Trisphee - My Poetry

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- - My Poetry (http://www.trisphee.com/forums/showthread.php?t=7364)

Thank you, my dear, its one of my favorites as well.

Here are a few other pieces.

Simply Put

This is not a poem.

The Free

This is a just a collection of brooding thoughts. The first is poetry, the rest is just dribble that came from the same place.

Waste

I think Simply Put is strong, but it almost feels like it's not reaching it's potential. Don't get me wrong, I like it as is, but I think it could be even better. Pretty evocative, though.

The Free I think is my favorite poem of yours so far. Pacing, rhyming, content, everything just works.

And Waste takes a while to get going, but the mood becomes almost all-encompassing by the end. The fragmented nature near the end only adds to the effect, I feel.

Thank you. I appreciate the compliments. I think simply put just needs stronger imagery about halfway through the beginning.

Short Story

And I Dropped

And I dropped. I could hear the silent squeal of adrenaline coursing through me; the blood was pumping so hard I could feel the pulse of my heart in my eyes. All senses became mud. The only things I could detect were bodies.
There were three in the room with me. I could tell that two were looking at me.
The pit in my stomach lurched forward before I did, but I quickly followed.
I felt the trembling vibrations of four gun shot’s go off, two from each of the two men looking at me. I moved faster than their fingers to the trigger and their arms to the ready. All the bullets missed. On my way to the first target, the man on the far right, I kicked a small rock forward with me. My right hand made contact with my targets diaphragm, the force of which pierced his rib cage like a knife to wood. My left hand traveled quickly to meet my targets kidney, meanwhile four gunshots breezed past the left of my face from my targets gun, and two more were strayed behind me as the man to the far left tried to catch up with my movements.
He failed by several feet.
My right hand, retracted, struck forward and my palm made full contact with my targets nose and mouth, shattering his nose, forcing the bone behind the cartilage to shatter and project into the back of his head, and also breaking both of his upper front teeth loose, causing them to shoot to the back of his throat. The force split his upper jaw.
I swiftly jabbed his throat with my left hand while spinning and shifting my targets body, with my right hand, into place to take the bullets coming from the man on the far left.
Three more rounds entered my targets body; one pierced through and grazed my right shoulder, passing over top my collarbone. I fell to my right knee, letting my first targets body rest on my shoulder and picked up the rock I had originally kicked, and flung it at my opponents hand. The force of the stone threw his trajectory off as three more rounds we’re fired into the body on my shoulder, which I flung into my opponent as he fired his final round, the bullet piercing the body and straying into my gut as I leaped into it to counter the force and keep myself on my feet.
I continued my leap into my opponent, the body slamming against him and falling to the floor, but him still standing, and my leap meeting his standing, my hands quickly wrung around his neck. He struggled and punched at me with his right hand, I countered with my left, grabbing his arm and twisting it until it snapped out of place in his shoulder.
With the limp arm in my left hand, his throat in my right, his left arm grabbing at me in either pain or in futile resilience, I was unsure which, I placed my right leg behind his left, pulled forward on his right arm, pushed forward against his throat, and kicked backwards with my right leg, bringing him to the ground.
He grabbed at my throat with his free arm and I shoved his left arm into his own mouth, slipped a knife out from his vest and pinned his right arm to the ground. I grabbed his limp left arm, now shoved into his mouth, with both hands, and forced it as deep into his mouth and throat as my strength could muster. Then I returned to my mind.
I didn’t understand what was going on, but I had a .45 calibur slug in my stomach, a dead man laying to the left of me, a dying man choking on his own hand between my legs, and a whimpering individual in one corner of the room.
I stood for a moment, admiring what was around me. I checked the blood on my hands, not being able to decipher whose it was. I looked at the whimpering person in the corner and asked, “Did I do this?”
More whimpers.
I picked up the gun from my first victim, unbeknownst to me it was my victim at all, and shot the whimpering person in the head. It didn’t die. Its head slammed against the ground and it let out a loud cry, but it recoiled and continued whimpering.
I did not know how to react, so I fired again. Same occurrence. I dropped the gun and sat against the wall opposite the whimpering person. A radio from one of the enigmatic deaths was lying next to me. I picked it up and pushed the speak button, “I don’t know what just happened, or for that matter who I am or what’s going on, but I quit.”
I dropped the radio on the floor.
The whimpering one was looking at me. Terror…

That was rather interesting. The whole fight scene reminds me a bit of the end of V for Vendetta when he takes on all those guys and gets shot.

The twist at the end was effective, however, I think the way the first part is written actually detracts from it. If you could somehow find a way to tell it so it seems more dissociated, making the "I came back to my mind" part even more of stand-out line. I don't know, though... I'm not entirely sure, maybe it's good the way it is.

I agree with you. He recalls the details a little strongly for being maddeningly out of his mind.

Hey Arsis. Had a look at your first three poems, not sure what to make of them myself but that's nothing unusual for me when I see poems that seems to have that sort of stream of consciousness style (not sure what else I would call it but that is what it feels like when I read it).

I find myself paying more attention to the diction of your poetry, rather than what it might actually be saying. That migth be because it does seem to shift a little on occasion, going from some simplistic statements to what feels like a more 'poetic' syntax.

My favourite of the three is also "Blood Red Sky," for the internal shift from 'sun' to 'son.'

Thank you. That poem was originally just going to be expression, the shift was added not after I wrote it, but really following the image. Thank you, I thought it was clever. I've written a few poems today based on inspirations that have taken place in my virtual existence. Some fairly epic warfare is occurring throughout my online universe, not of all of it is necessarily a game. Mind you, all of these that I've written today were written less than an hour ago, so be nice to them. The third one was written with extreme scrutiny. I like it the most.

Kraken

(about the online piracy debacle and the ACTA trying to be passed)

The Star's

(about a politically incited war in a video game that occurred today that involved several hundred million ships and at least 300 players)

Scythe

(inspired by Suze's writings and from my own fascination with the characteristics of angels)

My Hell

(this is an old poem I wrote in Sudan that I spent a great deal of time over. Much of the imagery is metaphorical, it's a favorite of mine simply for it's sentimental value, not necessarily it's writing. It is here, if for no other reason, than that)