The GSB Writers Circle.

Joan!

Then I see his mischievous eyes, his glinting
bloody teeth, his glaring spikes that glare a
warning; every syllable dripping like inert sweat
from mortal skin.

I didn't catch the repetition the first time I read it, but now that I have I think it would be better if you used a different word there instead. Annd, I love the italics part.

The first few stanzas really reminded me of the book A Separate Peace and the part where Gene is looking at the stairs and recalling something terrible that happened there because of him.

Overall: I'm in love with it.

Electrocore Panda.:

Joan!

Then I see his mischievous eyes, his glinting
bloody teeth, his glaring spikes that glare a
warning; every syllable dripping like inert sweat
from mortal skin.

I didn't catch the repetition the first time I read it, but now that I have I think it would be better if you used a different word there instead. Annd, I love the italics part.

The first few stanzas really reminded me of the book A Separate Peace and the part where Gene is looking at the stairs and recalling something terrible that happened there because of him.

Overall: I'm in love with it.

I never noticed that!

*edits*

thankies

Illusions of Fiery Panic

Fire
Burning
Inside my head.
Roaring flames
Filling my skull
With an
Inferno.

Blazes signing my mind,
While a deadly brainstorm
Of red-hot and poisonous smoke
Boil my eyes in their sockets
And turn thoughts to ash.

Lost inside a conflagration
Only existing in a hallucination.
An illusion of helplessness
That traps me in my
Lit up cranium.

I am choking on blinding heat,
Perishing deep within.
No emergency exit in sight,
No way to get out of my mind.
Enclosed in this mental hell,
Burning the conscious to dust.

I can taste the fire on my tongue
While I inhale small fumes of ash,
Which settle behind my eyelids
And roll down my cheek as tears.

Panic
Burning
Inside my head.
Roaring pain
Filling my skull
With an
Imagined
Inferno.





Yeah, this is an old poem. But I thought it suited the new topic. Unfortunately (?) I didn’t have time to write a poem for the previous topic (though I would have loved to), but I hope I’ll be able to write at least one poem for this topic . And I'm sorry that I haven’t commented btw =(

Dear god, I miss this so much. Why the hell I haven't been keeping up with it is completely beyond me. Anywho... Panic, eh? Okay. Here's one:

There's No Need To...

Eyes glint cold. Eyes glint red.
No. No...
Perhaps.
The yellow light blinds
me. My eyes gray. Eyes glint gray.

A pool of water on my neck. Blood.
No. Not blood... No blood on
these hands. No unsightly glimpses.
My eyes aren't red. Not gray.

Brown. They're brown. No.
Hazel. The metal stool grows colder. My foot
slips from the bar.

Never. I fold my hands upon my
lap. Tell us something more, then.

There's nothing. Everything. No
Nothing. No dirt. Screams?

Perhaps. Eyes glint cold.
Just speak the truth.

That's all I ever do.


It's a bit different than what I've ever written before... But that's okay. I'm not sure if I like it much... Meh.

I love abstract things like that. The stool imagery was particulary brilliant, and the thought process was just great.

Joan Greenwood - Looks like someone's a Sylvia Palth fan. I loved how it had such a bitter, yet anxiety ridden feel - you even got the tone down to a panic. But I agree with Panda - you really do needto change 'glaring'.

What's in a name?- I thought that these wouldmake fantastic lyrics, really. Even though you originally posted them here a while ago, they really do surpass the standard already shown here. They go to show just how much you've improved.

wait_what - Dude, I'm running out of compliments to give you. This is just so... hauntingly different.If you know what I mean. I particularly liked the repetition of
'Blood.
No. Not blood... No blood on
these hands.'

Ginger Nuts:

Joan Greenwood - Looks like someone's a Sylvia Palth fan. I loved how it had such a bitter, yet anxiety ridden feel - you even got the tone down to a panic. But I agree with Panda - you really do needto change 'glaring'.

Changed. better?

Ooooooh. Fantastic.

Away

Golden, this silence is golden, all alone
so all alone, it's amazing,
The cool air so refreshing,
Running, my pulse is throbbing.
Breath cutting short, resperation
I rethink this whole operation
I'd left in a mass of frustration
This freedom's my mind's levitation.
They'd chastised and held me away,
hid me from the light of day,
Did they that forever I'd stay?
I left, and I knew I would pay.
Siren's alert my excitment
replaced with the thought of being sighted
still, I feel so enlightened
as if life suddenly has been righted.

Two weeks Later

Damp, shivering, and drenched in my sweat,
I still hold not one wisp of regret
But oh for a place that's not soaking wet
It's been raining so hard, and I need some rest.
Sliding in mud to get under a bridge,
the concrete hides me like a secret
Was what I did very reckless?
Was I just being stupid?
My stomach growls, unignorable
My pounding headaches unstopable
I wish my health is assurable
but lately, I've felt so miserable.
But only in mind, not in spirit,
If I shout, I know someone will hear it.
And nobodies telling my "Do what I say..."
That's what keeps me alive, that's what makes it okay.

That one ^ sucked. But I like this one.

Mosh

Five thousand, maybe more, all come to this place,
seeking out a personal escape.
The sticky, messed make up running down our eyes
it more of ourselves, and less a disguise.
Parched lips beg silently for one drop of a drink
On the ledge of insanity, we're over the brink
Sneakers and bare feet scuff on the ground
The music, the voices careen in such sound.
A rage of dust creates a great cloud,
from the weight of the moshers mixed in with the crowd.
In eager search, we hunt down some shade,
and we duck into stores that canvas's made.
We find ourselves wasting our money on food
we'll regret it later, for now it'll do.
Now into the hectic army of sweat
Bather in the sun, but we wont give up yet.
The tune's blast on, and the dust travels down
through my throat, in my nose- this dirts all around
It's in mud on my shoes passed under my feet
And the oxygens lacking- through it all, I can't breath
In hysteria, I try and preserve my air
as perspiration beads down from my hair.
Thrown along in the sea of the mangled
I drown in the people-within them, I'm tangled.
I give up and go limp, and just pray to god
that I don't look like an idiot, that nobody saw.
The music has stopped- I look up at the band
but one member is missing- someone grabs my hand.
Rubbing my eyes, I finally have vision
And when I saw what I did- I made the decision
I'm dead. I'm dying. This can't be true.
I sit looking helpless, an original fool.
I hear him ask me if I'm okay
I'm to scared to answer- I don't know what to say.
He signals the band to continue to play,
as he jumps on the stairs and takes me backstage.
He gives me some water- my alarm is over.
But I feel so damned dumb, 'cause I've ruined the tour.
I apologize quickly, but he shakes his head,
and laughs when I tell him I thought I was dead.
"That's sweet." He replys, and kicks off his boots.
"Besides, I'm glad to save someone so cute."
For hours it seems, we sit and chat
but he leaves in two minutes, the band needs him back.
But before he goes, he puts his hand in my own-
and slips me the number to his telephone!
In a daze, I follow, but my minds somewhere else,
I spent all my money, yet I'm rolling in wealth.
Sipping the pepsi- the tours proud sponser-
I lean on the stage, and enjoy the concert.

TA DA!!!

I thought you rhymed really well in Mosh, but two things:

a) It would help if you separated it into clumps of lines so it'll be easier to read.

b) I'm not really sure you kept to the topic. It was panic and the only part vaguely related to that was where the narrator was dying in the pit.

Yeah, I won't be writing for this one for a while. Maybe I'll submit something towards the end of this circle because I'm trying really hard to get something good and everything I write ends up being about this dood. And I've already wasted like 52531 poems on him.

Yeah, I did kind of stray topic. Thanks for the tip, I'll try that.

Hey has anyone ever noticed that when you look back on old poems you wrote they all kinda suck better then your new ones?

Yeah.

That's me for yeah.

Kris_the_demon:

Hey has anyone ever noticed that when you look back on old poems you wrote they all kinda suck better then your new ones?

Yeah.

That's me for yeah.

Well, you learn from mistakes. I mean, if you started out awesome and then regressed to writing a "sucky poem" that wouldn't make much sense.

That does happen to some people. They just fizzle out and lose their knack for words. Also, I've figured out what to write! I spent a month reading Frost and Poe and got bored with the seriousness so I spent a few days with my Shel Silverstein books and some Ogden Nash...

Panic presented with humor. I'm going to have funnnn...

This is such a great topic, but I'm having so much trouble thinking of the perfect poem to go with it.

I'll be back in a few days.

Glass Prison

Incoherent.
Stuttering; your voice fading in and out, like ocean waves.
Shaking.
Trembling; your body unable to stand still.
Staring.
Your eyes widened; never blinking.

A scream escapes your lips,
As a sigh escapes mine.
No one can hear you.
They can only see you.

You fall to your knees,
Your hands balling into fists that pound against the glass.
Your shreiking is unheard.
Your cries for help are unheard.
But your tears are able to be seen.

I cannot hear you.
You cannot hear me.

Panic.
The only thing heard.
The only thing seen.

The only thing known.

:::::::

Eh... For the Panic theme... Tis not very good...

Ginger Nuts:

What's in a name?- I thought that these wouldmake fantastic lyrics, really. Even though you originally posted them here a while ago, they really do surpass the standard already shown here. They go to show just how much you've improved.

Thank you. I truly appreciate your comment ^_^

And to all of you guys; I will try to comment on your poems ASAP. I've been too busy

Control Scattered to the Winds

Rationality flees, scattered like a flock of little birds. Frightened
by a sound, by a movement. Their wings beat in a quick, irregular
rhythm against my chest in panic. Shrill notes rise from the chaos
to residence inside of my head as noises leak through to the outside.

Pounding feathers raise whirlwinds. A hurricane engulf the oxygen,
snatching my breath away. Beaks are pecking apart my intestines.
Nausea spread like a wildfire, like a violent disease, which cramps
in my throat. Now claws try to rip it apart, scratching until I bleed.

Ice carries numbness through my narrowing veins. Artic winter
reigns only challenged by the heartbeat generated heat. Chaos
races trough the overheated nerves which keep it carefully caged.
Inside the unleashed turmoil search gateways but it seems to fail.

Then one by one the birds settle back in place, lulling soothing
for the worked up beat of my tiring heart. Air once again finds
exhausted lungs. The traffic jam of electrical impulses ceases
to be. All returns to the same old quiet stream of functions.