The Writing Thread

[Matrias Fierno]

Depression.

I write about it a lot. Have you seen the "Battlefield" poem?

I wrote that when I was despaired and didn't see a way out for me. But I'm better now. And just because I have a related poem, I'l post it here. This is directed at the person who caused it all. Now I know my reasons were stupid, but...

Matrias Fierno

"Untitled"

I hate you,

You chewed me up and spit me out,
And hope you left me without.

I love you,

You made me who I am today,
Though through it all, I wished to end my days.

I envy you,

You always get what you want,
You say a word, and your wish is bought.

I pity you,

When I take it all away,
You won't last a day.

 

[Jirya]

Matrias Fierno

Depression.

I write about it a lot. Have you seen the "Battlefield" poem?

I wrote that when I was despaired and didn't see a way out for me. But I'm better now. And just because I have a related poem, I'l post it here. This is directed at the person who caused it all. Now I know my reasons were stupid, but...

Matrias Fierno

"Untitled"

I hate you,

You chewed me up and spit me out,
And hope you left me without.

I love you,

You made me who I am today,
Though through it all, I wished to end my days.

I envy you,

You always get what you want,
You say a word, and your wish is bought.

I pity you,

When I take it all away,
You won't last a day.

I like this.

It fits with how I have felt many-a-time in the past...  

[CR Kyrie]

Oh man... my absolute favorite genre is fantasy. Just from seeing my writing, it's obvious that my biggest inspiration is Robert Jordan. My forte is the kid going through a metamorphosis and becoming a hero thing... so yeah, that's fun.

My story is so big that I'm afraid to quote the three chapters I have so far... so I'll just quote the link to where it is in the Writing topic.

Quote:

Ties and Separation -Book One of the Chronicles of Talamenta- by Ranuu

 

[LacquerMuse]

I'm sorry I don't have time to read the story above given it's length...But I will try to get back to it. In the meantime, here's a poem of mine:

The Lands of Myth

In sunflowers raindrops crystallize
Blood of the Earth, her mouth gaping wide
Hidden in ebony, change in the sky
Thirteen moons age, velvet-styled
Room clutter memories, tuberculosis while
Whispering bedridden, culinary delight
Of comfort, con-artist, rose-petal-hiss
Broken blossom garden hose lilies
The snapdragon flicking tongues in
Wild dreams of ecstacy in purple throngs
Elephants on tighrope empathy with
Dizzy reminiscent recollections dancing
Red balloons and teddy bears and lord
Granted swords. Betrayed by the bloodthirsy
Desire of firelight, poisoned fruit, serpentine trickery.

*

It's currently unedited, but I was in the mood for throwing things out there. heart  

[LacquerMuse]

Ranuu

Oh man... my absolute favorite genre is fantasy. Just from seeing my writing, it's obvious that my biggest inspiration is Robert Jordan. My forte is the kid going through a metamorphosis and becoming a hero thing... so yeah, that's fun.

That's kind of like myself and my favorite author Anais Nin. My friend thinks I am her reincarnated, our writing styles are so similar. (I've only read her stuff in the last year or so, as my English teacher commented on the extreme similarities between our writing and was surprised I'd never read her work.) But honestly, her diary could be my diary. It's kinda scary, actually. sweatdrop  

[Jessi_Babii_10_13_90]

This'll be the firsttime I've put anything in here in a while... sweatdrop

I started this one a while ago, some of you might remember my spontanious write thread where the first few paragraphes were this story. In order to get myself into writing a lot in a little time for National Writing Month, I've picked it up again. I enjoyed a few of the things I write here, I hope you do to.

Yet Unnamed
By Casey Lewis
It was cold, and damp. The alleyway contained more people then is advertised. One of them was visible, a diplomat, who had gotten a little drunk before staggering back here, he's also the main character of our story. The second person in the ally was in fact completely invisible to our hero, as he was the town hobo, and lived behind a wall of dumpsters. But the third man! The third man was an assassin. A short sword under an arm, and a pair of careful light hands holding the edge of a sill.
Our hero, going by the name of Michael Spire absentmindedly wiped at his face, a fly had found his putrid scent and began to follow it. A swish was heard, and Michael's evening jacket was stained with blood, on the right lapel. His eyes bulged, his mouth gaped, and he slumped forward, dead. As a doornail even.
Many people would claim that it's probably not the best idea to kill off the main character of a story in the first two paragraphs of said story, but the assassin doesn't really give two damns what the author, or the audience, has to say about this. After all, it is his job to be killing diplomats and other high ranking personage, and so he says to just get off his back, okay?

Dammit! Said the sword, although it was never heard, swords don't talk after all. I'm stained again! Do you have to go and do this so violently!? Although the wielder could not hear it, he slung the sword over his shoulder, drops of blood dripped onto the floor off of it's edge and tip.
The wielder picked up a sack of something on the floor, it was also splattered with blood, the blood of its previous owner, an old man and woman, living in the middle of the forest. The man smiled an evil smile, and sheathed the sword on his back. What!? No! Not back in hermerph! Although no one heard it, swords don't talk after all.
The man began the mundane task of searching for loot. He picked up some plates, these people didn't own much, well, technically, they don't own anything anymore. "Haha!" Said the man. He smiled, showing off his teeth. "These people don't have anything good. I need to pick better places to attack." He made sure to pick the rings off their brittle old fingers. "These are nice." He commented, and threw them into his sack, which was then tied to his belt.

"Hey daddy-O! I don' wanna go! Dooooown to the basement!" Sang the most horrible bard in the world. the gods spared him, mainly because he wasn't the worst in the universe, and they thanked themselves that they weren't in charge of the world that did contain that bard. "Beat of the brat! Beat on the brat! Beat on the brat with a baseball bat! Oh yeah! Oh yeah! Oh-ho!" He sang a new tune. He had no clue where he got these songs from, they seemed to be much much before their time, but he sung them, and wrote them, and people usually paid him to "bugger off, or write something worth listening to."
This was the part with, what he called, "the lute rip." it was sort of a twangy bouncy sound, most people called it a demons mating call, and threw tomatoes.
They threw tomatoes.

So where does this kind of story have to go? It seems pretty pointless, even the writer has no clue what's supposed to happen next. He should probably just scrap it, but something is here, something that can't be recreated, especially if one was trying to recreate it. If only the writer could capture that essence of random word and thought.
Where does a story begin?

It begins in a home. Seemingly average, it's had it's fare share of ups and downs. Last year the roof was repaired, the year before a window was broken and never replaced. It's always been inhabited by the same poor family, the patron of which is a stout, proud carpenter. His wife, a home maker, and their three sons. The eldest son decided to study his father's work, being equally stout. The middle son, upon growing up, which at this point in the story hasn't happened, moved to the city to get a job, and eventually became a homeless beggar when he failed. The youngest of the three, was still very young at the time, and only expected to do the things that a boy would do. The future would hold the most fortune for the youngest, but that is for later in the story.
We've had a beginning, now what's next?

Next is a bar, closer to the present, that is, the end of the story. But not close enough to the end that it will reveal much. Although given that the ending has already happened the writer doesn't feel much remorse in telling you what happens near, if not right before the ending.
But anyway, in a bar our hero drinks. He's just been divorced by his wife of fifteen years. Seemingly she was only with him for what little money he actually had. Now he had nothing. Well, that is to say, he had nothing figuratively, he had clothes and obviously enough for a few drinks. Relatively though, he had nothing.
There he goes, getting off track like that... so he was divorced, his money stolen, his wife probably laying up with an older and richer, or younger and handsomer man. He himself was not ugly at all. A handful of ladies in his life time had expressed quite a lust for him, however he had stayed diligent until he found the right one; and was faithful to her for as long as he was with her. Come to think of it that would be tonight. Funny thing.
Anyway... Michael picked up a tomato, and lobbed it in the general direction of the awful noise that was coming off of the stage. This bar was notorious for hiring horrible entertainment. He let out a depressed groan and thought about why he was in this wretched town in `the first place. He had been sent here to do his job of course, on a diplomatic mission from his country to this one. He always thought he was pretty good at his job, and he enjoyed it, so he always gave his all when it counted.
This place was different. A country of scoundrels it seemed, everyone was out for money, and never even vaguely cared for the good of the world they lived on. Even the king wouldn't hear his plea until he offered a significant amount of tribute. It was a sham! An utter failure! Although none of the other people who had been sent here had gotten as far as he had, so at least he could be proud of something.

The sword sighed. His wielder was threatening a group of pilgrims that he had found, he was trying to get food from them. "Hahaha! This is too easy!" He took an offered piece of meat, a rather large ham hock He took a bite out of it while his victims pleaded for mercy.
Why would you even do this?! Yelled the sword as his wielder beheaded a little boy. But nobody heard him, swords don't talk after all...
"You can eat him! Ha! He looks pretty meaty! Where's that little girl?" He said with a grin on his face. The family pleaded with him more and claimed they didn't have a daughter.
"I know you've got one, now bring her out!" He yelled. With tears in her eyes the mother went to fetch her only daughter.
The girl was crying, terrified. She couldn't have been more then nine or ten, noted the sword. Damnable *****! It yelled at its master.
The man picked the girl up by the back of her dress and slung her over his shoulder. She futilely resisted by hitting him and screaming bloody murder. Poor poor girl... said the sword.
He sheathed the sword and walked away with no sound except for that of the cries of the girl yelling for her mother and father who could only watch helplessly as he took her from them.  

[Matrias Fierno]

Very good. This part, though,

The third man was an assassin. A short sword under an arm, and a pair of careful light hands holding the edge of a sill.

Just sounds weird to me. Is it possible you could combine the sentences?

Anyhoo, onwards to my area of semi-kinda-sotra-expertise.

Okay, here are three more poems, The Beginning, The End, and My Head.

These are the Beginning, the End, and the peak of the period of which I considered myself worthless.

I do not, in any way, condone suicide. I know now my actions were stupid and am haunted by the days when I saw the world in black and white.

Matrias Fierno

The Beginning

I sit at this lunch table,
Teasing faces laugh at me,
Only one has a hint of care,
And yet, he shall betray me.

He, my not-so-loyal friend,
He had kept my world bright,
He gave me hope, and confidence,
Then he took it away, and I plunged into night.

The sudden betrayal caught me off guard,
My inattentive mind never saw it coming,
My life suddenly seemed worthless and hard,
But at that time I wasn't in drumming.

~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~

My Head

My head is burned with searing pain,
That's what I get, for playing this game,
I tried to end them, my only days,
It doesn't work, so I try again.

The second time is just the same,
All I feel is searing pain,
Right then I shouldn't feel anything,
But it is no succes; I try again.

They say the third time is the charm,
This time I won't feel the harm,
I feel the pain, I feel the harm,
Maybe next time I'll cut off my arm.

~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~

The End

This day it seems so bright,
In the friendly morning light,
These sheets of metal that I hold,
Are so damn cold, so damn cold.

Despite the cold, I'm having fun,
Playing through the rising sun,
My heart and soul, they raise in salute,
To the morning glow, in silent tribute.

I realize I love nothing more,
Then my life beyond the door,
I recall with pain a defferent time,
When all of the pain was in my mind.

It's over now, the inside pain,
My love of life keeps it away,
Goodbye, you worthless, crappy friend,
I know now this is the end.

 

[Lifes Little Conflict]

Rising this Topic for a Poem of mine.

Heartless
Basking in the moonlight
a maiden tall and slim
who sang a song of wisdom
as she took her nightly swim.
Then, one night it happened.
Her would was torn apart.
The shadows came, surrounded her,
Stole her lovely heart.
Now she joins the heartless,
Searching for a heart to feast.
Once a tall fair maiden,
Now nothing but a beast.

It's a rough traft but I like it.
Yes, I got the Idea from kingdom hearts. sweatdrop

 

[Matrias Fierno]

Reraising this poem with a few paragraphs of my story that is still not quite in one piece yet.

Matrias Fierno

James stared coldly into the eyes of the man he had hunted for so long. He could practically see the life dying slowly behind those silver eyes. He watched as the man spasmed again. A knock came from the door, then banging. The banging stopped, but James knew that they would be fetching something to break the door down with.

"Come on... Just die so I can get out of here..," said James in an urgent voice. At last, he could take it no longer. He pressed the toe of his boot on the man's neck for a moment, then lifted it and slammed it down. The man on the floor stopped moving.

James looked at the man who had caused him so much pain for just a momement before he heard a much louder pounding on the door. He glanced over to see the door begin to crack. He crossed the room to a window, opened it, and jumped into the cool night air just as the door was finally knocked down.

I'll take your critique now. biggrin

This is my first story I've worked on for a while.

I also have another few paragraphs on the other computer if you guys want to see them.  

[Lifes Little Conflict]

You people never commented on mine! xP  

[Matrias Fierno]

I only comment when I see a major error.

This should be taken as a compliment.  

[Slim95]

Once upon a time (approximately five months ago), a bored maiden (Slim) was trapped within her castle (it was raining outside) and decided to make some poetry...

Quote:

Beast and Blade

"Vile beast come out and fight!"
Challenged out the greedy knight
Who’s one sole goal to earn some fame
And ride away with youthful dame

The dragon slouched out from his cave
"Why bother me you dirty nave?"
His black girth in the morning light
Gave the young thug quite a fright

Knees kept knocking yet he stayed
Dreaming of how he’d be paid
"You take the lives of quite a sum!"
"And so to purge I now do come!"

The creature rolled his crimson eyes
Flexing claws and stretching thighs
"I tell you true, my gut’s not filled,"
"In honest truth, who have I killed?"

The young knight thought for quite some time
"It does not matter what the crime!"
"You wouldn’t understand my smarts!"
"You monsters never have had hearts!"

The giant plucked him from the ground
And roared an earth-shaking sound
"I’m tired of your naive talk!"
He put him down, "Now take a walk!"

The young boy ran and left his blade
Forgetting all he could be paid
"That monster just now spared my skin!"
He ran back to inform his kin

The drake then said, "He’s safe today."
"I’ll never feed enough this way."
And constantly he fought the law.
"Perhaps one day they’ll see their flaw."

Constructive criticism would make my day! domokun heart  

[umi505]

Writing! biggrin

I will not fail
This thoughtful deal
I can not crawl
Because I shall not fall
I can only run
And get it done
This I will
And will not fail

. . . . ._. . . ..Ehe?  

[Slim95]

umi505

Writing! biggrin

I will not fail
This thoughtful deal
I can not crawl
Because I shall not fall
I can only run
And get it done
This I will
And will not fail

. . . . ._. . . ..Ehe?

All I have for this particular poem is that the rhythm is thrown off in the "Because I shall not fall" line. Maybe take out the "because"? "I shall not fall" fits with the rhythm, both syllable-wise and construction-wise.  

[Matrias Fierno]

I have one that I haven't posted here yet.

Along with roughly seventeen other poems and three little blurbs of a story.

This is titled "You" and is mainly directed at those who treat others like crap.

Quote:

You

You never see me as a person,
You see me as a bag of flesh.
You never saw me as a whole being,
You saw me as a bit of mesh.

You never knew me as a person,
You knew me as property,
To use and use, and maybe fix.
If only I had seen it, if only.

The signs were clear, this much I know.
The signs like guides, in a row.
The signs you tried to hide with all you had,
Turned out to be the things you had.

You could've rewritten them, made them better.
You could've rethought your view.
Because from such a lofty hill,
All you know is you.