Ah, welcome to the Hyper Hive v 2.0. The prior version, which a very select few might remember, was something I made when I had just barely joined AG. Some of the poetry in there was actually pretty good *gasp*. I know, I know, I was shocked as well.
Anyway, since that one died, I am creating a new one. I call it Version 2.0. Original, huh? As you can see, I've improved the honeycomb design...done new things with the coloring...you get the point.
Anyway, I have several old poems I wrote in, say, First Line Poetry and what have you that I didn't post in the original HH that I'm posting now.
What Does The News Say?
Every news page says more of the same thing
"We're making progress, we're recovering."
Every news page will tell the same old tale
And in this respect, Uncle Sam has failed
"A murderer executed by firing squad."
But what they don't tell you, is it's all a facade
"Another oil spill, again caused by BP!"
But they never report on the harsh reality
The tabloids will tell you other peoples' mistakes
"Lohan arrested again, it's the breaks!"
But they never consider what's really important
Not celebrities or fashion or any assortment
Some might tell you about politics and such
"Tea Party v. Obama...wish them good luck!"
But only you can know what's important to you
And that's what you make it, your life as you choose
Melting Away
Teetering on the glacier's edge,
black fingers clinging to the ledge.
So freezing cold and so alone.
Fingers slipping on granite stone.
BANG! Like a gun, ice is cracking.
Ice is breaking, snow is packing
into every crevice and gap.
Weight's building up, it's soon to snap.
Frozen solid from head to toes.
Can you feel it? Nobody knows.
Cold as ice, emotionless, numb
from snow packed tight, till you're struck dumb.
On everything are water stains.
Soaking it all, 'till naught remains.
Your own hunger you cannot sate.
Memories blurred, you're a blank slate.
Water runs on memories, sounds.
Distorting them, then they're torn down.
Once ruined, they can't be repaired.
You cannot feel it, cannot care.
Forgotten things are beauties lost.
Like buildings ruined by the frost.
By water, your thought's corruption.
Lost it all in one eruption.
Forgotten memories, lost thoughts.
In oblivion now you're caught.
A snowman on a sunny day.
Drip, drip, drip, you're melting away.
Death's Serenade
I lay dying with no one beside me.
No one rides in my cavalcade.
Die now, I'll be alone eternally.
My last request, a serenade.
Not one visitor by car or by phone.
Of death itself I'm unafraid,
but I quake to think I will die alone.
I ask for one last serenade.
I think back to barren recollections.
I walk alone on esplanade,
empty of any and all affection.
Now, my sole wish? A serenade.
I still cling to life, I cannot yet leave.
My health a ghastly masquerade.
But I struggle, and continue to breathe,
that I might have my serenade.
I'm dying alone with no one else there.
Not because I'm a renegade,
but because when I could, I did not care.
Now I can have no serenade.
I know that this is a futile desire.
But still I will remain unswayed.
Through any pain of venom or of fire,
I will live for my serenade.
From life comes notice of my eviction,
but Death's call I have disobeyed.
I won't be shaken in my conviction
until I've had my serenade.
Tap! Tap! There come two knocks upon my door.
It's an old friend in black brocade.
Someone I once knew well, but know no more.
Sole guest for my last serenade.
"I believe I knew you once," says my guest,
"long ago, over a decade.
It would seem that now you can have no rest
until your final serenade."
"Indeed," said I, "what chance now to meet me!
Although by time I've been abrade,
I still have for you one last entreaty.
Please sing for me a serenade."
"Of course I shall," said my guest with a smile.
"Walk with me on the palisade.
I've so much to say, I could walk a mile!
Then you will have your serenade."
"Oh, thank you!" said I, "I owe you my life!"
"Not your life, but death, I'm afraid,"
Said my guest. I then called out in my strife,
"You're death, come for my serenade!"
"Tis true," said Death, "can you not recall me?"
"No!" said I, "my mind is downgrade
ever since I got this disease, you see?
I wanted just my serenade,
And then I would have left and in good haste!"
said Death, "I am here to persuade
you to leave this one life now, in good taste
but you can have no serenade."
"I guess I could leave," I said with a sigh.
"Although I am very delayed."
"Sorry," said Death, "it is your time to die,
you can have no last serenade."
"Please!" I begged Death, "I am willing to die!
As soon as my peace has been made."
Death watched me with pity in hollow eyes.
"Okay, you'll have your serenade.
Just as your family has long since passed,
it's your time to enter the shades."
Said I, "it seems it has gone by too fast.
But I'll leave with my serenade."
As, in the deathbed, I felt myself fade,
Death sang, what beautiful things it did say!
And now I've had my serenade,
My final guest, Death, can take me away.
The above poem is actually an old one that I have heavily revised and built upon.
The Crossroads of La Malhora
My life was so boring and dull.
I had nothing at all to do.
I wondered how to make it full.
Suddenly, one day I knew.
There was a very special train.
That takes you through the world and time.
Deserts and mountains, winds and rains.
This idea was so sublime.
So, with the attendant I spoke,
and quickly enough I did learn.
They would let in all sorts of folk,
the chance didn't have to be earned.
But there was a small catch, you see.
You could only ride the train once.
Just once, in all eternity.
I thought naught of it, like a dunce.
The attendant also explained
that the doors only opened at
crossroads on this one special train.
Then I boarded, and that was that.
There were several others I met
on the train, folks from everywhere
All of them had seen nothing yet.
And strangely, they seemed very scared.
I asked what was wrong, they wouldn't tell.
I felt fear begin to creep in.
I wondered, is everything well?
Dark nightmares haunted my sleeping.
Like the others, I stayed inside.
Wracked by nervousness and worry.
From something, I would try to hide.
Crossroads approached, slowly, surely.
We arrived at the first crossroads.
For a moment, I was unafraid.
The doors slid open that were closed.
I took one step, but then I swayed.
On the crosssroads stood a figure
horribly scarred, and clad in black.
Terror gripped me; stiff with rigor,
I could not move, could not go back.
"It's La Malhora!" came the cries.
"She will appear at a crossroads
when someone is about to die!"
In me, oh! What terror she sowed!
Slowly, La Malhora approached.
I found my strength, and ran back in
before she crushed me like a roach.
I slammed the door, and caused a din.
I felt my head rush, my heart pound.
I swore never to leave the train
unless to exit to safe ground.
Outside, was lovely falling rain.
All about, beauty surrounded.
At each crossroad, I hid, eyes shut.
For fear La Malhora's around
to claim my life with one last cut.
Other passengers looked and saw
the beauty and the history.
But I saw La Malhora's maw,
I saw her coming after me.
After seeming eternity,
the train fin'ly came to a stop
Now the ride was over for me
With joy, out of the train I hopped.
Then I realized I saw nothing
I could have seen beauty, felt joy.
But chose fear over everything.
My one chance, I let fear destroy.
Then I recalled, to my chagrin
I'd never have that chance again.
We've no choice, she comes after all
But it is our choice what we do
Before we must heed La Malhora's call.
From the plains to the midnight sun
I chose to look the other way
I've made my choice, now it is done.
On that special train, on that special trip
I stood before crossroads in more ways than one.
Tower, Tower
Bone and stone to build the tower.
Tower, tower high.
Sweat and tears to build the tower.
Tower, tower high.
Flesh and blood to build the tower.
Tower, tower high.
Sweat and tears provide the power.
Tower, tower high.
Flesh and blood provide manhours.
Tower, tower high.
But bone and stone build the tower.
Tower, tower high.
Mortar bricks cement bone and stone.
Tower, tower high.
And soon the tower high has grown.
Tower, tower high.
The high tower starts to topple.
Tower, tower high.
With wind and rain the bricks grapple.
Tower, tower high.
Bone and stone begins to crumble.
Tower, tower high.
The tower high begins to tumble,
Tumble from the sky.
The Tide Is Rising
Azure troughs and crests of the ocean swell.
For these are now the subject of my speech.
They creep, ever so slowly, towards the beach.
Not that the sea could ever be halted.
But I thought that it might be wise to tell.
Before these waves crash against the beach's shore.
And with the water, fear envelops all.
Drownt in panic as water, watch, enthralled
As sea swallows land, who is so faulted
As to let the waves just drag them away
Without helping, nor feeling some slight sway
As they flail in the water, but then stop
And their eyes glaze over, then their arms drop
Then sink in the water, always to stay
It is not my place to tell such a thing
But it's best that you know the tide is rising.
Dreaming
A child lies sleeping in bed
His eyes twitch-twitch under their lids
His fingers twitch-twitch round his head
Full of dreams and ambitions hid
So cleverly within
He dreams up a dream of college
Then just as quickly forgets it
He trades wealthiness for knowledge
Dreams of billions on which he sits
The possibilities!
Dreams of fame, actor or rock star
Dreams of doctor or architect
Dreams, oh dreams! Carry you so far
To drop you from the highest set
They cannot carry you
Imagining the paths to take
So many different choices
The roads to build, money to make
While listening to the voices
Ah! Suddenly, the boy awakes
He tries to stand but he cannot
Twitching turns to convulsing shakes
In this deadly trap he is caught
That hid so cleverly within
As he falls so hopelessly
All of the possibilities
Begin crashing down to the true
Falling, they cannot carry you
And everything becomes clear
This is no boy, this is a man
A man asleep and dreaming here
This is no man, but an old man
Old man asleep and dreaming here
Dreaming of childhood dreams
While listening to the voices
They said he could be anything
They said there were endless choices
But they've forgotten many things
Dreaming of childhood dreams
They forgot what dreaming will bring
When all that you do is to dream
Dreaming is only half the fight
The one you win by dreaming
The rest you win throughout your life
By being those dreams, not seeming
Old man, asleep and dreaming here
Wakes up, and his dreams disappear
As he wakes up, he falls asleep
A sleep so endless, dark, and deep
That he will never wake again
And he was dreaming, in the end.
Fire and Ice
A flame flickers, blindingly bright
For a short and fleeting second
Then it fades to glorious night.
In the sunlight, how snow beckons!
Crystals sparkle like precious gems
For a short and fleeting second
Before dissolving to their end.
Till fire burns away the melting snow
Crystals sparkle like precious gems
'Fore disappearing in heat's glow
If only it was forever!
Till fire burns away the melting snow
I know that it must be severed,
That it must someday meet its end
If only it was forever!
If eternity it could lend.
But beauty comes from the knowing
That it must someday meet its end.
Oh, the glory of the snowing
And burning passion of the flame
But beauty comes from the knowing
Of the end of nature's cruel game
Beauty's not found in crystal ice
And burning passion of the flame
It's true that all beauty must die
That is what makes it beautiful
Beauty's not found in crystal ice
But found in something horrible:
Knowing you won't see it again
That is what makes it beautiful
To be beautiful, it must end
Else how would we treasure it so?
Knowing you won't see it again
We know it will happen, we know
Before ice melts, flame burns away
Else how would we treasure it so?
The burning beauty of the day
A flame flickers, blindingly bright
Before ice melts, flame burns away
Then it fades to glorious night
I shall post new poems as they are written.
In case you hadn't noticed, my favorite meter is iambic tetrameter, and I usually go with a fairly basic ABAB or AABB rhyme scheme. Occasionally, you'll see me write iambic pentameter or iambic trimeter, but I'm generally a creature of habit.
