Another poem.."Rolling"
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Rolling
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Now that I see you,
Dressed to kill
not even the stars would
shine so brightly like
adamantine laced with glitter.
Potent in your strut
nary a shy glance
but for those i used to
love....and mourn.
But who you are
don't really matter.
I'm here in the now,
this valley of my own
built with sticks
and lacking in kicks.
You would've thumbed
me and my plain shirts
out of this hole.
Did you?
Sneaker pimps
Royal pimps
Pimps of my lonely soul
Pathetic
Idiotic
Melancholic
Poseur?
Superman?
Great asses stay for one nite.
But I'd rather have yours forever
but your bouncers are hefty
and I'm only a fragile muppet
animated when you're happy
dead when you're down.
So tell me, the cloth
I'm cut from, is it substantial?
Is my collar well starched
like the wet dreams of old Enciks?
Able to bend
against the flow;
the torrent i'm always fighting...
My dexterity, needs you
to refuel my acrobatics
and my parade square
woven armor.
Be here now,
or I shall roll away
forever ..rolling... -
D/posts.
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To be frank, after reading this several times I am still not sure what this poem is about. It is really a very challenging poem i.e. the details are known only to the writer.
But several questions and images do come into my mind when I am reading it. Who is she? How is she related to the writer? Is this a love story between a poor army guy and a rich girl? Or with a hostess?
The writer is clearly in love the girl, but is this a one sided love affair, as shown in ‘animated when you’re happy, dead when you’re down.' ?
I sense rejection, hapless, and even anger in the poem. But I think the writer is not going to give up without a fight as shown in ‘against the flow; the torrent i’m always fighting…’
And the last line ‘forever .. rolling …’, rolls to where? Rolling in the mist of human’s emotions? Rolling to death? Why roll, not walk or run?
This is only my guess; maybe I am totally out of point.
But it is still a good poem.
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shi zhai cheem..... can explain???
i only see 'puppets' in this poem leh...
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Hello LazerLordz, can help to explain?
Thanks. -
Originally posted by DeadPoet:
Well, it does have some of those elements in it, there is anger, rage but these are tempered by the bittersweet tone of his words, he feels regret, and anger , not at himself, but also towards her rigid behavior.She knows she has a choice and she wants to take that choice, but what if she doesn't have the guts to take that step?Heh.Its a convulated poem...I usually write in a ramblinbg fashion, the thoughts hat flow out from my mind, are simply typed at once.
To be frank, after reading this several times I am still not sure what this poem is about. It is really a very challenging poem i.e. the details are known only to the writer.
But several questions and images do come into my mind when I am reading it. Who is she? How is she related to the writer? Is this a love story between a poor army guy and a rich girl? Or with a hostess?
The writer is clearly in love the girl, but is this a one sided love affair, as shown in ‘animated when you’re happy, dead when you’re down.' ?
[b]
I sense rejection, hapless, and even anger in the poem. But I think the writer is not going to give up without a fight as shown in ‘against the flow; the torrent i’m always fighting…’
And the last line ‘forever .. rolling …’, rolls to where? Rolling in the mist of human’s emotions? Rolling to death? Why roll, not walk or run?
This is only my guess; maybe I am totally out of point.
But it is still a good poem.
[/b] -
Analysing poems brings me back all the fond memories of days gone by..The last time i did so, I hadn't made the camouflage my daily attire.
Oh well, it helps to keep the brain workable though. -
Local Epiphanies
-----------------------------------
Either we stop to see,
the world shalt spin
us by
like the sweat-stained
spinning gasing
held in the palm of a boy,
eyes laced with want
but staring at the crane
with his gaping mouth.
Neither he saw
nor
heard the rumbling
of diesel giants, bent
on inexorable pounding
at the heartbeat of
his wooden soul.
The soft pillowy attap
laid on by the
rusty greatness
of his descendants.
A single leaf
flutters,
spiralling down the
gutter between two blocks.
The wired man and his vasectomy.
The grey surgery
the winding, slow
drip of wet cement,
encasing me in a cast
of silence.
Raindrops my only
native guide back to the
Eden which i was
forged.
My eyes swivel drearily,
their pupils dilate in the
gilded sunlight, with its
gunmetal cloud-sisters.
They fear not from sadness
but from rancid erosion
of the wonders of
nameless deities fathered
by Ozymandias. -
Yup. Writing keep my brain and fingers working.Originally posted by LazerLordz:Analysing poems brings me back all the fond memories of days gone by..The last time i did so, I hadn't made the camouflage my daily attire. Oh well, it helps to keep the brain workable though.