• You are currently viewing our forum as a guest, which gives you limited access to view most discussions and access our other features. By joining our free community, you will have access to additional post topics, communicate privately with other members (PM), view blogs, respond to polls, upload content, and access many other special features. Registration is fast, simple and absolutely free, so please join our community today! Just click here to register. You should turn your Ad Blocker off for this site or certain features may not work properly. If you have any problems with the registration process or your account login, please contact us by clicking here.

Something I Wrote

Jack Flak

Permabanned
Joined
Jul 17, 2008
Messages
9,098
MBTI Type
type
I'm talking scripts. Hence the subject of the thread.
You want a script? I'll show you a script. I've attached the play I actually turned in to Creative Writing in high school. I started it about 2:30 AM the day it was due.
 

Mole

Permabanned
Joined
Mar 20, 2008
Messages
20,284
The Vealers

The vealers wait patiently in the heat
Not wishing to miss the cicada's beat.

While Victor and Lucy cool their feet
In Paddy River's lazarette.

Dressed in green parsley in the Kingston Mall,
The veal sausages dream of the cicada's call.

When I take them home, they sizzle and sing
Of long, hot days in Paddy's thrall.

Victor.

Notes: a vealer is a calf.
Lazarette rhymes with feet and is a cool, secret place.
Paddy's River is a nearby creek;
I live in Kingston;
And Lucy was my lover.
 

nolla

Senor Membrane
Joined
May 22, 2008
Messages
3,166
MBTI Type
INFP
Shit. I actually thought that your point WAS to mean it like this:

Something I Wrote

nevermind

It stopped me thinking for a while. Simple, yet touching. The fragility of a writer. It is so easy to paint a painting, anyone can go and interpret whatever they want. It is different with words. More precise and revealing. It takes guts to write poems.

That wasn't your meaning, though... so, nevermind.
 

Mole

Permabanned
Joined
Mar 20, 2008
Messages
20,284
The Mist

In honour of Belle I will erect a tipi on the shore of Lake Burley Griffin. It will be a special tipi: very white, very tall; at night lite by an inner fire and during the day, lite by the sun.

On the lake, in the water, will be a burning brazier which will attract the goddess of beauty. On calling her name she will appear from the mist high above the water with two pelicans flying on either side. The pelican on the left is named Neil the Knife, and the one on the right is called Victor the Babe. Above her, flying marvellous loops are a flight of seagulls and beneath her feet are a flight of grey ducks led by one lone, white goose. Flying further out, on either side, are two long strings of black swans, necks outstretched and strong wings beating.

On the shore the echidnas shake their spines with pleasure, the platypus slap their tails on the water and the kangaroos bounce up and down, applauding with their little paws. While rising to meet her is a large flock of pink and grey galahs.

Belle, for that is her name, is kind and gracious, and surprisingly is very well balanced and sensible, and always ready to help an animal in trouble.

She does love poetry, and occasionally the odd poet, so after casting bread on the waters to feed her entourage, we will offer her a night of poetry.

When we wake in the morning, all that will be left, is mist.

Victor.


Notes -
When I fell in love with Belle, I wrote this to her.
And Lake Burley Griffin is the beautiful lake right in the heart of Canberra.
And Neil is an interesting friend.
 

Mole

Permabanned
Joined
Mar 20, 2008
Messages
20,284
The Wet End

I was shaking hands with myself
And my arm came off.

"Officer, Officer", I said
"My arm's come off".
But he didn't turn around
So I hit him behind the knees
With the wet end.

He went right over.
So I walked around the square
Hitting everone else behind the knees
With the wet end.

Soon they were all kneeling
As I stood
Waving my arm
With its wet end.

I felt so good
I took off my left leg.

I held my arm in one hand
And my leg in the other
Above my head.

Then I hopped around the square
Hitting the first head with my arm
And then the next head
With my leg,

Screaming at the top of my voice,
"The wet end! The wet end! The wet end!"

Victor.


Notes-
This needs no explanation.
In fact it has no explanation.
 

Mole

Permabanned
Joined
Mar 20, 2008
Messages
20,284

Actually, "The Wet End", does have an explanation -

I started out frustrated and suppressed, then I became angry which turned into exuberance.

And this is quite like me - I am fairly easily suppressed but then I burst out, and when I discover I am free, I become exuberant.

And yes, I did some Reichian therapy and I discovered that when I stop suppressing myself, I become exuberant.

And I think this is best expressed for me in dancing - after all, we dance in delight.

And as you recognise, the poem is not literally true but it is emotionally true.
 

Mole

Permabanned
Joined
Mar 20, 2008
Messages
20,284
The Fish in the Pond

It was a flash of light
From a pink and silver scale.
Then it disappeared completely
In the blackness.

There it is again
The sweetest pink
Causing me to pause
And look again.

Two scales!
And where there are two there might be three
But back into the darkness again.
How frustrating.

The merest glimpse, then blackness.
Then three or four
They are articulated and moving together
They look alive.

The heliopause gives meaning to the solar system
And so the pause between scales gives meaning
It takes time to believe the flash is real
And longer to guess they may mean: fish.

In the lap of Black Mountain is a pond in the shape of a teardrop
But abandoned and black.
An eye put out.

I trickled cool, clean water into the eye
It blinked and opened
Into the most georgeous, clear pond.

I became responsible for saving its life.
It had everything:
Sunlight, green weeds, water spiders and Kingfishers,
And even a family of kangaroos.

It was the most beautiful eye
And lacked nothing but a pupil.

With all the exquite timing of an eye surgeon,
I introduced a goldfish, a golden pupil.

When I looked into the cool, clear pond,
The pond looked back and
Could see the merest flash of scale behind my eye,
Kindling instant desire.

But what a shy fish it is
That plays behind my eyes
And what a bold fish I have created in the lap of Black Mountain.

They are separate, they are separate
And long to be together, so much
They are in pain. They are in pain together.
In the most beautiful park, the Botanic Gardens.

Beauty and pain are married here today
In the lap of Black Mountain,
Witnessed by a Kingfisher, a kangaroo and a koala,
Midwives to a birth behind my eyes,
Which wide open, see the golden pond
And half shut, become the pond,
In love with a fish.

Ah, my love.

Victor.


Notes-

The Australian Botanic Gardens are on Black Mountain, not far from me.
I discovered a small disused pond which I brought to life.
But the pond lacked something, so I added a fish.
And the pond was perfect.

I would visit the pond everyday together with a small family of kangaroos, a koala and a kingfisher.

I fell in love with the pond. But it was a secret pond in a disused corner and unknown to the gardeners.

It was all mine.
 

Martoon

perdu fleur par bologne
Joined
Apr 23, 2007
Messages
1,361
MBTI Type
INTP
Fine. I'll repost what I put up earlier. It's a pantoum. :)
I had to look up pantoum, too. Interesting constraint form; seems rather NT. You have pwn'd it soundly, and with an expressive NF sensibility.

It's just not fair. ;)
 

Tallulah

Emerging
Joined
Feb 19, 2008
Messages
6,009
MBTI Type
INTP
I really loved your pantoum, Lady Jaye! I love those old poetry forms. I wrote a villanelle in grad school--perhaps I'll post it. :smile:
 

Martoon

perdu fleur par bologne
Joined
Apr 23, 2007
Messages
1,361
MBTI Type
INTP
I wrote a villanelle in grad school--perhaps I'll post it. :smile:
Well, now you have to.




I wrote a lot of strange - (I don't know what you'd call it; stream of consciousness stuff?) when I was younger, as well as a bit of fiction. Back in my college daze, I wrote a Markov chain generator program, and fed it a bunch of this stuff as source text. It then generated a lot of gibberish, but I thought some of the phrases it came up with were interesting, and saved them. Here's a few of them:

uncomfortably vivid evidence of creativity

He pushed up a dream from my mind

synapses in a wild dance of self awareness

the barrel of a yawn

It is now.

to gaze with lifeless intensity at the depths of a vortex of expression

the feelingless nothingness of impending excitement

eagerly burrowed deeper, ever deeper, into a soul that left behind a frenzied staccato in his nerves, relentlessly creeping and friction, a menacing rumble

Soul mists within me wind themselves around the rage builds within me wind themselves into the saliva splattering across the atmosphere in a dream from nerve to bone

its life, its life, its self awareness

to tamper with anticipation

a freedom disconnected

embraced in a halt

energy flows from my creation of glass in a mutual captivity

the universe collapsed into a spasm of arbitrary complexity

The sterile intelligence of data

the universe collapsed into a searing scream

glass in a minor key

the rage within me has gained momentum

Soul mists within me wind themselves into a warning of creativity

He gropes for his hideous face.
 

GZA

Resident Snot-Nose
Joined
Aug 13, 2007
Messages
1,771
MBTI Type
infp
Here is my poem about LadyJaye's poem withdrawl...


LadyJaye's Poem

The mighty sun had risen
But the frost seemed all to certain to form
When through my window, sitting still
I saw it
A Poem
By LadyJaye

I ran hither and tither to see it
But alas, for it was gone!
"I'll never, hark! NEVER! show you my poem!"
She cried with a clutched fists
O lords of the heavens!
O mothers of my lament!
O fathers of my misfourtune!
Why hast I been forsaken
From LadyJayes poem!
Surely my life is but one weed in a bed of flowers!
Surely I am squarely in the crosshairs of misfourtune's great rifle!

Ho, how will I live?
Without breath I would suffocate!
Without food I would perish!
Without blood I would surely fall numb!
But without LadyJayes poem all hast gone to dire waste!
For these three passions are not without reason to be alive to use them!

I have been striken, like hot iron
Bloodied and gutted, like the finest of lambs!
What ho, for my misery is like the sun's warmth
Ho! Harken! Doth! Ye!

...


...

uh...

What Ho!

:tongue:
 
Top