Scott

You are my fire,

You are my air,

With that cute curl in your hair...

You are my water,

Are my earth,

You've no idea how much you're worth...

You are my spirit,

Are my soul,

It's your love,

That makes me whole.

I'm not very good at this,

But what I'm trying to express,

Is that by my side, every day,

Is where I want you to stay.

If I'm an "angel",

You're a god,

But not that old, demeaning sod...

There's a light in you I can't resist,

(that I'm a moth is a new twist)

This light of yours, it draws me in,

Until my heart glows, deep within.

And now you've got me lost for words,

A feat I know, seems absurd,

I cannot think what else to do,

Except to say that I love you.

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This is (obviously) for my wonderful boyfriend. Now, I'm not sure if this is a well-written poem... Or whether or not it's lame... All I know is that I could write a million poems in a million years and they'd still never express my love. So, while it may not be a good poem, it's a start.

I love you, Scott.

Spirit

In the FIRE,

In the COAL,

In the ASH,

There lies my soul...

In the WATER,

In the STREAM,

In the RIVER,

There I dream...

In the EARTH,

In the GROUND,

In NATURE'S

Where I'm safe and sound...

In the AIR,

In the BREEZE,

On the WIND,

Is where I'm free.

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Wow, where do I start? I'll start with the fact that I feel most at peace out in the bush on a cool, crisp night, bonfire crackling by a trickling stream. Sometimes I like my own company, other times the company of those who mean the most to me; that is, my closest friends, and my incredible boyfriend. I suppose, for me, this poem is simply a reflection of the softness I keep hidden under my spiky shell of sarcasm and death-glares. Poetry, and in the company of those I love most in the world seem to be the only places I reveal this softer side. So here she is, my inner self, represented as best I can with my current writing abilities. I hope I'm not a disappointment.

The Stream.

Liquid,

Dancing, flowing,

Glistening and giggling.

Leaping and jumping and bubbling...

Brooding, unmoving.

Tide in and tide out,

Violent waves

...And angry drought

Trickling streams and vibrant springs,

Countoured to fit within the seams.

Moving freely, fluidly...

Raging, tearing. Screaming.

Softly sobbing, sliding by,

Rolling past, the earth, she cires.

Laughing, whispering, full of glee,

Yet which one is it?

... Sound or stream?

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Alright, so The Stream.

My philosophy with all of my work, is that I don't mind how the reader interpret's my poetry, as long as they take something from it, and it touches them somehow, somehow reaches them.

So, read into this whatever you will, but so you are aware of what this poem means to me, specifically, the poem is my interpretation of music.

Music reminds me much of water. Not only in the way it flows, but in the way it manipulates it's surroundings. Water shapes the land and where people choose to live and farm. Music shapes people's emotions. Expresses how they feel, and can even completely change a person's mood.

I associate music heavily with water. Both are vital for life for me.

But as I have said; this is just what my poem means to me. What it may mean to you is equally as valid.

All I can hope is that it does mean something to you, and that it's an enjoyable poem.

Putrefy

Caustic, callous, contemptuous,

Strip the life away from us,

Burning, braising, boiling,

All the smiles are searing,

Rot and rend and roast,

Ripping life away.

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Ooookay, so, that was morbid...

Yeah, I just wrote that then. The alliteration in every second line draws emphasis to the harshness and meaning of each word. "Caustic, callous, contemptuous" are all harsh words with strongly negative meanings. Caustic, acidly harsh, cutting. Callous, harsh, unfeeling. Contemptuous, hateful, distasteful. "Burning, braising, boiling" all methods of cooking, involving extreme heat. burning carries the connotation of fire. Boiling and braising with cooking flesh. This is quite graphic and carries a lot of imagery. "Rot and rend and roast" all have strong images attached as well. Rot is the breakdown of flesh, a sickening, stinky process. To rend something/someone is to tear them apart, gut them, totally annihilate them. Roast is another method of cooking that connotates with cooking flesh. The other lines speak of stripping away life, killing smiles, and, by connotation, happines. I'm not entirely certain what I was thinking of when I wrote this, but after typing it up, the unknown thing that has been gnawing at me and making me feel rather depressed faded, so I'm assuming it's whatever that is.

Lemme know what you think of my little ode to morbidity.

One And All

This is a poem that my friend claims to be her favourite of my works. It is not my personal favourite-- how could I possibly chose? Nonetheless, it is one that I'm content with.

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One And All

I am the fighter,

The artist,

The thinker,

I am the scholar,

And I am the dreamer.

I am the cure,

And I am the cancer,

The healer,

And necromancer.

I am the sun,

And I am the moon,

Dead leaves,

And the bloom.

I am the demon,

Bathed in light,

And the angel,

Consumed by night.

I am one,

And I am all,

I cannot rise,

And will not fall.

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I wrote One And All one day during a maths class. This was a few months ago. To summarise, the poem is about the fact that humanity, and people cannot be defined by a single label. A doctor isn't just a doctor. There's more to an emo than black dye, straight razors, eyeliner and tears. This is outlined in the first stanza. The repetition of the phrase "I am" is used to attract attention to the multiple labels which define the speaker. The concept is then narrowed down to good and evil, positive and negative. Stanzas 2-4 are comprised of contrasting images. A healer is seen as positive, one who cures ailment. A necromancer, seen as negative, is a magician who manipulates the souls of the dead to their will. THe fact that the speaker is claiming to be both symbolises the 'yin and yang' within oneself. No human is purely good or purely evil. A person cannot be purely good, completely flawless and uncorrupted. Just as a person would cease to exist; kill themselves if that had not an ounce of good within their souls. These stanzas outline the balance of nature within individuals and the world itself. The final stanza speaks of the constant, in vain struggle for success and power, as well as the tenacity to prevent oneself from failing. It also addresses the current state of the world; the war in Iraq. Nobody is, by a great deal, winning, and the war has no foreseeable end. That said, neither side is yeilding. The final stanza describes the element of human nature, that last, desperate instinct, that prevents us from giving up, and the struggle to be more than we can be. To be superhuman.

One And All is simply my interpretation of human nature. The opinion of a young, naiive adolescent, non-religious female in modern Western society.

Swine Flu (It's Coming For You)

Meaningless tears,
Shed over meaningless fears,
Meaningless lies,
And everyone cries.

Paranoia running thick,
Deep within our veins,
Propaganda moving quick,
Sinks into our brains.

Zombies of the media,
Believing what we see,
There's yet another strange disease,
Slowly killing me.

This disease is violent,
This desease is new,
This disease is something,
That I got from you.

Guns, death, poverty,
I guess it's all the same,
Everybody searching for,
Somebody to blame.

I know this isn't figurative,
No similes in sight,
But in the end I simply,
Just don't give a shite.

Normally I'm fluent,
Normally verbose,
But now I am so jaded,
With the latest hoax.


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Now, normally my poetry style is a lot more... poetic. More metaphor, more simile, more typically poetic language, but this is what my brain gave me tonight. Take it or leave it.