Parmenion

The romantic era will never be dead as long as poems like this continue to burst forth from the imagination of our generations. The ultimate sacrafice for the love of another is portrayed rather aptly I think in the age old medieval style fashion. A place in which we romantically believe that self-sacrafice for the greater good of our loved ones or for the protection of our society itself was rampant in contrast with what could be very much perceived as a "me first" philosophy that exists today. How I long for that world which never existed too. Well written. You captured the essence of romanticism here.

Crickets calling in the trees, Seas lap at sandy shores, Forests rise on mountains high, Dry pine needles on their floors. Salmons thick in waters swift, Lifting eagle to the air, Bear cubs at the forest's edge, Hedge hides lion and his lair. Laughter round a cedar fire, Sires a clap and toast to more, Soaring spirits fill the night, Bright-red faces share their lore. Sit relaxed and take your time; Crime has no place here to creep. Deep in Mother Nature's womb, Soon safely sound asleep.

Another little gem from you Mira

Excellent work Zen. It paints a very vivid picture to the reader of the hopeless situation of a friend who yearns to aid another friend with troubles of their past with the knowledge that all they can offer is the comfort of their friendship against the storm of bad memories. And sometimes thats all a person needs. Well done

The Dark Moon was elegantly painted for me in a way that personified a dark shadow which seeks only to feed from the goodness of a person's being. For me it seeks to drain dry the joys of life and seep into every facet of a soul snatching away the light as soon as it shines. Forever, leaving the soul it is tormenting hanging on the verge of breaking free of it like the last leaf on a tree in fall which wishes to join its brothers. However, all leaves must fall in Autumn because it is the way of things. In another season they regrow anew much like hope does. That shadowy thing that lurks like winter can also be driven away much like the snows of winter are in Spring. Find a place where winter does not last all year round...

A prayer worthy of any religion

I always enjoy readin your poems Morbid Angel. There is a certain alluring quality to the way in which you write. If only I had more time to browse these forums I would have caught them all (your poems). [q]I've got one foot stuck in the gutter, The other in my grave. I make your stomache flutter, Just hold on and be brave.[/q] Is a stroke of genius. What great lines these are! Born to fail, Its not okay, Weak and frail, In winds of time we sway. Though fathers may swear, Some brothers are skunks We still love and care, For we're more than mere punks! Wrench thrown in the gears, To play around with fate, But to allay your fears, We offer love, not hate. Born in the gutter, Will end in the grave, We stumble and stutter, And some souls we do save. Over years we doth come, Across time we do call, Not to wise nor to dumb, But to those who do fall... Even where darkness has been, There are stars at its core, Marking lightly the nightly scene... One we have visit-ed before. *hugs*

Wyvern, you are a genius! *bows low*

A well painted picture...I am there. Thanks for sharing the image

I enjoyed very much the self-arguing in the poem. It came across to me that there was a conflict between two-sides, one which believed that the protagonist was out of love and the other which did not and so despite "hope" being introduced it is over-shadowed by a lament of sorts. Your repeatition of "I am young and out of love" throughout and ending of "I'm not, I'm not, I'm not" was for me excellent in portraying this point. A well written poem which was a pleasure to read.

Aye lass - thats the brilliance of it. The way it is written allows the reader's imagination to be pretty much unrestrained. The reader in fact must and will create their own scene as they read. Good work old man

Peredhil put it very eloquently but I will add a little... First and foremost, I really anjoyed this poem. Not only were comparisons and relfections well written and thought through but it is a testamony to how you are evolving and branching out as a poet. Congrats on that, am very proud of you hun! Life begins and it eventually ends. There is no grand point to it that I can see other than to fulfil the process itself. Its kind of hard in our society where we are allowed the luxury of individuality to sometimes conceive that we do not matter much or at all in the wheel of life. Individuality sometimes misleads us to believe that we are somehow more important or more significant on a global or universal scale than we actually are as individuals. Having said that (more subjectivity), when we evetually come to terms with the fact that we are "tiny tiny things" (private joke) and our parts in this never ending cycle are completely if not wholly insignificant then some realisations occur. If this is the case, then nothing that we do matters unless it matters to us. Since we have finite time in which we exist we may as well do as much as we can and meet as many of the other crossed threads (people) on the loom of life. We may twaek or even sometimes change the destiny of some of those threads. Fate may not be pre-determined but the opportunities it presents us with seem to be and therefore we choose our outcome and where to exert our influence (tiny as it is normally) upon this loom of life. The beginning has already happened and there is only one way to escape the beginning...jump straight to the end. An end is pre-determined anyway so there is nothing to be gained by dwelling upon it. Since neither the end nor beginning are relevant or important, all that is important is what happens between those two points. It is down to each individual to choose what occurs and how significant they wish to make their insignificant existence Sorry I rambled all over your thread but I am tired and take ages to say nothing at all. My significantly long insignificant contribution

I found this a very easy lil poem to read but very damn difficult to understand, hehehe. Course I could always go with my own interpretation but I'd rather hear it from the horse's mouth Suiters? Maybe its just too late and I am tired but does that mean the same as suitors? Like potential lads to court/marry the lass? Well thats what I took from it anyhoo. Choose wisely needs " ". So a merchant died and I am guessing the suitors are there cause the lass who is being read the will is his daughter or something? The coffin of gold, silver or lead...does that imply that the suitor gets to choose what the coffin of the merchant is made from and depending upon this choice the grieving daughter will be impressed or not? Were the others fleeing indecision or wrong choices? Please! I really need this one explained to me as the author meant it. It seems like it is a great little poem but I think I could appreciate all the more knowing the thinking that went on behind it, and the scene you had set in your own mind. Care to share? *hugs*

This can so easily apply to so many different things! My initial reaction was an actor (thespian as they like to be called these days?) on stage for the first time in a pretty important role and trying to come to terms with it. My second thought was of a woman who just found out she had cancer but kept the information to herself instead of sharing it with her loved ones. Now she wears a brave face... Don't know where I got the last one from, but that was the image and I think it was my aunt but it was so long ago and I was young then. Universally written with a great message about what not to do (subjective opinion) unless you are actually on stage performing as an actor!

I am not sure that I can comment with constructive feedback either. Suffice to say that I read throught it and at the end felt like I wanted to give the person in it a good smack in the jaw. "Stop talking" indeed...*thumps the one that said that!* Y'know they say violence is the answer to nothing. I always found that people with broken jaws tended to talk a lot less, but then again I am a mad irishman You engendered emotion from me while reading so you definitely done something right!

I read this poem and the word that sprung to mind (with no offence to the author intended) was "shallow". It leads the reader to believe that the protagonist of the poem (be it a fictional or real persona on which the poem is based) is the kinda of person who sees the opposite gender with girth and does not consider that person human to the same extent that he/she considers themself. The reason I say this is due to the condescending and somewhat facetious manner of description with regard to the type of person the protagonist doesn't want. I have read other poems by yourself and I have found your work in general to be of high standard and although I appreciate that this is art, the implied humour I found strained and lacking due to the subject matter.

Really enjoyed the repeating of "victims aren't we all" to drive home time and time again. The layout I found grand 'cept for the third verse when you broke the scheme you set up, still, I found it still read fine even without following the scheme you set! There is the mindset that victims choose to be victims, perhaps not intentionally but by the manner in which they act and react to others or to situations. But this verse: Victims aren't we all? Of suffering and decay Lying in our beds Waiting for our death day. ...is exceptional. A victim of people or circumstances and situations can overcome that victimization. However, as you so rightly point out, there is one thing that we are all victims to without escape and that is time. It whittles down our bodies and minds (sometimes) and without remorse, it eventually discards us into death. You portrayed this fact very nicely! I would think that verse might actually work better as the last verse but its a mere suggestion and the poem is grand as is. Well done hun *hugs* keep it up

Scrabbling our way through life while being constantly challenged and tripped up throughout. An apt portrayal. But would we wouldn't have it any other way

Words well worked. I hope they formed a comforting cloak for the shoulders of your friend...I trust of course you showed it to her?

We are born alone and we die the same way...alone? Depends on your slant really. At the end of the day we choose whether we are alone or not. Whether we conform or not. Whether we form bonds with others who think similar to what we do. Few ever think exactly the same, and if they do its most likely a farce for some reason. We are inundated daily by advertising telling us WHO we are. Telling us what we SHOULD be or who we should be. What is accepted etc... It leads a person to believe that their will and individuality is secondary to that which society (being controlled by popular advertising) decides for you. This of course leaves many at odds with themselves and the environment in which they perceive themselves to be living regardless of their "strength" of character or individuality. It burdens the everyday person into "believing" in certain intangible things such as fashion, vanity and even how to interact, much as we did with religion in before we trancended it. A well written poem Appy, tackling a difficult subject that oppresses the individual on a daily basis. One which aptly identifies the thinking of people who do not know any better than to believe in what they read in magazines or are told to think by TV when their very nature rejects such things. A poem which ultimately honours and describes those who have not yet found kindred souls to trancend such nonsense. Well done.

I read this and analyzed the way the subject of the poem was thinking. It seemed very dominant from the perspective of the subject who was giving all the orders. This is reflected nicely by the insight of the second party in the line "he just shrugs and sighs". It smacks of someone unsure of what they want which is deftly portrayed at the start of each stanza with a powerful one word expression. It is a perfect redindition in many respects of a lover trying to ease the burden of the person who is in love with he. Try though he may the will of the person who is dying is apparently dominating in a way they feel may be easier for their lover to accept the inevitable. Yet, you show very well that the "dying" one's attempt to be strong in this situation is objectively a smattering of indecision. A very clever poem. So few words but so much said.

I enjoyed your poem Blackcagedheart. If you wish to know why...follow this link...i think you'll see why http://www.patrickdurham.net/themightypen/index.php?show...hl=christianity

A traveller through time he is, With dreams upon his sleeve, A smile upon his face he has, Why? Some can't perceive. And rising with each break of day, He wakes to kiss the dawn, While others rush about the place, He prepares to mow the lawn. No wind or rain, just birds and bees, Spring's scent is in the air, While others type he plucks his weeds, And smiles without a care. A traveller through time he is, Like all, he was a child, Fighting dragons in his sleep, And driving maidens wild! And rising with each break of day, To school he walked and ran, A place away from home to go, The boy longed to be a man. No wind or rain, just birds and bees, As he gazed into the sky, And vowed that he would rule the world, After he'd learned to fly. A traveller through time he is, The young man once a boy, His simple dreams kept to himself, Which made him rather coy. And rising with each break of day, His childhood dreams dispersed, He went to work and years did pass, His time became immersed. No wind or rain, just birds and bees, As they lay in Summer's hay, New dreams flooded with each kiss, And so he bade her stay. A traveller through time he is, His child upon his knee, Spinning tales of gallant knights, Who set fair maidens free. And rising with each break of dawn, He's smothered in embrace, By lover or enlivened child, That makes his smiling face. No wind or rain, just birds and bees, With green knees pressed on grass, And so he smiles and knows himself... All good things came to pass. Dedicated to Wrenwind. For inspiring me to believe that dreams of childhood, though they may not come to pass can be happily replaced. But yet, to raise or children with the belief that their dreams can come true. For imagination and hope are two of the most powerful gifts we can give. Thank you. Um...can someone delete one of these posts please? I go a message saying that the mail was not sent. And posted it again done

No war, no struggle, No fear, no strife, This world we have, Bereft of all life. Just anger, just normal, Just safe, just controlled, Slaves to a system, The truth must betold, No lands to conquer, No place to explore, All of these things, Have been done before. Just earning a living, Just forgetting to live, All this material gain, Yet little to give. No gallantry, no romance, No honour, no goals, Just buyers, just pretence, Just escapists, just frauds?