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citrakayah
Right. So. Poetry.
I wrote this haiku while rather depressed. Oblivian says that art is in many cases formed by angst, and unfortunately she's certainly right about much of my poetry.
Oceans are leaking
From twin aquamarine orbs
Forming salty brooks.
This was a love poem written on a bet. No one said it had to be to a person or express sexual love.
Yowling kitty cat
Screaming in my ear at night
She has lovely fur.
It's not very good, is it?
This is probably going to be my end of the art trade with Velvela once I'm finished with it. If not... well, I was getting rusty. This poem is called 'The Burning Lands'.
The disc blazes with flame and fire,
Sending rays of brilliance to the ground below.
Both a blessing and a curse,
It gives both life and death.
Heat makes the very air waver
Above the hard, cracked ground.
Creatures hide under rocks,
To avoid the scalding earth.
I have walked the Burning Lands for far too long.
Looking for a way out.
Rough draft, and possibly not complete, but I think it's okay.
This one is really old. It was an attempt at a sestina, which didn't work. I remember some guy saying that these things are easy; I say he was wrong. Certainly it's not easy to write a poem on therianthropy in sestina format, even when using basic endwords that should crop up fairly often in any discussion of the subject.
Wolf or man, man or wolf?
In many ways, it is a reflection of our mind,
locked in battle in the wilderness,
one civilized, one feral.
The mind is a strange beast,
one that we cannot always understand.
I wrote this haiku while rather depressed. Oblivian says that art is in many cases formed by angst, and unfortunately she's certainly right about much of my poetry.
Oceans are leaking
From twin aquamarine orbs
Forming salty brooks.
This was a love poem written on a bet. No one said it had to be to a person or express sexual love.
Yowling kitty cat
Screaming in my ear at night
She has lovely fur.
It's not very good, is it?
This is probably going to be my end of the art trade with Velvela once I'm finished with it. If not... well, I was getting rusty. This poem is called 'The Burning Lands'.
The disc blazes with flame and fire,
Sending rays of brilliance to the ground below.
Both a blessing and a curse,
It gives both life and death.
Heat makes the very air waver
Above the hard, cracked ground.
Creatures hide under rocks,
To avoid the scalding earth.
I have walked the Burning Lands for far too long.
Looking for a way out.
Rough draft, and possibly not complete, but I think it's okay.
This one is really old. It was an attempt at a sestina, which didn't work. I remember some guy saying that these things are easy; I say he was wrong. Certainly it's not easy to write a poem on therianthropy in sestina format, even when using basic endwords that should crop up fairly often in any discussion of the subject.
Wolf or man, man or wolf?
In many ways, it is a reflection of our mind,
locked in battle in the wilderness,
one civilized, one feral.
The mind is a strange beast,
one that we cannot always understand.
