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marlowe's a poet?
 

offline marlowe from Antarctica on 2003-05-27 07:10 [#00716465]
Points: 24591 Status: Lurker



hi there. I am a frilly-collared, opium-pipe smoking poet
by the name of marlowe_is_dead. please read through my
scribblings and see if you like them.

Opines in a New Window


 

offline qrter from the future, and it works (Netherlands, The) on 2003-05-27 07:16 [#00716468]
Points: 47414 Status: Moderator



230 year old man HA!


 

offline qrter from the future, and it works (Netherlands, The) on 2003-05-27 07:19 [#00716470]
Points: 47414 Status: Moderator



mm. not a big fan, I must say.

I don't like your choice of words - they're almost cliché.

the whole poem "orange" is filled with words I would never
use in a poem (aura, demons, angels, soul, tightrope) -
those words mean nothing to me, they are empty husks (oh
dear! :P ).

and I really dislike shouts like "ha!" and "ah". :)


 

offline marlowe from Antarctica on 2003-05-27 07:30 [#00716476]
Points: 24591 Status: Lurker | Followup to qrter: #00716470



I'm sorry, it's my Dickensian upbringing :P it's funny you
pinpoint Orange, because that one was forced out kicking and
screaming - but I knew I had to get SOMETHING out of me, and
that was it! ;P


 

offline Anus_Presley on 2003-05-27 07:39 [#00716483]
Points: 23472 Status: Lurker



you darrk horrse you


 

offline marlowe from Antarctica on 2003-05-27 07:41 [#00716486]
Points: 24591 Status: Lurker | Followup to Anus_Presley: #00716483



what did you think of that soul-bearing? ;)


 

offline mc_303_beatz from Glasgow, Scotland on 2003-05-27 07:45 [#00716490]
Points: 3386 Status: Regular



heres my effort. I just wrote it!

Delve

A billion embers
Collect themselves
Delve the winter
And ring the bells

A thousand hereos
Lost and fallen
A collar, medal
a bugle calling

A darkness laden
An empty sky
Plumes as their spirits
Meet the Eye

A distant rumble
A thunder meant
Their very souls
To hell were sent

A concious thought
A grip and then
Through space and time
And where, and when

A million lies
Stamped and listed
A tattered life
construed and twisted

A billion embers
Collect themselves
Delve the winter
And toll the bells



 

offline marlowe from Antarctica on 2003-05-27 07:49 [#00716495]
Points: 24591 Status: Lurker | Followup to mc_303_beatz: #00716490



I'm listening to some hiphop right now (hieroglyphics) and
that went very well with it! nice one mc!


 

offline Anus_Presley on 2003-05-27 07:49 [#00716498]
Points: 23472 Status: Lurker | Followup to marlowe: #00716465



i have only skim-rread yourr poems i'll have a betterr look
laterr, but some of them arre cerrtainly of a higherr
standarrd than a lot of the crrap on that site.
i would not be shocked if you arre wholly unapprreciated by
most of the otherr memberrs.



 

offline marlowe from Antarctica on 2003-05-27 07:52 [#00716507]
Points: 24591 Status: Lurker | Followup to Anus_Presley: #00716498



aww thanks A_P :) I have a certain niche at that place tho
:)


 

offline pachi from yo momma (United States) on 2003-05-27 07:56 [#00716514]
Points: 8984 Status: Lurker



i'd very well say marlowe assumes a triple poetic occupation
as a poet, beatnik, and an MC.



 

offline marlowe from Antarctica on 2003-06-06 10:51 [#00729919]
Points: 24591 Status: Lurker



here are some comments on my poems +)

feel the love ! ! !


 

offline Anus_Presley on 2003-06-06 10:58 [#00729924]
Points: 23472 Status: Lurker



The Diplomatic Critiquerr



 

offline The_Funkmaster from St. John's (Canada) on 2003-06-06 11:07 [#00729929]
Points: 16280 Status: Lurker



here's a poem I wrote this morning...

Searching

Sometimes I feel so alone
Like the emptiness is devouring me inside.
Sometimes I feel genuine happiness
Like everything is perfect.

Sometimes I feel like I have the answers
Like the path is laid out in front of me.
Sometimes I feel lost and confused
Like the path is hidden amongst thorns.

My heart lifts me up, and throws me down
It is searching for the answers.
The answer is somewhere inside,
Somewhere there for me to find.

People can provide a map
They can help you glimpse what life can mean
But they can never give you the answer.
They can show you the door
But you must open it.

I've relied on others in the past,
To provide the answers, and make me feel happy
But when it came crashing down,
It took me with it.

I am searching my heart for meaning
I am searching life for a pathway.
I am still searching...

that's a first draft... might change some things...

I like to avoid super big words when I write poetry... to me
the best poems and lyrics aren't full of supposed beautiful
words, like the classic poems you study in high school, but
are just honest statements from the writer... so I try to do
that... I don't write much poetry anymore, only when I
really feel compelled to write something down...


 

offline marlowe from Antarctica on 2003-06-06 11:09 [#00729930]
Points: 24591 Status: Lurker | Followup to The_Funkmaster: #00729929



yes, I agree.


 

offline Anus_Presley on 2003-06-06 11:09 [#00729933]
Points: 23472 Status: Lurker | Followup to The_Funkmaster: #00729929



it is about the message, but sometimes "big" worrds arre
needed, they can explain the feeling morre accurratly


 

offline Anus_Presley on 2003-06-06 11:10 [#00729935]
Points: 23472 Status: Lurker | Followup to Anus_Presley: #00729933



but i do agrree


 

offline The_Funkmaster from St. John's (Canada) on 2003-06-06 11:13 [#00729938]
Points: 16280 Status: Lurker | Followup to Anus_Presley: #00729933



nod, that is true... I think that's what I wanted to mean,
but didn't really say very well... it is about the message
when all is said and done... but I like to express myself in
simple language... I personally feel it's more personal,
heh... it always seemed to me, studying poetry in high
school and stuff, that real famous authors used big words
just for the sake of it... not my thing...


 

offline Anus_Presley on 2003-06-06 11:14 [#00729939]
Points: 23472 Status: Lurker



Where Are You Now?

is grreat marlowe, i also think it would make a smashing
song lyrric


 

offline Q4Z2X on 2003-06-06 12:06 [#00729977]
Points: 5264 Status: Lurker



you've got some really nice words/expressions here. i think
it has inspired me to open up an account there so i can read
all of you stuff, it won't let me now... and maybe post
something i wrote..


 

offline qrter from the future, and it works (Netherlands, The) on 2003-06-06 12:11 [#00729980]
Points: 47414 Status: Moderator



"it is about the message"

I don't agree.

poetry is a form of highly concentrated language - it can
all be about the words and their sounds and rhythms.

much more important, imo.

if there is a message, it shouldn't be obvious.


 

offline Q4Z2X on 2003-06-06 12:25 [#00729989]
Points: 5264 Status: Lurker



i really like "the stele of revealing."
to me, it beautifully paints a picture of a feeling/idea
that seems so difficult to put into words in such a way..i
don't think many people can write this way about what i
think that this poem is about..very nice work


 

offline The_Funkmaster from St. John's (Canada) on 2003-06-06 13:00 [#00730016]
Points: 16280 Status: Lurker | Followup to qrter: #00729980



nod, you're also right... I also like poetry to be vague as
to it's exact meaning... but you can have this with simple
language as well...


 

offline Q4Z2X on 2003-06-06 13:49 [#00730048]
Points: 5264 Status: Lurker | Followup to Q4Z2X: #00729977



okay you inspired me to make one of those things


 

offline Oddioblender from Fort Worth, TX (United States) on 2003-06-06 17:57 [#00730297]
Points: 9601 Status: Lurker



i'm a poet.

this one was published in a college literary magazine:

DISTANT PARADISE
by Gus Young

When I was young
my father would whisk me
and certain friends away
to a foreign land
a hundred miles from home
where green fingers grew from plains
waving at the vehicles passing
on dusty roads
my father would hunt
horned beats, birds
and sometimes snout-bearing warriors
my friends and I
would swim in ponds with gravel banks
splashing in bronze water
and catching its color in our clothes
we would roll down gravel mountains
and become steamrollers smothering flora
and arise caked in copper dust
we would walk along riverbanks
dried from summer's sinister swelter
and find ancient synthetic treasures
and little pieces of mother nature
and we would stand in the finger bearing fields
singing my father's favorite old songs
we were deities in those days
basking in the sun's golden radiance


 


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