Subject: Morning Thoughts
Author:
Posted on: 2016-09-27 16:02:00 UTC
Though bitter does the wind blow
And savage is the rain
Though hard it is to rise from low
And harder yet to rise again
Though sour it sometimes taste
To drink from the cup called life
There's an unmistakable sweetness
To contrast the taste of strife
-Tesla
Now the sun had set
And the birds have gone to sleep
Autumn comes closer
There once were some people online
Reading PPC posts to pass time
And now that we're here
I'm afraid and I fear
I can't think of another good rhyme
I tried to write a ditty or
A little more to compensate
For Tesla's lack of rhyming skill.
But finding still my skill not great
I chose instead to cross it out,
And turn about and make my mark
By channeling a hobbit theme;
And like a dream, oh! what a lark!
I found it (slightly!) possible,
Not horrible, or not too bad;
I feel I could write much, much more...
I'll stop before I make you sad. :)
hS
Blue yesterday
Now dark and grey
So dreary and sad
And yet, makes me glad
I enjoy the sound of rain.
Cloudless and starlit
Out across the gentle waves
Two moons shine for us
Midnight and green sky
Shining on the ghost tower
Tartarus sees us
((Does it work? I never tried haiku in English.))
Warm hand grasps cold pen
Breathes depth into the pages
Stories come to life.
((It does! I'm not an expert, but I like it. Especially the first line; a midnight sky shining green. Very nice.))
-Alleb
Standing on / their scripted stage
The characters / await the call:
To action or adventure / romance or robots,
They care not / nor question the command.
They are as instruments / imagination-fired,
Ink-wrought in idle times / ideas made flesh.
Then the siren sounds / the summons goes out:
A task! A tale! / A time to venture forth
On paper pages / they play their parts
Turning towards / their creator's themes and tunes.
Until the writing's through / the wars and battles won
And they slip back into silence / to sleep until
Their tale is told again.
(Alliterative verse FTW?)
hS
Now, at the end of Author's lifelong travels,
She found herself deep within the writhing words,
There's metaphor and simile to soon unravel.
With plotlines soaring high ahead like calling birds,
She laughed aloud to see this, such a sight,
The final chapter of a story so absurd.
And coming through the words like gentle night,
The characters advanced, much like the plot,
Gazed at their creator, and she at them with fright.
They struck, and although valiantly she fought,
The characters seemed to take it all in stride,
And all her writing skill had come to naught.
And then there was nowhere left to hide,
The Author tied on the ground with rope and twine,
Gazed at her creations, simply horrified.
"You thought you could keep us all in line,"
said one, and at her back he nudged.
"Now we judge you. The pleasure will be mine."
The Author rose up, and forwards silent trudged,
Prepared to have her writing sins be judged.
(I have never written in terza rima before, nor am I anything resembling a poet. All i know is that by this point, I should think my characters are about ready to kill me because of what I've done to them)
(wow this is pretentious)
Creator's pen drawn
Or keyboard to type upon
I made a haiku
I am tired now
For it is an autumn night
And the swifts are gone