Well . . . where to start? Here's good enough. Many people tell me that my poems sound like they have a story behind them. Like there's more to it that is hiding right beneath the surface but isn't visible to be seen. Not all of them certainly, and ones obviously have a real story behind them, but the fictitious ones. Something more than the obvious story of the poem itself. Something greater, grander. Really, though, this is because at times it is true. I have a very vivid imagination that constantly weaves stories through my mind, and sometimes I seize upon this or that of one of them and run with it. The shadow of a man, the feeling of his despair and his love, a few flashes of a battle, things like this. I seize on them, create more pictures and lay them out around me, and then the poetry comes.
Much of my poetry is sad, in a way different from the normal sadness and angst that many teens (including myself) have felt and written about. It is a sadness of more meaning and depth, and a friend once compared it to parts of the Silmarillion, in the waning days of Beleriand. The sadness that comes from the knowledge that something great once was, but no longer is.
Along the same lines, I often write with a slightly older vocabulary. Not old as in Sheakespeare or Chacer, not like that--they just have a little feel of antiquity about them, while still maintaining the flow and feel of modern English. I'm not really sure how I do it.
Much of my poetry is sad, in a way different from the normal sadness and angst that many teens (including myself) have felt and written about. It is a sadness of more meaning and depth, and a friend once compared it to parts of the Silmarillion, in the waning days of Beleriand. The sadness that comes from the knowledge that something great once was, but no longer is.
Along the same lines, I often write with a slightly older vocabulary. Not old as in Sheakespeare or Chacer, not like that--they just have a little feel of antiquity about them, while still maintaining the flow and feel of modern English. I'm not really sure how I do it.
- Last seen on Nov 5 1:39 AM 2007. Member since November 16, 2004.
- I'm a carnelian hope poet for 120 comments.
- My mood is , and quote is ""Nietzche is dead." --God".
- I am a 18 year old guy (USA)
- When I'm not writing, I'm a student..
- I have 120 comments, 1 contest, 1 column, 18 poems, 2 stories
My Poetry
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I stand where Brendan might have stood
Perhaps a moment long ago30 lines, September 27, 2005. In Spiritual -
Amongst the graying winter trees
Alone in a place abandoned
My Stories
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So let it be written, so let it be done.
The long lines of elves moved silently through the misty morning twilight. Their baggage, includi3198 lines, 1 comment, December 10, 2004. In <200 lines, Fantasy -
Note: For those of you not familiar with the world of 40k, please see below for a few brief explanations before you read.
The night was silent, empty. The stilln2885 lines, 4 comments, December 10, 2004. In <200 lines, Fantasy
Guest Book
1 - 3 of 3
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Lilithtornintwo on February 8, 2005silly rabbit....*winks*
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Fallen Dreamer on January 14, 2005they have, i just accidentally deleted all the earlier ones a few days ago. sorry.
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Lilithtornintwo on January 14, 2005Hi I can't believe no one's signed your guestbook yet. I'm the first!!! Yaaay!! (Am I?)
Your poems are magnificent. The ones about nature are the best.The ones about love pale in comparison (which is not to say they're not awesome as well) I love your description of the scenery and the emotions it evokes. It has a sense of timelessness about it. Of places that never grow old or fade, of the places I inhabit in my mind, in my own private little world.But places I can't seem to describe on paper...You remind me of another poet on AP (ImNogoddess).
Keep up the great work! I think you're gonna go on my favorites list.
~ C ~
