Damonk wants YOUR poetry!

Postby Tcho on Fri Apr 19, 2002 9:38 pm

I would write poetry, but I'm not very good at it.
I wish I could rhyme :sad:
Hey look! A dime! ^_^
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Postby Pooki on Tue Apr 23, 2002 12:20 am

hrm... i used to be a poet back in those days when I was sad and depressed... it's hard to write poety when I'm happy for some reason...
I do find myself strangely proficient at making iambic pentameter... although I need more work on the rhythm and the sound/sense... There were alot of styles I used to use, alot of different types of poems I used to write... this one is a strange one I made (probably the only thing that I liked) There's really no deeper meaning however, it's just a lullabye (however you spell that)

Over the distance
Across the seas
Night blankets across the land
Moonlight through translucent clouds
Waves crash upon the sand

Rushing inward
Towards the hills
Over the distance and across the seas
Waves consume the grainy sand
For naught, for always, the tide recedes

Upon that hill
A forgotten ruin amid the land
Where a silver lark, snugly nests
Where king and queen, and princess dance.

Only moonlight sees
Through those battered walls
Somewhere, upon that hill
Noone cries the hour of night
And no one dances, the court is still

Up above
The countless stars
Across the sky they slowly creep
The royal court will forever dance
In your mind, your dreams, now go to sleep...
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Postby Pooki on Tue Apr 23, 2002 12:36 am

you can critique on that and/or this if you want to.
(making this up just now)

sorry, late again
there is no strip for today
keen is acting up

or the variations:

sorry, late again
there is no strip for today
the blame lies in me

keen is acting up
there is no strip for today
SO sorry (yeah right)

sorry, late again
there is no strip for today
not like you would care

and now for something completely insane:

how do flowers grow?
chromosome replication?
or simply magic?

on second thought, let me know what you think about that last one (if you have time)
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No suggestions?

Postby Dakkron on Mon Apr 29, 2002 3:31 pm

The only one-syllable webcomics I've found so far are Framed!!!, and, like, 3 in Damonk's links... if you know any, let me know so I can finish this thing up :D By the way, if anyone cares to know, it will be a parody of a poem by a well-known author.....
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Ye have throw open the Gates.....

Postby Ron on Thu May 16, 2002 2:15 pm

Hmm... Poetry....I think I'll give this a try Acadian Boy

The limerick form is complex
Its contents run chiefly to sex.
It burgeons with virgeons
And masculine urgeons
And swarms with erotic effex.
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Poetry you say...

Postby Uneide on Thu May 23, 2002 7:00 pm

In my older days
when I am withered like a stalk
that saw the sun too soon
I will rise around your trunk
follow every crevasse every wrinkle
in your tree-bark skin
and wait, entwined into a single soul
for dawn to come.

^_~ sappy? gods yes. *l* still, honest critiques always welcome... was made for my half orange.

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The winter of the Unseelie...
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Postby Dent on Mon Jun 17, 2002 12:10 am

It's been a long time since I tried anything poetry-related... but what better reason is there to try, than because someone asked nicely?

Before I start, though, I'd like to say that I've enjoyed reading all the contributions so far. Encore!

1. Bureaucracy

Employee numbers not sorted by names,
schedules posted two days in advance,
indigo ink for unauthourised change,
pay rates decided entirely by chance.

Workers might wish to voice their complaints
But words seldom pass through muttering teeth.
We suffer instead, and thus do we paint
our canvases washed with the tone of defeat.

The system is broken. What can you do?
The rut we are in is too deeply worn.
But joy can be found in droplets of dew.
Joy can be found in a triplicate form.

We're five hundred cogs, but none know their part.
What more than this needs the beauty of art?


Eager summer sun
starting the dawn so quickly
almost never left


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Postby Jenova4 on Mon Jun 17, 2002 5:45 am

did you know
that where ever you go,
there you are


(i suck at poetry.)
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Postby Scrubbo on Tue Jun 18, 2002 5:52 pm

Frank and Megsies sittin in a tree!
First comes love, then comes marriage....
then comes Damonk washing the dishes while singing a silly song about goblins.

Sorry the last line doesn't rhyme. I couldn't come up with a good finish.
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Postby Jenova4 on Tue Jun 18, 2002 7:55 pm

wouldn't there be Damegs running around the house first tho' ?

and your poetry is better than mine at least.
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Postby Labgoat on Mon Jul 01, 2002 12:34 am

It's been nigh on 4 years since I've written anything. In high school, I was prolific, and in college, I wrote little, but what I did write was better. Now, here I am, and I've lost most of my poems, but here's some I have.

First, I'm going to try a word sonnet:


Well, I'm rusty.

Now, something I wrote in college.

<b>The Hall of Portraits</b>

Oaken floors, scented cedar walls.
Vermillion curtains accent brilliant sunlight.
This is my hall, with portraits of myself.
Each one framed in ebony, each
tells a tale in its own style.
The first, a small child at play in the fields,
is done in rich colors, sharp detail.
The smile on his fresh lips complements
the sparkle in his eyes. He is chasing a puppy,
his only intention to embrace.
It is a lovely portrait, but few see it.
A couple, caring in expression and decrepit with
this portrait covers <u>The Boy</u>.
Its title: <u>Parenthood</u>.
There are still other portraits in the hall,
beautiful ones.
The next is an alchemist bent over his low-lit desk.
Soft, blurred strokes portray a tired man
pursuing knowledge. The remains of many candles
lie as testament to his undending goal.
<u>Alchemista</u> is very popular today.
<u>Onward To Chivalry!</u> comes next.
A knight, hidden behind tempered steel
forever fights a fearsome beast,
rank fire belching from his terrible maw.
The beast has a name, Malemundi.
Stern determination is seen on his uncovered face,
for he will not let the innocent be harmed,
a damsel at his back.
This piece is readily losing popularity.
Here is the last piece.
The owner of the gallery keeps this painting
on display, even though few care for it.
A man, tired, browbeaten, created by uneven
stoops to help a less fortunate soul, wounded.
Dark soldiers all around look intently on their prey.
Yet the man doesn't fail to help, even at the end.
It is the owner's favorite piece,
It still hangs there today,
still collecting dust from unappreciative souls.

Well, I suppose that's about it. I'd like any critique you can give me, Frank.

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Postby Damonk13 on Wed Jul 03, 2002 8:18 am



It looks like I've suddenly got a stack of poems to look over!

I'll have to give myself a full day sometimes this weekend, and try to offer up some Damonk-brand critiques!

Heh, and I should put up my Master's thesis online, too, shouldn't I? 60-something pages of original Damonk poetry?

All your brains would explode! :eek:
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Postby Jenova4 on Thu Jul 04, 2002 5:46 pm

i'm not so sure about that.
i think it would kill the brain, infect it with some sort of cancer, plant a couple of C4s in there, run out and detonate.
and repeat after the brain grows back.
but, i haven't read it yet, so this is a crazy theory.
i *could* be right about the C4 planting.

(and i am bad at poetry! Good at Games like Morrowind, but not poetry.)
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