Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Shannon Butler Nov 2018
In the land of andere
In the world of endless meander
The heir has long been foretold
Carrying the power of the queens of old
A demon shall ally with an angel
Two shall become one in danger
One of four will be chosen
The daughter of the one who was stolen
With an iron sword she shall swing
Peace or chaos she may bring
For a thousand years was fought
To their knees they all shall be brought
The last of the andere has foreseen
The unfathered shall one day be queen
This is the beginning of a fantasy I'm writing, a prophecy that kicks it off. Would love feedback!
Lou Vaughn Nov 2018
Three years ago today, the moment he walked through the door, it wasn't deja vu, it was a memory of a fantasy I played out in my mind hundreds of times as a little girl, as a teenager, as a woman, finally catching up in real time - a fantasy of a man I would meet someday who would be all I could ever desire in a lover, friend, and husband.

Three years ago today, the moment he walked through the door, standing 6' 14", I recognized him immediately as the nameless, faceless man I imagined for years and I finally felt alive! authentic! electric!

Three years ago today, the moment he walked through the door, I fell irrevocably in love and I never want to put myself back together again.
Emma Nov 2018
Tilted sword please spare my bow and arrow
I beg you not to throw your violet venom unto my wings of sparrow
Have mercy on my slicked backed and chipped horns
Less I throw my guardian and with him my thorns
Another poem made based on a character of mine, who's called Ryoko. Her ancestor was a Japanese swordsman most famous for slaying a dragon, on the request of angels, that was affecting the Asian parts of Heaven. He got to take the dragon as a trophy, and decided to put the dead monster locked away in his house, where magic let its blood flow, so he could put the blood into weapons for his descendants. Lol, guess this poem is more about him than Ryoko.
Pagan Paul Nov 2018
.
The hypotenuse stretched
as far as the eye could see,
across a vast lateral plain
an horizon mathematically perfect.
And yet …
In the main square of the hypotenuse
the town crier bellowed out tidings.
The Triangle Triumvirate was unstable,
the discovery, nay re-discovery,
of the Mystery, the most horrific of Mysteries,
the Mystery of the missing
Fourth-Side.

Dweeb was a box standard barbarian.
Quick to anger, slow of wit.
Like last night at dinner.
He had Three potatoes, his sister had Four.
He shouted and thumped the table,
his angry voice expunging his ire.
Then his sister had explained,
to calm and reassure him.
Three was more than Four
because it had Five letters in it.
And Five is more than Four.
He thought about his axe,
then about his abacus,
and then he ate his spuds.

The Fourth-Side drifted in spacial isolation.
Of course now it wasn't a Side.
Being attached to nothing, it was just a line,
but it had some tricks.
It could coil and curl itself
to form rude words in joined up writing.
It floated on reminiscing,
about the **** angles it had made
with all its previous adjacent lovers.
The memory caused spasms
and it formed into a rude word
that should never ever be written down.

Teena, Dweeb's sister, vomited.
She had kissed a puppy,
and was being sick in the morning,
was she pregnant?
But, it was never a puppy, always a stork.
He mum had told her, warned her
'never kiss an errant stalk'.
Her mum died of the pox, whatever that is.
Something clicked in her head.
Oh! Stork and stalk!
Well they do sound the same,
especially in a harsh barbarian accent.
But the puppy had sneezed
as she had kissed it goodnight.
She thought about her axe.
And then she threw up again.


Equations to be solved #7
Vlad the Impaler was a Barbarian
+
Vlad the Impaler was a Libra
=
Dracula was a Librarian?



Right Angle was worried.
Duly so.
If the Fourth-Side Mystery was solved
he'd have three other Right Angles to deal with,
instead of a sixty and a thirty.
The Triangle Triumvirate would cease.
An intense Quadrilateral Mexican stand-off
would ruffle his perfect two-seventy external.
He had to divert attention away,
far, far away, from the Fourth-Side.
By Jove he had it! Bingo!
Let them try to solve
the Mystery of
The Back-Side.

Dweeb loved winding up his sister.
So he hid her puppy in a box.
But now he was worried.
Was the puppy still alive?
Or dead? Or both?
This may sound like a ****** stupid question
but where did that last thought come from?
Yes!
Yes what?
Yes, it was a ****** stupid question!

Teena though it very strange.
When she rang the dinner Triangle
the cat sat on the mat,
Salivating!
Curiouser and curiouser.
Conditioned response or learnt behaviour?
Teena dismissed the thought line,
she didn't ask ****** stupid questions.

It had no idea
about its status as a Mystery.
The Fourth-Side has issues.
Complicated issues.
It had somehow conspired
to tie itself in a knot.
And spacial isolation had become crowded.
Missing links everywhere, the sofa of time,
excommunicated integers, 1970's wallpaper,
it all floated about in spacial isolation.
Above all Fourth-Side was intensely agitated.
Couldn't anyone quieten that yapping puppy?




© Pagan Paul (06/11/18)
.
My psychedelic washing machine mind on spin cycle!

https://hellopoetry.com/collection/29495/strange-world/
.
Gabriel Nov 2018
Music drowns the room as our bodies
     sway like the tide.
The audacity to stay in someone's life
   just to become a fantasy,
    Hoping prayers can be granted just by  a press of a button

         As the rain tasted like yesterday's memories.
I've been dying for reality the whole time when the moment you left
Pétra Hexter Nov 2018
A skeletal stag standing ten trees tall
Hanging moss adorning His wide antlers, patches of rocky lichen covering His driftwood bones
Large cloven hooves stepping carefully yet purposefully among the bleached remains littering the forest floor
He alone reigns here, in this place beneath ours
Even the pines fall silent as He passes
Even the stones
The air is old here
Thick with a power lost to time
Only He is left; a dimming flicker in a collective consciousness
Keeping a lonely vigil in an ancient forest a thousand miles deep and a hand's width beside us
No breath is drawn here
The soft rattling of His timber ribcage is the sole sound as He moves
Ceaselessly
Without rest
To a place always changing, never quite there
The ossuaries lay in a heavy silence
He assures the eternal slumber of all who rest here
The hollows in His skull seem to observe them, undisturbed
He moves on
His name has been forgotten for millennia
This sacred ground has become but a fleeting memory
Few old gods remain, lost to the quickening of time
He remembers, as He stands keeper of this place
Of an age before ours
When they would polish the skulls of the hunt with holy oils in His name
Dancing wildly and unburdened around towering flames
Primal sounds ripping raw from reverent lips
Now He is all but a wavering in the annals
He pauses in His endless march
Raises His great antlers to the thick canopy above
He listens
Feels the shift -- another one has faded
He will most likely be the last of His kind
A somber sentinel tasked with ensuring the dead wake not from their final sleep
Ensuring the silence is suffocating
A deep, weighted vibration
As if the place under ours was itself thrumming with power
Though none remain who once spoke His true name in fearful whispers
He will outlast
For all will eventually come to know
The one they now call death
Come fly like an Eagle
             ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
                Come fly like an Eagle

                              Like
                       ­ A sea Eagle
                We will fly from Sydney
              Up and away to Brisbane
           So make yourself comfortable
       We will fly so high above the clouds
    Without the aid of any mind altering drugs
                         Don’t look down !
                          Trust in only me
                           For I am a poet
                           With the license
                           A special license
                           To an inspiration
- [ ]                   Living your dreams
- [ ]                     From that Fantasy
- [ ]                     Into your true Reality
- [ ]                    Fasten your safety belt
- [ ]              It’s just at the joint of my wings
- [ ]              Turn off all your mobile devices
- [ ]           Now let the poetry begin my friends
- [ ]       Write to me with your poetic inspiration
- [ ]                        Kind regards Philip.
- [ ] ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
- [ ] November 4th 2018.
A concrete concept of a poem
Next page