My Poetry

So I thought to myself "What is this blog missing? My topics can be pretty much endless...so how about add some forms of art in here?" So that's when I thought about adding my personal form of art (the only kind that I'm somewhat good at); poetry!

Din
Red with fire burned by hate,
tell me goddesses what's my fate.
Goddess of fire, power, and land,
it's your symbol on my hand.
Give me the strength to subdue this foe,
so I can conquer with this final blow.

Now I don't know if any of you have ever heard of "Battle Arenas" in forums, but it's essentially a battle of each other's writing skills. Anywho, for my "Battle Arena" warrior, I wanted to create some sort of War Cry that he would say from time to time to pump himself up, and this is a small poem I created for him.
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Valentine Letter
I got your letter just the other day.
Sorry for no response, I didn't know what to say.
I'm glad you got the Christmas card, though it was rather late.
I'm also glad you've been spending time with your Irish mate.
I'm sure the bovine were a bucket load of fun,
I've been lucky to be with friends before the day was done.
My address and phone number haven't changed,
but my priorities in life have been rearranged.
I've found myself looking at schools near a Boston street,
but what I've found were DJs for the wedding's fancy beat.
No need to say "Thank you, friend" I knew that all this time,
I couldn't find a word for "jealous" in this silly rhyme.
I'm not jealous of him, it's more of what you two share,
a love so grand that three years time could still never tear.
I'll hold you to that promise when you move to a different land,
and you better tell me when a certain Irish man takes your hand.
It's not that I've lost my voice, or have become shy,
it's for I have not much to say, or a reason why.
There really shouldn't be a reason to just call a friend,
however I'm afraid who will pick up on the other end.
I'd like to hear the soft voice who is ever so sweet,
rather than a burly man who I'd never like to meet.
I'll leave the calling to you my friend,
Hence I'll be waiting on the other end.
I must be going now, there isn't much to say,
but bless you and your family on this Valentine's Day.

Now here's a poem/letter I sent to my ex-gf/friend. FYI: the "Irish man" is her old boyfriend who she decided to go back to (after she dumped me...). And why I'd not like to meet him? He has this prejudice against Dominicans (which I am) and pretty much all dark-skinned minorities overall (because of an incident that happened to him years ago) so I just rather not be in his line of vision...
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Seasons' Treasure
The white fog,
The black trees,
made me come to a stop.
As I glanced at the glass pond,
I saw two people.
One wasn't me.
Her icy blue eyes looked at me,
while Dawn's light shined on Her face.
Her eyes became the Sun and the Moon.
Dawn climbed the mountain and woke the town,
The banks were painted in gold from Her Autumn hair.
Her Spring dress gave Morning's chill a rest.
As I watched the Dawn with Her,
they filled my heart with the Summer's sun
I looked to the left.
No one was there but a wisp of fog at my side.
I continued,
searching. . .

This poem was about a girl I had a huge crush on during High School. The poem is talking about her beauty, and also how I had to move on from her. She was there for a brief moment in my life, but I just had to continue searching for my "one true love"...that is, if you believe in that sort of thing.
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Dreaming Soul
A dream to come pass through everyday thought,
a dream to hope upon as to hope a sun shines in an eye.
For the heart dreams more than the night ...
a soul more than the heart.
Empty is the soul that dreams.
For time is the giving and taking of all,
and time is what holds all of dreams.
Dreams of which yesterday linger till today ...
dreams of which tomorrow phases to present ...
eternally a soul that dreams.
Empty is the soul that dreams.
In the passing of time all will happen ...
the coming of destiny ...
passing becomes modern history.
All will fall where needed ...
all will fall for the soul that dreams.
Empty is the soul that dreams.

I honestly can not remember when I did this poem...and knowing that would give me a better understanding of what I was talking about. In the past, I have found myself writing poems half asleep (when I get a good idea, I do pretty much anything to get it out of my head and written down somewhere...and I'm serious because I have the worst memory in the world) so this may be one of those cases. But what I do understand (of my own poem) is that people's dreams (as in life long goals, not sleeping images) are always thought of, but many people don't do much to try to achieve it.
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Heaven's Guide

To write by candle light will bring you to the past,
in a moment long ago, that you wanted to last.
To the damsel to keep her secrets wherever they may lie,
to place them in this diary, for whatever reason why.

Write in the moonlight, underneath the stars
while the children gather fireflies in crystal jars
Teach them constellations of beasts and Gods long ago
about Corvus, the Hydra, and the angry Apollo
Guide them through the stars to always make their way home
to find their mother, whom was born from the foam

Knowledge is something that no one can take away
teach methods of the past so they can forever stay.

Look through the scope where philosophers gaze
up towards the heavens where wonders still amaze.

Living in the city, you barely see the stars. I take that back, I live in a suburb of a city, you barely get to see all the stars at night. So this poem was meant to be a little reminder of an old teaching method that has somewhat been lost (astrology). Ok, yes astrologists still look up at the stars, but not really the common day people since we already have appliances to replace them (such as a compass that later evolved into a GPS system). So this poem is for all those things to never forget the old ways of teaching, and teach your children about them in hopes that they will remember it for another day.
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Helena's Dream

O beautiful maiden who's soft and so sweet,
with spirits of the forest dance by your feet.
Play a melody on your elegant fife,
to the beat of your heart, the music of life.
Play songs of a loved one you lost long ago,
when Eros struck you with his arrow and bow.
Love is something that is never too late,
You can never predict the twists of fate.
Play till your heart's content under the moon,
or till the sun rises over high noon.

What inspired me about making this poem was a scene from Shakespeare's Midsummer Night's Dream, and if I remember correctly, at one moment of the play Helena is greeted by forest fairies, and so, I just made a poem about that scene (and mostly about her love for Demetrius).

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Boy
To the boy born with a curse.
No love from women, what can be worse?
You'll live a life of loneliness and pain,
no need to cry, there's always the rain.
Nobody there to kiss your tears away,
all you can do is kneel down and pray.
There's no wonder why you haven't taken your life,
deep down inside, you still hope for a wife.
To love and be with you for every tender care,
but the world doesn't work like that, so it's unfair.

O broken boy, nobody will fix you until you're complete,
from the problems in your head right down to your feet.
Attention and depression will always get in your way,
to have a normal life, a breathe into clay.
Your insecurities and shyness will never land you a girl,
yet your priorities in life have yet to unfurl.
Your brain is on empty, and your conscience drowned in guilt;
my, what a peculiar boy this god has built.
You're turning twenty-one but far from a man,
that's because you never face the problems you ran.
The stealing, the lying, the glut, sloth, & sex,
you're gambling your soul, and the devil's in the decks.

O useless boy, when will you learn?
that the world doesn't need you, so let Icarus burn.

Somewhat of a personal poem. I was depressed during that time, but might I add, I've never thought of suicide (though the poem says that, it was just used for the imagery). My life has been in a drought, and I need to get back up again and start anew (but that's easier said than done....most things are)
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Desert Winds of Floralia
Amber heavens turn into a will o' wisp riddened blanket.
Tortoise draws back into his shell, coyote stands proud on her dune,
as Procne harks a somber song in the cool night breeze.
Shadows flicker on canvas walls as kerosene flames twist against Eurus' breath.
Lilly pedals herald throughout the hookah-mead tavern as the desert muse emerges from the sand.
Nyx blessed her dark mane while smooth clay skin covers her body
Diamond stars lace her brow over the deep oasis of her veiled eyes.
Cheeks shimmer like the frozen dew of night and bells chime as her hips sway to the beat of the drum.
Tempest of the land, whirling zephyrs in her burlesque dance while flashing those neptune eyes all around
She truly is a goddess amongst men.

In the long run, this poem will actually be part of an even larger poem. My "grand finale" poem will be about an adventurer who's out in the desert and he's run out of water. He finds an oasis, sets up camp, fills up his canteen of water, and starts smoking. After awhile, a goddess appears before him and dances. When he wakes up, the oasis is gone, no goddess to be seen, his canteen is full of water and he starts to question if that was all a mirage, a hallucination, a dream, or was that real (meaning the goddess saved his life...how else would you explain the full canteen;))
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Spirits
Poes that drift with silver eyes,
in the fog they face demise,
moonless nights and songs of cries,
These are the days of yore.

Lanterns burn with flames of blue,
Reaper's clocks when you are due,
Don't look now, it's one you knew,
Into the Styx they soar.

Will o' Wisp burn in the midnight air,
Blood-stained hooves heard everywhere,
In the darkness none shall dare,
Screaming 'till there's no more.

This is about the spirits travel after they are dead. Spirits and the grim reaper. I wouldn't say that I dedicate this poem to my grandmother (who passed away on the day I wrote this...though I did get the idea of writing about death at a time like this), but it's about death anyways. Pretty much this poem is about the past, and how people were terrified of ghosts. Not to say that people aren't afraid now, it's just, there aren't as many ghost stories as there were back then (ghosts must be afraid of the city....or just never seen in them).
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Corona
I ate flakes for breakfast
day in and day out it's eat, sleep, and wander about
as a prisoner in this damn cube.
I feel like there are invisible boundaries around my life
No castle to call my own, no fertile ground for a garden
only a psuedo plant in my back yard.
Is there a higher power looking after me? Or am I on my own?
Can't breathe in this polluted water.
What's a karp to do?

Ok, granted that the title of the poem can change, but nothing else. As you've noticed, I wanted to make the reader seem like he/she is reading about their own similar life, or maybe even the life of someone they know. You know, someone who's stuck in a rat race. Well I wanted it to be the same, but with a goldfish instead of a rodent. Why the name Corona? Because that's the name of my "pet" goldfish.
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Feathers of Icarus
Tracks have stopped trembling,
Engines echo in the sky.
Babbling cars can be heard a mile away,
no wind to ride but branches to nest upon.
We herald on tree tops for twilight is near,
the horizon are our borders and the clouds our domain.
In the skies we forever remain kings,
from the dawn of creation to the end of time.

I was outside on my balcony doing this poem, and I just sorta wrote about a bird's-eye-view of things. As you've noticed, I like to rhyme in my poems (hey, it catches people's attention), but in this one, I didn't have much to work on. It's a short poem, but still a little lacking


Please tell me what you think of my poems, I have a few that are still "Work in process" so there may be more, and please feel free to share some of your very own.

I'm slightly back

Sorry for the two month hiatus people. My life has been somewhat hectic. Helping with a wedding, playing video games, helping with moving, my last grandparent passing away, me trying to get into college, looking for jobs, and just your mundane everyday boredom. I suppose after I got the upgrade on the blog, I haven't been all that active or even interested in posting. I can be like that sometimes. Just don't expect a lot from me. When it comes to blog work, I have slightly updated my "favorites lists" on webcomics, websites, favorite blogs, and video game sites. And I've been working on a few articles that I may throw out now and then. I just want my blog layout back how it was (unlike this white board monstrosity).