Rhapsody

Lol, clever and funny. I feel that way sometimes!

Explain valkyries again. What are they and the myth surrounding them. I can't remember. I'd already thought of kitsune, but they aren't primarily humanoid in form. Ooh, I like the tengu one. Gyr, forgive my ignorance but what is AD&D? Sorry, I'm not much of a gamer. I was thinking fairies. Like the fey. Anyone know anything about them?

Um, I'm looking for creatures from different cultures that are humanoid and have wings. Ex: angels, gargoyles, Harpies But I'd like them to be from more than just Western cultures. I'm only familiar with Greek and some Chinese myth. So anything else Oriental, Welsh, Celtic, Indian, Latino is welcome.

Latin doom, destiny, Fate: fatus, sors (sortis), damnare death: mors (mortis), nex (necis) Only name I can think of is Donovan which means 'dark warrior'. Or you could make his name an allusion to a martyr.

Icarus, It took my breath away. The thing that really got me is how simple it is. So simple that I can imagine someone speaking the words. I loved the last stanza. Very lyrical. Very sad. "...until cured/Of existence" That made me tear up. My fave lines. Do I sense some depression here?

Inspired by an article on anti-americanism. Very rigidly structured rhyme-scheme. Has a symbolic numbers paradox (7 verses, 13 lines each). Notice 6 sins (instead of 7 deadly ones) and 1 redemptive quality. Took roughly 7 hours to write. The human capacity to forget is simply to let the mind jetset while placing a bet against perception To drink from the Lethe is to obliterate reality Falling forever, uncaught by the safety net of memory Or to close our eyes to what we despise what disturbs, perturbs To sever the golden link Doublethink The human capacity to procrastinate: Succulent bait bidding us to wait for fickle Fate to save us from certain disaster Tomorrow is a severed phase Time moves in a blue haze Serving to sate our need to laze Hands on the grandfather clock Counting down our lives tick-tock Another chime! Wasting time! Deadlines are points of no return A lesson yet unlearned The human capacity to complain is the ordain to screech our pain Our petulant refrain to a deaf world Daily we whine at each perceived crime trying to gain sympathy or time Malcontent is man's realm Ennui at its helm Whatever bores spawns war lust, sadism, shameless shams for our short attention spans The human capacity to consume: to chew out of the womb and into the tomb and self-exhume insectile hunger for future generations Rabid, we wolf down sanctity with our mutton Decimating whole species stops not this glutton Ravenous, we resume pressing the repeat button All the world has to give cannot slake a single id Stuff your maw! Fill your craw! Strip Earth of every plant and beast Come. Feast. The human capacity to conform sucks each purging storm into a putrid norm Every soul is forlorn in a feigning populace At designer stores we must shop From high school we must drop to model for porn Heroin needles we must swap In our cliques, sport the same threads heed the same songs, share the same beds Isn't my name and yours the same? Well, at least you're not alone You clone The human capacity to rationalize to justify our lies allows us to terrorize the truth Into confusion we sink We're not wise because we don't think or we don't think because we're not wise? Giddy, we totter on the brink between reason and madness Here, even gods must guess In this craze, there is always a catch. Catch-22. Got you But the human capacity to wonder urges me to ponder what exists under yonder skies that thunder with echoes of an unheard song To marvel is to win Tap into collective consciousness of human kin To sunder my soul into yang and yin The sun I see, vital warmth I feel Spring I scent, my heart begins to heal Raise my face, Life I taste My instincts--primal, pure, raw In awe

Freeform poetry. Based loosely on Walt Whitman's poem of the same name. Inspired mostly by a recurring dream described in the second stanza. I sing my name to wind, to rain I touch my heart to touch a star My shoulders ache Invisibly raked this ageless stigma where once sprouted, wings I rival angels and kings Gods quail, Fate fails For I am young and proud and raw My voice is heard, my word is Law Cities sprawl at my feet Cobwebs of life and heat Writhing, roaring, fuming Unrefined mines Glittering industrial gems Lantern-light scales of soot-belching dragons Gulping down souls by the flagon But I, I choose a different path Not foot-worn roads Paved lanes Or streets of gold I travel the meandering trail Across the vast expanse of my mind A small soul at once within and without Where does it lead? Into my dreams Across unknown seas To the horizon and beyond My destiny, my decision, my declaration My ship of life Sailed by My winds, my waves, my storms Captained by My blood, my brain, my soul See my soul! Pliant, palpable, no vaporous phantom Luminous, blazing with life What spirit dares haunt my steps? Whence from Devil or God's behest soon finds itself possessed by drumbeat years unspent tears gods I fear A word, a gesture from me and civilizations collapse Heavens fall at my decree The world bares its throat, prone, supine at my fingertips, it is mine

It seems to me that the theme of rebrith overshadows the theme of justice here. The use of a blade to sever ties to the past was ingenious. Not only does imply pain, but from the way you write it seems you are immune to this pain. I'm enamored with the idea of hidden human wings. And the last two stanzs touched me in particular. My fave line:

I love the structure of this poem and how it maintains its rhythm and rhyme throughout. The message was conveyed very effectively.

Oi! Cool title, first of all. I love your rhyming. And the brevity of your lines. Like flashes of imagery. I really liked this line: "Take my life and eat the meaning"

Lyrical. Evocative. They seem like small snippets of dreams or wistful visions.

Lol, very clever. Technical and engaging and humorous all at the same time.

You write so vividly yet so simply that the images you create linger in the mind. Feels like a dream. Enigmatic, disturbing, melancholy, perhaps theological? Interesting how you conveyed a sense of paradox. I assumed the narrator was an angel as you described wrings, yet inebriated. Drunk angel.

Charmingly eccentric. The last act of completing his work was ingenious, albeit disturbing. Reminds me a bit of myself in the process of writing.

*cackles* Well that was entertaining. Never imagined Elrond quite so vulnerable to physical ailments, nor disposed to describe them. *snicker* I'm not familiar with Madeame Quixotic's prophecy. Somehow I get the feeling its not part of tolkein's lore. But then again, I haven't been here very long.

Does anyone here visit any other writers' forums? Perhaps a smaller one? COuld someone hook me up with a link? Just trying to expand my horizons.

Hmm, rather morbid. I like the rhythm to it. Kind of jolting cuz its not consistent. I'm impressed with how you could use such simple words to talk about such a serious issue. And I can sympathize with you on your feelings. Nice work...a thought-provoking piece.

Wow, two wonderful poems! WrenWind, I loved how you used trite old sayings in you first line, then protested it in your next. You have an acute sense of irony and your sarcasm comes across as amusing. I'm loving the structure of your poetry cuz I know that structure is often the hardest part of writing good poetry. And Master Elrond always has something cheerful to say. Delightful. I hope to see more of your work in the future.

If perspective is a painting, mine is Impressionistic. Looking out my window, Monet or Renoir would likely gasp at the view. I live not within serene Japanese gardens with stenciled bridges arcing across lotus-studded ponds nor on boundless acres of farmland—its velvet verdancy only broken by golden humps of dusty haystacks. No, my abode is far humbler. Mine is but one of the well-pruned nondescript suburban houses whose square lawns are kept immaculate by hands other than our own. But to my eyes, our yard holds a dutiful patrician beauty, especially when viewed through my bedroom window. I see only through a narrow slit that is the parting of my translucent curtains. Foremost in my vision looms a green Afro that is the semicircle canopy of a dwarf tree flourishing just outside my room. I watch as sunlight illuminates its leafy crown, bathing it a vibrant gold-green (a tint beautiful only in nature). I know from past scrutiny exactly how sunlight strikes its leaves at a certain angle and traces each vein a molten gold, just as dawn paints the fine gauze of a spider’s web with a filigree of rose and gold. But such minute detail is lost on me now. Only a blur of graded green meets my eyes as I gaze, enraptured, through the glazed glass. Beyond is the leather-brown cylinder—a tree bole—whose roots are carpeted by a mossy tangle of underbrush. Its canopy rises to so lofty a height, I cannot perceive its crown from within the house. Constantly moving in the lazy summer wind, this emerald awning dapples the jade lawn with dancing patches of honeyed sunlight. Slivers of cerulean sky can be glimpsed through the branches, replete with vague vagrant shreds of cloud. Even the concrete street takes on a warm beauty. In the glare of the noon sun, the pavement glimmers white-gold, an illusion only enhanced by sweltering heat waves that ripple across my vision. I am a hairsbreadth away from qualifying as legally blind. A glance out my window reveals a riot of color. Minutiae are lost. Of course, functioning in twenty-first century America requires a keen sense of sight. Any citizen walking the street with less than 20/20 vision invites trouble. So testifies my driver’s license which reads WITH CORRECTIVE LENSES. Indeed, in public, I’m subject to the burden of my lightweight spectacles. On the road, I am equipped with eagle eyes. The pockmarked lanes, flashy traffic signs, even the fuzzy dice swinging from the mirror of a neighboring car cannot escape my detached observation. In the classroom, I espy the slightest typo on overhead worksheets, note the first color change in the chemistry labs, peruse the clock—examining each movement of the minute hand until the bell rings to signal my salvation. Even as a competitive swimmer, I don prescription goggles so the aerobic sets written on the poolside chalkboard can be interpreted and converted into marine mileage and expanding muscle. But such acute vision can prove tiring, irksome, if not nerve-wracking. It seems my world is full of edges: the cold blade of a fingernail clipper, the trenchant point of a sharpened pencil, the sheet-metal brittleness of a bathroom mirror, the wound steel strings of my violin, the whirring blades of a ceiling fan, the steep drop off point-of-no-return deadline of the next project, the barbed remarks of callous classmates. If it is not a pinprick of irritation, it is gaudy color and glaring light. The enormously vivid messages of highway billboards, tin-foil candy wrappers, the sequins and rhinestones and dyed hair that constitutes fashion today, glitzy polished sports cars, the dazzle of bleach-whitened smiles, the neon-blacklight-laser fluorescence that comprises urban nightlife. It’s enough to give any self-respecting individual a migraine. Life has morphed into a sort of carnival, rife with violent movement and color; we are the both the ringmasters and the clowns. The edges, glitter, garishness overloads the eyes and piques the sane mind to the point of pain. At these times, relief is simple. Remove one’s glasses. Watch as the sharp edges melt, as radiance blurs into shadow, as Technicolor recedes into pastel. The world disintegrates into pure color and movement, live art. A fashion model in high-definition television is refined into an average humanoid shape. A cardinal flitting across one’s yard transcends into a comet of blood-scarlet. And light elucidates as Monet imagines it would in utopia; light no longer blinds. Just as well. For I am already blind. A blind visionary.

*twiddling thumbs* So, are we discussing yet?

A rush of adrenaline is a momentary lapse of judgment.

Love is an emotion strictly unnatural and, therefore, human. In the English language, 'love' and 'insanity' can be interchanged, either used to describe the viccissitudes of human emotion.

Is posting fan fiction okay here? where would be a good place to post it? I know some boards absolutely prohibit fan fiction, but this one isn't for the sake of the teen-girly fantasies. I swear.

So if anyone likes the books and actually wants to discuss them, I'm totally open. I, for one, did not enjoy this one as much as the first four, but that's just my opinion.

Yeah The reason I was hesitating with Ash is because it reminded me of pokemon too. I don't read the Dragonlance series, but I'm definitely open for suggestions. But I like your rec for simple first name and mystic last name. What about a name change from when he is changed from human to vampire? I'm thinking of an Initiation type thing. I took it from another book where during the Initation, they hold a vigil without food (or blood in this case) and they have visions in which the discover their truename. The name links them to their bonded Element--in this case, Fire. It's an alias that is only known to the supernatural world, but only a shortened form of the truenmae is used cuz if everyone knew the truename, it would lose its power and a powerful spell could give one control over him. Voodoo type thing. So anyways....