Just another WordPress.com site

Posts tagged ‘Poem’

Poem: Seven Years Ago

Seven Years Ago

 

Seven years ago he stepped out of the grass

Into the muddy swamp, littered with glass

Garbage, vermin, toxic fumes, acid, death

He started digging, glass cutting fragile skin

The wounds festered but he ignored his health

For to stop digging, to cease torture, would be sin

Seven years ago, he slew a butterfly

Seven years ago, his conscience died

Seven years later, the tears’ not dried

Seven years later, his hands’ still tied

People stare from the grass, unwilling to come near

His crime forgotten by everyone but himself

He chooses not to stop, not to come back to the land of wealth

He’s bound not by chains but by fear

Fear of harm, of killing again

Unfit to be human, he keeps digging

 

A butterfly lands on his shoulder and he flinches

Stumbles away frantically

Buries his head in his grimy hands

Whispers a prayer for his old self.

Seven years ago, when he was human.

Seven years ago, when he could feel.

Snow Sonnet

Cold is the snow falling down the window
Gently, softly, quiet on the meadow
Its an endless expanse, totally flat
Except over there, pawprints of a cat
She silently wanders through frozen land
While the flakes keep falling, drops of candy
I follow the cat into the unknown
And then – like the wind – She’s suddenly gone
Falling snow covers the trail of small paws
I turn back to find the warmth of the house
But see just white – swallowed in nature’s jaws
To her expanse, I am just a mere mouse
I navigate by smell of warm cocoa
To home – I warm my hands from winter’s snow

Life Toothpaste

Life toothpaste.

Pristine when bought.

After 5th use, deflates slightly.

After 50th use, wrinkled.

After 500th use, empty.

Buy more.

Empties again.

Bought ten when it was on sale.

High on life.

Ran out.

Cavities happen.

Soul fills with irreparable holes.

Decays to nothing.

Get wooden teeth.

Fake a soul.

Fake a smile.

Flowers Part 2 (Death)

She smells a flower
But she is lost in the dark
Blind, in the pitch fog

He sees the flowers
They cascade before his eyes
Picks one, holds it high

She tastes the flower
Bittersweet memories burn
But ghosts cannot feel

He feels the flowers
As he falls into her grave
Heartbreak is soundless.

I hear the flowers
They tell a tragic story
A life ended here

 

Rearranging some words and lines, the 5 haiku from The Flowers can be given an entirely different meaning.  The love of his life is dead, and unable to cope, he dies next to her in a heartbreak.  The flowers here are mere witnesses.

The Flowers

He smells the flowers
But is blind and cannot see
Lost in the meadow

She sees the flowers
Their eternal beauty shines
But ghosts cannot feel

He feels the flowers
Brings a petal to his mouth
His taste is extinct

She tastes the flowers
Bittersweet tears cry in pain
But their voice is mute

I hear the flowers
They tell a tragic story
Dead, fragrant no more

Five Haikus, in a cycle of gaining one sense at the expense of another.  If there exists any message behind the words, its probably that if a human and an object of great beauty coexist, one will succumb to the effects of the other.

This idea is not new.  In The Odyssey, there were Sirens whose songs were the most beautiful sounds to ever grace the planet.  Unfortunately, anyone unlucky enough to hear the sounds will meet an impending doom of hearing the songs and forsaking all other necessities including food and drink, possibly even breath.

Many poisonous animals employ vibrant moving colors which would captivate the eye, but should one approach too closely, a downfall involving potent neurotoxins awaits.  Of course, some people kill and preserve these animals to admire their beauty, but this of course leaves said animal dead.

To survive, everything needs some form of defense mechanism.  An object/animal/plant of beauty’s defense lies not in its appearance, so they more often use the element of surprise.  Woe to the innocent observer who gets too close then, and is jumped upon by such a defense mechanism.  Either it is potent enough to harm the observer sufficiently, or it is not and the observer retaliates, destroying the object/animal/plant of beauty.  Thus, unless under special circumstances, they cannot coexist.

No Place Like Home

 

Floor is cold and bare.

The silent echoes of life

Doused by the screeching laugh of a ghost.

Walls are dusty.

They smell of urine and decadence.

I step upon a fallen shard of glass.

It cuts into my bare foot with raw pain

But I do not feel it.

The pain is nothing to the sorrow and remorse

That inhabit my heavy heart.

The oven timer blinks.

It mocks me, flashing 12:00 over and over.

The wooden dining table remains, rotting.

One leg has fallen over.

Standing pathetically on three legs, it begs to be put out of misery.

But I am powerless to do so.

I find the couch I loved two years ago.

Instead of love, hated boils inside.

Memories tear at my eyes, begging to be seen.

I close them, but vivid pictures remain.

Memories of living in this wretched unholy house.

There is no place like home.

A Fallen Leaf

Forsaking my tribe

I am unique, they all green

I show a fantastical display of colors – red, orange, yellow

They held me back

I jump, not looking back, into an unknown abyss

Impact.

The ground is soft and cushions my fall

There, I see others just like me

Colorful. Magnificent.

I also see dead ones whose skins take a deathly pallor of brown

But I am at peace with myself, able to show my true colors.

Then it happens.

Everyone is swept into a pile.

Captured, compressed, unable to move

A prismatic yet ugly amalgam of scattered color

 

I look upwards to my old tribe and plead for help

They turn away.

The Sock

Here is a poem about reincarnation and death and socks that I threw into the washing machine.

I wrote it while sitting in front of the washing machine watching everything spin and I thought of how sad those socks must be.  Stains on shirts are like memories and the washing machine brutally and violently rips these memories away from the beings.  It is a sad thought to think.  I was crying as I wrote this.  One sentence in this paragraph is a lie and it is not this one.

They threw me into the machine

Smothered with others of my kind

They set the evil thing in motion

And it shook and it spun

And then the water started pouring in

The dreadful water

It had the bubbles that stung

Oh no oh god

It burns

Pain

Excruciating Pain

My memories

Fade

Dying

Help

Pain

Death

Pain

Help

HELP

NO

I feel the door open and they pull me out

The world is bright

I know not my past

No memories

But I rise with sparkles to greet the world.

Frozen In Time

Time ceases to exist.
It’s pointless to resist.
All waves will halt.
We turn to salt.

My heart will slowly stop.
As color drains away.
We fade to gray.

The sun and moon no longer rise.
Upon my mind the darkness pries.
Eternal dusk will bathe the world.
The souls of all have been imperiled.

 

Note: The last word, imperiled, should be pronounced with two syllables, like “impurld” to rhyme with world and keep the iambic meter.

Chromomancy Update #10 and Depressing Poem

Transformations matrices have found their way into a great number of games.  Halo, Halo 2, Halo 3, Sonic the Hedgehog, etc.  Most of these games share a defining characteristic.  They are mostly first-person or third-person.  In other words, there is a view window, and you either see from a vantage point equivalent to the character you are playing, or directly behind (and maybe slightly above in the case of Sonic).

Now, Chromomancy is not a first or third person game by any stretch of the imagination.  It is top-down (I think that’s the official term).  So it was a bit of a challenge to figure out how a transformation matrix could be applied to this game.  The easiest solution is to not use the matrix, but that’s the easy method.  This is the not-so-easy method that I decided to use.

As you can see, it is a little more trippy than it was last time.  That is because there is even more spinning than there was last time.  Now, the dots and the plasma can spin in different directions!  So yeah.  I’m not sure if I will keep it this way.  But now that I know how the transformation matrices work, I can set it up as a real game mechanic.  But that’s all speculative.

I do not own the music, it is owned by Sega.

And this is the depressing powm:

I’m spinning forever – Locked in motion.
Direction devoid of – All its meaning.
I’m lost and my mind is – Dizzy, fading.
The colors are leaving – Life forsaken.

It’s more song lyrics than poem actually.  The meter of the lines before the hyphen is -^–^-.  This part is meant to be sung.  The part after the hyphen is simple iambic, ^-^-.  This is meant to be spokenish.  The first line is spoken somewhat normally but with reverb to make it trancey (Locked in motion).  The second should be said in a way that makes it sound more depressing than the first line as if speaker is about to cry (All its meaning).  The third should sound like the speaker is really in despair, like a howl of metaphorical pain (Dizzy, fading).  And the last line is a true to goodness death growl (Life forsaken).

The progression to death growl applies only to the last 4 syllables of each line.  The first 6 are meant to be sung with the same tune each time.  Also, it’s not a progression of volume, the volume should stay about the same for each line, with the last 4 syllables louder than the first 6.  These directions are probably not as clear as they could be.

Oh, and more about Chromomancy.  There’s a source control set up on google code.  Luke is working on AI, and I’m not really sure how that’s going aside from the fact that I know the green enemy in level 3 shoots at the player and if the bullet hits, its lights out.  And the bullet bounces on the screen walls.  There’s a Pylon in level 6 (and you didn’t have to construct it, nor will you need to construct additional pylons later because I’ll construct them for you), and pressing ‘O’ will activate it and allow the player to offer color shards to it and gain luminosity.  Typing HELP in the Pylon screen gives a help message.

I think the next feature that will be implemented is a main menu so one can actually exit the game without having to take the time of dying.  Because there’s no big red X on the top right corner that you can click.  And if you just alt f4, the program will still keep running, eating up all your CPU.  Yeah, that’ll be next.