Poetry

[Bugs ****ing Bunny]

The rose I never bought you

I knew that it would never work
and so I hid those thoughts away,
In truth, was far too scared to ask.
And if faint regret seems to lurk
behind my smile, then do not say
"What feelings stir behind that mask?"
To deny them for another day,
after so long, would be an easy task.

In the puzzle of each other's lives
we were pieces that would never fit,
and notes that could never ring true.
I should have written words more wise
or blessed with passion, fury and wit
to honour everything you do,
but this verse is yours. Think of it
as the rose I never bought you.

[Bugs ****ing Bunny]

Gruinard

A soft green isle in the arms of the bay
Gruinard was so very still.
We stood on the facing shore,
watching otters hunt in rockpools.
On the land behind us bees murmured
and Wagtails flitted over heather.
Before us was no trace of life.

The grass and trees still grew
but nothing was moving.
I remember the silence most-
how the flow of animal life
seemed to pause warily
before shying away from that isle.

I held a rough stone in my hand
and gripped it until my palm hurt.
More than all else I felt
that I was staring down the barrel
of random and careless doom,
and what still chills my blood
is that the soft, green, poisoned island
looked close enough to reach out and touch.

[Fake Boris]

Flip, I don't have my poems with me, so well... too bad.

Thanks for you asking anyway...

[Urban Ranger]

I wrote it in Chinese, so only a few could understand it

《偶感》

月殘風清星稀
花飛雨洒晨曦
燈黃人倦愁羈
異鄉客夢故園

[Urban Ranger]

This is about the invasion of Iraq:

《侵伊》

大漠黃沙染血紅
長空白雲薰焦黑
驚見狂人舞屠刀
怒聞異族侵伊北
火油如金命如泥
鋼獸掠地猶自得
大聖伏魔今何在
荒邑棄骨風中泣

[Bugs ****ing Bunny]

Nice. Lots of little rectangles all stacked neatly.

[Urban Ranger]

[Skanky Burns]

Nice haikus, Uber.

[Skanky Burns]

I see this.
Although it would explain why UR posted a bunch of question marks in the translation thread before... I just thought he couldn't translate some bits.

[Jac de Molay]

poet I am not..

....the kind of dream
with butterscotch flowing
through my veins

silky hair
freckles falling
twisting entwined
smiled whispers
secret message
tangled grasping
flailing mangled
explode together
high above
the sordid mess
we call our love

Alarm bell greets
the concrete day
sidewalk cracks and
broken glass
And here he lays
two-hundred pound
waste of space-time
fabric dreamy
and smiling
and drowning in
a sea of butterscotch...

[The Mad Monk]

Originally posted by Lazarus and the Gimp
Gruinard

A soft green isle in the arms of the bay
Gruinard was so very still.
We stood on the facing shore,
watching otters hunt in rockpools.
On the land behind us bees murmured
and Wagtails flitted over heather.
Before us was no trace of life.

The grass and trees still grew
but nothing was moving.
I remember the silence most-
how the flow of animal life
seemed to pause warily
before shying away from that isle.

I held a rough stone in my hand
and gripped it until my palm hurt.
More than all else I felt
that I was staring down the barrel
of random and careless doom,
and what still chills my blood
is that the soft, green, poisoned island
looked close enough to reach out and touch.

I really liked this one, and it prompted me to find out if there was a Gruinard Isle. There was.

Sad, the things we do.

[Ben Kenobi]

I liked his first one better.

I think I'll write a response.

I'd rather have the words.

A withered rose upon my shelf,
Fading as all our memories do
As time touches the best and worst.
I hardly can recall myself
Recieving such a gift as true,
The passion petals bud and burst
Their glowing glory soaking through
Once dampened spirits, quenched of thirst.

The pen is mightier than the sword,
As words do not dull over time.
Your thoughts fade not now as the rose
Blackens and crumbles, love unstored.
So envy not the day sublime,
For all the brightest suns arose
Only to set, whereas your rhyme,
Still stands in solid steady pose.

[Bugs ****ing Bunny]

That's very good, but it now feels like we're dating, darling.

[Ben Kenobi]

Thanks Laz.

Kind of hard to write that response any other way than to be the one who would have gotten that rose.

[Snowflake]

I like to write, but can never write a poem. I think it requires special brain cells.

But your poems moved me.