Here is a thread dedicated to my work as a writer. This thread will mostly be filled with my poems which vary in theme but I try to fashion myself after my favourite poet T.S Eliot, who I believed captured human nature in his words. I aspire to do the same. Please feel free wo citique and review my work. However, simply saying "I like it" is not good enough, as a writer I must grow and develop so I beg you readers to give me a reason as to why or why not you liked the poem. To start off I shall provide you with one of my personal favourties.
These Are The Boring Bits
Call life what you will, A joke, A curse, A gift, An adventure. Take from it what you will, Joy, Sorrow, Love, Hate. Lose yourself in it Find your purpose Or, Find nothing at all.
A man asked, "What is the meaning of life?" A woman told him, "Whatever you make it to be." A child asked, "Is god real?" A parent told them, "Only you can decide."
Personal opinion is what we use to guide us, The opinions of others are what lose us. We can never be certain That we are certain of anything Because of change, And because things stay the same. What makes sense one day, Will confuse us another, And so it goes on. People tell others to: Get in line, Grow up, Get our lives straight, Who told these people these things? And why tell us the things that broke them?
Is it human nature to be unhappy?
Two men sit on a bench, In a park, Under a tree. They talk about family and friends They talk about work and dreams. One man says, "It is a waste of time to dream," The other says, "Yes, but to have dreams is not." Dreams are what the world is made of Bad dreams, Good dreams, Lost dreams.
Hope is never far off, As the old die, The young are born, The young grow, They become old, The old die. But while they are young, They change the world. Some for the better, Others for the worse.
Inspiration is a dream.
The only inspiration in life is life: What to do? How to do it? Can we change the world? How to change the world? Is there purpose? Are we real? Or a figment of imagination? All questions do not need answers.
Call life what you will, These are the boring bits.
So, folks, friends, fiends and french fries. I have...AN ANNOUNCEMENT! I, Wolf (insert my real name if you know it), inspired by Moon's and Tacky's A State of Emergency Thread, shall be creating my own. Thread to be soon made. It'll be a lot darker and a solo project.
Somewhere on a distant strand of golden sand Sits a man, knees tucked in, staring at the sea again. Weathered face, and weathered limb, nothing fazes him. For he has seen naught and all, how kingdoms rise, and then do fall. In his eyes he holds a tale. Of winter men, so ghostly pale. Skin as white as new fallen snow. With golden eyes, that do not know No sympathy for their foe. And still they come through the snow.
But, haunting memory does not last, the present and time, warp the past. And here now he does lay, tired and weathered, to end the day. From whence he came, he does not know. His skin as pale as new fallen snow. And so he sits a strand, of dusty winds and golden sand. And to his left their lies the sea. Of memories that shall not be.
Weathered face, and weathered limb, nothing fazes him.
This one is the iffiest one of it all. It rushes the rhyme too much, meter just goes crashboombang
You should've added on to it, but hey, you can come back later Anyways, I really did like this, because you know how I just LOVE rhyme. Your secretary awaits more
Mothers, brothers, Far famed friends And long lost lovers. Sisters, keepers, Secret companions And silent weepers.
You have all come so far To embrace, to cherish Everything. And one another. There is a time and place For the thens and nows The whys and shalls The whos and hows. Yes, there is time for joy And time for sorrow. Time to make time, and time For the morrow. But there would be no time If not for you. For those simple words Of comfort that you speak true.
There are chances to have And chances to lose. Chances to take chances And a chance to hit snooze On the buzzing clocks That tell time for the now And the time of will be. The time For you and so called destiny. Yes there are places to go And there are things to see But none of the are important For you and me.
We have each other. My dear mother, unknown brother, My unfound friends And future lover. My sisters and keeper My well known companions And I, the silent weeper.
There is a time for every man Every woman and child. A time to be stern and forget the wild. There is a chance to take and to hold To give and to know. That some Chances return, when we are old. And those places for you For me and us all. They... They are the most secret places Of them all.
So, I haven't kept up with this thread lately *is sad* but I got talking to Tacky the other night and it inspired this rant, so, for anyone who has a dream, a goal, or something to achieve pay attention.
What do you think of when you hear the word ambition? Greed? Ruthlessness? Selfish actions? Well, if you do, then you can blame society. Society has degenerated into a state where we celebrate mediocrity. Seriously society will throw you a party for not reaching for more. The idea of hard work equalling success is dead, we're more content to sit around and being safe, than taking risks. Look at the state of paranoia we live in, everything is fearmongering.
Now, ambition isn't a bad word. Ambition is a good thing. It means you're willing to take strides to achieve a goal. It means actually thinking big, it means rejecting the average and wanting to do and be more. Is it so wrong to chase dreams? According to society, yes. Well screw that. Nothing is accomplished with mediocre people. Nothing is accomplished with saying, "well I did something, so that's good enough." It's accomplished by saying "I just did something cool, now I'm going to save the world because that's cooler!" So, to hell with the mediocre. You want something then reach for it, and if you don't succeed, keep reaching. It's better to live life chasing something than settling for some form of mediocre success, because that's not success, that's giving in.
Ever sit in your English class and pound your head against the desk, hoping that doing it multiple times will either make you brain dead, or unconcious? Anything to just escape dealing with Shakespheare for the one millionth time in your school career. Trust me, I've done it too, and I loved English class.
So, why do we all (unless you're some super student) hate learning about language, classics, and grammar? Easy, we have no relation to it. Also, it isn't that interesting. Sure, Shakespheare can be really interesting, but not the way most teachers go about it. Let's take Hamlet for example. Hamlet is often portrayed as some whiney emo man with mommy issues. That gets boring, and fast, because a fair amount of teachers don't let you question what they tell you. Thus the head to desk iniative.
But, Hamlet is an emo with mommy issues. He's a raging psychopath with a moral compass so twisted it's spun in the right direction again. The only problem? This psycho over thinks. He doesn't care for consequence and doesn't lack courage, he's just so wrapped up in his mind he wants everything to be perfect, and so he waits. And then, like mostly everyone, he dies, after killing some people, and not too many qualms afterward.
Oh, and let's not forget the endless essays one encounters. Seriously, essays beyond any reasonable means that often lack a point in their existence except for a grade. Essays are easy, you take facts and twist them into your own words in a cohesive and concise manner. That's it. That doesn't take too much intelligence, it just takes a lot of effort, effort students really couldn't care less to use, unless they need the grades.
You know what tests intelligence? Creativity. You want to see if a student has a grasp on propper structure for grammar, give him an essay. You want a student to see if a student can actually apply language effectively, make them write a five hundred word short story. Language isn't all proper sentence structure, sometimes you need to get creative and Break the. Rules. a little bit.
But students, it isn't all the curriculum's and teacher's fault. No, it's partly yours as well. See, while the system may discourage you from voicing an opinion, while it discourages creativity, you have to tell them to screw off. Question things, be opinionated and get creative. Do something unconventional, even if it is only to prove a point. Teachers aren't all evil, and some of them just wait for one of their students to do something different. That is, of course, if you don't enjoy the head to desk iniative.
Slumbering by the sea that crashes ceaselessly. Dragging with me the dreams of yore When brittle fiends, and mermen walked this shore. And in such contradiction I find true worth. I dream of love, of times long past, and endless mirth. Oh stranger things I have seen, as I sleep by the sea.
We're not known for guns And drug cartels. We're not known for Soccer or warm days. We're not known for Wars or super stores. Indeed, Canadians Are not known for much.
But, I'll tell you We all known for...
We're known for our hockey And our crazy fans. We're known for maple syrup And real beer in cans. Oh yes we're known for lacross And in 1812... Showing America who's boss. We bled on Normandy at Juno And as you may know, We're known for cold winters. Roughing and toughing it Because that's who we are.
So, we may not be flashy. We may not be cool and techy. No robots or military, No revolts and fashionable coats. But, from coast to coast We'll raise a toast. Because We! Are! Canadian!
