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I've never been the kind of person to speak up and speak my mind in a group, so writing and poetry have always been what …
Lancashire, UK
Bemused poet, dog-eared liberal, aspiring literary critic, azalea cultivator, duck whisperer, old before young, young despite being old, age as a state of mind, State …
Denmark, Esbjerg
Poems
Paul Hardwick Mar 2012
On the Brink.
Paul Hardwick
Mar 2012
Brink leaned over.
So very close to the edge.
He leaned so far.
His mind began to fall.
And noticed.
A woman and child.
Right there where he might land.
Brink leaned back.
Maybe she will go in a moment.
Brink breathed deep.
It is today, the day I will go.
A moment past.
Brink leaned over.
So very close to the edge.
Mind began to lean, then hears a sound.
STOP!!!
Brink leaned back.
Now looking and seeing a cop.
Who the **** are you, Brink asked.
Please stay where you are was the reply.
My name is PC Stop.
WHAT!!!
You are kidding me Brink said.
PC Stop what the ****.
I know she said.
It messes with my head to.
But know that is my name.
NO BRINK SHOUTED!!!
As PC Stop jumped off!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
So very close to the edge.
He leaned so far.
His mind began to fall.
And noticed.
A woman and child.
Right there where he might land.
Brink leaned back.
Maybe she will go in a moment.
Brink breathed deep.
It is today, the day I will go.
A moment past.
Brink leaned over.
So very close to the edge.
Mind began to lean, then hears a sound.
STOP!!!
Brink leaned back.
Now looking and seeing a cop.
Who the **** are you, Brink asked.
Please stay where you are was the reply.
My name is PC Stop.
WHAT!!!
You are kidding me Brink said.
PC Stop what the ****.
I know she said.
It messes with my head to.
But know that is my name.
NO BRINK SHOUTED!!!
As PC Stop jumped off!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Volta147 Nov 2014
Darkness fades ...
Volta147
Nov 2014
Darkness sets …an anguished cry escapes, echoes and fades.
Like a wave, breaking on a boulder; cursing the wind, skies, and moon.
This is Whisper.
Whisper is death.
Whisper is affliction.
Whisper is …silent.
My name is Brink; yes that is my full name. I was born of Whisper, born from a demon possessed and hungry with power.
She is the mother of the silent abandoned.
I am, and I am not.
I live, and I live not.
I die, and I die not.
I am the core of nothingness that resides inside every being.
The on that brings them to the brink of their destinies.
I unify.
I break apart.
Yes, I am a contradiction.
I am a raging cry, but a gently whisper.
An inner agony.
A pained reflection.
Whisper is my guardian.
I am an island, surrounded by her jealousy.
I do not have many friends.
Whisper paints the bark with her aqua hues, and hence paints the rocks with the bark’s despair.
Darkness sets …an anguished cry escapes, echoes and fades.
Like a crack in the edge of darkness, an unsettling symbol of destiny
This is Brink
Brink is destiny.
Brink is purpose.
Brink is …impulse.
My name is Whisper; yes that is my full name. I was born of the Greater, and the essence of Brink.
He is the son of the forthcoming doom.
I am, and I am not.
I live, and I live not.
I die, and I die not.
I am the core of nothingness that resides inside every being.
The one that brings pain, affliction and prosperity.
I whisper.
I scream.
Yes, I am a contradiction.
I am a raging cry, but a gently whisper.
An inner agony.
A pained reflection.
It is my purpose to defend Brink.
I am a force, surrounded by evil.
I do not have many friends.
Whisper paints the bark with her aqua hues, and hence paints the rocks with the bark’s despair.
Brink’s heart beats, and breathes life whilst emitting an ominous truth, and hence his heart is the essence of truth itself.
For all who dare attempt to walk upon these shores or sail these ere seas…
Welcome to hell.
Like a wave, breaking on a boulder; cursing the wind, skies, and moon.
This is Whisper.
Whisper is death.
Whisper is affliction.
Whisper is …silent.
My name is Brink; yes that is my full name. I was born of Whisper, born from a demon possessed and hungry with power.
She is the mother of the silent abandoned.
I am, and I am not.
I live, and I live not.
I die, and I die not.
I am the core of nothingness that resides inside every being.
The on that brings them to the brink of their destinies.
I unify.
I break apart.
Yes, I am a contradiction.
I am a raging cry, but a gently whisper.
An inner agony.
A pained reflection.
Whisper is my guardian.
I am an island, surrounded by her jealousy.
I do not have many friends.
Whisper paints the bark with her aqua hues, and hence paints the rocks with the bark’s despair.
Darkness sets …an anguished cry escapes, echoes and fades.
Like a crack in the edge of darkness, an unsettling symbol of destiny
This is Brink
Brink is destiny.
Brink is purpose.
Brink is …impulse.
My name is Whisper; yes that is my full name. I was born of the Greater, and the essence of Brink.
He is the son of the forthcoming doom.
I am, and I am not.
I live, and I live not.
I die, and I die not.
I am the core of nothingness that resides inside every being.
The one that brings pain, affliction and prosperity.
I whisper.
I scream.
Yes, I am a contradiction.
I am a raging cry, but a gently whisper.
An inner agony.
A pained reflection.
It is my purpose to defend Brink.
I am a force, surrounded by evil.
I do not have many friends.
Whisper paints the bark with her aqua hues, and hence paints the rocks with the bark’s despair.
Brink’s heart beats, and breathes life whilst emitting an ominous truth, and hence his heart is the essence of truth itself.
For all who dare attempt to walk upon these shores or sail these ere seas…
Welcome to hell.
This poem is a conversation between destiny and force. Destiny is represented by an Island called Brink (as in reaching the brink of a new discovery), where forceis represented by a surrounding sea called Whisper (a silent screaming death *Irony). They are also represented as mother and son. A strong-willed force protecting new discoveries and new destinies. An idea that however many things there are in life that try to take your destiny from you, it will be protected. What is your "Whipser?" What protects your destiny? Perhaps ...Whisper and Brink are the same thing ... Be passionate about protecting your dreams :)
Garrett Glenn Feb 2010
Distelfink
Garrett Glenn
Feb 2010
Eons old ink
Echo from the depths of the sea where the distelfink
Lay. It’s resting place discovered by divers who deserve to sink.
Not because of their ability to dive, but because of their ability to lip-synch.
What do I do, and to whom do I do it to? Think
I must, for I am on the brink
Of collapse. Do I go on living; knowing full well that this paper, on the brink
Of destruction, will lay forever on the bottom of the ink
Colored water from which my work was discovered. Think,
For my life depends on it, the life of my beloved distelfink.
This whole tiddly-wink of a subject puts a kink in my ability to lip-synch.
Wow, what a link I thought, might this have something to do with the ancient sink?
Yes, yes, but of course, the sink
Of my past people; presented nicely in the present. My people, on the brink
Of destruction, now have but one hope…my ability to lip-synch.
Where is my paper? Where is my ink?
I must create more, more distelfink!
What can I do, this is such a stink? How can I think
About the distelfink? When I must think
Solely about the outcome, the cease of distruction, to our precious ancient sink.
No, no my brain of pink must help me render up some distelfink.
****, my mind is not in sync! My body is on the brink
Because of how much I have to double-think. The ink
Will not flow, and with that, in a wink, I’ve lost my ability to lip-synch.
Outthink, outwit, out measure, I must regain my gift of lip-synch.
This cannot happen unless the cross-link in my brain fixes itself and allows me to think.
What will happen if my ability to think and cross-link forces me to ink?
Like an octopus scared for it’s life, scared that we may never save the sink.
Like blue-birds that can’t sing, I am on the brink
Of madness, madness at the thought of never completing my distelfink.
What if I never complete my distelfink.
Will I ever be able to lip-synch?
Will I constantly be on the brink
With the thought of not being able to think?
Will I save my people, my sink?
It all depends on my eons old ink.
Eons old ink creates pink water soaked distelfink
As it flows into the sink and out as lip-synch.
I must think or I will stay forever on the brink.
Echo from the depths of the sea where the distelfink
Lay. It’s resting place discovered by divers who deserve to sink.
Not because of their ability to dive, but because of their ability to lip-synch.
What do I do, and to whom do I do it to? Think
I must, for I am on the brink
Of collapse. Do I go on living; knowing full well that this paper, on the brink
Of destruction, will lay forever on the bottom of the ink
Colored water from which my work was discovered. Think,
For my life depends on it, the life of my beloved distelfink.
This whole tiddly-wink of a subject puts a kink in my ability to lip-synch.
Wow, what a link I thought, might this have something to do with the ancient sink?
Yes, yes, but of course, the sink
Of my past people; presented nicely in the present. My people, on the brink
Of destruction, now have but one hope…my ability to lip-synch.
Where is my paper? Where is my ink?
I must create more, more distelfink!
What can I do, this is such a stink? How can I think
About the distelfink? When I must think
Solely about the outcome, the cease of distruction, to our precious ancient sink.
No, no my brain of pink must help me render up some distelfink.
****, my mind is not in sync! My body is on the brink
Because of how much I have to double-think. The ink
Will not flow, and with that, in a wink, I’ve lost my ability to lip-synch.
Outthink, outwit, out measure, I must regain my gift of lip-synch.
This cannot happen unless the cross-link in my brain fixes itself and allows me to think.
What will happen if my ability to think and cross-link forces me to ink?
Like an octopus scared for it’s life, scared that we may never save the sink.
Like blue-birds that can’t sing, I am on the brink
Of madness, madness at the thought of never completing my distelfink.
What if I never complete my distelfink.
Will I ever be able to lip-synch?
Will I constantly be on the brink
With the thought of not being able to think?
Will I save my people, my sink?
It all depends on my eons old ink.
Eons old ink creates pink water soaked distelfink
As it flows into the sink and out as lip-synch.
I must think or I will stay forever on the brink.
So yeah, it's a sestina. I wrote this my senior year of high school in my creative writing class. I thought I would challenge myself to write it with rhymes and it blew my class away....or just really confused them.