Falcon2001

I am Falcon2001 - Poet. My Title: Lord of the Crazy Stuff

Thanks everyone, it actually was meant as a song, and I actually have a guitar line to it I created by messing with the smells like teen spirit guitar line.

I can't wait to find you there Waiting at the end of the road Something wild and free and fair I want to meet you Something that I know I need something burns inside of me What is this vision before me? Give me the answers Hey! I wanna know What it's all about Hey! I wanna see What's waiting for me... At the end of the road The answers fly softly away What is my purpose on this earth? Swallow me up and set me free Look into the mirror A twisted mad reality Something never meant to be I can see the light And it's blinding me Hey! I wanna know What's the fuss's about Hey! I wanna see What's waiting for me... At the end of the road... Where the bricks stop And the road is slurred And the puddles gather rain Where I need no help to see What is in front of me And the rain clears my eyes... At the end of the road.

As a close friend of the applicee for quite a while now, I would like to say that she is charming, witty, intelligent, poetic, and fully deserves entry into this fine establishment. *whips out a dusty stamp and stamps APPROVED on her forehead in red ink* So be it. Cioden Darkeye Quill-Bearer - The Pen is Mightier than the Sword Owner of the Reply Raven - Enemy to all those who never post responses "Oh my God, I'm LEAKING POETRY!"

...how on god's green earth did you notice that, Peredhil? Not only is it way out of the way, but I didn't even know that the black language could be translated...unless you're joking and I'm taking it way too seriously. I need to go learn elven.

Heh, wonderful poem, Blondemoon - and the last part is good also - even though it's blindingly true. Keep up the good work, and in case you didn't know, Peredhil is quite possibly one of the kindest, most nurturing people here and praise from him is well worth it's weight in zig.

This is an excellent poem, Icarus, and I've also always been very weird on replies, I can't always provide accurate criticism, but I still love 'em. This is a wonderful poem, but I think you could tidy it up a little...but that's just me. Cioden Darkeye Quill-Bearer - The Pen is Mightier than the Sword Owner of the Reply Raven - Enemy to all those who never post responses "Oh my God, I'm LEAKING POETRY!"

From the shadow of a tree, two silver eyes stare out at the ensuing battle. A black dragon, hmm...I can use this to my advantage. Cioden Darkeye, Lord of the Shadowplane, closed his eyes and stepped out of the shadow. The shadowplane oozed off of him and back into the shadow, and he grinned. His figure started to shimmer and fade like a mirage until all that was there was his eyes, silver with the power, and then they blinked and were gone. Cioden Darkeye<BR> <img src="http://home.earthlink.net/~gyrfalcon/images/SilverSig.jpg"><BR> <BR> Quill-Bearer - The Pen is Mightier than the Sword<BR> Owner of the Reply Raven - Enemy to all those who never post responses<BR> "Oh my God, <b>I'm LEAKING POETRY!</b>"

Heh, I love quotes. Here's a few of my favorites Somedays talk shows like to ask 'where did all the real men go?' and I want to scream 'YOU MADE THEM INTO WOMEN!' - Wild at Heart, by John Elderege "For the Lord is a warrior, and the Lord is his name." - (Exodus 15:3) Safe? Who said anything about safe? Of course he isn't safe. But he's good. - C. S. Lewis, about God. Wild, Dangerous, Unfettered, and Free - Walter Bruggerman, about God. There is something wild and free in the heart of every man - Wild at Heart, John Elderege. "I am he," said Jesus. And when Jesus said "I am he" They drew back and fell upon the ground. - (John 18:4-8 ) "And when Christ comes again, he is mounted at the head of a Dreadful company, mounted on a white horse, with a double-edge sword, and his robes dipped in blood." - (Revelations 17) Two roads diverged in a wood and I I took the road less traveled by And that has made all the difference - (I can't remember who wrote that one) Do not meddle in the affairs of Wizards For they are subtle and quick to anger - J.R.R. Tolkien Do not meddle in the affairs of Dragons For you are crunchy and taste good with ketchup -Various D&D lore Do not meddle in the affairs of Admins For they are crafty and quick to hack -Various internet lore Do not meddle in the affairs of Cioden For you are squishy and conduct Flare2 well. -Falcon "Deploy the rocket boat!" -Black Mage, 8-bit theatre "Oh but aren't there, Red mage? I think that you'll agree with me once I show you the overwhelming evidence. BOATDOKEN!" -Black Mage - 8-bit Theatre "Why, it would take some sort of insane megalomaniacal fiend to take pleasure in wielding the tapestry of creation to focus pure energy into reality through nothing more than my own will. The rush of electricity through my being, the power - my god, the power! IT'S THE ONLY TIME I FEEL ALIIIIIIIIIVE!" - Black Mage, 8-bit Theatre "Blarg. I am dead." -Fighter, 8-bit Theatre "Hey, if you want to make an omlette, you gotta...destroy a few forests, or something." -Black Mage, 8-bit Theatre "Let. Go. Now." -Gyrfalcon, to Falcon, who was at the time attached to his arm by biting. "And together we make...err...me!" -Gyrfalcon, after the traditional greeting of 'heya Gyr' and 'heya Falcon' "Good God, someone shoot me before I shoot him!" -Cioden, upon realizing that he had to room with Falcon "That can be arranged." William Azunost - RadicalDreamers: The Comic - Episode 2 Cioden Darkeye<BR> Quill-Bearer - The Pen is Mightier than the Sword<BR> Owner of the Reply Raven - Enemy to all those who never post responses<BR> "Oh my God, <b>I'm LEAKING POETRY!</b>"

OOC: I'm back! And Seth, it's William Azunost heading this IC: William trudged ahead, step by step in monotonous regularity. A single flame bobbed ahead of them, but William paid it no heed, as it barely lit the passageway they walked down. Stick and he had been bound at the wrists with a strong cord-like substance and had their legs loosely tied with the same stuff, preventing them from running but allowing them to walk. A spearhead in the small of his back continuously reminded him of his placement, but the weight of the Sword of Roses at his side puzzled him. I wonder what the deal is? Why didn't they take my sword? he wondered silently. The tunnel they trudged through seemed to be carved out of the rock by hand, as evidenced by the scrapings everywhere. This is going to get worse before it gets clear, I'm willing to bet. * * * After several hours of walking, William detected a breath of fresh air from up ahead. Finally rousing himself from his inward musings, he looked up and was immediately shocked. They had walked into a gigantic cavern, easily a mile long and a half-thousand feet high. About a hundred feet or so ahead of them a gigantic bonfire was lit on a small mound of rock, and several of the people that had captured them were clustered around it, strange carved masks still on. As the group drew near, they all fell silent and stared at the two outsiders. William and Stick were seated on a stone bench in front of the fire and their bonds cut, much to their surprise. Their captors didn't speak a word, but went about their business with a speed and efficiency that spoke of good training. As they sat rubbing their injured wrists, a soft, ancient voice echoed out from across the fire. "Who are you, strangers, and why do you trespass on the lands of the Kardaq?" An old man, bent with age, approached the fire. William's eyes widened momentarily in shock at the pointed ears and silver hair of an elf, realizing these must be a tribe of Drow. He rose, then bowed to the elder. "My name is William Azunost, and me and my companion had fallen from a great height and had somehow survived the fall. We were merely victims of chance." "Nothing is chance, my son. Why else would one bearing the mark of the Seraph come to our village wielding the Sword of the Heavens?" The elder came closer, and William realized his eyes were pearly white, and he was most likely blind. He sighed. "That...is a very long story."

Bah, looks like I'm not the first one to do a night before christmas parody. Here goes mine, another pen-spawned one. Ibanez is a guitar manufacturer btw. Take that back, this is a very Falcon christmas. Yes, Demon and Lemon rhyme. 'Twas the night before christmas and all through the hall Not a creature was stirring, be they large or they small Some crosses were hung by the mantle with care In hopes that Cioden wouldn't stop there. Falcon was nestled all snug in his bed Whilst visions of Ibanez danced in his head And with me in my white cloak On the couch in the back Just settlin' down for a long winter's nap When from the roof there arose such a splatter I leapt from my couch to see what was the matter Away to my sheathed sword I tore like a flash Took it out of the sheath and then cut the gold sash (Rachel wanted it on there, she thought it looked cute Though a sword is for slashing, so I gave it the boot) The moon on the top of the new-summoned snow Gave the shinyness of noonday to the objects below (Falcon wanted some sugar, so he cast quite the spell But he misread khazak, though it ended up well) When what to my icy blue eyes should appear But a huge freaking sleigh and eight giant demon steer With a creepy-looking driver, like a black-feathered wren I knew in a moment it had to be Cioden A bit slower than canaries his coursers came And he whistled, and cursed, and called them a lot of names. "Now Smasher! Now Crasher! Now Flatfoot and Nixon! On Meteo, on Stupid! On Fondle and Kitchen!" As dry leaves before Aero 3 fly When he met with an obstacle, blow it into the sky! So up to the tower-top the coursers they flew With the sleigh full of nasties, and Cioden too. And then, in an hour, I heard on the roof The growling and pawing of each cloven hoof As I drew back my bow I turned quickly 'round Down the chimney St. Cioden came with a sound He was dressed all in leather from his head to his foot And his clothing was covered in blood and in soot A bundle of spells he has slung on his back And something was oozing right out of the sack His hair was all slicked back with the blood of a demon And he looked like a used-car salesman peddling a lemon His eyes - how they glinted! His dimples - nonexistant! His cheeks were like caverns, his nose a frostbitten tint! His grim little mouth was tied down like a bow And the beard on his chin was the color of crow A silvered dagger he held tight in his teeth And the odor of madness surrounded him in a wreath He had a thin face and absolutely no belly Covered by a shirt that was just a tad smelly He was gruesome and cruel, a right nutty old elf And I fired when I saw him, in spite of myself A wink of his eye and a twist of his head He avoided the arrow, sent to make him dead He spoke not a word, but went right to work And emptied all the stockings, he was such a jerk And laying his middle finger aside of his nose He cast fire3 and on the updraft he rose He fell in his sleigh and gave his team quite a whistle And away they all flew before I flayed them with thistles But I heard him exclaim, 'ere he flew out of sight "I'll get you Azunost, some other night!" Quicker than lightning I threw the stockings out the window And ducked as they exploded in a moonlit twinkle I fixed some hot cocoa and woke up Falcon Who downed the whole mug before I was done Telling him 'bout the big scare we had had His eyes widened "Wow, Cioden's sure bad." I grinned rather slyly and gave him a wink "He's not the only one who can raise a stink" I sat back in my seat with a satisfied grin And scratched idly at the stubble grown on my chin. From far away there came a muffled thud Like Flare being cast in a puddle of mud I smiled benignly and looked at the switch in my hand And thought of the scheme I had carefully planned Involving a Holy Bomb, three ducks and a tin can A roll of duct-tape and a good dental plan Now Cioden was routed and Falcon asleep I could settle down once more to the peaceful deep. But I thought to myself 'ere I turned out the light "Merry christmas to all, and to all a good night." Cioden Darkeye Quill-Bearer - The Pen is Mightier than the Sword Owner of the Reply Raven - Enemy to all those who never post responses "Oh my God, I'm LEAKING POETRY!" Edited by: peredhil31 at: 12/26/02 7:16:33 am

Don't hate christmas, hate those idiots who make it bad. Christmas is a wonderful time if the situation is right. Cioden Darkeye Quill-Bearer - The Pen is Mightier than the Sword Owner of the Reply Raven - Enemy to all those who never post responses "Oh my God, I'm LEAKING POETRY!"

*mumbles something about ten falcons biting*

Hmm...other than the all-caps thing(which I really dislike, I'll have you know - it's my top pet peeve online) it's a fairly good poem. I remember writing one called 'To the Woman I'll Never meet' but it was much more uplifting and sappy. Bah, sappy gets annoying, go angst! Cioden Darkeye Quill-Bearer - The Pen is Mightier than the Sword Owner of the Reply Raven - Enemy to all those who never post responses"Oh my God, I'm LEAKING POETRY!"

Amazing poem, Gwai. I always kind of write long, 'cause I have problems writing good short poems, but this is an excellent short poem. I hope you post some more sometime, and I should catch you on IM sometime...I've had you on my buddylist for almost a year. Cioden Darkeye<BR> Quill-Bearer - The Pen is Mightier than the Sword Owner of the Reply Raven - Enemy to all those who never post responses "Oh my God, I'm LEAKING POETRY!"

Damn this is some good stuff. Sorry about not replying sooner, I kept putting it off, but I really wanted to reply to this one. This poem is an excellent example of imagery, it really pulls you into it. Keep up the good work, and hope to see more of you around the Pen! Cioden Darkeye Quill-Bearer - The Pen is Mightier than the Sword Owner of the Reply Raven - Enemy to all those who never post responses "Oh my God, I'm LEAKING POETRY!"

Yeah, Cioden liked to keep fresh corpses in that chair. Welcome back, Deg Cioden Darkeye<BR> <img src="http://home.earthlink.net/~gyrfalcon/images/SilverSig.jpg"><BR> <BR> Quill-Bearer - The Pen is Mightier than the Sword<BR> Owner of the Reply Raven - Enemy to all those who never post responses<BR> "Oh my God, <b>I'm LEAKING POETRY!</b>"

I - Praise. Dust cakes my face. I trudge through sand dunes As I walk the desert that has become my life's story. My eyes decieve me! An Oasis? Glorious day! The image of a beetle, I scurry toward it. The oasis has hair the color of the setting sun Eyes that flash and glint like jewels Lips as full and red as the morning rose And a heart like a symphony But look at her blinders! Why? How can she not see how beautiful she is And live in shame and torment? But ghosts they cloud my judgement And linger in my past. Love is not for the wicked or dead, The scavengers that pick the bones of the deadened oaks to feed their empty bellies. But what can I do? I have glimpsed perfection, and am smitten. The starry night sky is dull and sere when I compare her to it Would that I could cast her up Amid the stars, spell out her name Then her brightness would light the world And the sun would turn it's head in shame And the moon would look like a lump of coal And hide itself from her glittering gaze If I could build a diamond throne And ornament it with sparkling rubies And shining emeralds and opulent pearls So that when I put her upon the sterling seat All the stones would lose their fire and seem cold When compared to one that couldst outshine the sun And never know how. Cioden Darkeye Quill-Bearer - The Pen is Mightier than the Sword Owner of the Reply Raven - Enemy to all those who never post responses "Oh my God, I'm LEAKING POETRY!"

White Like the inner core of the sun, melting, resonating with anger I feel it burn inside my chest, raw and unyielding Though where can you turn with a loaded cannon When the only target is yourself? When you want to punch a mountain to choke on the rubble To boil the seas and crumble the skies To lengthen your own end Black Boiling tar-hatred, tearing at the flesh Feeding on the corpse and growing stronger I hate so blackly I cannot see, for even worthless things Are worth enough to love, and I am merely a vessel of hate So hell-spawned as to deny one's own existence Just to destroy myself further I hate with passion and ice Nothing could cause this pain but I So I turn my hatred inward And gnaw. Until I eventually explode and Die - have you ever? Wanted to die, that is? So much it hurts to think about it? Where you play with knives because the steel comforts? I wanted it so badly, but I couldn't have it The gift that you would give to an injured DOG! But not to a human who wanted it. Gifts of the flesh seek souls of the fallen. Hello, I've waited here for you, everlong Tonight I throw myself at you, out of the red, out of your head she said

Damn good stuff. Cioden Darkeye Quill-Bearer - The Pen is Mightier than the Sword Owner of the Reply Raven - Enemy to all those who never post responses"Oh my God, I'm LEAKING POETRY!"

Very good work, Rashash. I personally also am in a state of writer's block... Cioden Darkeye <img src="http://home.earthlink.net/~gyrfalcon/images/SilverSig.jpg"> Quill-Bearer - The Pen is Mightier than the Sword Owner of the Reply Raven - Enemy to all those who never post responses" Oh my God, I'm LEAKING POETRY!"

Unlimited, my horizons. I see unhindered by sight nor sound. Nothing short of an explosion of atomic magnitude could shake my dizzying heights. But yet a crack in the wall of truth Emerges as a lion from it's den Cracking open ripe fruits of halcyon dreams Scattering it's seed like frosted rain inside a snowglobe Silence Reigns. Nothing comes of nothing, let truth forsake itself For the sake of the bumbling masses who hold their lives Far above themselves, like a wandering mirror with no top nor end A moebius strip, endless and twisting, doth form the miracle Hark! Hear the fallen angels sing amongst themselves And dance heartily upon the fallen flowers of spring. I believe I have found the truth, the cure, within the disease Which spreads it's tendrils deeper, deeper. Alas the lack of immediate closure which would help one such as I Into a more medium and demanding medium, one of pen And ink and well and quill all of which are nothing swell That swells like the waves upon the shore which harken, harken, evermore. A rhyme? A rime. A simple thing, that makes the brand new bluebird sing. Nothing less and nothing more than what is desired of the whores. So I cut this poem to the quick. Rambling, madness, like a simple wit. The fool? The fool, such am such as I Who makes the Imperfect Angel cry. The imperfect angel refers to a single person. If you know who he/she is, then you get kudos, for you've read my work.

Thanks everyone, but I'm sure there's got to be a cure around here SOMEWHERE. Because if there isn't, then I guess I'm doomed to a long life walking dazedly through it like a sleeper in the roses. It's weird. Like moonbrushed masters of a drunken castle I wander through life dizzily, perfumed gardens and towering spires forming the concrete foundation for my excrutiatingly kind imprisonment. Not sure that made sense.

I struggle randomly, pawing through papers to find a cure for what afflicts me I hold up bottle after bottle of dusty, archaic Panacea to relieve my ills and clear my head. I look in vain, for no vial in my collection contains the cure for the curse of man The curse that haunts us all eventually and Binds us to it's will without a thought or fault In my dreams I am haunted by gossamer skin, emerald eyes like jewels jealously guarded, hair like a sunset in autumns past, and lips so like a rose as to fool the bees I toss and turn and find no rest as my mind traverses space and time to cause her to smile and when she does it is as the sun breaking through clouds once heavy with rain and now dried out A mirrored image of one so fair as she could buy all the riches of solomon the great, for to me all the ladies of the world are as mere rocks before the diamond that shimmers blessedly and unknowingly and this, this perfection doth marred with coal and streaked with ashy residue of littered insults doth not know it's own worth, as it seems as lumped and worthless as a brick of coal in the midst of a furnace. How I want to show her to the world, say to all "Look and wonder at what God has wrought!" And place her upon a shining pillar which would seem dark and dead beneath her luminescence. But as I live and breathe I sense despair's dark pet Doubt gnawing upon my questing heels and producing Questions of severe veracity and concern. I stand defeated in my sanctum, breathing heavily And sampling one vicious concotion after another Trying to find the serum for Love, and cure myself of this Blessed disease. Edited by: Falcon2001 at: 11/16/02 12:22:42 am

Well, I won't say we're going out...wait, yes I will! *grins happily* We're a perfect match, not to mention that she's uber-cute, and why'd you drop out of ROTC? That sucks, catch me at the ball and I'll catch ya up to date on things. Cioden Darkeye <img src="http://home.earthlink.net/~gyrfalcon/images/SilverSig.jpg"> Quill-Bearer - The Pen is Mightier than the Sword Owner of the Reply Raven - Enemy to all those who never post responses "Oh my God, I'm LEAKING POETRY!"