[x]

To HooverHoover state: waking up to sleep
because that’s all I’m good for;
out of work, out of time again
and my brother won’t spare a dime.

Blanket sweat reminds me of this
Hoover state: waking up to sleep
in depressions of this planet;
the moon weeps for me in daytime.

I yank my pockets out, like it's
my country's flag; punch-line of the
Hoover state: waking up to sleep
in my sagging skin on decline.

I've no penny to my name,
jumping out the window (one
last time) makes me worth more in this
Hoover state: waking up to sleep.

Through an Angel's Eye

Some see the world through rose-colored glasses,
some see it only as bad.
Some see man split into one of three classes,
some see it only as sad.

They say that the eye to the soul is a window,
some find such introspect lame.
Still others may prefer to focus on shadow,
some look for fortune and fame.

To see the world softly through colors sublime,
requires a heart that is pure.
Yes, to see the world as an angelic rhyme,
the eye must be steady and sure.

Through the eyes of an angel she captures our world,
the wonder of God in her lens.
By virtue of her work beauty is unfurled,
earning her many a friend.

Twinkle StarTwinkle twinkle little star
Noone cares just who you are
When you fall the fall is far
Twinkle twinkle superstar.

The Soldier's Letter To HomeI write this from my death bed
My eyes fading in the light
Drowned in crimson red,
Drowned in shaking fright.
The enemy has won
The war now has ended
And though killed by my son
May his sins be ammended.
For this is Civil War
I cannot change the tide
So from you I implore
Do what is right.

Bury me somewhere nice
Near, and fair to look at
And forgive my son his sins;
For in war, no one wins.

Stand StrongI stand in awe at the strong winds blowing
Hurricanes rising and tornadoes growing
Housing blown away and long hair flowing
Killing the crops of this year's sowing.
Stay strong, dear brothers; Strong in disaster
Stout in the winds that blow ever faster
Stay strong for your children, strong for your wives,
To get to the morning you must first traverse the night.

A Poem for LokiRhyming is hard
Just so you know
But for a friend
I'm giving it a go

His name is Loki
From Scotland, of course
Today is his birthday
I heard from a source

Plays Pokemon for fun
and Nuzlockes them too
Though one in particular
Might need a redo

His adventure in Hoenn
Was not quite grand
Many comrades died
Of course, not planned

But in the end he won
With a badass team
Including a Mightyena
Who reigned supreme

Not forgetting Mad6
Who replaced 5 before him
His chances of survival
Were really quite slim

And then there was Boom
Who exploded with glee
Against a troll Milotic
We won't forget thee

Tittypank is next
In the list of honours
Though

ContrariwiseSilly little Alice,
Forget all you thought you knew,
For deep inside your head,
Everything is all askew.

If they tell you that one plus one,
Equals twelve and half, my dear,
Don't worry yourself about it,
For two is so last year.

Don't even try to be different,
Or it'll be "Off with her head!",
And you'll find it's better to live a lie,
Than it is to end up dead.

So heed this socially accepted advice,
Ditch any scraps of your insanity,
To cavort with the Hare in March,
Join the Hatter for a cup of tea.

Fritter your days away,
Dancing under a Cheshire moon,
Don't mind the surrounding chaos,
Ignore impending doom.

But even as you join in

Continuous VoicesIt all began when I was ten
I found what lingered in my head disturbing
And it wasn’t until I grabbed a pen
And saw what truly lingered when I began writing.

There were continuous voices within my head
I was not one to favor them dead
Although, they had violet images attached
The way I wrote them matched.

Since then, the voices have changed
Octaves have risen and lowered
Their words have exchanged
And eventually became uncensored.

These continuous voices have brought war
Ones with an uprising roar
And at moments I want to kill the sound
For they are so profound.

Yet, they continue to crescendo
And welcome me to a hidden story
And so

Aur si plumbUn gând de aur, dar se simte
mai greu ca un pumnal de plumb
ce intră-n coaste, se învârte,
și caută să iasă prin minte...
Stilou de aur, scrie versuri,
dar lasă urme ca de plumb,
pe foi mânjite de cerneală,
și de cafea, și alte resturi...

Un glonţ de aur, dar se simte
mai tandru ca o zi de plumb,
îl pun aici, închid capacul,
și ca un gând, îl scot prin minte.

EndlingHere am I, the captive thylacine
Treading my tiger-striped, ungainly way
Around the metal-mesh confinement of my cage
Here am I, exhibited, exhumed
Brought from the brink to pace another day
A living testament, a final thumbmarked page
Here am I, the only specimen
Bereft of mate, of pups, of kin, of kind
Watching the claws of history extending
Here am I, the final thylacine
The only one, the last, the lost, the endling.

Who Was HeHe stood at the average height for men.
His built was quite average.
His eyes were that of cyan.
Nonetheless, he was average.

His hair was that of blonde,
Nearly, white.
His walk and personality had a great bond.
He was a confident sight.

His skin was a delicate peach.
His muscles were quite firm.
So irresistible, a teasing reach.
His appearance had its own term.

One that the dictionary cannot confirm.

Who was he?
That man with his own sea?
He was one without a name.
His appearance was a taunting game.
He was one without a number for an age.
Forget it, he’s fake on this page.

An Aching NeedAn Aching Need

This Kingdom of magic and wonder suits me very well, for I am without want.

I rule absolutely over my ugly subjects, like a puppet-master maneuvering strings.

The sting of want may not exist, but I have an aching desire for the one I hunt.

They are fairly simple , yet very beautiful to me; I NEED them above all other things.

My wiles and trials to win them over have led to a devious act, for which I regret not.

Whisked away through my mystical Labyrinth, her beloved brother sits upon my capable lap.

Though through her luck, and some help, she has made it to me, and ruin she has wrought.

And even though I thought myself

SandmanSleepwalking in tainted dreams
Falling through its open seams
Caving into unsure grounds
In a dream where fear abounds

Tightrope nerves are torn right through
All the facts become untrue
Screams are muted and lost midway
Still terror exists to my dismay

Faces change the closer I peer
The way I feel becomes unclear
And in the end I know it's fake
The pivotal moment when I awake

But still disturbed and afraid to dream
I wonder if they are at all what they seem
So I close my eyes and there you are
Staring at me looking bizarre

You told me you were there for me
To fight off the frauds valiantly
Trusting you I did what you said
I unmasked the

What may be a dream?Oh, what may be a dream but wishes mute?
Those thoughts that dance and prance a time or two?
The silent longings of the heart set free
To lift the spirit from chambers dark and cold.
A dream is as a morning mist of spring;
Refreshing, light, and gently promising
To all who sleep and wake in time to catch
The welcome peace and glory they behold.
But woe to waking hours; the bitterness they bring
When dreams escape the loving hold of thought!
The plaintive heart starts longing once again
To sink into the realms of possibility.

WarWhen stories of battle are shared,
They are full of fame and glory.
No one knows what war really holds,
That is, until they hear this story.
At first there is much excitement,
Your chance to be a hero.
Then homesickness begins to set in,
The sorrow makes you feel like zero.
Then the supplies get cut off,
Your stomach cries out for food.
It rains then it droughts, and then you want out,
You'd laugh at your situation but you're not in the mood.
No sanitation, no garbage cans,
You are living in human waste.
The tents are torn up, the beds full of lice,
You wish you were in a different place.
Then you finally go to fight,
This is your chance to prove yourself.
All your comrades are shot down,
So much for fame and wealth...
Cleaning up the bodies,
Of those who used to be your friends.
Not even time for a proper burial,
Too many injuries to attend.
Then there's the sneak attack,
You are all caught by surprise.
A brutal, bloody, massacre,
A bullet between your eyes.
In this little game o

Browse More Like This

Download File
TXT, 2.3 KB more ▶

More from ~RedMeg

stealing ringsSearching through dust and scraps of antique treasure
the contents of every bedroom corner turned (upside down)
I find that, long ago
Every Tolkien bookmark that we own
Lost its facsimile Ring. Who was it,
the younger myself, my brother, my sister, all three
whose first instinct was to take and hope
that power would be granted to us?
Morals seemed much more relative to child-me, and
I always had a love for pretty things.

Or is it just me?Not to disparage anyone, but

being cool

just seems such a chore.

Because...

don't any of the frozen-faced, world-weary

cool people

ever get the irrepressible urge

stick out their arms and pretend they're an airplane?

We are changingWe are changing the house.

I say 'we', I suppose, only meaning a part of my family, because my little brother is wild and joyful and speaks a different language than the rest of us (ten years autistic, words pieced together out of movie quotes) and my little sister is only, so far, able to lend a helping hand here and there - she's at that age where helping is a glorious un-chore because you volunteer for everything and get to do very little. Not to speak of aunts and uncles that are far too far away, or all the people we've estranged; and we have no grandparents here, and this unkind neighborhood provides us with no unrelated family. We are

The Big PretendPretending doesn't stop when you grow up.

Only one kind does.

There are two big kinds of pretending...

One is, pretending to be something when in your heart you're something else.

You could be a singer pretending to be a waitress.

Or a writer pretending to be a housepainter.

Or a ninja pretending to be a businessperson.

And you're only yourself on weekends, or late at night all alone.

And that can be very hard.

But there's another kind of pretending...

If you're a artist pretending to be an electrician, it can be easy to envy the successful artist. To think: "She's got it all together."

But if you were this excellent artist's frien

View Gallery

Featured in Groups:

#Writers--club
A group for all writers!

#Authors-Club
Where We Live to Write

#TheSp0t

Details

Submitted: March 2
File Size: 2.3 KB
Submitted with: Sta.sh

Link

Thumb

Statistics

Comments: 3
Favourites: 3 [who?]
Views: 58 (0 today)
Downloads: 1 (0 today)

[x]

I Give All That I Have

by ~RedMeg, Mar 2, 2013, 4:11:29 AM
Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Traditional Fixed Forms

92. All That I Have

Huat, huat!
Raise your head and your hands
one refrain on your lips; 'I give all that I have.'
All to the Gods, all to your land
all of your blood that you die while you stand
Huat, huat!
I give all that I have.

Des aran u ring, Luqui
I give all that I have to Luqui,
she of the sharp eyes and beak
May her children and kin bear my body aloft
o'er the battlefield's squalor and reek
Huat, huat! Give all that you have
the day we'll die, only she knows
Luqui will honor your sacrifice if
your flesh feeds the vultures and crows.

Des aran u ring, Hamun
I give all that I have to Hamun,
child of the moon and sun
His silver ship take me if I die in vain
His golden ship waits if I've won
Huat, huat! He'll gift you his grace
if your fight-need be true, just and right
and appeal to his parents to allow you a place
in the Court of the Day and the Night.

Des aran u ring, Ditru ne Diqua
I give all that I have to Ditru and Diqua
Bloodshed, battle-madness and bliss,
Ditru lend me courage to overcame pain,
and Diqua, bless me with your kiss
Huat, huat! In the heat of the fight
they'll remind you of what you fight for
For beauty and country and freedom and joy
We call upon weapons and war.

Des aran u ring, Micholata
I give all that I have to Micholata
Father of warriors all
I have chosen your path, I have guarded your door
I hear you and I answer your call
Huat, huat! We will measure our stride,
and wait til' the moment is here
When, with craft in our minds and a weapon in hand
we'll give our foes something to fear.

Des aran u ring, Endajar
I give all that I have to the land of my heart,
the place where my blood was shed
In the form of an oath that I shall never break
or Dyluma take me instead
Huat, huat! Keep your head up, strive on
for the next battle's never too far
for those brave of heart and beholden to gods
who stand by our side while in war.

I Give All That I Haveby ~RedMeg

Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Traditional Fixed Forms

Going way to the other end of the prompt list for this one.
So after reading the Silmarillion I felt like making up a bunch of gods, and after complaining to my sister about how all the cool eastern cultures in Narnia and Middle-Earth were evil I decided I wanted to write something for a culture sort of like that, so... then there's this now.
Brief translation/explanation, if anyone's curious -

Huat = something like 'march', 'go' or is just a general marching sound.
Des aran u ring = 'I give all that I have'

Luqui = Goddess of death on the battlefield, knows when people will die. Carrion-birds are her servants. Has a bird's head in one of her common forms.
Hamun = as it says, child of the moon god and sun goddess. A peacemaker and judge.
Ditru and Diqua = Ditru is the brother, Diqua is the sister. Ditru is mainly known for giving beserk rages to his followers, giving people the power to carry on way past when they should, so on; and Diqua is associated with the passion and need that would drive someone into battle-madness, reminding him of what or who he's doing it for.
Micholata = There's some legend about him being the 'father of all warriors', I know, and all young aspiring warriors are supposed to serve guard duty at his temple when they're young. He deals with craftiness and strategy, and let's just say the name people who don't like him have for him means 'creeping dread'. He's one of the scarier ones.
Endajar is the home country these people come from, and Dyluma is basically a nasty afterlife fate (possibly some kind of soul-eating monster, a la Egyptian mythos).

For one of the other prompts I'll probably wind up writing something with the characters I had in mind for this, because this culture's a lot of fun to think about.

love 2 2

~~joy 0 0~~

~~wow 0 0~~

~~mad 0 0~~

~~sad 0 0~~

~~fear 0 0~~

~~neutral 0 0~~

~KiddosNightmare Mar 2, 2013

this is just awsome!!!....

i have deep respect for people who can write poetrs anyway, but this is reallyreally cool! i also love to think of this kind of things, but unfortunaely i always forget about them before i can make notes -.-
doesnt matter now, this is just perfect! im really angry right now that my english isnt good enough to express what i think, but im not sure if i could even do it in my mother tongue XD

amazing job!

~RedMeg Mar 2, 2013 Hobbyist General Artist

Aww, thank you! Don't be too upset you can't express yourself very well in English; I can't communicate at all in other languages, so you're way ahead of me.

~KiddosNightmare Mar 2, 2013

xDDD thanks^^

well.. i guess its ok as long as you get the idea^^

More from ~RedMeg

Featured in Groups:

Details

Statistics

I Give All That I Have

I Give All That I Haveby ~RedMeg

The Journal Portal

Polls

What is your preferred drawing software?

deviantART [dee·vee·un'nt·ART]

Keep in Touch!

Deviousness

Add Media

Style