HopperWolf

you know, now i come to think of it... how on earth did I stumble onto this way back when?? hrm... it's lost on me. you're completely right

you know what... I feel the same... and I have the whole internet at my fingertips too.... how sad is this?

just a thought, are these your actual emotions? or is it a situational thing? I know I have written and toyed with several ideas from the perspective of some other people. The themes are universal, but some people take them to greater extends so that we no longer recognise them. Still, they share the same roots, and so you can gain understanding. Could be way off base though and you might just have that much rage. Still, not gonna judge you on that either, poetry can be a very brief burst of these emotions and as such, stronger than we will really feel them. I would be more disturbed if you feel that way about this person frequently or consistently though.

I disagree with Rune, I LOVE this poem, and I think the stanza fits perfectly. reading the reply solidified this I mean, I've been in that situation myself before, and it feels dark. It's a great poem Doom. I think it expresses dead on. That last stanza strikes a chord with me. It's like (to me) the words are always there, searching for a way to come out. But when they don't then frustration builds for both people, and it gets increasingly harder to say it. But always the words are there, and in private, once she/he has gone, then you can think it straight, but of course they've gone. urgh hrm. wonder if I'm remotely close? even if not, it struck me and that's a good poem in my book. grats

As those who are familiar with my stuff will likely know (both of them) I looooove good love poetry this is a great poem, it's all of the above. personally, I'm a little shy when it comes to the explicit, prefering the implications. closest I got to this level of goodness was Wild love I think you have handled your poetry with decency and respect, for which I have a great amount of respect for you. It would have been so easy to make it lewd. But then, I can see, that would defy the point wouldn't it?

I have to agree with the thought that the poem strikes me as too much for as sigh, not that I disagree with the intent, I agree that there is always more to a sigh, and like the idea you are trrying to put across. But to me, the poem doesn't so much imply more behind the sigh, rather I get the impression that the imagery used is too fast, too active for a sigh. To me there isn't anything behind it, just imagery of a pacy wind, cutting around and through whatever is in it's way. Of course, that's just my thoughts on it. If i had read the idea behind it first I might have viewed it differently. Still, I do really love the imagery used "On silent blades of jade" What an opener! very good. I think my problem is I see a darker piece than you intended.

yow! no kidding, though I like it. It's fiesty. Though somewhat scary reading it as someone else's thoughts, I'm sure we've all been there many many times.

So, I'm finally getting my arse into gear and applying for membership. I hope this poem works *nervous smile* Look to the mirror, See the faces pass me by, Watch the days run like liquid, Lose the will to try. Trust to my actions, And watch with disjointed view, As another faceless man Speaks my words too few. I, ghost of my life, Can’t take my own reflection, In my own ghastly mirror My imperfections. Look to the mirror, To see who stares back at you, A spark of recognition, Hope to find your truth.

In my own opinion, why worry about the things you can't change, if everything comes to an endanyway, spend you time as best you can, living life and not hiding from it.

This is where the Heroes rest, With readied swords, fixed beyonets, Rain sodden clothes and drenched in sweat, This is where the dead men rest. This is where the Heroes sit, In Dante’s halls, these caverns deep, The only sound as water drips, Heads on hands, the frozen sit. This is where time collides, Where Heroes then and now reside, The hall of chapions, it was lies, There is no peace when Heroes collide. This is what the dead men wish, To see once more the loved ones missed, Chasing dreams lost in this abyss, Dead men’s tourment with a wish. This is how our Heroes fare, Mortal sins and skin laid bare, Trapped inside eternal nightmares, This is what Death calls fair.

have you read my poem, Requiem of a Time? I'd love to here your opinions.... pub79.ezboard.com/fthemig...D=35.topic <center><img src="http://www.thegreathall.org/miscgraphics/hopper_wolfsig.jpg"></center>

wow, I love this. I love the way you have created a lover's relationship here, the dance, the elegence and beauty is conveyed fantastically. "dancing our fingers against each other " wonderful imagery that takes the first image of merely playing the piano, or the piano letting you play her, and the world you create twists so that the piano comes alive at the music. (or so I see it ) You capture here in words a feeling I am sure that all lovers will feel. That which you hold so high, see as so beautiful and so above you, deigning to grace you. It's a surreal thought, and that sureality is shown, and yet it happens (Thankfully!) There is more to be said, much much more, but dinner be ready o_O so, great stuff!!! <center><img src="http://www.thegreathall.org/miscgraphics/hopper_wolfsig.jpg"></center>

(Conversion confusion, this is actually the third post in this thread) What you say strikes to the heart of the poem. The initial stress is on that need for the crisis is in that moment, and this is essentially a cry for help in what to say when I cannot act. But, as pained as I might be by that, my love, though absent, is the center of it, and so, I must come back to it. And in the end it is that love and the declaration and comfort that I try to convey that are the words I am trying to find. But, of course, it is not everything I want to give to my absent love, for if it were the poem would not be written, and I would not long to breach the gap.

(Conversion confusion, this is actually the fifth post in this thread) thanks, I agree totally with what you say. It was a bit of an experiment with those two stanzas though: they are in fatc the first and last lines of the other stanzas. I took them from their original places because there was even less flow in the poem, but I didn't want to leave out the messages they conveyed. I think I can do better though, I think I'll have another look at this one

(Conversion confusion, this is actually the third post in this thread) well, I capitalise Mind to give my mind it's own personality and imply that it is an entity on its own, acting out of my control. The window is merely a property or possesion of that mind, or me. It is something I use to look in on the Mind, but it is not, in itself, an entity.

Visages of the future and past, Colliding together, soft and sharp, Living eternity every second to the last. His past a blend of then and now, For all he lives for the world to bow, Chin on hands in thought to wonder “how?” Sudden image brings sharp focus, Forever is in the now at last, His mind alive in the world; he’s joined us. Present sublime with woken heart, His soul afire with Passion’s art Alive with love which he’s become a part. Seeing faces in his dreams, His fate uncertain, Nothing as it seems. When one faces stands above, Past; perfect, Future; full, Complete in his love.

Now are the times I need my words, To touch and hold when I cannot, Let love’s own sweet caress be in your thoughts, To let constant delights be not forgot. Now is when my pain is not my own, But born as if I had been struck Although I am far from you, my home, Every blow is felt and the pain stuck. What would I give to hold you now, And take all your hurt through my touch, Replaced by love and understanding how, Happiness owed will come after this much.

Words form in disjointed union; Bound by no law, I can observe this casual confusion Through Mind’s window. Words and ideas dance freely, Creating music, Images beat and sing for me to see On the mist’s edge. Slipping further while I look in, To be replaced, Within a lifeless, silent, flat lined nothing, And ideas lost. Broken silence, searching vainly, The mist has past, Giving fire and taking back, leaving me: Extinguished flame. <center><img src="http://www.thegreathall.org/miscgraphics/hopper_wolfsig.jpg"></center>

Bang, Shot, Down and dead. Turn away, Bury my head. The board is killed, The 'ssassin's loose, Hurry now, Grab that noose. His words can maim, So watch that tongue, A repetoir second to none! The Board is dead, We'll hang him true, So hurry now, Set up that noose! i didn't mean to do it. honest, Gov.

Who am I? Without you I am nothing, I know, But what in my life do I have to show. For who I am? What is it, That makes me unique, something to love. The sum of my hopes, importance I have For my ideals. When they fall, How could they be; I still stand you see, In the ruins of identity, Not knowing myself.

What the hell is wrong with me? Why can I never see Our world as you see it; With such ease of the things That bear such weight for me. Must I writhe in agony? Over things that mean naught To you, though I wish they would. Is it me or the truth that’s screwed: Twisted and torn apart. I’m learning to hate myself, Over feelings and ideals As I lose them slowly. If they are false, then what is not. Where is the ground I stand on now?

It's not just those ho have read the particular text. The tales of the Nazi camps are still widely heard throughout the western worl at least, and the lines that were formed when entering are notorious. It is a reference to something that I think most people ill recognised as it has been rehashed in our memories over and over through all media. These memories are actually a part of our culture, even if we hadn't expreienced them ourselves. Look how people wanted to avoid similar experiences in modern warfare.

Although, it seems sad and regretful as well as hopeful.

Truth, the object of attention, We seek thy intervention, In matters of heart and mind, Lead we poor souls, Who art so blind. Truth, veiled by our conceptions, Help reveal our pretensions, Clouded by hope and good will, Save each other, But damn them still. Truth, obscured by our confusion, We cling with desperation, To old myths and familiars, That our world will Not come apart. Truth, without your presence known, Facts lay bare, your knowledge shown, How can our sorry world exist? So no matter Our pain, persist.

and a nice one at that. rereads are compliments in themselves thank you