lessthaninnocent

I like it. Very easy to relate to.

Thankyou Silver Wind and Katzaniel. I wasn't sure whether to post it because I was worried it would just read as teenage melodrama, which, being a teenager I really want to avoid. So thankyou for the surprisingly positive comments.

Impure thoughts You perceive me as taken, out of bounds In reality it really is that simple. But sometimes, there is a war lust and love, tugging over heart and soul. My love for him is like an old, comfy, jumper, It fits and seems perfect, cosy, comforting It will always be there in the wardrobe Sometimes a jumper seems plain, Sometimes my heart yearns for sparkle, newness. This is all unbeknown to you. How would you know I think about you, sometimes even yearn for you? How would you know that I hang on your every word? Everyday I want to speak with you, know you more. You know you make me blush. But do you know why? But he is still there and I love him. My mind has a heavy grip on that runaway heart. ‘I don’t know you.’ ‘You could be an axe murderer.’ ‘Don’t make mistakes.’ ‘The grass is always greener on the other side’ Young spirit keeps me intrigued. Keeps fantasies alive. So here it is a solution. I can’t hurt him. I won’t adulter but neither can I let him go. So everyday is a fight for your happiness, a way to put a smile on your face. Everyday I mould my heart away from what it wistfully wants. Everyday I am yours as friend but never lover. Everyday I am here to serve you with affection. Everyday I hope that impure thoughts can lead to pure actions.

Great, I've read something like this before it was based on a famous book, but to my shame I can't remember the book. I have to say I much prefer your poem, it's more mysterious. Love the repetition and word choice. Another great one .

Here is my heart on my sleeve. When I think about you, the space between my rib cage aches. When I want to hold you and your not here to hold my arms tingle, so I wrap them around myself. When I think about kissing you my mouth goes dry and my tongue rolls. When my hands are not in yours they feel cold. When we’re together there is no way I could feel happier. When we’re apart my mind fills with the moments we’ve had together. When I’m with my friends I think about you having fun. When you’re in a place near to me I long to run to you. When I see you my eyes absorb every perfect detail. When I look into your eyes, my soul screams I love you. When I smile at you a tiny part of my joy shows. When I sleep you wander around in my dreams. When I wake you are the first thing to enter my thoughts. When I open my mouth I want to talk about you. But, when I think about next year my eyes fill with tears. So I don’t.

I like this. It's dark and disgusting, your vocabulary portrays it well. You have made it very easy to identify and empathise with the victim. Your descriptions are perfect, not too long winded, just enough to paint the scene in all it's detail and leaving a little space for individual imagination.Thankyou

Very effective the alternating lines. Very hopeless and profound. Thankyou

Wyvern The poster is a poster as in one that hangs on the wall. I wrote the poem especially for a friend of mine and have a poster which hangs in my room of a tiger to remind me of him. Obviously the personal nature of the poem would mean that it is ambiguous in some ways to a public audience, so apologies for that. I'm glad you like it. This poem is very personal to me. It's about my relationship with my friend. I have wanted to write a poem for him for a long time, but it was never the right time to do it. The impression you convey of my poem is entirely accurate. I can't make this into a story as I only write from the heart. My poems start and finish where it feels right to. However there may be other tiger poems in the future. It in the fourth stanza 'it' refers to the tiger as a whole. I deliberately used 'it' in the first line of the stanza and 'he' later on as I wanted a clear progression from poster to person. Thankyou for your comments. I always enjoy to read them.

Thank you Peredhil. I may take you up on that suggestion as i was never happy with that line myself.

Tiger ‘ I’m really nothing special’ he told her. But she disagreed as she lay in the night, And looked at the tiger poster. Big, deep, green eyes staring into her heart and soul. A firm look, a look nothing could be hidden from. Not the look of a predator she thought. A stern, knowledgeable look. She looked into those deep, deep eyes. They pierced into her like the claws, That remained sheathed, Unless she needed protection. The tiger allowed her to gambol around it. Explore it like a cub. Sometimes a stern growl taught her a lesson. Never a bite. He wouldn’t hurt her. She was young and had lessons to learn. He was worldly. The eyes spoke of how wise he was. He showed her, with a flick of his tail. When she was scared. She ran and hid under his tall stature. He looked down between his legs. Tickled her with his whiskers. She felt the tiger curl around her. Not wanting to leave her open to the world. Nestled in the marmalade fur. She touched each black stripe. Safely she fell asleep. Knowing how special he was.

I really like that. It seems so obvious what you are writing about until the end when it changes. Very atmospheric too. I'm a big fan of constraining poetry into rythms. I think it seems better thought out that way.

Thankyou Zadown. A lot of my writing is far to personal to post but I do try and post the things that may be of interest to people.

This shows of your talent and strengths to the maximum. I really like your way of packaging philosophy in object. This was a joy to read. A real soul hunter, making me think .Very inspiring. One of your best so far.

Thankyou wyvern. I was aware that some parts of the metaphor may not be reader friendly and worried about posting it. All of my work is done to express things I am feeling and need to say, so there is always a danger of being too direct.

Very nice. It has an epic feel to it like an old folk song or riddle.

Quirky is the right word. I love the way you've taken a dream which would be seemingly insignificant and illusatrated the way sometims our dreams play on our minds. I love the metaphors though personally I found some a little confusing, maybe that will clear up when I read this again.

I'm afraid I disagree with Quincunx. Skyline is the type of poem I can take or leave. Not because of the style which is clever more just the lack of content and chosen subject (which are completely my preferance and no reflection on the poet at all). However I really liked Serenity a beautiful philosophy carefully packaged in a poem. Short and sweet.

Very abstract. Very rythmic. Very intellectual. This is the type of poem I would enjoy reading over and over again because it is so complex you could always find new meaning by examining it line by line.

I stand on the precipice. The wind blows my hair into a soft halo. I feel a shiver of cold. When I look over the edge I see the drop far below. Trees and houses, all minute. The cold penetrates my heart mind and soul as tears blur my vision. Will you push me over that edge? I know I will survive the fall, pick myself up carefully like a fragile doll. Walk away through the grey valley pointing my toes, judging each step as precisely as possible. But the path will be new, unfamiliar and lonely. You stand behind me, dithering, not knowing whether to push me of take my hand and bring me away from the edge. You wait for a sign of what action you should take. Can you help me along the rocky path behind us or is it too arduous to retrace our steps? I know that even on our path together there will be large obstacles. Through the forest one of us may become lost and meet new companions. There will be large boulders that we can only climb together. There will be times when one of us may be too frightened to continue. We both know the risk. Is it easier to give up now? Should you push me over the edge and take an easier path that only you can traverse? I turn away from the precipice, look at you with pleading eyes. My soul clearly speaks to yours ‘please don’t push me’. There is a strong fire within, a comfortingly fierce courage and trust that together we can take the harder path and that we will succeed. But at the same time I see you quail under the difficulties ahead. Your determination wants to fail you. I turn away again to look over the edge. I shut my eyes and wait for your touch. Your choice. I place my trust in your hands and breath deeply. I feel the brush of your hand upon me and know that you have decided.

Very abstract, I like it. But what did you have in mind that you were describing? It reminded me of a slave ship.

Ok I don't agree with your beliefs but lets agree to disagree on that. I really liked the way your philosophy was limited by the rhyming couplets. I have written my poems like this before and I find that although it takes a lot of time and sometimes a dictionary, it avoids over emotive stanzas and keeps the writing to the point. You, like me seem to have a little problem with the rythm sometimes but I really enjoyed your perspective.

The Rain At my workdesk; Everything still, stifling. Hot air enfolds around me like tupperwear. Breathing the thick heat seems unnatural. Suddenly, a drip. The infamous piter-patter, Slowly, the window fills with speckles, Like a transparent leopard, Making the trees outside a mirage. The clouds heave and gasp. The heavens open. The blank clouds expressionless, As they throw the rain thundering onto the window. The speckles turn to great tears of rain. As if to echo the windows sadness, the air cools. I walk to the window, Smell the glittering gift. The grass smells of sweet mown hay, A savoury scent adding sharpness to the aroma. The rain hardens. A great transparent river fills the centre of my window, Arrow shapes, of sheets, of water. The rain becomes irregular outside. It is nearly spent, After the great effort. All I hear is the gutteral gurgling of the drain pipe, Swallowing its nourishment.