Sanskrit poet's game

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12/3/07? Wow vin, you wrote that in the future..?

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Well I usually put month in the middle....everyone does that here...It came as a habit.I forgot that was not how you do it there.I'll edit it.:blush:

Eels

Swit swam the eel,
To escape the net,
Which came like a noose
Upon its head.
Though it swam fast
Quick upon its fins approached net.

It was all sudden
The eel was caught,
It tried its electric trick,
But all was lost.
It was born as an egg,
Next became an elver,
Then an eel;
Now it was a food for the lot.
All that matters is how it tastes.
Thus it all depends on the taste of eels boiled in a pot...

vin1391
© 13th March 2007

In the dusty books it was said.

I was joking vin. Nice poetry.
I don't think I'm too good at this. My poems always start out good but sound ridiculous by the last line lol..

Wheat Field

Blue in horizon light shadows
dappled in sycamore figs,
blackened in mottled yellow,
carpeting the vast corners of sight,

tossing dust in listless circles
contrasting their substance on brown leaves,
glowing as the young day flows strong and bright,
drooping as the dying day gives way to night

spreading his auborn locks,
in sticks of languid yellow,
spreading lips to reveal oister pearls
and reading Anne of Green Gables
where the old word held the key
"to freedom"; in the dusty books it was said

Adolescent09
© 3/13/07

While the fat one keeps getting bigger.

In a secluded shade
on the Eastern ridge,
a magpie moans in hunger.
The slighted bird in darkened corner
feels the lack of feast
like a festering wound.

On the far-reaching horizon
the sun with gentle shrug
nudges clouds to part,
the sickly bird with ascetic's pride
finds her confirmation, and
the fat one keeps getting bigger.




In paint-can overflow she sees art.

Women Opressed

On the blackened mists,
in the shady desert
in the floral twists,
in the milky avenue,
life's picture paints her prolonged misery,

she senses antipathy,
the rage of times generic beings,
pulling subtle pride
moaning for freedom
like fettered breasts in 18th century corsetts.

It invigorates her to do better,
instills a sense of courage,
an underlying provokement of pride
moral elacity which she knew of no existence,
and where once there was light is dark,
in her can of dreams she holds a medley
of colors, the substance she sprays
in paint-can overflow she sees art.

Adolescent 09
© 3/13/07

When the whistler, whistles at dawn's yawning

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I was joking vin. Nice poetry.
I don't think I'm too good at this. My poems always start out good but sound ridiculous by the last line lol..

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Its ok...Thankyou...I think I am not good at this too.I never had any experience writing poetry.I just write what I think is good. :)

The Animal Train

Thirty carriages going by,
Over the mountains
Over the plains.
Each was filled full of beasts,
Each as different as can be.
One was filled with flocks of sheep,
One with lions, bears and geese.
The train went on and on and on.
The Artic was its final point.

First came the engine
Humming on above the oceans so blue
Fishes, Dolphins Whales and eels
Did acrobatic tricks to tease
Over and under they went,
And finally into the carriage.
They reached the Artic finally;
When the whistler, whistles at dawn's yawning.

vin1391
© 14th March 2007

Rang the door bell.

Twist of Fate

The bluebird sang
Outside my window
Awaking the dawn of
One more day.

The sun shone so brightly,
I felt so happy,
Guitar singing
A brand new song.

Nothing further
From my thoughts now,
Than the signs of trouble
Care or grief.

Draw the notes out—
Play variations,
Yeah, think this song might just
Be a hit someday

Wasn’t prepared for
What was standing there—
The Grim Reaper
Rang the doorbell.

Pendragon
© 3/14/07


slithering snakes slide sideways southward...

Prose Poetry Block

the outspoken cynic find words true meaning,
manipulates it and discovers fine paper,
where the writing resumes until the ink runs dry
and the ideas exhaust until sagacious thoughts are spent,
driving him towards delirium,
where only the others' written words may be his sanction
to revitalize thoughts that when amuk,
re-grasp ideas which swayed adrift,
and form the phrase of same starting letters,
right on the tip of the tongue,
able to say, but not to write,
and if you can't apply the words to paper,
the job is never quite done,
because you have to think of something abstract
to hold the neurologic impediment,
and say five words, same first letters, no meaning,
like slithering snakes sliding sideways southward.

Adolescent09
© 3/14/07

and the earth will crumble with his might...

The End of It All…

Man thinks himself Master of all he surveys,
The ultimate pinnacle of the evolutionary path.
Scraps of information gathered down through ages,
Add up to the equation, if you understand the math.
We’ve taken this world like Old Yertle the Turtle,
Building and building until everything goes smash.
Taking this land, once lovely and fertile—
Used up its resources and covered it in trash.
What makes us think that there will never be consequences?
Nothing to answer for; no moment called in to pay?
Have we completely lost all connection with our senses?
Do we think we can just keep on destroying the planet day after day?
No God in the Universe would just let these things pass from sight—
And the earth will crumble with His wrath and His might...

Pendragon
© 3/15/07

I never did like the old guy anyway...

I saw a long-toothed fiend
sleeping in a corner,
a turtle covered
in a cardboard shell,
he swam in asphalt muck.

I saw a father's grimace
crouch his sleeping face,
he rolled in waves of sweat
and sank in the pool of past.

His eyeless lids held his dream
between their closing pressure,
his vision lost to gloom and me,
and I never did like the old man anyway.


Man, I need to learn how to end a poem.


Next: his pneumatic bride was pricked with thorns.

Gusts opposing Madagascar's coast
sweeping dorment arid marsh,
swirling nature's byzantine top to sea,
and pelting jutts, striking harsh.

The black bears scarlet,
where the hills bore flame,
scalding liquid high,
and preserving death's downward lane.

Adultery's distrust is murder,
The reason Sodom and Gomorra were torn,
He now lays by harlots,
She by suicide attempts,
His pneumatic bride was pricked with thorns.


...the way the voices fall short


Adolescent09
© 3/15/07

Some gobsmackingly great stuff happening here from all participants. Great to see this thread so active. It came close to dying completely so many times.

Her life

She saw herself standing all alone
Near the lakeside
Watching her reflection,
Thinking her thoughts.
Ripples came over
Obstucting her view
Of the crooked figure
She saw in the lake.

Why was it that life was so unfair?
Why was it that she got all the worst?
Why was it that no one came by?
Why was it that she was all alone?
None to protect, none to console.
Her whole world was falling to pieces
All around the life she made.
Trying to destroy , Trying to save.


And yet above her the stars
Blinked at the world below.
All around evegreen trees,
Sang their song so mellow.
Music came , music went ,
None disturbing the orphan heart.
T'was because Over the lake
Music stopped the way the voices fall short.

vin1391
© 16th March 2007

All alone on the windy hills.

The night gives rays to many days,
the light shines bright on future,
the industrious expunges toils prolonging,
the indolent prolongs the toil,
the languid are always complaining,
the champions outperform the languid complainers
the coward reveals a tough hide,
the brazen reveals a soft side,
the former musters non-existent pride,
while the latter shows bold's true colors,
like the desert's putrid stillness
contrasting salty valleys all alone on the windy hills

Adolescent09
© 3/16/07
(Holy hell, this turned out better than I anticipated)


thats why the carpet-colored pig had downsyndrome

Untamed Tongue

They never have a day go past
Without a reference to the blindingly obvious.
Word up, mon ami.
Do you think that that blind man is unaware that he cannot see,
Or that because he’s vision-impaired
He must also be deaf as a post?
When you mock and you stumble about
And push things into his pathway,
You probably think you got away with it—
His other senses give him clues you would never catch.
There’s more ways to wound and to kill
Than with a knife or a bullet—
That poison tongue does damage to people
Not so easily repaired.
Ugly words like “Retard”- “Mental Patient”- “Funny Farm”—
Laugh yourself silly,
You don’t notice the burn on the faces—
“They’re not really “people” people”—
It might depend on who’s looking,
And what they are looking to find.
By the way, I’m bi-polar—
Nice to meet you, I’m sure.
………that’s why the carpet-colored pig had down syndrome……..

For my cousin, Melanie, the nicest lady you’d ever want to meet if you aren’t prejudiced

Pendragon
© 3/16/07


Why I woke up with 50 pink flamingos on my lawn...

Flamingos

500000 flamingos in my country,
Flapping their wings.
50000 flamingos in my state,
Stamping their feet.
5000 flamingos in my district,
Eating their fish.
500 flamingoes in my street,
Flying upside down.
50 Flamingos in my lawn
Making weird noises.
Thats why I woke up with 50 pink flamingos on my lawn.

vin1391
© 19th March 2007

...The mouse clicked on...