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Old 07-28-2010, 03:29 AM View Post #11 (Link)
Peppermental (Offline)
Aspiring Author
 
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more ramblings from the blazed.

Your wrinkled folds
papyrus envelopes cracking
from the Egyptian heat in Texas

that withered
and wilted
like handsewn creases

Your darling
full of eathworms
covered in flowers

You're a puppet of you
sock puppet, ripped and stained
each fiber gray and rotting
disheveled with all four winds

Its okay to quit
__________________
[Alice Glitterhorn] Caleb <3333333333333
[Peppermental] <333
[Rose] :o
[Jack] Caleb <3333333333333333333333333333333333333333333333
[Jack] 333333333333333333333333333333333333333333333333333
[Jack] 33333333333333333333333333333333333333333333333333
[Faust] Caleb!
[Rose] CALEB!
[Jack] 33333333333333333333333333333333333333333333333333
[Peppermental] so jack.
[Jack] 33333333333333333333333333333333333333333333
[Jack] 33333333
[Jack] 3
[Fi] CALEB!
[Rose] I LOVE YOUUUUUUUUUUU
 
Old 07-28-2010, 04:14 AM View Post #12 (Link)
Alice Glitterhorn (Offline)
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We will live in reverse,
rewinding the skies
so the sun comes
last,

and we will rise from
our tombs, spell out the
epitaphs on our faces

written in river-beds
for saline solutions.

When the stars expose us
in our fall from Athena’s grace,
we can jump
upwards, and clasp
our age-dried hands

to the crumbling rim
of everlasting elders.
__________________
Spoiler:
Originally Posted by Caleb
when I hear the word poet

I think of you naked, rimbaud drinking, and how lovely my hair is


They sailed away, for a year and a day,
To the land where the bong-tree grows;
And there in a wood a Piggy-wig stood,
With a ring at the end of his nose,

Word Count: 10000/50000
 
Old 07-29-2010, 01:42 AM View Post #13 (Link) My Entry
jdsncb23 (Offline)
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Here's my entry.
Spoiler:

Dark holes seen,
Seen as traumas lingering.
Lingering shadows indented on her wrinkled face,
Face full of worries refusing to be forgotten.

Hair oblique,
Oblique remnants of a wrong path long forgotten.
Forgotten, arthritic-ridden fingers,
Fingers remembering the magic of an enchanting instrument.

She looks off into the distance of time,
Time spent with no one.
One photo captures her memory,
Memory of the golden days.

Slowly, but surely,
Surely she’ll fade to dust.
Dust obscures her as she waits and watches,
Watches for the young age that will never come.

Her time here is finished.
Finished with mistakes and passions.

A simple chair is left,
Left cracked under the weight of her regrets.
__________________
She lives in a fairy tale
Somewhere too far for us to find
Forgotten the taste and smell
Of the world that she's left behind

-Brick by Boring Brick, Paramore


http://www.youngwritersonline.net/showthread.php?t=5611<--- Help me out!!
 
Old 07-29-2010, 01:09 PM View Post #14 (Link)
Spacepirate (Offline)
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creeps
brittle webs;
yellowin winds
  
						Last edited by Spacepirate; 07-29-2010 at 01:12 PM.
Old 08-12-2010, 10:27 PM View Post #15 (Link)
pockyfreak (Offline)
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I am rusty rusty rusty. and stil learning learning learning. but having a topic to write by given by another person helps me write alot easier and learn alot faster so here--> even though its poor form and bad <3

In my age i have grown
spiderweb veins enclosing the fly buzzing of my pulse
My skin has melted into cracked concrete with twisted
sinew trees
the light in my eyes once a sun, now only fade to a star
the youth laugh and i sigh remembering my long ago sky

In my age i have grown
slow to anger,
slower still to get up off this prison bench
and walk to were id like to go
but thats ok because i see now
how beautifully the flowers grow

In my age i have grown three children.
filled with youth and trust
they will cry, i pray, in selfishness
when my bones are making dust

In my age i have grown the knowledge of old oaks
the steadfastness of brass clasps
the softness of worn silk in childrens hands
and the aged smile of a women worn by time
In my age, i fear, i have grown old.
__________________
On a long enough timeline, the survival rate for everyone drops to zero. -Fight Club


All generalizations are false, including this one.
-Mark Twain

Don't go around saying the world owes you a living. The world owes you nothing. It was here first.
-Mark Twain
 
Old 08-13-2010, 09:57 AM View Post #16 (Link)
Spacepirate (Offline)
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*cough* judge *cough*
 
Old 12-20-2010, 10:52 PM View Post #17 (Link) Entry: Me and Death
SoggyPoptart (Offline)
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I was there, still a young sprout
when the first pyramid was built;

Oh, how I pof climbing
it,and reaping my rewards.

I was there, middle aged when
England and U.S parted ways,

All moved to the promised
land, all except for me.

But now I'm old and weak,
swaying like a fallen leaf.

I sit in my rocking chair,
forward, back, forward.

In my years, I've experienced
much; somehow never dying.

Now, I'm like a broken twig,
swinging between life and death.

When my friend Death comes,
I'll greet him gladly, walking off.

Me and Death, we'll be best
friends. Me and Death.
 
Old 12-25-2011, 02:26 AM View Post #18 (Link)
incisron (Offline)
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I don't understand.

I came into a world that I did not know-

Weak, helpless, unable to change, or to fight.

And yet I did know it - for it was the world

That God sent me to. He knew what I was. And

I knew, somehow, that I was a Person, that

I was hungry, I was cold, I was frightened - here

Was my mother - though I could not say who she was.

That she was the one who gave me food, held me

When I cried. Often, though, she would be occupied

With Chores - with things my baby- mind could not - did

Not want to understand. My tearstained face would turn

Crimson with enraged screams, with helpless sadness, and

Finally, despondency would seize me ; it

Did not matter that she came minutes later, crooning

Fondling me to her; I knew that when I

Was most hungry, coldest, most afraid, I would

Not find her at my side. I knew she was my

Mother, and yet I did not know. When I was

A mother, I knew I was a mother. But

I thought of myself as not "Mommy" but as

Me. The same me who had been the crying baby

Who had been the maddening toddler child, the

Rebellious youth. When I arrived at the

Mother's club, I would see the sign on the door

Listing me amongst the "mothers" who were members

And I would smile bitterly. I had become

Not Emily, not me, but only Mommy

When I stood beside the cradle, listening

Helpless, to the maddening screams, I knew, then,

Why, when I was as small as this baby, my

Mother - not only my mother, but Elizabeth,

Had turned her back to my cries, had walked on

While I screamed - helpless, angry, self centered

-Knowing, and not knowing - demanding that the

World should pause for my hunger, my fear - and now

I turned my back to my baby, thinking of

Her infant selfishness - unlike my Mother

I never returned to fondle her to sleep.

I sat in another room, relishing, hating

The sounds of her cries - heartrending, maddening

Giving her the wrath I wished I had received

When I was her - The Baby - self-centered, weak.

Yet, while lying abed at night, I would crumble

Into tears of remorse. They would tell me, "You're

a mother. All mothers shed these tears. You're normal. "

That was what The Mother wanted to hear, it

Was not what Emily wanted to hear ; it only took

Me back into my bitterness, what had made

Me turn my back to my baby, crying, helpless.

Today, fifty years later, I wonder if

I ever really changed from that baby, crying

Maddening, self-centered, screaming, demanding

I know, in any case, I am that baby

Now. Weak, helpless, still no longer Emily

Only The Old Lady, to be pampered, waited

On, and yet ignored. I know I am Emily

But I despair, would be ashamed to proclaim

I am Emily - for I can do nothing that

Proves me to be anyone but Old Lady.

Weak, helpless, waited on, and yet alone - I

Rave, quarrel, watch with increasing rage, the face of

My daughter, still, placating, patronizing

Somehow. She is no longer a baby. Nor a

Child. Nor a girl, led by my advice, I am

The child now. Yes, I am the baby, crying

Self-centered, maddening, maddened, helpless, I

Am also the adolescent, furious

At but the thought of my guardians talking

About me in the next room - the adolescent,

Raging at specters. I am the baby. I

Scream, but am not heard. The world has a different

Childhood, a different youth, and I hate it. I

Scream, but am not heard. I have experience

But cannot use it to help, for I cannot

Talk smoothly, I can only scream. No one hears

A screamer. I scream, helpless, maddening, demanding

A baby, and I know it. Helpless, when I crave strength.

What am I good for?
 
Old 12-25-2011, 02:27 AM View Post #19 (Link)
Alice Glitterhorn (Offline)
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Hon, this thread has been dead for a year. Check the date on threads before bringing them up.
__________________
Spoiler:
Originally Posted by Caleb
when I hear the word poet

I think of you naked, rimbaud drinking, and how lovely my hair is


They sailed away, for a year and a day,
To the land where the bong-tree grows;
And there in a wood a Piggy-wig stood,
With a ring at the end of his nose,

Word Count: 10000/50000
 
Old 02-11-2012, 05:41 PM View Post #20 (Link) Sunlight
Mia Cook (Offline)
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Location: Harrogate
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Sunlight
Sunlight pours down on me,
A hot steamy breath.
It glows its shiny colours.

So frightening to watch.
It burns our eyes with bright yellow
Barely ten seconds can blind.

From dawn till dusk
It glares at us.
Waiting...
Waiting...
Waiting...

By Mia Cook, age 10.
 
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