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Tag Archives: Poem

Mind Map / Brainstorm

I wrote this poem to include my word of the day (logy) and also wanted to include a song line that has been stuck in my mind of late “like peanut butter on the brain” … anyone know what song that is from? This is how I’ve been feeling of late:

Each morning, haze perpetrates to dusk,
In my mind, the dawn is a shade of night,
As my thoughts, struggle in the molasses,
For it is clarity, which seek from this mirk!

Logy consumes, any traces of a path
To arrange words, hidden inside, stuck
Like peanut butter, on the brain.
Wake to false dawns. Breathe. Breathe.

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Posted by on Friday 8th May, 2015 in Poetry

 

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Eschew

This will be the poem that preludes the third chapter of my story (I haven’t finished writing the chapter, but I have the concept of the chapter so from that I was able to write this poem, which acts as a summary):

Scared to continue, but he can not return to a lie
Cold wet and hungry; the cub conflicted and alone
In the woods nightmares cast by the moon lit sky,
Branches claw and hollows gnarl teeth of bone.

Feeling like a marionette cut loose
Virgin eyes see that roots do not grasp,
And daemon eyes can not seduce
His freedom that callow fears rasp.

But an omen shadows his troubles with a cry,
To hear such; foretells that he will soon die.

 
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Posted by on Thursday 7th May, 2015 in Poetry

 

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Lifting the Curse for Shore Lines

A terrible curse has come down over my hands of late. The curse first set foot in my mind, and spread down through every creative vein in my body until it suffocated any efforts by my hands to write. As with all good fantasies and curse related stories, there is a possible silver lining. However, an adventure waits, and new challenges will rise before me trying to block my path. I will be strong, in my mind and body. I will overcome the cursed “writer’s block”.

Motivation for me comes in the guise of a contest, Bunbury’s Shore Lines Writing for Performance Festival. The piece is to be for performance poetry (maximum of 10 minutes) and there is up to $1,000 on offer for the winning piece (which can be a monologue, play, stand up comedy, poem, prose, speech or song lyrics).

So I call upon you, my audience, to inform me what I should write about and any tips you have for writing performance poetry??

 
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Posted by on Wednesday 27th November, 2013 in Comments, Creative Writing, Poetry

 

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History’s Accord

Fighting for the pen to write their story,
For we are told the story of the victor
The enemy is always the villain;
The morally wrong; whom we despise.

Portraits of gods and goddess’
The truth hidden with each stroke.
Hairs of a brush mask any imperfections
Yet knives etch other’s evil side.

As we march for truth, blindly accepting
Tales of old: it is written so it is so,
Yet today we distrust all but our eyes
And authors of history are anonymous.

Stories told by men absent from events
Fuel billions; and utmost faith. A profit
Or prophet: only question if written
From the other side; in Hades’ guise.

Crimson tainted ink stains virgin pages
Steady hands hold quills; washed clean,
Telling the history we accept as truth
And the others’ stories hunger for their time.

 
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Posted by on Sunday 13th October, 2013 in Poetry

 

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Saccragast (Second Draft)

My first revision to Saccragast, let me know your thoughts on the revision below.

Prologue

Tonight insomnia holds my hand, for he hunts.
In a daze I relive when I was his prey;
A theatrical drama, I wish was staged.
The play opens on the night I was snared and bagged

Act I Scene I

In darkness: musky air drowned in blood and wee;
The sack’s hairs scratched like witch talons;
With every step, as waves pound against cliffs relentlessly,
the sack crashed into his back, hard as granite;

Pain etched in broken bones, the taste of blood
but I was not alone in the sack, I was blind
still I could feel dead limbs ebbing against my life.
Whose blood wet my cracked lips? Why did I drink?

To be continued …

 
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Posted by on Thursday 26th September, 2013 in Poetry

 

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The Whore’s Breath

A front approaches; there She blows
Cries of the wild lashed by a tempest
Unrelenting, unforgiving: unsettled

Cloaked by darkness; She resides below
Sanctuary and warmth tonight
With the whore of all the Earth

 
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Posted by on Monday 23rd September, 2013 in Poetry

 

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Saccragast (First Draft)

I wanted to write a bit of a scary poem about the bogeyman / sackman. I think the imagery needs some work on this poem, however the theme and essence of the poem is there. Thought I would share with you how I write. I generally write a first draft, such as, that contains the essence of the tale I want to tell in the poem. Then I will re-read it and create imagery, explore words, improve the flow and meter, add similes & metaphors, and generally just evolve it. I will share the evolution of this poem with you … so you get a little inside to how I write. Enjoy!

I lie awake tonight, for he is hunting
Once I was the hunted,
The night I was snared, fresh
Musky smells of dried blood & urine
Itchy hairs of this sack prickle my skin
No light, rocking against his back

Wide eyed I stare, crimson
Scares mark my friend
He doesn’t breathe, so
I hold my breath too

Bugs crawl under my clothes
Gnawing at my nerves,
Tasting the blood of the other
Boys mouth, and ear

A scream nearby stirs my thoughts,
Their voice is swiftly stilled
Footsteps approach, the bag opens
The night sky blankets the moon
A lifeless body collapses on me

We are lifted with ease, now moving fast
Dead eyes stare, I don’t want
To die, I will be good, too late
We have stopped, and turned
Upside down we fall

Cascading down like a rockslide
My body lands heavily on the dead
Atop of me my friend falls
He doesn’t move, he is silent

His eyes are closed, I can’t
An old man walking in shadows
At his feet I meekly grovel
“Ye shall keep” he mutters

Now each night he hunts
I lie awake, waiting to hear
The sullen thud of his meal
Each thud means I live another day

Each meal I eat I see
I see dead eyes staring
Bugs drinking bloodied ear
I taste the gristle of pointed fingers

Ma warned me of serving him
I chose to ignore her, now
Pale skinned I slave for him
For he is the Saccragast

 
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Posted by on Thursday 29th August, 2013 in Poetry, The Struggle Within

 

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