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Dance The Fire

I did not think or know
that I was meant to dance,
a dance so tightly scripted;
a game without a chance.

That life's but a battle
on many open fields.
The sun nearly setting,
and fire's all I can wield.

A person now burning,
standing in front of me,
telling me that I too
must burn my eyes to see.

Blow on fading embers,
making silent wishes,
to be a darker flame,
and dance the fire to ashes.

Dance the fire to ashes ...
 
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Bronze

The ship must leave the port
and reach the open sea.
And when the darkness falls
there's only waves to see.

Pain will ask for a cause,
it's ever reflective.
While pleasure won't look back,
it cannot be static.

Some can't live in this world
where the heart must either
break to tiny pieces
or harden to leather.

Searched town and found a man
who said "love conquers all",
killing truth, because it is
the biggest lie of all.

Now returning homeward
to find the land is gone.
You can't undo the past
or make another dawn.
 
Wrote a poem based on Homo Faber, the novel by Max Frisch.
So it's a little obscure if you havn't read it, but I think the themes are clear.
(Hermes Baby is a typewriter).


My Sun To Set

Feeling an illness coming on.
Who am I if not in control?
Holding on to a life now gone,
keeping fear in a stranglehold.

The mirror shows an aging man,
walking in the burning jungle,
restoring order while I can,
in this long and drawn out tumble.

Not only do I have symptoms
I've contracted the whole disease.
The body's not just a system,
it's unknown like a thousand seas.

Future of the German cigar.
Epileptic noises from guitars.
My Hermes Baby in the car.
The slimy sun and rotting stars.

Vultures flying both low and high.
Stench of flowers in rotting bloom.
A plane dissolves in acid sky.
The ground a dank and stinking tomb.

Flickering of the humid air,
like liquid glass and glowing sweat.
Burning sand and metallic flare,
but this here is my sun to set.

The mission and reason I'm here,
to turn chaos into order.
Like a Greek god I'm almost there,
building bridges to the future.

I know this girl and yet I don't.
We met and travelled together.
Should turn back and yet I won't.
We are parts of one another.

Through you I'll live another life,
and the fear of death will subside,
shortly behind my inner strife,
as your youth gives me peace inside.

Through our children we live again.
The book needs a second chapter.
But what if I controlled the 'when',
I could live here, now and after.

Statues were robots of the past,
postponing death in a vision.
The human body in a cast;
technique over superstition.

Thought life could be constructed,
like a building reaching higher.
One more floor to be erected.
Time is cruel but not a liar.

You can't live twice, there's no part two,
even through your children's laughter.
Righting wrongs like china and glue,
life is now and nothing after.


EDIT: forgot 2 verses - no. 9 and 11 (it's all just scribbles on my nightstand).
 
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Poem on the life, philosophy and death of Giordano Bruno.
He saw the universe as infinite and was burned after a mock trial in year 1600.


1
In a dream I flew out,
beyond the Moon and Sun,
to realise that we
and everything are one.

2
Suddenly skies were clear.
A veil was pushed aside.
The sun is just a star.
A door was opened wide.

3
The endless universe,
nothing is as it seems.
Nothing lies below us,
and nothing reigns supreme.

4
The firmament and stars
I've blown apart today.
Before us lays a path,
a pure and brighter way.

5
The world is infinite,
there is no down or up.
The woman's not below;
the man is not atop.

6
It's not symbolism,
fantastical ideas.
It's the physical world,
there are no borders here.

7
To see the opposites
and follow where they meet.
Such a profound magic,
revealing their deceit.

8
In poison we find cure,
a circle forms a line.
The anti-Aristotle
sees space entwined with time.

9
Look beyond the limits
and ask what lies ahead.
You must become a flame
so you are not mislead.

10
The hierarchy of fools
preserving old ideas,
in academic halls,
to anyone with ears.

11
Even the brightest minds
find my ideas grotesque.
Their world is breaking down:
the logic of the West.

12
From France to British shores,
my writings will be spread;
down through central Europe
- to Italy I'm lead.

13
Italy, my first love
my mother's tongue, so dear.
The final journey home,
returning without fear.

14
Was I invited here
as bait, a cunning ruse,
to the inquisition,
where sanity will lose?

15
I heard about my crimes,
but truth is not a sin.
My footsteps are the light
for others to walk in.

16
The bedrock of the Church
is shaken by my thoughts,
but I will not subside,
or change my burning words.

17
My innocence is clear
to a mind of reason.
If you follow logic
it can not be treason.

18
You think I will forget
so comical a trial?
Not even time will fade
a memory so vile.

19
As I kneel on the floor,
perhaps you sentence me
with greater fear than I
receive this travesty.

20
If I must burn for this
the Church is a sinner,
and will for years to come
be seen as a killer.

21
No amount of water
will clear you of this deed.
The smoke will show my will
and ashes be my seed.

22
You can light my body
and see it as a win,
but there will always be
truth burning from within.
 
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The poem that rocks Czech Republic at the moment

The mathematic model

And in March one came
with the mathematic model

And in August, someone,
even though the same man,
has already arrived in a particular time, though

And those
supposed to come
haven't came.


(the prime minister being a bit of a random words generator)

Another great pieces:

I don't feel
I have erred

We were
just
deciding.
I don't know
where mistakes happened

I don't see huge issues

We have just
agreed on certain decisions

And of course,
we are

hygiene stations.
Surely people die
People with covid die

Yes, and I regret that

Probably the covid
quickens or shortens life

And I also regret it so
 
Didn't know haiku was the official language of Czechia :smile:



1
I think therefore I am,
that's logic on its head.
Thoughts came before the I,
is all that can be said.

2
A child is born like that:
no self or sense of me.
Where does the body stop?
When will it start to see?

3
There's brain activity,
and eyes and nose and feet.
A personality
takes shape by those we meet.

4
The self, it does not think,
the thinking came before.
The mind is a mirage,
spun by a ghostly core.

5
To Christ there is a soul,
a centre of the mind.
But gods, they are not here,
no lies of any kind.

6
In Western world we know
the soul is core and fixed.
Turn slightly to the East,
they see it's just a trick.

7
Can you see the mirror,
The reflection of you?
Does it really exist,
the mind, and body too?

8
You wake from a dream
to find you dreaming, still.
The mind might not be there.
Sleepwalking is a skill.


- Chorus

You think, but you are wrong.
It's the echo of time.
You think, but you are wrong.
It's words lagging behind.
 
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Do poems have to rhyme? I wrote a thing and voiced it too. lol weird accents galore.
Lost a few braincells finding the right app to edit it with.
Inspired by a few myths and legends :grin:

 
I think it's more prose - a short story - than poetry. Nice story.
You use the archaic "wouldst thou ..." but not consistently, changing between 'you' and 'thou'. My English teacher would scold you for that.
 
I think it's more prose - a short story - than poetry. Nice story.
You use the archaic "wouldst thou ..." but not consistently, changing between 'you' and 'thou'. My English teacher would scold you for that.
Thanks! Is there a section here for short stories too? I think I missed it. I vaguely remember one, but I couldn't find it at the time.

Yeah, my thouses are a bit all over the place. But isn't "you" like a formal singular and also plural? I was lazy anyway. So scolding is appropriate :grin:
 
Archaic English is not my forte, but 'thou' was informal, so saying thou and you to the same person is confusing.
Like the French tu and vous, or German du and Sie, I think.

There's no thread for short stories, so you can just post it, I guess. I also prefer reading over listening when it comes to literature.
 
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