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Vehement Poet Society's Journal
 
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Below are the 5 most recent journal entries recorded in Vehement Poet Society's LiveJournal:

Saturday, June 6th, 2009
8:50 am
[ghost__bitch]
The Rabbit's Grave
The Rabbit's grave is
Shallow and bitter
With Bones exposing innocence twine
that pull and bloat the growing mind

The house is content,
its tea-kettle laughters,
its dreary permanence
leaves the door,
half-way open

and the stench from the garden
pervades the house,
the nostalgic manacles of time.
Embedded within
that skeleton.

Flowers from the morning
explode in; welcome spring!
the yellow shades of bliss.
But you, you
already buried it.
Let it rot in the abandoned pasture
to be devoured by hungry prey

It makes no difference.

the grass refused to grow this year;
Leaving the grave
Untouched and bare.
Monday, April 13th, 2009
3:31 pm
[1calm_whirlwind]
I had a lot of fun making this poem. ^^

Urborous

The world is made of rainbows.

earth rotting;

Filled with fire flies,

angels screaming;

cocooned in decay,

imps crackling;

Drunk on solar eclipse arias,

Strangers smiling;

Laced with spider webs,

Hands in the atmosphere;

Goring dancing feet,

Empty eyes cloaked in crushed souls,

Stars trapped calm whirl winds;

Hurricanes destroying a killing loving craze,

Endothermic black hole banshees run together like glory and skeletons;

Fighting battles in bubbles,

I love you.

The world is made of rainbows.



Current Mood: accomplished
Friday, April 10th, 2009
6:27 pm
[1calm_whirlwind]
yo es nueve

y this is my newest poem. :) 


Hope

Created inside hell bound lies,

fire spreads and dies,

íhearts in dusty decay,

Forever dancing in lusty memories,

A drop of sunlight chases silent echoes,

A dream of tomorrow glimmers,

Cocooned shadows covered in gleam,

A tornado of stars rips through our merciful angels of pain

Perhaps that is all that keeps us sane.



Current Mood: hyper
Wednesday, April 8th, 2009
4:36 pm
[ghost__bitch]
Ode on a Grecian Urn
I have been really into the Romantics lately, and this poem is very inspiring. I love the way Keats uses paradoxes, and eventually gets down to the very basis of what the poem is about. That is, that art should be upheld to the highest form of wisdom.

THOU still unravish'd bride of quietness,
Thou foster-child of Silence and slow Time,
Sylvan historian, who canst thus express
A flowery tale more sweetly than our rhyme:
What leaf-fringed legend haunts about thy shape
Of deities or mortals, or of both,
In Tempe or the dales of Arcady?
What men or gods are these? What maidens loth?
What mad pursuit? What struggle to escape?
What pipes and timbrels? What wild ecstasy?

Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard
Are sweeter; therefore, ye soft pipes, play on;
Not to the sensual ear, but, more endear'd,
Pipe to the spirit ditties of no tone:
Fair youth, beneath the trees, thou canst not leave
Thy song, nor ever can those trees be bare;
Bold Lover, never, never canst thou kiss,
Though winning near the goal—yet, do not grieve;
She cannot fade, though thou hast not thy bliss,
For ever wilt thou love, and she be fair!

Ah, happy, happy boughs! that cannot shed
Your leaves, nor ever bid the Spring adieu;
And, happy melodist, unwearièd,
For ever piping songs for ever new;
More happy love! more happy, happy love!
For ever warm and still to be enjoy'd,
For ever panting, and for ever young;
All breathing human passion far above,
That leaves a heart high-sorrowful and cloy'd,
A burning forehead, and a parching tongue.

Who are these coming to the sacrifice?
To what green altar, O mysterious priest,
Lead'st thou that heifer lowing at the skies,
And all her silken flanks with garlands drest?
What little town by river or sea-shore,
Or mountain-built with peaceful citadel,
Is emptied of its folk, this pious morn?
And, little town, thy streets for evermore
Will silent be; and not a soul, to tell
Why thou art desolate, can e'er return.

O Attic shape! fair attitude! with brede
Of marble men and maidens overwrought,
With forest branches and the trodden weed;
Thou, silent form! dost tease us out of thought
As doth eternity: Cold Pastoral!
When old age shall this generation waste,
Thou shalt remain, in midst of other woe
Than ours, a friend to man, to whom thou say'st,
'Beauty is truth, truth beauty,—that is all
Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know.'
Friday, September 21st, 2007
12:04 pm
[cchambers72]
Here is a page of my lyrics.

  Untitled.


Hear me ye foul people!
Why have ye forsaken morality?
Why do ye begat wars?

Woe! to all of you on AEarth.

Land in ruin 
Animals dying from disease
Men doing as they please
My planet cries unto me

The Universe am I infinite unending
Worried with brow 
Chaos I wipe it out

chorus
Recreate before man crawled
New breeds will evovle
Perfect w/o conscience
Or needs of science 
Impervious no ideals for
Violence I let them strive

The Old Ages shall soon be missed
A cosmic tear one last kiss
Enjoy rhe meager deeds you do

You are insignificant  and weak

Never I allow your race to peak 

My arsenal is wide and vast
Reverse big bang or gamma blast?
Radiations from comet tails?
Or meteors showers with asteroid hail?
An element of surprise is mine
I could use them all to make you die

 

 

 

 

 

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