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The Pen is Mightier than the Sword

Yui's Poetry Collected


Yui-chan

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Don't mind me. I'm just creating a thread of my old poetry in anticipation of writing a new piece or two that have been floating around in my head. I am going to start consolidating all of my non-prose works into one thread so as to take up less space.

 

Thank you,

 

~Yui

 

Upgrade! Yui's Poetry v2.0: :P

Since this is starting to get long, a list of happy links to take you to specific titles. Most recent to most ancient.

 

Narcissist

Anarchist

Little Words

EAY (Edgar Allan Yui): from the Shoutbox

Telecon

Perfectionist

Haikai - Memory

Stranger

Swim the Pitch-Black Sea

A Never-Life

Melody

These Words

Arrow

Frantic

Blade Dance

Masochist

Mad Merlin

Cobalt Dreams

Lament

Dawn's Reverie

In the Old Way

Shards Apart

______________

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Shards Apart

 

Blow the shards apart,

Shards of heart.

Let them burn where'ere thou art.

Cry freezing tears,

For seconds, years.

Flowing like thy bleeding fears.

 

All, then, be still and rest and die,

For better that than choose as I.

Better that than shattered naught.

Better purged of rancid thought.

Better eternity's blank sleep

Than bladed hurt that runs soul-deep.

 

Scream wrending pain,

A shrill refrain.

That shard-sliced bound'ries shan't contain.

In suff'ring wrythe,

'Neath Fate's cruel scythe.

Surrender all thou art as tithe.

 

All, then, be still and empty lie,

For better that than choose as I.

Better that than hopeless fight.

Better blind than tortured sight.

Better oblivion's delight

Than miswrought life of venom'd spite.

 

Weave tearful prayers,

filled all with cares.

Sent winging high 'pon faith-built stairs.

Hold tight thy hopes,

Those hanging ropes.

O'er silent time, belief elopes.

 

All, then, let fall and crumbled lie,

For better that than choose as I.

Better that than hope distraught.

Better walls than risk love caught.

Better never first begot

Than end in spilt blood come to naught.

 

Blow the shards apart,

Shards of heart.

End all that is, all that thou art.

Give up and cease and fail and die,

Or live and fight and choose as I...

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In the Old Way

 

Feel.

Love and Care.

Live.

Learn and Act.

Laugh.

 

In the Old Way.

 

Hurt.

Fight and Hate.

Die.

Teach and Rest.

Cry.

 

In the Old Way.

 

Hope.

Trust and Give.

Breathe.

Share and Take.

Sing.

 

In the Old Way,

The only way.

Find your way,

the right way.

Never their way,

the locked way,

the stifling way.

Only one way

is the true way.

The Old Way

was your way.

 

Live that way.

 

A bit of very random poetry-looking stuff from yours truly. Please don't lynch me.

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Dawn's Reverie

{Published, Fall 03}

 

The sharp-slanting light bears the warm touch of dawn.

Its power tints the rough walls with fire.

The fast-dying shadows mourn night’s sovereign gone,

o'erthrown as the sun hurries higher.

And there, on the threshold of daylight’s advance,

far away in a bright world of dream,

you curl in the comfort of sleep’s circumstance,

immune to the morning sunbeam.

 

The hard-yet-soft lines of your sleep-slackened face,

that pillow-tossed mass of soft hair,

the sweet, serene mien that you wear with such grace,

wipe away any thoughts of despair.

Instead, I am left, in the silence of morn,

with my love clearly writ in my eyes,

to drink in your warmth, dream of futures unborn,

and bask in the breeze of your sighs.

 

And then, in that breath hung ‘twixt old day and new,

in the midst of my dawn’s reverie,

is the soul-searing truth. I exist just for you,

and you, love, own all that is me.

 

*note: I don't believe that this one was posted in the Pen, before, so don't be surprised if it doesn't look familiar.

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  • 3 weeks later...

The title for this piece just suks, but I couldn't drag a better one from my Muse. It's the first piece of poetry I've written for a few months, inspired by a growing sense of horror and frustration at what CNN shows me every morning. For now, I'll just call it my Lament.

 

Lament

 

Please! Close your eyes.

.. Don't watch.

.. Don't hear.

All the madness and hate,

.. Breeding death,

.. Breeding fear.

In a world upside-down,

Hold so tight to your hope!

Lest you find it struck dead,

Hung on cruelty's frayed rope.

 

If the sharp gunshot sounds,

.. Stay still.

.. Don't turn.

You don't want to see,

.. Evil's face,

.. Eyes aburn.

In the misguided rage

Of a perverted few,

Guard your innocence close,

Lest they steal it from you.

 

So please, close your eyes.

.. Don't watch.

.. Don't know.

As they ransack our lives,

.. For 'fun'.

.. For show.

In a world upside-down,

do your wholehearted best

to live life rightside-up

... for there lies the true test.

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  • 4 months later...

One of the rare recent poetry works I've created. It seems lately that most of my writing is to give a properly rich caption to some piece of art or another, especially the few poems I create. I will not burden the forum with a bunch of images, but I will try to include links, especially where I feel the piece of writing doesn't stand on its own. Thank you!

 

'Cobalt Dreams' linked

(It's a digital painting done as an exercise in portraiture with Photoshop 7 and my mouse.

Special thanks goes out to a young woman called 'Akemi' for volunteering the photograph.

The picture just screamed 'Sleeping Beauty' to me, so the poem was written with the fable in mind.)

 

"Once upon a distant time,

along a hidden trail,

in ancient castle clenched by vine,

beneath a whisp'ring veil,

I found a vision clothed in blood,

concealed from mortal eye,

awash in sunshine's glowing flood

and safe 'neath summer sky.

 

She lay in silence soft and deep,

alone in sweet repose,

a porcelain beauty sealed in sleep

a fragile, human rose;

and I stood watching, entrapped, it seems,

as she glittered, fire and gold.

A noble lady in cobalt dreams,

her fate long left untold..."

Edited by Yui-chan
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Gyrfalcon agrees and applauds!

 

Excellent work, Yui-chan. :)

 

I'm not sure if this was intended, (perhaps I'm finally reading beneath the surface slightly.) but one line changed the meaning of the poem entirely.

 

"I found a vision clothed in blood,"

 

I'm not sure if this was used to rhyme with 'flood' and was meant to mean a body, but the sense I got from the poem was not one of a woman sleeping until a prince arrives, but one who was sent to the final rest.

 

*smiles and applauds* Excellent work, again, and I love your artwork. ^_^

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Thanks, Gyr and Gwaihir. :) Actually, the comment about her being 'clothed in blood' was based on the image. If you click the link, you'll see the color of her dress. It's really why I included the link, because you're right that it starts to sound ominous... Then again, perhaps it is. ;)

 

~Yui

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  • 2 weeks later...

Mad Merlin

 

He sits in a cold, darkened corner, alone in a dead-silent room.

A mind full of much restive nothing, a heart full of deep, dismal gloom.

Golden his glazed-over eyes are, black-brown his long, tangled hair.

Pink-pale his thin, cracked, dry lips as they part to breath stale, fetid air.

Gone is the once-milk-white tunic, now dirtied to brown, dingey grey.

Gone now his tall, doe-soft boots, for the thieves long since took them away.

Gone, too, his once noble bearing, that confident lift of his chin.

But most of the missing is summed up by the lack of his once-frequent grin.

 

It's true he was not always forlorn. It's true he was once free of care.

It's true he was once just a young man, one of wisdom and courage and flair.

It's true, too, that once he was much loved, and true that he loved her in turn.

What's more, he once dreamt of a life that they'd share with their growing unborn.

Truth lived in her blue eyes and soft locks, filled his mind and his heart and his soul.

And 'tis true that his volatile temper was well soothed by her serene control.

And she, for her part, shared his great joy, gave the warmth and the light to his day.

But more, is the truth that he shattered when cruel life took his lover away.

 

Thus now he just sits in his dark place, watching nightmares of her in his mind,

Living and reliving horrors that his enfeebled thoughts deftly find.

His mem'ries see sun-speckled meadow, smell heather and pine on the wind.

But they linger on red, drying blood and the feel of her slack, cold, dead skin.

As there in his rock hell he huddles, eternally living his pain.

He shivers and shudders and moans out as his tears fall like bitter, warm rain.

Next he recalls his swift vengeance, the black hundreds felled by his bright blade.

And he screams out his rage to the stone walls, with the hope that his howls never fade.

 

These sounds are the cries of the broken, which ring out through the valleys and hills.

This is the destitute singing of a bard that life's counterpoint kills.

Here, too, is the end of a hero and the birth of a legend of fear.

A wild, lost, dead Lord of the Forest ruling many a long, bleak, dark year.

Let Wolf be his silent companion, let hurt be his best, busom friend.

Let rage and despair be his bedmates in his self-made, cold, wet, mountain's end.

For these are the Darkest of Ages and the decades of suff'ring and strife.

And this is the shattered, mad Merlin, who's been dashed on the sharp rocks of life.

 

Inspired by Stephen R. Lawhead's Merlin, the second book in his Pendragon Cycle.

Edited by Yui-chan
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  • 2 weeks later...

{Perhaps there are still improvements to be made, but I've never been one to work a piece to death. I am pleased with this and believe it to say what I wanted it to. Thanks to Cyril and Wyvern and Peredhil for all their input.}

 

Masochist

 

Oh, yeah... Let it burn. Let it sting. Let it stab.

When I'm feeling my worst, make it hurt twice as bad.

So good... Feel my nails as they rake 'cross my skin.

Where the pain doesn't stop, let the pleasure begin.

Damn right... When I'm busy, I need one more chore.

Exhaustion's ignored 'til I'm prone on the floor.

Hell, yes... Beat me up for the tiniest flaw.

Flail ego and image 'til bleeding and raw.

That's it... Look real close. See my sad lack of worth.

Face the fact I'm a mole on the face of the Earth.

Like that... Feel the prick. Feel the blade break the skin.

Watch the blood trickle out from that numb place within.

Oh, god... Does it hurt? Cut it deeper. Again.

The pain is my link to the scarred world of men.

Yes, more... Let the agony rage. Feel it roar.

Feel how much more alive I am now than before.

Now! Now!... Reach the height of this soul-warping tryst,

Where I live for one moment, a wise masochist.

 

{Edit: For a fun look into the creation and evolution of this poem, members can check out the Writer's Workshop thread of the same name. :) }

Edited by Yui-chan
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  • 1 month later...

{This poem was thrown together to caption a digital painting I've been working on of the same name. (The poem title contains the link to the image.) I had a hard time deciding whether a poem was rich enough to describe all that I have in my head as backstory to the picture, but ... well, this is what's come out thus far. I do think is a bit too thin for what I wanted, but I also feel like I did a decent job of enriching the writing of the poem perhaps further than it might have been naturally.

 

That probably didn't make much sense, but I know what I meant, anyway. :P}

 

Blade Dance ...Linked...

21 May, 2003

 

Sweet and silken beauty flows

'Midst midnight black and blood-red rose

In whorls and arcs and whisp'ring spins,

Unveiling hearts untouched by sins.

 

Hardened steel through hot air sings,

A breath from blood, its cold length rings.

There snapped to stop by corded arm,

Then off once more, quicksilver harm.

 

Rhythm beats 'pon taught-stretched flesh

As sweat-slick forms entwine, enmesh,

A coquette flirt with razor edge,

A consummation and a pledge.

 

Each step, each turn, each swing a test,

Young bodies strain, to limits pressed.

Through beauty, courage, strength and grace

They summon others in their place.

 

Thus blackest Death and fiery Rage

Find avatars on marble stage,

And mortal souls succumb to trance

So gods may join in their Blade Dance.

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  • 2 weeks later...

I'll add my compliments to those of Gwaihir and Salinye in praise of Blade Dance... I think that both the poem and the image connected to it are strikingly beautiful. As always, Yui, your elaborate uses of meter and form as well as your fluid imagery render the piece incredibly vivid. Though the entire poem is excellent, my favorite part was probably the third stanza...

 

Once again, great poem Yui... you never cease to amaze me. Mad skillz yo! ;-)

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Wyvern,

 

Yo B! Thanks for the mad props, ya know? :D It so happens that stanza three is my favorite, too. You always did have good taste. ;) And thanks for the compliment on the picture, too. After the response it's gotten everywhere else, I kinda needed it. I've been told by a couple of people that it all needs scrapped and redone. >_

 

Anyway, thank you as always for the comments.

 

Yours,

~Yui

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  • 6 months later...

{Transfered from the freewrites thread in order to consolidate poems.}

 

Frantic

 

The creatures in my bruised, black brain

 

are

 

dancing, jumping, dancing, leaping,

rolling, wrestling, never sleeping,

singing, yelling, shouting, laughing,

screaming jokes 'tween spurts of clapping,

waging war against my senses,

driving busses through my fences,

roaring, screeching, buzzing, spewing,

taking, leaving, taking, doing,

trampling footprints in grey matter,

blasting hours of senseless chatter,

rifling, ripping, bending, tearing,

dropping, breaking, losing, scaring,

taking all my hard-won thoughts and

shovel'ing them in chipped clay pots,

digging, sifting, slinging, dumping,

scooping, throwing, flinging, humping,

digging holes in all my plans,

carting off ideas in cans,

turning cartwheels, tumbling, flipping,

climbing, falling, sticking, slipping!

 

Those pesky little brain-mite bugs

 

are

 

making me FRANTIC!

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{Transfered from the freewrites thread in order to consolidate poems.}

 

Arrow

 

Fly

to the end

of a runaway world

where the sky

burns

 

in

such sweet shades

of bright azure and gold.

 

Dance

with the wind

that is plummeting free

from the cliff's

face

 

to

fall so far

to the cavernous deeps.

 

Feel

all the life

to be discovered there

on the razor

edge

 

where

hearts beat hard

to fight mercury time.

 

Arc

on your path

to a ballistic end

where you will

bloom

 

in

a moment

ripe with exquisite death.

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