The GSB Writers Circle.

Sruti's Critique-ness

Kris: I liked that so much. Are you KrisW from EvThreads? Anyway, I love the ryhme and I love the phrase "eyes-a-hectic". You don't see phrases like that too often on here. My favorite two lines were "With a nightmare so repetitive, you’d think that they would learn…/ But with every step we take of greed, another fire burns." And it has a nice continuity, if that makes sense. Twas basically grrrrreeeeat! </Frosted Flakes tiger>

Octubre: First of all, I'd like to say that your username is my birthday. Secondly, I liked quite a few of the ideas you had in there, but I didn't follow the poem. Is it about self harm, drugs, what? I'm sorry. I'm just really clueless. And kind of blonde sometimes.

Dead End Girl: I loved
"I've got a bullet stuck in my brain
It's just one of my many troubles
I might be able to go on without it
Before my sanity crumbles" The idea is awesome. I like the whole "also" thing. I think it'd make a great song. I love the voice of it too. Like, regretful and sad, but totally bored at the same time.

Ginger Nuts: Oh. Man. That was...orgasmic. If poems could have videos like songs, then I can so imagine your poem's video. It's two people in line and they're kissing and cuddling and she's like "I'm scared" and he's like "don't be" and they're all cuddly-goo goo and there's kind of roller coaster clips of people screaming and her clinging and I dunno. Its hard to describe. But PWNAGE. It was pwnage. I love the mahogany pigtails.

Me: It was sooo cool. It was the best poem in the world. Emily Dickinson's got nothin' on you! You rule. Go you!!!! ... </ego>



I'll do Joan and Misanthropist and Kris' second poem later. I'm lazy now.

It took me longer than I thought because I've been doing nothing but English coursework for days. But here we are, my fresh entry and re-write.


Literaryphysics

Her delicate, pixie features reflect lazily in the
industrial metal beneath her tapping toes. Anxious
adrenaline has already begun to sear through her oaken
veins; but a need for toxic speed has always been

integrated into her velvet blood. Through sugar spun
convex lenses, her twinkling eyes admire the mechanical
physics breathing life into the tracks; steady respiration
of the strongest G-forces that the body can take.

At her side stands the firm figure of a guardian angel
in human form. Never have poetry and physics complimented
one another so perfectly - the hardest adrenaline rush
comes from their teasing kisses and sensuous affection,

but soon she'll be screaming a new kind of emotion from
her gossamer lungs. Internal chemicals leak through
transparent skin; their effects seen through quivering
eyes and hollow, lyrical cries. Oblivious to sensation.

Ginger Nuts- Her delicate, pixie features reflect lazily in the
industrial metal beneath her tapping toes. Anxious
adrenaline has already begun to sear through her oaken
veins; but a need for toxic speed has always been

integrated into her velvet blood.

What a good opener. i thought that it really set off the poem, which continually got more detailed and a good blend of story and poetry. My only critisism, which is hard to muster, would be the use of the word 'physics' twice, fairly close together. It wasn't a huge "blow to the flow" but it was the only negative thing that really stood out for me.
I quite liked the line -her gossamer lungs- as well, it was a good description. overall, I'd say: GOOD JOB

Chandramukhi.:

Sruti's Critique-ness

Kris: I liked that so much. Are you KrisW from EvThreads? Anyway, I love the ryhme and I love the phrase "eyes-a-hectic". You don't see phrases like that too often on here. My favorite two lines were "With a nightmare so repetitive, you’d think that they would learn…/ But with every step we take of greed, another fire burns." And it has a nice continuity, if that makes sense. Twas basically grrrrreeeeat! </Frosted Flakes tiger>

Octubre: First of all, I'd like to say that your username is my birthday. Secondly, I liked quite a few of the ideas you had in there, but I didn't follow the poem. Is it about self harm, drugs, what? I'm sorry. I'm just really clueless. And kind of blonde sometimes.

Dead End Girl: I loved
"I've got a bullet stuck in my brain
It's just one of my many troubles
I might be able to go on without it
Before my sanity crumbles" The idea is awesome. I like the whole "also" thing. I think it'd make a great song. I love the voice of it too. Like, regretful and sad, but totally bored at the same time.

Ginger Nuts: Oh. Man. That was...orgasmic. If poems could have videos like songs, then I can so imagine your poem's video. It's two people in line and they're kissing and cuddling and she's like "I'm scared" and he's like "don't be" and they're all cuddly-goo goo and there's kind of roller coaster clips of people screaming and her clinging and I dunno. Its hard to describe. But PWNAGE. It was pwnage. I love the mahogany pigtails.

Me: It was sooo cool. It was the best poem in the world. Emily Dickinson's got nothin' on you! You rule. Go you!!!! ... </ego>



I'll do Joan and Misanthropist and Kris' second poem later. I'm lazy now.

No, actually. I'm just Kris from gsb and mibba and sometimes the random myspace. But other then that, no.

I didn't notice I'd used the word 'physics' twice, I'll have a look at that. What if I changed it to 'anatomy'?

Ginger Nuts:

I didn't notice I'd used the word 'physics' twice, I'll have a look at that. What if I changed it to 'anatomy'?

I think that would probably work better.
Great poem, though

Who's choosing the next topic?

Stress rubbed off from a day of lacking joy.
Career's so often unwanted are the only ones available
in this fast moving time. A line of discontent trails her,
and a dark cloud looms over her hairdo- so unfashionable.
Only one spark of happiness can conclude her angst-
her lover, waiting at home to suppress her anger.
She wanders in a path through her mind, to wine glasses
slowly filled with red bitter-sweet liquid, clinking together.
Velvet high heels click against the modern sidewalk- the occasional
black dot of rotted gum guarding the pavement from her spikes.
She reaches into her change purse, bringing out a coin,
as the bus pulls up. Finally, something has gone right.
The bus is full of sweating and grubby people, all
coming back from their jobs. All radiate a sense of lonliness.
But not her, she is with someone- and ready to be serenaded
by his gentle, soothing voice- despite her homliness.
Her mind once again is dripping into a rain of hopeless romance-
a thought of the cold moon shining down on their faces.
The wind's breeze caressing their skin as they dance with such heat-
that the cold is inviting. They would not rather be in any other place.
The bus halts to a stop, and the shuffling feet create a soundtrack-
complete with the murmers of young men and woman, and the squeal
of the creaking bus doors opening. As she shuffles along with the crowd,
she finds herself back onto the pavement. A mud slick splashes from under the wheel.
Covered in a mess of black and brown dirt- she once again ignores.
Her love won't mind. The imagination bites again- and she finds herself
dreaming of a candle lit bath. Bubbles and oils and incense- a dream.
They'll use every cleansing, comforting item on the shelves.
Round the corner. The clouds press together- the weight of percipitation
to much. It falls to the ground, showering the earth in it's light, cooling spray.
Her make up runs. He will not care, she decides. The black and red paints
flow down her face. Not one cruel word will he decide to say.
The corner turns. She follows the path to her house- wind blows through
her open coat. A button pops off. She smiles, thinking once more of him.
He will hold her, and never let go. The coldness will leave. He wont let her
shiver in such a way. She grabs hold of the golden handle. The hallway is dim.
"I'm home." She cries, and runs to the cellar. Maybe he's there,
picking out the best seller?
She bolts back upstairs. What a mess she is, dripping herself on the floor.
He's still at his office... held back late. She grins. Then she will get ready for he.
She slowly acends the stairway, all of her thoughts in her mind. Open the bedroom door.
He's there. He's in bed. His clothes are scattered on the floor. But he is not with she.
"Oh lord..." Though praying won't do her good now. She's gone. She's crazy.
She's insane. She screams, as they hold the sheets. His words dont matter.
"It isnt what it looks like!" He insists. The woman tries to hide. What a pety attempt.
She screams more. They hide. She grabs a bottle from the dresser. It's liquor.
She throws it, and breaks it. "I'm gone now. It's over."
Out the door. Down the streeet. Not looking back at all. Not even a glimpse over her shoulder.
Without thinking, she runs into a bar. It's warmth, shelter. She can drink away her worries
and deepen her insanity. She puts her head down on the counter and sobs until the waiter
offers her a drink. A voice picks up the order. "I'll pay for that." She turns around, her stomach in flurries.
Not a man. But a woman. Her boss. What's going on? She looks down at herself.
This is horrid. Now her boss would see her. Her sobs rack harder through her ribs and up her throat,
she's spitting it up like vomit. Her boss sits attentivly, as if listening to a speech. Finally, she stops
sobbing. "He left me. He didn't even tell me. He wouldn't have told me. And I just found out."
Her boss holds her hand and hugs her close. "Don't think about it." "How can I not?
He was everything. He was everyone. He was all." Her boss smiles. "Men...
Men and love. They slip around you, their unctious cries dissolve your sense of everything.
What's a thing like that compared to someone like a friend?"

I don't know why I wrote that. It really has nothing to do with adrenaline... damn it am I spamming?
Well if you were being dumped, then you would feel adrenaline I guess. So it is sorta on topic...

Looks like the next topic needs to be chosen. I elect - Electrocore Panda to choose.

Fwee!

Hmm...must think.

Kay, so I always found this a great topic to write about, but also one that you can easily mess up. There are many ways you can experiment using different styles and whatnot too. Here goes:

Panic

Now have fun!

Panic! God, I've gotta think about this one.

Ohhh! I've got a reallllly good one! Its very original and no one's heard anything like it before.



Ready for a cheap escape
On the brink of self destruction
Widespread panic

Broken glass inside my head
Bleeding down these thoughts of
Anguish... mass confusion

The world is a sick machine
Breeding a mass of shit
With such a desolate conclusion
Fill the void with... I don't care

There's a plague inside of me
Eating at my disposition
Nothing's left

Torn out of reality
Into a state of no opinion
Limp with hate

The world is a sick machine
Breeding a mass of shit
With such a desolate conclusion
Fill the void with... I don't care

I wanna jump out!
I wanna jump out!
I wanna jump out!
I wanna jump out!



*cough* Fine. I'll stop being stupid and go think of something to write.

Electrocore Panda.:

Kay, so I always found this a great topic to write about, but also one that you can easily mess up. There are many ways you can experiment using different styles and whatnot too. Here goes:

Panic

Now have fun!

That's a great topic!

Oh man, I'm going to have so much fun with this.

This is going to be sweet. I'll post it on thursday- my mom has the computer in guelph because our main computer broke, so we have to use her lap top. Anyway, I have computer class on monday (today) and thursday so by then I should have a pretty good poem. See yeah then, unless my mom comes home on wednesday.

Panic. This is a great subject.

^ Yeah, sure. There aren't really members; it's just whoever posts.

I love this topic.

No-One Ever Rioted For Austerity.

A slip of sanguine paper
fills my pocket with an internal fear.

A marble staircase, I slide one
primitive foot after the other up
what seems like the whole of time;
an eternity of bone-white light and
sullen, wretched reflections.

I am no longer recognisable -
my aura has been ripped from the seams
of my soul. I look less than ordinary, less than real.

I am committing an atrocity, a sin against sinning.
I step- breathless and shiny eyed - into the court
of Tangibility. I require someone in particular.

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

Johnny Panic.

He's talking to an enchantress; she has a flashing blue
halo and incendiary eyes. Her hair, flaxen and so
combustible, her voice is screaming a
gentle whisper, as if letters cost factions of soul dust.

Such a beautiful Siren.

I huddle my mass of inscription riddled
pleas. My planet, so far from here, yet I have not
left my cell, my room, my prison.

My planet needs the fear, needs to realise
that not all nightmares are in dreams and not all
dreams are cynical nightmares.

Why else did I beg Panic for his
terrorist assistance?