OmniTense/Sinister Poetry Collection

This poem speaks to me Sinister. It reminds me of that last trace of the voice of public reason in my head I killed that time ago. The last thing to tell me of my limitations after I even stopped listening to my own voice of reason.

It also seems to speak of other things such as the people you know who may try to bring you down. Or that's something I got out of it. The repetition of 'You Can't' seems to reinforce this for me. It's a good poem.
Keep writing.

Thanks Furore, I still will write. Just took a pre-semester hiatus. But I've come up with a new one based on personal experiences. Not a serious, complicated, profound or very good poem at all. But one that I had fun typing up. Due to it's rather superfluous and silly nature, it has no name.

EDIT: I've changed my mind, I'll give it a title. One sufficiently simple.

Latrodectism

There once was a black spider
Who once bit a writer
Who had sat down besider her
To smoke his pipe...

It was just a light kiss
Upon his pale wrist
It was just a slight sting
That a slight itch, did bring

A slight sting to a slight itch
An itch to an ache
His skin, he did rake
His muscles, quake...

His eyes sang with tears
His pain, he did show
But he did not kill the spider
He did not kill the widow...

The “Great” Marionette

In a dusty attic
All allayed with grime,
Sputtered by moths
And bested by time.

Where we caught an old puppet
Out of a discolored cage,
Strung in a web
Of it’s own plastic strings.

Somber in face,
And somber in dress.
Sad were the sounds
That it’s hinges protest.

Pedals like petals,
Hoisted the doll.
Smoke from metal
Helped to settle the pall.

Lamps and lanterns illuminate
The pantomime, and translate,
The motions of our captive mime.
In Waltzing time…

It’s little wooden clogs
Danced across the dresser.
We laughed as we forced it
To dance Tarantellas.

To our laughs, it would frown.
We’d spin it around.
Clatter ’midst clutter,
And rattle to ground.
‘Twas neither a matter
Deep nor profound,
Unto which wit
Or meaning was bound.

Amen…
Oh Woe…

Liturgies of the Literate
---------------------------

Liturgy of the Essayist

The friction of a whispered word can set the world ablaze.
And when that word is shouted, believe that lives will shatter
Break and batter along the matter the word was spoken

Liturgy of the Author
So I say, that he has said, something I will say again
In words jumbled, fumbled and rearranged I shall say it again.

Liturgy of the Historian

In a history of written works both witty, fitting and memorable
Our lives sum in a swell of softly printed syllables
That part was good and we must not forget that other part as well
To sum it all up is a tale that was told so that we would tell

Liturgy of the Dreamer

But we must not let our shining dreams
Outshine ourselves, for we were their beholders,
That makes us shine just as bright.

-OmniTense

Angel Band
God is naked in his birthday suit,
Loudly swearing into a flute
Gabe keeps pace, fingering the brass
Michael sings out of his ass

God swears over how Michael sings
While Satan keeps the beat with his wings

Hear the music sway in you
Hear the jazz see you through

Jesus conducts the flow and flux
From his perch on top of his crux
Nobody there has the score
They just make their heavenly roar...

And How We Have All Been Deceived

What is what and,
How was it made
Can it be broken
Can it be saved...

Tell me now, how?
How you've never felt
So empty before
Will you die or will you wilt?

Breath in and out again
After all, we're alive...
Welcome, my friend
Don't be afraid

Of living receding
Of darkness increasing
The time flies by
We no longer ask why

In night now descending
With fear wickedly mending
With you now believing
Life, no more deceiving
As it is ending...

The above post is intended for an audience of one. A single member of this forum

-Sin

That one may smile…

In stems of a steppe
In gardens we wept
I knew you as true
And never a shrew

You have a gloam
It reddens your eye
It slims at your face
As you ruddily cry

All that you've said
But Perfervid Flak
Can’t you have named
The knife in my back

We’ve come a mile
Nay, a mile and a half
That you may smile
And evilly laugh

I have in my pocket
Halos and Horns
How is it that you,
With derision and scorn,
A smile of thorns
Leave to me
To wear but the horns

We have traveled a million
To the very last mile
That one may smile,
And smile, and still be a villain

Sepulchretan

In a creak on a stair,
Over colder memorial,
Under my coffin’s lid.

Away shall I slip
Through kirkyard and crypt
Belted and sheathed upon my hip
A pocket knife to prick my thumb
Blisters of wind to make me numb

There in the mire stood a spire
Leashed to a cross with razor wire
A woman’s bosom which bled not milk
But blood that ran like fluid silk

Abreast of the breast was tacked a sign
“Whosoever upon this dine,
Drink not ye oil, nor drink ye wine…”

A drip to my lip, fell from above
Tasting of sweet mother’s love
At the base of the place laid a crown
A gem diadem filled to the brim
With stiff mayhem, i.e. this poem

Reading this script, I saw
No need to write what
Had already been penned…

I really like this poem Sinister. Its dark but at the same time its really good. It puts a picture in my head but it tells a story and it tells it beautifully.

Quote:

---

Originally posted by Sinister
In a creak on a stair,
Over colder memorial,
Under my coffin’s lid.

---

The beginning really got me hooked on reading the whole thing. It just grabbed me, hypothetically speaking of course. ;! (Did I even spell that right? o.O)

But yeah. Awesome work bro!

Sad in Effect


raw leaves rest, once in a year
winter spins here
bending colors to white

former glories, warmer stories
were buried under crumb and crust
bitter and hoary

losing no sunshine
we found her lying, burned, buried alive
charred and frozen to the lares shrine

gone away from home
to pray alone
burned by the candle she lit

they say suffer the sad
please yourself with
what you have and what they had

they never believed that once in a world
cruelty could befall one so young
that youth was easy and age unsung

ravens pinched her flesh and fed
one prying, sickly prying
her eyeball from her head

of this poor girl and poorer world
only one thing could be said
thank death that she was dead

Untitled

The Men on TV all say...
"Atlas has an evil axis...
So good men, rankle your bones
Rattle your sabre and spit your blood"

The war cries just don't belong
Dulce et decorum tastes all wrong
Faex populi, I feel so used.
So little ago, we said so long

But Rankle bones
Rattle our sabres
Spit our blood
On foreign ground.

Taste it
Watch us
Waste it
We'll baste the sand

We bring the blood
They bring the bombs
The land has the sand
God help us...we'll make red glass...

Ah I've always been a sucker for war references. ><
It's a nice poem Sinny. The line 'Dulce et decorum tastes all wrong' reminded me a little of Wilfred Owen's Dulce Et Decorum Est.
And I noticed the reference to sand and glass too. Well written.

Nice poem bro. I'm not a sucker for war references but this poem is really good. The imagery in it just gives you this gory image. Especially with the...

"We bring the blood
They bring the bombs
The land has the sand
God help us...we'll make red glass..."

Awesome work. :)

Thanks guys ^^.

I like war poems too, Celtic, I just don't like this war. That may sound stupid but some wars are downright necessary and just. They're straightforward. I also am a big fan of Wilfred Owen's poem.

I think we're all tired of this war. Tired of hearing about it, supporting it and sacrificing soldiers to it... Hopefully our new president(whoever this may be) can stop it.


-Sin

This is a special poem in relation to me. I've saved this one for quite a while. It was the first poem I've ever wrote, about a real person named Andrew Horstman, who mined in the Kentucky coal mines back when I was twelve. He was a friend of a family member and he had never been very right in his head. He died in 1998, crushed to death. I heard the rumors and whatnot, from my Uncle, who also worked the mines. This poem is loosely inspired by that. It may seem a little silly and sloppy...but I was twelve...


The Tragedy of Dead Allen Ryfe


Our silent miseries are the bliss of life
They keep our minds warm and oiled with strife
Without them we'd sink on the edge of a knife
Still, hence came the tragedy of dead Allen Ryfe

He screamed as he fell, downside the mine
A shaft but twenty feet, twenty by nine
He landed just fine
Inches from the edge of a steep decline

There shined his torch in slick black earth
Foundlings cry for their mothers at birth
Greater did Allen cry, all he was worth...

Standing in front, barefoot and wet
Was Allen's dead sister, little Annette
In her pretty lace gown, with her collar turned down

She smiled a smile that could scare a sin
A smile that soon became a grin
At that, Allen then stopped his din
And stared at the face of his little dead twin

I called to him straight, to look again
That twas naught there, nor had there been
He swore I was wrong, then swore therein
And then stumbled down to meet his ill-end

Miss we the most
That which we've lost


-Sin

As for the last poem in a while, that bums me out. Your poetry is amazing bro. Serious. And with things that I'm reading from your journal and the talks on MSN with you, I'm sure you have a lot more to write.

For that being your first poem ever written by you, the poems itself shows how your grew as a poet from that one to the other ones in this thread. I find that admirable and amazing by your growth. The wording. The imagery. Everything within it is purely raw and real and this projects a strong emotion of sadness. Amazing work bro. Amazing.

See how the visions rule?
Feel through fen and fane?
The insane in crag and cave reign
No hope to remain, for any fool
See how the illusions pool?

Force them forth with blood
No God can nurse this brood
No Hero can turn this mood
Marching over where life once stood

In spirit, forgery
In propriety, profane
In bounty, dire
See how the illusions stain

Here we live, the human race
You see, but the lies show you

I repeat, there are no more after this one...

I would never post this one if I knew it would never be seen, and if it was seen, by the few people who still go to this thread, they would not know why it was written...and think it was just another mediocre addition to this sad collection. So really this poem was written for myself... It's fitting I should start with a poem about stars and then end with one...

And to my dear critics, don't be too mad at me for being unable to make sense of this poem... You read it with an unfair disadvantage.

To Flatter 'gainst a Rival Star

Rave on the brightening
Shoo away the light like flies
Cry as a cryling would…
And curse these skies…

Sleep Instead!
A winter night where Capricorn had gone
And Pisces was yet to come
A winter night in summer,
I longed for pretty things to see,
pretty things…

Look Away!
In cycles so sure
And reasons too pure
To flatter 'gainst a rival star
To refuse to care…
where you are…

As the stars move and spin…
To love one above others,
No matter where it is,
Is no great Sin…

To see and to smile
To have freedom in my love
and in my soul, remain free…
To see that star, burning brightly…

Don't Fret!
But I was mad…
I split it's light like hairs
And tied them in knots
Torturing anything else they shone upon
but me…

Enter this space…
And curse away my gaze
Beg my eyes to look away, but don't…
Send me away…

I can only hope…
That the star must keep
shining brighter
burning warmer
wherever it may drift…

Never smile
Konbanwa…d

-Sin

I have to say your poems are amazing. I write too,i havent wrote in a while,but yours deffinately are superior. i like the imagery and the wording you use. Your poem dosent seem to make no sense it does make sense,well to me anyway :) I got a good feeling when reading your poem. Keep writing!