Writers' Hangout

[Breloomancer]

in this thread: post poetry, short stories, etc that you have written; discuss things that other people have written

 

don't be mean to people or bash their work; if you don't have anything nice or constructive to say, don't say anything. also, it may be worth noting on your post if you want constructive criticism or not

 

 

i'll start with something i was working on yesterday:

 

In lifeless jungle

Of plastic and wax,

Across planet earth

The albatross mass

 

Strangers meet strangers;

Meet friends, and lovers.

Sing tales of their lives

All what they discover.

 

Not one bird questions

Their perch’s design;

None can remember

The fall of mankind.

 

my own thoughts on it (don't read until you have formed your own opinion):

Spoiler

i'm not entirely satisfied with this one. it was meant to be in a post apocalyptic world where humanity is gone, but its trash still remains, and life still goes on. and so the albatross are on an island of trash, but to them it's just how things have always been. if i were to revise it, i might cut out the part about the fall of mankind and add more about the plastic island and the stories that the albatross share with each other, but i kind of just wanted to put it out there and be done with it

 

i have not made any poetry in a long time, and the poetry i attempted before was really bad. i really like the idea of how limitations on the ways you can use language can force you to be more creative and do things that would normally seem not entirely grammatical, but that can still get the point across. in the future, maybe i should try a more complex rhyming scheme. but then again, just the ABCB was difficult enough

 

constructive criticism is welcome!

[ringgggg]

I’m reading this book on motivation and I’ll post a summary of my findings hopefully soon. It’s very interesting

[ReallyArtificial]

((Excellent concept, Breloomancer. I'd enjoy seeing more. I especially liked the last stanza. Humanity will be forgotten, but life will go on.

 

We've recently been exploring the Library of Short Stories. My favorite so far has been Richard Connell's "A Friend of Napoleon." Very silly, but heartwarming. I'd highly recommend any of his works.))

[Felight]

[Gelato] Hello! Not sure if a thread like this has already been made. If not, here it is! This is a thread for discussing all things writing, be that fiction or non-fiction, professional, personal, academic, whatever you're working on! You can discuss your process, any challenges faced, ideas, maybe even request feedback, etc.

 

In my system, we love writing and storytelling. We even minored in creative writing in college. We're currently working on a fantasy story about a teen named Talon who learns he's half-dragon. It's been in the works since high school, but sadly, we're kinda bad at being consistent about it, and we tend to start over when a draft gets too old. This time, we're HOPING to finish the draft completely before starting over. Currently on chapter 7 of 22ish? Maybe more. We also have a story about a blind ghoul named Page that takes place in the same world as Talon, but currently not writing that one since we want to focus on making progress with Talon. It's our dream to be a published author some day.

 

Oh yeah, and to spark a discussion among writers here: does your system write different things, or do you all work together? We tend to work together, since we'll be more productive that way, but once in a blue moon someone might have their own idea that they want to work on alone. Those tend to be short stories or poems, and that was more so back in college. The ghoul story was originally going to be something that just Piano worked on (which is probably why it's kind of a gay romance lol), but for one reason or another it became a collective project.

[ringgggg]

Check this one out!

[Felight]

[Gelato] Oh whoops! Guess the mods can merge them if they want 😅

[Pleeb]

I merged them, I may have messed up and botched the title and url of the original, but that's alright.  here it is.

[astral]

I write depressing poems like this one

 

Spoiler

does the sun know

the moon?

the beauty of

pure rays of silver light

scattered haphazardly

across the land?

the sun plows on but I-

I can't breathe without you

without the reflection of the

full moon in my teacup

perfect

complete

whole.

the luminosity prevails

cheers,

a toast to moonlight

ripples

ripples

the best memories etched in my heart

the best traces of visions, sounds, fragrances

but still

just

a memory.

 or this one (it's short)

Spoiler

My fingers want to

        dance,

                to fly across the

        page,

but the words

     won't come

and I'm left with nothing

        but

 

this

 

                poem.

or this

Spoiler

Magic leaves the pencil. It's colorless now,
Empty where hues and shades used to spring forth.
Dazzling colors from gray and dank,
Now gray and dank alone,
Where is the magic?

There's a weight in her movement now,
A heaviness that used to be absent,
Now, glaringly obvious.
Steps from light and springy grow darker,
Darker.

It's brown and weathered now,
Strong but pained, I can tell,
I don't believe that this was the
Sprout I had planted,
So long ago.

Where is my seed, my
Little fledgling, fluttering,
Where is my innocent heart,
Unpained by growth?

but I write non-depressing ones too

Spoiler

Poems come especially when you don't want them to,

That's what I've learned from my experience,

They burst from the tips of your fingers into the air,

Dwindling there, do they know you don't have paper nearby?

 

Poems flow from the tip of your pencil,

Dancing across the page, when all you

Want now, more than ever, is

Reality. Legible reality.

 

Poems spill from your cartridge of black, blue,

Sometimes, but mostly orange or purple ink,

Some outrageous color,

They touch the thin metal nib and the smooth, lined paper

 

When you don't want it,

When you're not ready for words

Of infinite wisdom, power,

For they are songs of ink and tree,

 

How is that not power in its purest,

Rawest form?

Poems come too when you

Need them.

 

Long day, exhausting night,

Poetry, a friend, welcomes you,

Embraces you, but most importantly,

Poetry is present.

or this (probably Midnight's favorite)

Spoiler

Music is a fire.

A roaring heatwave,

a steady hearth,

a blazing inferno,

a flickering candle,

a flaming wall...

Music is a whirl

of notes and words,

aggressive, maybe,

dancing, unpredictable,

beautiful.

Touch the fire with your bare hands,

let the flames tear at your unprotected flesh.

Feel the agony, the burn,

the warmth.

Let the agony quiet to pain

Let the pain quiet to discomfort 

to itch

to peace.

Then let the peace grow,

Let it settle over your head,

Your eyes and mind.

Let it fill the room

With beauty.

I think my best of all time is this (don't judge)

Spoiler

The sky is too high,

The clouds seem unreachable now,

I wanted to take some for you,

Make a fluffy blanket. 

Now, impossible.

 

The fields are endless, 

Autumn trees dot these lands,

Stretching out onto the horizon,

Each step mundane, the same view.

I feel so small.

 

Pretty things don’t last.

Rain must wane to snow,

Green to red,

Black to gray, your hair thinning,

Wasn’t it only yesterday that we were so

Young, so happy?

 

All too often, centuries of

Misery stop by for tea,

I brew them some from

My own joy, they drain the cup.

I’m a good host, so I don’t cry.

But when I look back, my blinding eyes see
Everything I once knew. Nothing I once knew.
Everything is gone, everything is
Still there in my heart, faltering,

Faltering.

(hid them so it's less messy)

I wrote all of this before Midnight so she actually did not contribute but I'm excited to work on some poetry with her!

Edited March 22, 2024 by astral

[SeekingMyPlanet]

12 hours ago, astral said:

I write depressing poems like this one

 

  Hide contents

does the sun know

the moon?

the beauty of

pure rays of silver light

scattered haphazardly

across the land?

the sun plows on but I-

I can't breathe without you

without the reflection of the

full moon in my teacup

perfect

complete

whole.

the luminosity prevails

cheers,

a toast to moonlight

ripples

ripples

the best memories etched in my heart

the best traces of visions, sounds, fragrances

but still

just

a memory.

 or this one (it's short)

  Hide contents

My fingers want to

        dance,

                to fly across the

        page,

but the words

     won't come

and I'm left with nothing

        but

 

this

 

                poem.

or this

  Hide contents

Magic leaves the pencil. It's colorless now,
Empty where hues and shades used to spring forth.
Dazzling colors from gray and dank,
Now gray and dank alone,
Where is the magic?

There's a weight in her movement now,
A heaviness that used to be absent,
Now, glaringly obvious.
Steps from light and springy grow darker,
Darker.

It's brown and weathered now,
Strong but pained, I can tell,
I don't believe that this was the
Sprout I had planted,
So long ago.

Where is my seed, my
Little fledgling, fluttering,
Where is my innocent heart,
Unpained by growth?

but I write non-depressing ones too

  Hide contents

Poems come especially when you don't want them to,

That's what I've learned from my experience,

They burst from the tips of your fingers into the air,

Dwindling there, do they know you don't have paper nearby?

 

Poems flow from the tip of your pencil,

Dancing across the page, when all you

Want now, more than ever, is

Reality. Legible reality.

 

Poems spill from your cartridge of black, blue,

Sometimes, but mostly orange or purple ink,

Some outrageous color,

They touch the thin metal nib and the smooth, lined paper

 

When you don't want it,

When you're not ready for words

Of infinite wisdom, power,

For they are songs of ink and tree,

 

How is that not power in its purest,

Rawest form?

Poems come too when you

Need them.

 

Long day, exhausting night,

Poetry, a friend, welcomes you,

Embraces you, but most importantly,

Poetry is present.

or this (probably Midnight's favorite)

  Hide contents

Music is a fire.

A roaring heatwave,

a steady hearth,

a blazing inferno,

a flickering candle,

a flaming wall...

Music is a whirl

of notes and words,

aggressive, maybe,

dancing, unpredictable,

beautiful.

Touch the fire with your bare hands,

let the flames tear at your unprotected flesh.

Feel the agony, the burn,

the warmth.

Let the agony quiet to pain

Let the pain quiet to discomfort 

to itch

to peace.

Then let the peace grow,

Let it settle over your head,

Your eyes and mind.

Let it fill the room

With beauty.

I think my best of all time is this (don't judge)

  Hide contents

The sky is too high,

The clouds seem unreachable now,

I wanted to take some for you,

Make a fluffy blanket. 

Now, impossible.

 

The fields are endless, 

Autumn trees dot these lands,

Stretching out onto the horizon,

Each step mundane, the same view.

I feel so small.

 

Pretty things don’t last.

Rain must wane to snow,

Green to red,

Black to gray, your hair thinning,

Wasn’t it only yesterday that we were so

Young, so happy?

 

All too often, centuries of

Misery stop by for tea,

I brew them some from

My own joy, they drain the cup.

I’m a good host, so I don’t cry.

But when I look back, my blinding eyes see
Everything I once knew. Nothing I once knew.
Everything is gone, everything is
Still there in my heart, faltering,

Faltering.

(hid them so it's less messy)

I wrote all of this before Midnight so she actually did not contribute but I'm excited to work on some poetry with her!

 

I love your poetry. Very accessible and opens a wide window into your world. Thank you for sharing them all with us.

[astral]

 

Wrote a new one! It's a collab w/ Midnight (it's pretty obvious where we swapped roles, it doesn't blend very well but it's a start)

 

magic

a glass pane stained by 
drops of midnight dew
a field of grass soaked with
tears of the sky, 
a room illuminated with the 
serene laughter of the moon.
a pen, clicking impatiently
dying to scribble something,
anything down, to capture
the essence of one’s heart
a thin sheet of dust 
on a leather-bound notebook
waiting for the words of the mind
waiting for the thin nib of the pen 
to touch it, together in perfect 
harmony, creating what nobody 
could ever have imagined, 
creating wonders
secrets of darkness, an 
exploration of one’s mind, 
thorough and deep, complete
alas, the time will never come unaided
you, dear reader, must make it happen
so do paint your mind with the colors of a sunset
let the vibrant hues burst through each raindrop
shatter the reflection of who you used to be
shine your true identity across each moonlit pond
sing songs of the wind and the sea and the sky
fly with each ray of pure and golden sunlight
grow with the grass and burn with the flame
wither and renew like the force of death
spark a wildfire with your hands of lightning
deepen your roots to where the frost reaches not
and stretch your branches to where the flames burn not
for nobody but you can perform the magic.

 

~reply~

On 3/22/2024 at 8:51 AM, SeekingMyPlanet said:

 

I love your poetry. Very accessible and opens a wide window into your world. Thank you for sharing them all with us.

 

oh my gosh thank you so much! this means a lot to me <3

Edited March 23, 2024 by astral