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October 24th, 2004, 02:34 PM

Those of you who have been following the post your progress thread will see the inspiration for this exercise. The first part is to write a small poem. It doesn't have to be in rhyme, the meter is up to you, regular or irregular. The subject is irrelevant. It doesn't have to be good, this is not going to be critiqued, it is simply the start of the exercise...

Go for it!


October 25th, 2004, 10:21 AM
Ok, just to make this easier you don't have to write a poem. You can steal one. You can even steal a bit of one if you want to. The poem is only a starting point remember.

October 25th, 2004, 02:13 PM
Imagine me and you, decades ahead
When sexual bliss has faded and
Our dreams are dead.
We'll spend our nights debating who's
To blame we've wed.
Unhappy together.

* Wonders who'll whistle a tune to that one... * ;)

October 28th, 2004, 09:58 AM
Well here is mine

The Hillman is waiting, the light's in the hall,
The pictures of Egypt are bright on the wall,
My sweet, I am standing beside the oak stair
And there on the landing's the light on your hair.

By roads "not adopted", by woodlanded ways,
She drove to the club in the late summer haze,
Into nine-o'clock Camberley, heavy with bells
And mushroomy, pine-woody, evergreen smells.

Miss Joan Hunter Dunn, Miss Joan Hunter Dunn,
I can hear from the car park the dance has begun,
Oh! Surrey twilight! importunate band!
Oh! strongly adorable tennis-girl's hand!

It is a sample of one of John Betjeman's poems.

I will give this exercise a couple more days before I reveal the second section. Then I guess it's just down to me and Dawnstorm.

October 28th, 2004, 08:53 PM
Can You Imagine
A world without fear
The crimes will speed
Increasing beer
Children will live hunt or be hunted
Mother will live protect and be killed
Fathers will fight
With weapons so blunt
Satan will take advantage
Sending every demon forth
Humanity will have a heavy decision
God supplying provision

Hope you like this dark poem.

November 2nd, 2004, 06:45 PM
Well here is mine

It is a sample of one of John Betjeman's poems.

I will give this exercise a couple more days before I reveal the second section. Then I guess it's just down to me and Dawnstorm.

No, it has ended with me.

November 2nd, 2004, 07:10 PM
Or it ends with me!

Orchards and Vineyards
And full-breasted houris
And a cup, overflowing, before me.
why do I babble of battles
And mountains reduced to dust?
why do I feel these tears?

The heavens stand open
and scatter their riches
My hands need but gather their wealth.
Why do I think of an ambush
and poison in molten cup?
why do I feel my years?

Love's arms beckon
With their naked delights
And Eden's promise of Ecstasy.
Why do I remember the scars
And dream of old transgressions?
And why do I sleep with fears?

one of my favorites by Frank Herbert, author of Dune....
sorry..didnt feel like writing one.....

November 2nd, 2004, 10:39 PM
Lost in the Labyrinth of Dreams
Chased by the Darkness that is me
By demons that snap mercilessly
So I stagger, going on.
And in the middle, to my surprize
Stood two mighty angels,
Guarding a place of Light.
Their glare at my approach,
Kept the demons' fangs at bay,
But when I tried to step through the door,
With spears they did bar the way.
I begged and pleaded,
But they stood there just the same.
Saddened, I began to turn away.
"Enter my child," I heard someone say,
And the angels bowed their heads,
At attention in silence stood.
So I stepped inside the place of Light
Where once only Darkness had ruled.
Light was all around me,
But one was brighter still.
"Am I dead?" I asked,
And I heard a laugh.
"Is this Heaven or is this Hell?"
The voice did answer "Yes,"
And handed me a shining key,
"Many doors will that open,
Many sights you will not wish to see,
But I'll ask you to remember
Not every door needs a key."
As I stood there all confused,
It spoke as it began to rise,
"Do not mistake it for your salvation,
But your way it may help you find."

ooc: I wrote this a long time ago and this is only part of it.

November 3rd, 2004, 04:47 AM
Ok we can run with five...

The point of this exercise is to work on capturing a "feel" in our writing. Poetry (imho) is about expressing emotion and feelings in a way that is both aesthetic and effective. We're going to try and do that with non poetic writing.

Take the poem of the person that posted before you and read it well. This exercise is to take the feel of that poem and write a scene that tells us the same things. You can pick the genre, the pov, the tense. In fact it is all down to you. Once we have all done we can crit each other's work and see how well we did.


November 4th, 2004, 01:23 AM
Assumed a loop and went with Ex's poem; there's precious little poetry before mine... :cool:


Half run, half stumble forward, only forward, for behind there are the beasts. They growl, and they pant and their noises reverberate between the walls. Cold walls, smooth walls, marble perhaps, always keep touch, now a hand, now a cheek. How else would I notice the corners? Harsh rectangular things, make me turn, force me their way. Can't see, too dark. And sweat in my eyes, too. Stinging...

Losing the support of the wall, I nearly fall. Found a corner, turn and onwards. Lungs ache, but what's that? A shimmer in the distance, illuminating another corner. I see it. I see it! And, thinking of moths and lanterns, I stumble on.

Round the corner and then: stop! Squinting. Brightness... I blink away the darkness, violet spots still dancing, but I begin to make out shapes. Calm down! Calm down! Calming down... Looking...

Angels! Tall, winged, spear wielding, heavenly warriors! Angels... I stare, and begin to tell myself, I'm being rude, when behind me...

They growl, and they howl, and I dash, or I would, but spears cross and bar the way, and I tremble and fidget, eyes wide open, palms raised in supplication. I need to pass. I want to pass. I yearn to pass...

To no avail.

And I turn away, and I hang my head, and I walk...
The beasts? Forgotten, gone. That easy? Had I only known! Now, that I'm barred from the light, they do not matter.

"Enter my child!"

Dare I hope? Dare I turn? I dare, barely. There they stand, the angels, heads bowed, spears upright, opening up a passage. Timid steps forward, into a light so bright that nothing but brightness remains.

And there, a glistening swirl, hypnotising me. Feel muscels relaxing, as I stand. "Am I dead?" I hear myself say?

And beyond the shine was laughter.

"Is this Heaven or is this Hell?" I ask.


The voice has spoken, and I have heard but do not comprehend. The light within the light begins to cascade, in swirling motions, turbulent glitter dust approaching, and I reach out, and the light is cool like mist, and slowly coalesces in the palm of my hand, almost solid, and now... now it can be touched. I look down and see a key in my hand.

"This will open many doors, reveal sights you may not wish to see. But remember, not every door needs a key."
Fingers close, testing corporeality, and, yes, the key is there, but where are the doors? Do I want to open them at all?

"It will not save you," the lifting light reveals. "But it may help you find your way."