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Writing Drix writes Poetry? It seems so..

Drix D'Zanth

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Well, it seems as the man living in the darkest corner of each of your brains has a bit of a soul as well. I write poetry, some happy, sad, lovely, boorish poetry that I'm sure we all have in common. I try to write something new, usually describing life around me. Heh check out the rap battle to see my shakespearean poems kick the crap out of rappers.

Alright, I'll post a few, then you can critique, then I'll post some more.. and the viscous cycle can commence.

[B]Ode to an Ice Cream Truck[/B]
Oh ice cream truck, I know thee well.
Oh let me hear thy clanking bell!
Thy music sets my spine a-tingle
Whenst I hear thy tinny jingle!
With sweating hands
My money lands
Upon thy counter, whenst thou stop--
Amidst my street, an ice cream shoppe!
I dream
of cream--
Thy frozen treats!
Thy baseball cards! Thy bags of sweets!
Oh come to me, I hope, I pray,
To bring sweetmeats
On summer?s day.

In wintertime, thy bell rings not--
Thou only com?st when days are hot.
When Sol swings round, with rays a-swelter,
I hear thy lov?ly music welter.
I hath my coin!
?Twill this purloin
A missile pop, of multihue,
With colors red and white and blue?
What luck!
I suck
Thy nectar, cold,
That on a stick I fiercely hold.
The taste, it is a thing divine.
My missile, bold!
?Tis mine! All mine!
[B]Unattainable Magnolia[/B]

How can love so sweet go so unnoticed?

My sweet Magnolia, sways and blows,
Smiling down from where it grows,
Ever lithe, lighthearted expression,
Beauty unfaltered, [I]non repose[/I]

I seek thee, dear Magnolia,
I yearn upon you, at your perch,
Forever have I sought such love,
Beg you please, end my search

How can it be you grin from there?
Your smile has pierced my will!
That aire of seduction, debonair,
Inflames my soul to never chill

Curse you iris, lens of desire,
Curse the fact I now require,
to see her each day, in her beauty,
My longing urges can't retire!

Curse my soul, and love so pure,
To be spent on a flower so secure,
upon it's perch out of finger's reach,
Taunting me, Magnolia, so demure.

Let me reach out, pluck your fair form,
Let me feel your skin so warm,
Let it tremble in my hands,
Far beyond life?s tolling norm.

How can love so sweet go so unnoticed?

(yeah yeah, a bit cliche there..sorry)


[B]Teen Angst[/B]

She puts on her black lipstick,
"no one understands me",
She ties her tall boots, pant?s chains ring out,
"I am original."
She boards her mother?s minivan,
"I hate the world."

She walks down the street, carrying her angst,
Her demeanor as angry as the text burned into her clothes,
She smiles at her friends ,
"They are original too",
And the gothic-clad youths begin to journey.

The spit their phrases, they write their poems,
"Black crushed flower, Bleeding heart, Vampires are Real",
They wear their headphones, listening to their bands,
"They understand me.. they sing my pain"
As the Band sits in satin seats, laughing.. counting their money.

After all of her angst filled, introspection,
She realizes nothing?s accomplished,
All her self pity has gotten her?

Finally,it appears, she has a reason to hold such angst...

(This poem is dedicated to the OB?ers obsessed with the "darkness of the world", and all that angsty crap.. *sighs*)

More coming soon.
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well well, some poetical originality at last. I must say it's a breath of fresh air against all these cloned love poems (mine included, although I'm allowed to like mine ^_~). I like the shakespearean quality of your first poem, it's classy yet completely mundane at the same time. I love it.
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I'm just like you, Drix (In respect to unattainable magnolia). You want something so badly you imagine it on a pedestal out of your reach. You can reach and yearn with all your heart and soul, but they will decieve you. You want it so badly you assume it is unattainable, while it is truly within your reach. In essence, ask her if she wants to get a freaking cup of coffee. You have NOTHING to lose. You care too much about preserving what you have right now, and it's time to take the next step. Take a leap of faith. You have so little time, every day your chance slips away, and you think to yourself, "Tomorrow." Soon, tomorrow, she truly will be out of your reach. The best things in life are not gotten easily, but that sure as hell doesn't mean you shouln't try. If you don't do it, you will regret it, possibly for the rest of your life. Good luck.
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hey drix...this es stormy's sister...i'm using her sn behind her back *grins maliciously*...i love your poetry!!! it's amazing and original... i guess i'm somewhat of a poet myself... i love your poem teen angst... it completely puts into words what i have been unable to explain to all the posers out there who claim to be "punk" and then don't know who the ramones are, or who love avril lavigne or who are obsessed with being dark and malignant every moment of the day...the people who cut themselves and then brag about it, the people who relish in the attention they get for being "different" when at home they listen to good charlotte and claim it's punk rock... it's about all those people who dress in black and say "everyone's out to get me and i like it that way"... sorry for my little rant there, but i despise people who are incapable of being themselves...and i realize that some people really do suffer depression...but when it turns into a fad...SHEESH...anywho...i loved your ice cream poem as well... it reminded me of that khol's commercial with the sedistic ice cream man...lol...
thanks fer listening,
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[size=1] I have to say this is one of the few times I have felt envy in the art of poetry...well, e.e.cummings and other such poets already have this coin from me, but yes.

I love your poetry..and I mean that lol. You do everything I LOVE in poetry. Rhyming, nice, usefully-tooled words, interesting originality, abstraction, metaphors, similies, all those great things.

I'd have to say I love how you used some archaics in the first poem lol. It made it have this humor to it which I find applicable to me heh. Yeah, you're a great poet. I'd love to see how good of a writer you are as well.

*eagerly awaits more poems*[/size]
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Well considering the ABUNDANCE of angst-ridden, pre-teen poetry , I figure I'll be writing more comedic poetry. This lineup of my poetry will feature more or less funny stuff.

First, a [B]Haiku[/B] (I think I got that right).

[I]Omniscient god
creates world in six days-
cannot cure herpes. [/I]

[B]Dyslexic Flowsnake[/B]

[I]studious serpent,
perplexed by highbrow writ(h)ing,
dots his p's and q's[/I]

This is dedicated to about 90% of the poetry I see in these forums:
[B]I Hope You Like My Poem [/B]

[I]There are rainstorms in my heart,
And snowstorms in my soul,
A fog in my mind
Makes sure that I can't comprehend
A leaf as it falls off a tree
Nor its autumn colours.

The hustle and bustle of the big city is too much for me.
My cat and my dog are dying

A neighour abuses his children
But who cares about the thorns of the roses of self-harm?
I lie awake at night,
And look out my window
Why are homeless people ignored by rich people?
Why do homeless people have to die in the cold?
I cook onions and listen to the birds sing

I love sex
And how great God is,
But I realise that sometimes,
He is horrible.

Spring, summer, autumn, winter

Winter, I watch the birds flying off
It makes me want to write a poem.
Look how pretty the night sky is.
Watch how the trees sway in the wind.
I love the fragance of flowers,
Especially roses.
But, sadly, soon, too soon, they'll be dead.

Who removed the lint from my navel?

Am I too deep?
Is that why nobody gets me?
Must I endure the pain
Of my heart and soul ripped out by my ex-lover?[/I]

Then of course, one that rhymes:

[B]If I were a Bumblebee[/B]

[I]If I were a bumblebee, I'd float up in the sky,
I'd let my wing's embrace the wind,
I'd drink life up, lest I die.

I'd carry my great hulk,
My massive entourage,
Only stronger with my bulk.

If I were a bumble bee and laid my eyes on you,
I?d fly down to greet thee,
And say a thing or two.

But first I would sting thee,
I would saturate with stinging sea,
of poison roaring flame,
I?d burn thy flesh like rended meat,
Until your arm went lame.

I?d hunt you down as you ran,
I?d giggle in delight,
As you ran from my small form,
I?d chase you in your plight.

You?d hide in forests, screen doors,
They are no match to me.
I?d carry horrors ever more,
I?m a god-like bumble bee.

I?d break through your warrant effort,
your attempted swatting away,
I?d sting you in divine retort,
Until afternoon fades

I would leave you in the puddle of gore,
Standing proud on my conquest,
My evil grin would grow evermore,
I would proclaim, "I AM THE BEST!"

Then I would buzz off to tell your friends,
Singing my diminutive tune,
I?d sting them too, to make amends ,
my venom drips like a monsoon!

Then I?d feast on a flower,
like a Viking after pillage,
I?d take off an hour,
before terrorizing your village.

If I were a bumblebee, I'd float up in the sky,
I'd let my wing's embrace the wind,
I'd drink life up, lest I die?.[/I]
Tee hee! Hoped you liked that last one.. *digs through poetry stash* OOH! This next one isn't quite so funny.. but heh *shrugs*

[B]Train of Thought[/B]

[I]I only have five hours till my Timex starts to beep,
and even though I?m tired I just cannot fall asleep.
Cause words keep effervescing just like bubbles in my brain,
all efforts toward their banishment thus far have been in vain.

A train begins to chug it?s way into my restless mind,
and now I see a trestle then a boxcar then a line.
And quickly, even faster then the last word fades away,
it?s replaced with one in train of thought that keeps my sleep at bay.

As line turns into cross turns into start turns into race,
and race turns into runner then to marathon then pace.
Then pace turns into racehorse then to fast and then to fly,
followed in succession I see plane then soar then sky.

The sky turns into heaven then to angel then to Christ
as Christ is superseded in a flash by sacrificed.
Then in a quick progression sacrificed turns into lamb,
the lamb is soon supplanted, here comes calf then veal then ham.

The ham leads straight to breakfast then to morning then to showers,
as rain and springtime fall in line which makes me think of flowers.
Now colors pop into my mind, there?s nothing I can do
to stop the flow of red to orange then purple into blue.

Soon blue?s replaced by navy which then yields the way for seal,
and lining up in single file are shut and close and deal.
Verbosity has cursed me with this ceaseless wordy chain.
Is this the reason Mr. Poe went very near insane?

I try to think relaxing thoughts like doze and nap and sleep,
but in between my efforts little words begin to creep.
Now bull and doze walk hand in hand across my fertile mind,
and cat and nap come skipping through, not very far behind.

My thoughts are interrupted by a yawn I can?t control,
and cat and nap and bull and doze soon end their midnight stroll.
Yet even as my need for sleep regains the upper hand,
some tiny words like go and to make one more desperate stand.

I feel my body battle back, an all out war I wage,
against the words that slink across my fading mental page.
The last thing that I saw, before the train of thought?s surrender,
were letters in an envelope, postmarked: Return to Sender.[/I]

Your thoughts? More to come soon!
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  • 2 months later...

Pitchforks and pikes in hand, the women stroll,
all maenads, down the park to the menagerie,
cull the roses and smash the coterie
of statues held by marble. Guns explode
behind. The women free the cognac-gorged
lions, zebras, the snorting dromedary
and, hunger-maddened, rip the artery
bodies of goshawk and flamingo.

Likewise, Death overthrows the body?s shed,
the zoo assembly, parliament or diet
at which the king surveyed his power and pomp.
Dragoons, attendants, nobles, all have fled.
Night closes on the unaccustomed quiet,
hushes the squawk from the draining swamp.

He saw a hummingbird address a morning glory
high at the vine's tip. I watched him study
its stalled body, probing beak, and wingblur.
It may be he pondered the energy
expended by that tiny creature
to stay steady, level in mid-air. Yet I believe
that with an expert pilot's depth-perception
he gazed beyond the bird at skies
clearer than any transparent wingbeat
while he assessed his chances
on the morrow
for a grassy landing,

The surgeons survey his shaved belly,
their black latching of stitches,
and mark arise-and-walk day
on his chart. He paces, toting
his plastic urine-satchel. Tile
by tile, he trundles his I.V. stand
forward. Its bottles chink; a needle fangs
a vein on his bruised hand.
He shrugs my fingers off his elbow.

[i]He is stalking on ahead--
Oh my hunter, your steel-barbed arrows
lean in the locked cabinet
by an unstrung bow. Your skis
lie racked in the attic. You turn
and tell me to remember:
stop by the kennel, walk those hounds.
Anywhere, hummingbirds instantly
bring this all back to me.[/i]

A nurse settles him in bed,
rehooks bottles and the blood-dark bag.
Green drops of morphine, a shot for clots.
Drowsy, he designs fresh challenges;
come fall, he'll take up hang-gliding--

which is why I took his ashes
up the mountain and the north wind
whirled them all away
to dart and swoop and hover,
invisible above the grass.

[b]Syrinx Transformed[/b]

I am never parsimonious with words,
Figurative language, allusions
And images, but I crave the sudden flame
Of moments that make those devices

Flee my mind like Syrinx from Pan,
Squelching into river mud
Inches from my grasp, essence lost
Though familiarity remains,

As when the blaze of skin on skin
And of reflecting-pool irises
Triggers a flashpoint driving out
All thought, replaced for an instant

By an onomatopoeia of breaths?
Murmur, gasp, and sigh?
Then the silence-soaked aftermath
And the memory of something perfect,

Where transfiguration to words cannot
Reconstitute the body,
Play the notes of ecstatic piping
Or capture you, my Syrinx.

[b]Mitch is Mod #3[/B]

In a workshop quite well-noted, some forums end up bloated
with a plethora of newbies who bounce right through the door.
Having not read the conditions, they embark upon their missions
and carpet-bomb the place while thinking ?they?re all that? (and more).
?Tis just another wannabe,? say the mods who hold the floor,
?whose work we shall explore.?

Littered with abstraction, it provides a good distraction
for those of us who watch with baited breath, the moment?s tense.
?It?s clichéd and it?s trite; if you try harder you just might
construct a poem from this but I suggest you get thee hence
to Blurbs of Wisdom? says Mod 1, ?the knowledge there?s immense.?
Mod 2 says, ?Your writing makes no sense.?

?Say what? There is no metaphor and my rhyming skills are poor?
Oh, and who was it that made you the f#*king expert anyway?
Grammar, spelling and syntax? Well let?s get down to tin-tacks
?cos I don?t care for your opinion ? my words all truly say
what?s in my heart. They flow from quill to page today
and that?s the way they?ll stay!?

?So, the words flow from your soul, they complete you, make you whole?
It?s a pity you can?t separate your skill from stubborn pride.?
?This could have been avoided? says Mod 3. ?Welcome and abide
a while in the cold and dark Outside.?

[b] What's funny is that I am such a hypocrite considering this last poem[/b][/COLOR]
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[COLOR=firebrick]Wow.... so much to say, so few words that actually comes out *lol*[/COLOR]
I [i]adored[/i] [b]"Magnolia"[/b].
It exposed frustration without being angsty [size=1](which can be difficult to master, I've noticed)[/size].

[b]"Train of Though"[/b] felt disturbingly familiar, but was also uplifting in some strange way.
The rhyming was gorgeous [i]*dramatic sigh/swoon*[/I]

[b]"If I were a Bumblebee"[/b] started off so harmless, almost sickly sweet.
As it suddenly bolted from the cradled safety and twisted around itself, it became truly delightful.
I liked how you started and ended it with the same ... stanza (?).

Those are the ones I was personally attracted to : )

- Mimmi [/color]
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Ode To An Ice Cream Truck: Is it just me, or is this poem full of sexual innuedos?

Unattainable Magnolia: Also rank of sexual inneudos...at least to me. Then again the level of perversion I have is rather...scary. But really excellent rhyming. Really really. =D It reminds me of a night during the civil war era in the deep South. Most awesome.

Teen Angst: I love you Drix.

The Haiku With No Name: You put so much power into so few words. That is true talent, a gift few possess. As the surfer dudes would say..."Righteous!"

I Hope You Like My Poem: Intriguing. This one, like Magnolia, gave me a very strong image of a place. Only this time it was an apartment building in New York, with a bunch of messed up neighbors, and you, watching it all go by. Nice one. =)

If I Were A Bumblebee: Heehee! Oh mein Gott, that was the giggle poem of the day. You have a great way of playing with words, putting them together for whatever purpose strikes your fancy. And you did so quite amusingly here. I loved it!

Train Of Thought: The best one so far. The incessant flow of thoughts that stream endlessly with no purpose or direction through your mind as the body clangs and whines for sleep. You express it so eloquently, that I am quite in awe. The "stream of conciousness" part of the poem was quite literally, mind blowing. I had to go back and read it again to adjust my mind to thinking like that. It was just like...wow. Just...wow.

Versailles: Ooh, a history poem! =D I love you more, Drix. The French Revolution is one of my favorite periods in history. The mockery of high society, yet horrible masacre just contradicts so beautifully. Cutting off people's heads while remaining of the utmost politeness, chatting about recent fashions.

It's sickly funny. o.o;

Hummingbird: I shall be honest, and say I really did not understand this poem. I got the bird, old guy, bird, old guy, but the correlation between them, for me, is lost. Perhaps an explanation is in order? You know, for the *special* people. o.o;

Syrinx Reformed: The wordy wordiness of words is quite wordy. Indeed it is. ^-^ Neat poem.

Mitch is Mod # 3: Heh. Heh heh. I am deeply amused once again. Another cute one. Yes, you are a hypocrite, but forgivable so. Which is rare, consdering I normally abhor hypocricy. Ah well.

[command]Write More And Thusly Post Thine Words[/command]

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[size=1] Drix, I still think you're an amazing poet. You should know that already, anyway. I think you're better than me in some ways, anyway. Or even better, if I could say.

"Hummingbird" was about...I think it's your grandfather you mentioned to me that one night? It is about him, and how Drix went to see him, and I think watched him die. I'm not sure if he's died yet...but yes. I can feel the emotion in that poem, and it is heavy.

I liked the third poem, it was quite endearing indeed. And I hope you know you aren't a hypocrite...I'm not that amazing of a poet, am I? I think you're equally, if not congruently, amazing.

So yeah...I really liked "Hummingbird," it painted a nice image. I could [i]feel[/i] it. Did you hear me? I could [i]feel[/i] it.[/size]
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Very original! Again, I haven't stumbled across poetry yet that I do not enjoy reading. And I'm glad you've sparked my interest again--alot of rythm in the first one(which is very cute) and the last one didn't have much of a rhyme but it was very precise and to the point. It was wonderful to read in my opinion...Now the second one..well the lovey dovey stuff was cliche but the words sounded very original and flowed out wonderfully. I hope to read more of your work someday. ^_^
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