood. The willow wishes, weeps if it could, before the megaton machines bear down. Saws buzzing whilst they hang ever sadder, each tree is weeping as it is felled. Fires fuelled by this bark to quell the dark of any true meanings. Laws made broken by the plague of hypocrisy, vague in truth but clear in popularity. Blindfolds and cigarettes, asleep and billowing with the smoke of skyscrapers and intersections as our line is led to the wall. ________ Comments and criticism are welcome.