EVERYONE: - Complete Skaraflame's Poetry Bank

[8BitPoipole]

So I've decided to write poetry. My poems are simple and complex at the same time.
While it's easy to work out what it's about, some of them may have hidden meanings.
I write poems with simple structures too.

So without further ado, here are my poems!

The Writer

Spoiler

Sat there in the attic, scribbling with his pen,
A man so erratic, stays in his den.
Watching out the window, across Clock Town,
He decides the fate of the people, even he who wears the crown.

So feared is the writer, the townsfolk sent a hitman,
"That cheeky little blighter", he thought, as he devised a counter plan.
The hitman walks up the steps, readying his sword,
The writer took his pen and crept, crept along the creaking floor.

"I'll look at you and decide your fate" said the bitter old man,
"And a wound in your belly I will create" challenged the hitman, as if he can.
So they stood and they stared, face to face.
The Writer, he merely glared, the hitman struck without haste.

Clock Town now safe, the Writer deceased
Stood there was the victorious waif, the bloody body beneath.
The hitman, outside, the townsfolk cheered
"The Writer died! now there's nothing to fear!

Cold Whisper

Spoiler

Men in furry coats, walking on the frosty grass,
Dew drops, on every leaf in this grey foggy landscape.
A blue moon, shining through dead trees, is cast,
Blue face, the hikers from their icy fate can't escape.

I, here in my lodge, heating is a blue flame,
Watching strangers struggling silently,
A roar, I hear, a rattle of chains,
The coldness, an icy lancer, whistles violently.

I step out. The cold attacks. I shiver and shiver.
My face now blue, the fog deep grey.
I step, carefully, across a frozen river.
The hikers stare, dead eyes and nothing to say.

They lie on the colourless, icy grass.
They, fallen. I see their struggle.
I bring them in, to the warm side of the glass.
Fire still blue, faces red, they sleep and snuggle.

My last verse

Spoiler

There lies my loved one, asleep on the bed.
I wish she weren't gone, but I face the truth, she's dead.
I, only 27, descend to my room.
Will I climb the stairs to heaven? or will the firey depths be my tomb.
I take her hair dryer, and climb in the bath.
Fill the tub higher, death my only path.
As I scrunch up this paper, and throw away this pen,
Know this is my last verse.
Beautiful Caitlin, see you in ten.

 

[Joshawott]

First stanza of The Writer instantly reminds me of Story Teller "Professor Layton VS Phoenix Wright. I have to say, I liked the use of both internal-rhyming and end-rhymes, although it wasn't as consistent as the internal rhymes. Although, I felt that the poem focused too much on that technical stance rather than the story. Usually, I avoid stories in poems as it's hard to convey in such a short space, but another stanza really could have helped. Also, what about the phrase "The Pen is Mightier than the Sword"? This may be my English-Student past jumping to conclusions, but could the sword beating the pen be a rejection of the supposed reality, and thus, the 'truth' the writer tried to control?

Cold Whisper is definitely a strong point, as well as having a rhyme scheme (albeit not as noticable as The Writer) it has the imagery to back it up. Especially the repetition of the blue flame, which is a rather unusual image indeed. The semantic field of cold is definitely there; but as with the previous poem, I felt that if you wanted to fit a story in there, it should have been a bit longer.

EDIT: Just notice you posted it in the wrong area! Don't worry, the mods here are kind, so they should move it.

 

[8BitPoipole]

Cheers Josh. When writing "Cold Whisper", I wanted readers to get a feeling of where the setting is. I also used colours carefully, I wanted different colours to give different feelings.

With "The Writer", I wanted to write a fast-paced story based on an eccentric old man that the town feared.
And I guess you're right with the whole "The pen is mightier than the sword" thing. It certainly fits

 

[Kayi Rowling]

Your thread was in the wrong section. It has been moved now.

Let this serve you as a warning for next time: the Workshop accepts all fiction in all forms (one-shots, chaptered stories, plays, poetry, songs, etc.), while the Block is exclusive for discussion topics.

 

[8BitPoipole]

Got it. Cheers mate.
I'm actually working on two stories now.

Looking for constructive criticism, I have a few ideas for poems.