Dreamer's Poetry

Broken Doll

I see a casement,
a vault,
filled with nothingness.

I sense a mellow,
a tingling,
bitterness of sorrow.

I inflict a boundless,
a universe,
of pure anguish.

I make a shelter,
a home,
with no windows nor doors.

I am a being,
a soul,
living without life.
~Ger.

He Came

Sitting and waiting at a bench,
praying he is still coming.
She skips and paces around the car,
just to keep her hopes alive.

Changing and darkening sky,
despair is slowly eating into her,
She flips and glances at the phone,
wishing he would give her a call.

Hurrying and jogging over to her,
the one she had been waiting for,
She smiles and waves back at him,
his grin has lit up her raining heart.

Jumping and rushing towards him,
tears of relief pours out of her,
she flings and wraps her arms round,
squeezing the daylights out of him.
~Ger.

Lonely

Call of the souls abandoned,
shrills of the spirits forsaken,
none heard by others on earth.

Scrapes of memories to pick,
empty pages of future to seek,
a present day barren living.
~Ger.

Where's The Love

We claim we love,
but to her,
we do only harm.

We say we worry,
but then,
we just sit by and watch.

We talk of protecting,
but right now,
we're still destroying.

We discuss the measures,
but in fact,
we're just putting on a show.

We start campaigns,
but actually,
We're just spinning tales.

We have all the power,
so it's time,
we should start saving Gaia.
~Ger.

Waning Star

Twinkling against the light blue drop,
draping emotions left to mop.
Secrets hidden behind this wall,
unheard even through the silent call.
Seeking the fire of craze,
to set the passion ablaze.
Sighing in utter despair,
when hopes start to wear.
Watching as it slowly dies away,
as desires get killed by gamma rays.
~Ger.

Perceptional Sophistication

Duels of power,
covert and secrete.
Capsules of protection,
built and bolstered.

Fables of friendships,
bristle and prick.
Tables of chimeras,
shatter and pop.

Dimples of history,
shallow and tarnished.
Candles of alliance,
dissolves and melt.

Girdles of living,
cumbersome and woeful.
Barrels of loneliness,
tumble and crush.
~Ger.

Ha! I found your poems, and they are really good. This is what I felt when I read your poems, you tell a story. It's short but meaningful, and from that I could see that you're experienced as well, maybe not literally:) My favourites are Missu, Just Swallowing On and Warning Star. I don't know why, but I just loved them!

Missu makes me emotional, Just Swallowing on, the first stanza is my favourite! I like the way you put scream and shrill together, it makes it sounds 'heavy' (sorry couldn't think of a word to describe what I feel, sometimes, I suck with words, XD) and it gave me a very suffering and excruciating image, confined. And warning star also made me felt like how Just Swallowing on did, frustrating and desperate.

By the way, broken doll is also a very nice poem! How creative are you to think of such poem:) And you have a talent in choosing names,

Flattering! Thanks anyway!

Actually the titles are what inspired me to write. I have life, but that of a broken doll... And I feel like I'm just a puppet of my classmates. doing their work for them and all that. I feel like screaming it out, like anyone would care.

Most of my poetry are goth, due to emotions. I tend to write when I'm really emotional. But lately, I'm just stressed out so I swing by others' poetry to get some inspirations. (:

If you read my poems in chronological order (although, of course, these are selected writes and are not in chronological order), it's my life.

Burning Life of a Motionless Doll

The gentle smile sewn unto this face,
beauty in only the limit of its length.
A sparkle from the glittering eye,
genuine despair hidden by it's barren gleam.
The braided plaits of silk straight strings,
dullness to come with time and space.
A constant whirling network of thoughts,
fostered by a dead heart and silent mind.
~Ger.


Debris

Her arms once warmly wrapped around,
now her pretty face only dons on scorn.
Watched her twirl, but with other men,
the smile once his, no longer now.

Maybe she was waiting for today,
to show how he was yards from her.
Staggered to a corner, destroyed by sorrow,
fall into a vault of despair, devoured by despair.
~Ger.
(something that happened to my senior... sad life)


Cobwebs

Spot lights on the dance floor,
wine and drinks in rows.
Swirls of dresses, taps of heels,
wrath of midnight parties, blasting through.

A pallid single palely dressed,
forgotten in shadows of dim-lit sites.
Head in knees, hand round glass,
many merry hours, wasted in grief.

Distant melodies misbegotten in pain,
struggle to stay sane fails to being.
Tears streaming, hics choking,
few would know, none will ask.
~Ger.

I could feel the emotions in those poems, and it's not goth, but sad. And I don't mind if it's goth or cheeky or anything, the pieces you put together are great. Can't wait to read from you more. My fav in is Burning life of a motionless doll. I love the way you describe the doll, every single detail and every single emotions in those words.

Thanks. Good you like them (:

I had the image of a doll in my mind when I wrote that poem XD I prefer having something in my mind when writing. A scene, or an image. Makes it easier to describe.

Sacrifice

Searching in a sea of dead,
looking for a lost love.
Stopped dead by a small frame,
with intricate features.

Plunging forward without thought,
arms wrapping round the sleeping face.
The expected tears began to stream,
it was her second gone in just a week.

Several months of anticipation,
and hours of waiting in the hospital.
Ten or more years spent caring,
all gone in the ring of a gun shot.

Many other voices cry in harmony,
like a massive choir of grieving souls.
All only screaming to heaven,
hoping to revive lost members.

But those mothers had others,
like little girls and spouses waiting.
she had absolutely nothing left,
to keep her going in this angst.

Overwhelmed by total despair,
she wipes out a gleeming object.
In a swift motion from left to right,
she joins her family in the other world.
~Ger.

-Based on an image in my mind when I watched a video on the Sri Lankan Civil war. How a mother cried so hard for a lost family member.

I read them and I love them all! I would return and give a full review because of the insufficiet time, sorry! But thanks for making my day! Be back in a long time again:(

Thanks. (: Hope you update yours soon too ((:

Here's more. Well this two sets were written for ritual sake. I used to be the poet of the circle on the old site. So here it is:

(This poem is for the poet who steps up to recite the poem on stage after the ritual is over. This is for full moon)

I've been really emo lately... Idk, I just feel very lonely... No matter how much I talk to others. In fact, I feel happier when writing my novel then talking to them... Every time I start a conversation with my friends, oh well... that's the problem... I'm always the one who starts it... It's just me I bet... If I wasn't around, I bet they would be happier...

I wanted to rant it out in the venting thread.... but couldn't phrase myself properly... The following three poems should give some idea of how I'm feeling. By the way, all my poems are likewise, they all talk about my life, except those on romance (I'm clueless about romance. Ik I suck as a teenager, but I won't be getting into any relationship until I've graduated from University or at least from high school..).


[[I'm imperfect, but I'll keep trying... Keep trying to be someone everyone likes. I don't want to be alone /cries/ It sucks a lot to be... Being alone makes feel dark, emo, angst, despair, lost, fearful, afraid... I know I'm not good, but I'm trying really! I'm trying! I just don't want to be alone... I don't want to be alone... It's hard to make friends, and harder to to lose them. I don't want to be alone. I don't want to be alone, I don't want to be alone... I don't want to be alone... ]


There, here are the poems:



[Yeah me, always the one starting the conversation... But because I want to take on a third person perspective of my life... And I'd very much love to think that my friends would like to help, just that they don't know how to... Would like to think they care, would like to think that at least they pity me. I don't care, even if it's sympathy... At least I know someone notices me..]


[I don't know. this was the first poem I wrote of the three... Probably an general idea, a rough outline of the personal feelings.]


[Last of the three written. But it's really like people will pity strays, people will find living things cute... But I feel like i'm just casted aside, shoved aside, into a hole, into a vault, where I'm with a pile of bones... And soon to be one of the many rotting bones...]

I apologize for anyone who truly respects poetry and doesn't ever use it for vengeance of their emotions... But there is no way I can take this out of me without writing them out... You can flame this thread in whichever way you like.

The ritual poems are really good, and I think it should be published in the HON series, speaking from the true heart.

Symphathetic Helpless Onlooker- once again, the title attracts me, gosh, I just don't know how you can come up with such great titles. Anyway, I think I could somehow relate to this poem, however instead of being the one who starts the conversation, mine was always intervened by others, but I always let them do the talking.Sometimes I just get pissed.

Desperate to Barren Eyes
This is a poem about reality, and it's sad but true, it's not emo, it's real. And unlike anything that was made up, this is what happens to people.

Never will any pass by even with condolence,
only glances of spite and disgusts flicks,
as the count down timer starts to tick

This is my favourite stanza and I really could relate to this, it happens to my friends and also me.

Torn- It's a bit too short, but the meaning is there, I just wish you could elaborate iut further. And by the way, poems are just the only place I will seek comfort in,

Lol. Well. that was my first time so I really tried very hard. I sat down for a whole day brainstorming about each of the elements and what importance they hold to us. The first set is the more recent one, whereby the rhyme was thrown off and i wrote it more for the relevance each poem has with each other.

Well, you could check out the past rituals (this year) on the main HON site, there are many better poems up there i believe.

SHO: I have no idea myself. Well I came up with the poem first and then the title. Most of them was just the main drive of the poem (which most of the time, the poem seems not to tell the same story). I can understand how it feels to be cut all the time. well for me... i start the conversation, but slowly come to realize people in the conversation has left me out... so i just sit there quietly, listening to whatever they have to say... and also, start analysing their personalities (keeping myself busy in other words).

DTBE: There's no such thing as lies, other than friends and reality. Oops, doesn't that make everything a big lie? Well, the REAL reality is but a torture that none wants to face.

And if possible, could i give you an e-'hi-five'? I'm going through exactly the same thing.

Torn: Erm... sorry about that then, but i barely revise my poems because i want to keep them the way they are. Edited poems are no longer what you really feel anymore.

As for me, poems is an escape from reality, I'm quite a dreamer that I can sit there in class, with a consistent mess of thoughts flowing. As in... I can have several thoughts at once, that goes on and on and on...

Poetry helps me to organize them in separate thoughts so that i can be more focussed on one thing... well more focussed when procrastinating lol.

Strangers Will Never Empathize

Pity reflecting off their eyes,
as they crowd round to sympathize,
thinking they are helping,
just by gathering more around,
they don't know the fear,
that eats the lonely soul,
as they stand about and gaze...
Bystanders will never know.

Despise that radiates off their being,
as they pass with quickening steps,
presuming they never saw it,
but turning back to stare after they've past,
they don't know the pride,
which they've trampled on,
when they whisper amongst themselves...
Passersby will never understand.

Fear of dirtying themselves shows through them,
as they drop pieces of tissue and some coins,
believing it is aiding the lonely one in need,
not knowing how much it detriments it,
they don't know the silent resentment,
that they've engraved in the mind and heart,
as the circle widens from the middle out...
Onlookers will never use their heart...

For they are but strangers,
with eyes on no one but themselves.
~Ger.

A/N: First time using italics, don't quite know what it should be conveying, but it's more of internal monologue.... anyone got that?