Nice ;) What is the lit community like on dA btw. I've always been kind of wary of it. Not heard good things.
Part of a poem I'm working on. Guess the Twisted Tales, ladies and gentlemen. I like to play with rhythm patterns, it's fun :)
Children, the winter comes
So guard your mind
Frostbitten fingers pull
The eyes scratched blind
And yet it’s in your hearts
And in your sight
So much that heartfelt tears
Won’t make wrong right
One day her prince will come
And fall away
The evil witch will now
Lead him astray
Forgetting one last flaw
Her hair’s too short
‘Cause it had always been
The splitting sort
It's fun to read, too. Just guessing: possibly Jack Frost for the first verse; Rapunzel for the second?
The first one...is not Jack Frost :rolling: But the second is Rapunzel.
Here, the full thing :) Let the guessing game begin!
It is a long lost tale
That's worn of rhyme
And always starts with once
Upon a time
And then the clock strikes twelve
An army wakes
And so the poor girl drops
The smile she fakes
Because her feet ache of
Not upheld deals
The sound of breaking glass
And blood-stained heels
Princesses' coffins crack
Release un-dead
Within the poison lips
A round fruit red
A mirror shard reflects
With Snow White's teeth
Reveals the shocking sight
Of rot beneath
Children, the winter comes
So guard your mind
Frostbitten fingers pull
The eyes scratched blind
And yet it's in your hearts
And in your sight
So much that heartfelt tears
Won't make wrong right
One day her prince will come
And fall away
The evil witch will now
Lead him astray
Forgetting one last flaw
Her hair's too short
'Cause it had always been
The splitting sort
A hundred years too long
For youthful skin
It's such a shame for that
Condemning pin
Even a peaceful sleep
Can't reject age
And will not satisfy
The starving stage
In warm delusions rise
The people far
That the cold steals inside
A shooting star
Her matches burnt so quick
The brick wall lied
And in the end do not
Forget she died
Oh Alice, squirm and cry
Within your dream
The outside world does not
Provoke your scream
For in the concrete room
It all depends
On where the story starts
And real world ends
A sinking golden ball
For one small kiss
And her brief happiness
She'll surely miss
Sharing a dinner plate
And seat he'll hog
But all he ever was
A talking frog
They're sly and mischievous
It's understood
When hiding underneath
The scarlet hood
She did not call his faults
She was alert
And smartly ran back home
Not its dessert
Pretend it's not so strange
House made of sweets
Though never melts in streams
Of sugared treats
And that a father will
Pray, make his child
Survive the forest cold
And fierce beasts wild
They're faded fantasies
That old worlds lend
The tales' two last words
Are not the end
Verse 1 (guess): The Steadfast Tin Soldier (Hans Christian Andersen)
Verse 2: Snow White and the 7 Dwarves;
Verse 3: NFI (already failed once here; let someone else have a go :P)
Verse 4: Rapunzel (yeeha!)
Verse 5: Sleeping Beauty
Verse 6: Little Match Girl?
Verse 7: Alice in Wonderland
Verse 8: The Frog Prince
Verse 9: Little Red Riding Hood
Verse 10: Hansel and Gretel
(Love the poem, regardless of the dodginess of any of my guesses. And your poem Writer on dA is amazing, too.)
11 years ago
Thu Jun 21 2012, 09:32pm
:D You actually have most of them. I didn't think that many people would get the Matchstick Girl (or it's correct name, if I have not stated it so).
Still, verse one and verse three are pending. I have clues:
Verse one, pay attention to lines one, seven and eight.
Verse three, pay attention to the themes of winter, hearts and eyes...
And thank you very much :) Writer is such a strange poem. I didn't know that it would be that popular but I'm really happy about it.
Well, I thought the words in 'Writer' really struck a chord. If I could write poetry, that's exactly the sort of poem I would have loved to write. I'm not oblivious to the cool physical patterns you made with the words, either :P.
Seing the words Winter, Heart and Eyes inevitably leads me to think of Robert Jordan's WoT. Since I know that's not it, I'll return to my hypothetical drawing board and get back to you... one day...
I had a book of Hans Christian Andersen's tales when I was a kid. I remember The Little Match Girl (or equivalent name) vividly. It was so very sad.
Presumably 1 is Cinderella, then? I thought The Steadfast Tin Soldier (ie army ) because I remembered something about the tin soldier having only one leg and thinking the paper ballerina he was in love with also suffering the same affliction (blood-stained heel). Yeah, my mind works in weird and mysterious ways :P.
Correct! #1 is Cinderella. As for #3, I will direct you in the way of Hans Christian Anderson...
Oh, could it be Snow Queen? I read that once a long time ago...
Yes :P You have them all! Now, I just have to start writing something else...
Yeeha! Can't wait; bring it on :).
Wow, i loved those poems, too bad i didn't come check 'em out before they were all guessed... can't wait to see what you write next, tho! :)
Sorry, Dakosha - mental note: don't monopolise Axe's poems :P
Mystic Ward
11 years ago
Mystic Ward
Twentyfamilies Gypsy
Very cool. Great guessing DF
Ooh, I had not come across this before, beautiful. :)
Thank you guys ;v;
I'm about to update the first post so that it's easy to find out where my writing is. Most of it is up on DeviantART, which is why I don't use this thread much because I can't be bothered to double post. Anyway, some half-baked idea:
...
I'll travel far and see the world
and share all that I know
I'll help the poor, I'll help the sick,
I wouldn't really care though.
'Cause caring's not a feeling of
the nightmare youths - like me
'Dedication? What is that?'
Is how it's known to be.
There's no such thing as selfless thoughts
inside a selfish teen
So giving people all I've got
just cannot be my dream.
Something I wrote for a competition yesterday, and I thought I'd put it here because I never put anything here. It is supposed to depict something without actually saying what it is, so I really hope that you can pick it up :P It's been so long since I've written proper prose, so it's probably extremely dull.
[ligne][/ligne]
It was a long time before she noticed him, crawling along rungs made by many, many years. She could not remember when he began; it seemed that all of a sudden, he was already in a void, surrounded by her, glowing and warm.
Somehow all she saw of him was life – burning and raging as if he was the spirit of a man running passionately across a battlefield into war. Distinct, consuming, unpredictable…his presence rolled off him in waves of soft, yellow heat.
How could she, who was sharp edges and gradual death in a cold, dark corner, ever compare? Vitality was born in his wake, while even her iciest storms bore no fruit.
However, to him, she was everything.
He had never noticed her, because she was too large to perceive – Where he was not, she was. His first memory of her was of her gentle embrace, gingerly cradling him in her deepest of hearts. She was stable and wise, the tender serenity of a frozen lake, whereas he, he was whimsical and undecided, raw and unrefined. Though she hid in shadows she was always present, carefully watching.
In the dead space between them, he reached out his hand and hesitantly, fearfully, she met him half way. Where they touched she melted and rain fell on the crying earth, an iris arching over the dome of the sky. Her breath appeared as a thin mist, tugging red leaves from his hair and carrying them away on the wind. A certain type of warmth surged between them – one that was found only amidst a chilly wind.
She leaned forward and her forehead touched his – where their skin met, flowers bloomed and covered the empty hills in a sea of colour. Plants broke free from a peaceful sleep, rising though the soil sweetly. The cool wound itself around the soft baby stems and blithely curled up to rest beneath vibrant petals.
Without the other, they knew that they could not exist.
That's beautiful, Axe :). I'm wondering whether she is Winter and he is Summer; and in between them is Spring and life?
Anyway, your imagery is wonderful, even if I've misunderstood.
TTuTT You have it right, I haven't completely failed. Thank you! In between them is autumn and spring, and the resulting life, so you have it pretty much right there as well.
I guessed the same as Darga, though it was't until the last two paragraphs that I worked it out, though that's probably where you want that kind of understanding to be anyway. It's really lovely though I wouldn't entirely agree with some of your representations of the two seasons--though that would be down to me not liking Summer and Winter very much :P
Thank you muchly! I wouldn't expect it to.
I have some more good stuff, because I decided to sit down and finish a poem from months ago, so I'll post a couple stanzas here:
At dawn: the sky is dark and grey,
Retreating clouds move west.
All people lie awake at night
And in the day they rest.
...
Who was the cruel and selfish man
That made the world this way?
He crawls inside our ears at night
And lingers in the day.
Emotions are words
that describe abstract nothing.
Do not cage your thoughts.
So. It's been a while. It's not exactly because I stopped writing, because I actually turned out a lot, but I had a writing crisis toward the end of last year and haven't shown anybody about 80% of everything I composed since then. It was nice, because I'd been writing with the aim show other people my work for a very long time and I didn't realise how much a relief it would be to step back and keep some things for myself, without that pressure to screen everything.
I worked on a suite of 12 poems for English Extension 2, completed a few months ago, which was also a really good experience in so many ways. I'm really proud of what I handed in.
ANYHOW. This is something that I wrote a few weeks ago. Editing is pending, because I'm not sure if it's missing something or is fine the way it is.
[hr][/hr]
I love coffee shops
but not coffee,
the smell of roasted beans
but not their biting taste –
the colour brown is
a blanket for the heart;
I have my hands wrapped
around steaming paper
cups in
the coffee shop of
my mind