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  • Rookie Cai Wei (9/10/2006 10:32:00 PM) Post reply
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    Rose is a bomb
    People with wise always claim
    Rose is a bomb
    She causes things into ruin
    Work and life
    They fade away when she’s in bloom

    When the silly tend to believe
    Rose is God
    Giving all when u feel lost
    Sending hope when u are desperate

    Oh, my rose inside…
    Has been struggling for sprout
    With passion, with desire
    With his breath watering, his smile shining

    Yet he was to be
    a man with wise so someday he found
    his wise and he claimed
    Rose was bomb
    Caused life into ruin
    Work and future into ruin

    Then, nothing left but cold wind
    dry air, and silence dark
    Then, my rose inside
    Crying without sound
    Withering without a sign

    Rose is God
    Giving all when u feel lost
    Sending hope when u are desperate
    But, where is my rose again
    Where is my rose again
    Where is my silly boy
    Caiwei,9th. Sep. China
    (looking forward to be criticized)

  • Rookie Anthony Marriner (9/9/2006 3:35:00 AM) Post reply | Read 1 reply

    Mental anguish of many hues is responsible for so much creativity. I think being able to capture the anguish and own it can help one live with it and also help loved ones understand.

    'Cloud Cover' is an attempt to do this for me.

    I don’t see myself in this. Waiting for the cloud to part and my illumination to begin.
    When I’m warm I grasp it, mania ensues. The need for clarification overwhelms me.
    I overstep the mark and your recoil begins, reciting Oppenheimer.
    Caught in the brightness, all I can do is wait for the clouds to converge.
    You walk away.
    Wanting to feel.
    Wanting to hope.
    Wanting to love.
    Cloud cover.

    Briefest of glimpses. You see me in there.
    Promethean intensity revealing what is alive, but that which can’t persist.
    A love shaped by contrast, by shade: eclipsed.
    Within my penumbra all is bleak.
    I want to emerge and unfurl-to radiate
    You remain.
    Helping me feel.
    Helping me hope.
    Helping me love.
    Cloud cover.

    Red and Black are my world’s only colours.
    Falsehoods and deceptions, contradictions overshadow what emerges inside me.
    I am at home in Diodati.
    Corrosion can be reversed but its remnants still contaminate.
    Acceptance of the haze is the beginning of purity.
    You cleanse.
    I feel.
    I hope.
    I love.
    Cloud revealed.

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    • Rookie Nicole Miller (10/3/2006 6:50:00 PM) Post reply | Read 1 reply

      I love & feel I relate with what you've written. I don't usually post replies to things and not sure what I should say, but I thought your poem was beautiful.

  • Rookie Blood Red Angel (9/8/2006 1:01:00 PM) Post reply | Read 1 reply

    i hope that yall will enjoy this

    antagonist

    I am my own worst enemy,
    a dark angel strumming my own death's chords
    Helpless against a steady self-destruction.
    Stabbing myself viciously with my self-deceiving swords:
    my words.


    I am the antagonist in my own life story.
    I hold the ropes that choke the life from me.
    I am the killer stalking in my shadows.
    I am the evil that only I cannot see.
    Me.


    I am the manic depressive
    hidden behind my mannequin grin.
    I am the darkness that thrives on isolation.
    I am the end of what I never begin.
    Again.


    I am the only one who cannot predict my fate,
    Crawling deeper into my tortured fear's lair.
    Grieving for an empty soul too far gone to save.
    Living only to reach the one thing I crave:
    my grave.

    I am the monster hiding under my bed.
    I am the nightmare lurking inside my head.
    I am the chill that runs down my own spine.
    Whose murderous grasp won't I escape in time?
    Mine.


    I am the murdering mastermind.
    I hold the chains that take my last breath.
    I end my life when I have no hope left.
    Death.

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    • Rookie Radio Head (9/27/2006 6:28:00 AM) Post reply

      how very bleak and dreary. I know sometimes it feels good to feel sorry for yourself but this sounds more like a cry for help than a poem.

  • Rookie David Gerardino (8/25/2006 10:58:00 PM) Post reply | Read 1 reply

    what comes first, bipoler or art, or both, i wonder how many poets on this sight write when it hitz, kinda like a push, or kick, good or bad, itz your ride, or some times rides, i call this THE FITZROY RIDE, IF YOUR ONE OF THEM, LET ME KNOW......

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    • Rookie Mary X (9/6/2006 11:48:00 AM) Post reply

      This is an interesting post. Bipolar can BE art.

  • Rookie Lisa Marie Mcmillion-jones (8/6/2006 2:10:00 PM) Post reply | Read 3 replies

    Hello again is this a confusion through your thoughts or is it and intelligent method of explaining your self then what is the problem? Can it be fixed and adjusted to suite everyone's taste in thoughts or is it just going to continue to be consider a race issue. Is the pattern considered jelousy or is it consider evey? What about your emotions that direct your thoughts so what is the psychical means of your intelligence that can be consider what may I ask or is it a riddle type of controls that adjust the thoughts of your personal emotional out puts as a selfish child or is it because you are wanting your own childish ways or is it not because you are racist? So why have you not shown for real the face in view of your own figure. My own music my own words of expressed vision. Is it a pattern of cycle that continue to ryme while others are just revealing not a thought for passion or is it because you have to be the way that you are? Can you get better and can others be left out of the picture or is that a secene again with a movie. Vision the thoughts of an inspired profound judgement that controls the movies in your thoughts or is it in my thought. Lisa

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    • Rookie Aldo Kraas (2/10/2007 9:04:00 PM) Post reply

      I found this very confusing When I read it Some could thhink that you are insulting than Some may think that you think that others are racist? It is not a good poem sorry This doesn't sound to ... more

    • Rookie Kelly Gemmill (10/30/2006 11:44:00 PM) Post reply

      this is a 'workshop' so i'm assuming you put this up to be commented on. I don't think this is a poem. It's not because it's written in prose form, either, because I've seen poems work that way. Th ... more

    • Rookie Radio Head (9/27/2006 6:35:00 AM) Post reply

      I like this freestyle a lot. Very fluid thoughts that got me thinking.

  • Rookie Lisa Marie Mcmillion-jones (8/6/2006 2:00:00 PM) Post reply | Read 1 reply

    So, I am different what of it and if that is not what I am stating then what about the black darkness of my skin through hispanic culture? Whom is the judger of my personal backgrounds any ways so are you god then whom are you and why do you care so much about my backgrounds that you control my life with religion. So whom is not knowing the true light of religion then. That can be what ever they are wanting to master in so whom gives you the right to be racist of a persons thoughts for their color of their skin? So, why do you exist within this life time and how come you have no color? Is it because that is what god say or is it because you were born that way, which is it your thoughts or mine throughout the disecions of whom may I ask? Lisa

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  • Rookie Lisa Marie Mcmillion-jones (8/6/2006 1:54:00 PM) Post reply

    What is a thought that governs the ability to adjust to reasons of communications that don't show, but is just a blurred vision of expressed opinions that gather nothing but the amount of confusion that is not in existants with the ability to forsee the new days of views and thoughts that arrive for the views of most opinion when you are not present but keep visioning some other person in the mist. Lisa

  • Rookie Neil Gray (6/5/2006 5:07:00 PM) Post reply | Read 2 replies

    Never understood why people feel the need to make poetry rhyme.
    Seems to restricting to me.
    But each to there own.
    For me free-form is the only way.

    Replies for this message:
    • Rookie Radio Head (9/27/2006 6:41:00 AM) Post reply

      Its not a statement jessica, it's a poem. clever

    • Rookie Jessica Clark (6/29/2006 7:16:00 PM) Post reply

      I absolutely agree. I find when I try to start rhyming in my work that I restrict the language I use as well as the imagery I am trying to convey. It seems tethering.

  • Rookie Blood Red Angel (5/11/2006 1:28:00 PM) Post reply | Read 3 replies

    hey i just found this today and im new at writing free form

    madness
    its madness inside my mind
    its dark and i cant see the edge
    i dont know were to go
    or from where i came

    the pits of hell seem nice
    ive fallen over the edge
    into rambling
    i am insane lost and blundering
    everything is changing

    why do you look at me that way
    you all tend to stare
    and talk and whisper
    its madness the place i am in
    if you could see inside my mind
    if you could see the darkness
    that i created to escape the stares and haunting whispers
    with the evil glares you would run

    you would scream
    its madness
    in the darkness
    and its calling your name
    come and play
    with me inside the madness
    of this mind

    its taunting you the way you all have taunted me
    for the way i am
    you drove me to the darkness
    then came the madness
    and you wonder why i am that way
    now you know
    and its your turn

    the darkness is calling
    and its screaming your name

    by: blood red angel

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  • Rookie Heather Spaulding (4/21/2006 12:21:00 AM) Post reply | Read 1 reply

    Hey, I'm new here, this is my first poem. Hope you like it.

    Let's depend on each other
    just like psychologists say not to
    you can be my
    cause and effect
    my deep affection
    pursuant persuasion
    my vital piece of
    knowledge

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    • Rookie Jessica Clark (6/29/2006 7:26:00 PM) Post reply

      Oooooh. I like this. Very nice. The co-dependancy of strong affection and love. The healthy unhealthy. Fantastic.

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