All my crap.

[BallsofIce]

All my poetry and freewriting garbage, I'll put here, so's not to take up space.

[BallsofIce]

Western Poem.

This mornin' God was callin'.
There was worry on his brow.
The Angels were not singin'.
What was the problem now?

From the East the sun had risen.
And I swore the river gleamed.
But from this I took no joy,
for a golden star had a weight just wouldn't leave.

And throughout the town,
life continued on.
Children played in safety.
Everyone seemed to forgive what I had done.

And I know, I know,
there's no helpin' what had to be done.
They would have killed, and spared no one,
but that don't make it right.

And on my hips my guns weigh heavy.
Six shots each'll keep you down.
And I won't hesitate to use 'em,
but sometimes it kills me when I do.

And I know, I know,
they wouldn't have gone without a fight,
and raped and robbed everyone in sight,
but gunnin' them down don't make me glad.

So pray for the day when I ain't needed,
when I can put my guns in the ground.
But 'till then I hear the Angels singin',
and I know they won't let me leave this town.

Just a quickie I wrote one time. Nothing amazing.

[BallsofIce]

Early one I wrote, it sucks 'specially bad.

"In the Mood for Fiction"

Now I meet my end,
Oh, ain't it grand,
How the Creator thinks it
all through.

The destruction he sends
assures me His plan,
And the Great Dragon laughs
long and slow.

Oh won't you tell me of the Hills in the
sky, where the children laugh, they're lives fullfilled.
Oh won't you tell me of the Caves down
below, where bad men led bad lives, whose screams fill the
night, for tonight I'm in the mood for fiction.

The grave cold and dark
was quite grim yes I thought
the whole scene was rather grave
(get it?)

(but then) Before the Lord bare and stark,
I saw the whole war's for naught,
And I considered myself saved.
(what a loon!)

Oh won't you show me the plains further
East, where beast and man share their lives.
Oh won't you tell me of the life after
this, where it's only you and the stars, and your thoughts
make the world, for tonight I'm in the mood for fiction.

[BallsofIce]

The Tree.

Down by the meadow,
there's a tree, good and pure.
And it's leaves are the most fantastic green
you'll ever see.

In the springtime it blossoms,
and joy overtakes the heart,
as petals, pink and soft,
fly in the wind.

And crunching leaves, and laughter
can be heard from the children,
their innocence signaling
the Fall.

And on a branch to the side,
rope cascades down, dry and old.
Flies can be heard in the distance.
And the man hangs, cold and dead.

[BallsofIce]

Thanks.

You've never, really, seen me here, before.
You probably never will again.
Not sure what my eyes are telling you,
but I'm sure it's nothing good.
Every girl before you was charming and kind,
but I couldn't pay, all the same.
Every girl before you was raunchy and bold,
but with you, it wasn't the same.

Today I fucked up bad.
I'm sure it's written on my face.
The other girls approach me with smiles,
but I turn them all away.
But you were different, said scarcely a word,
just took to the stage with a grin.
Movin' so lovely, it was certainly artistic,
starin' right at me with a grin.

*I glorify things, I know.
I'm sure for you, it was just a job.
Haven't written in awhile,
as I'm sure that these words show.
But I wanted to say thank you, for looking at me,
and letting a man pretend.
So thank you, for looking at me,
and for a night, letting me pretend.

Thanks.












































*alternate verse is 'I romanticize things, I know.' Can't decide which is better.

[BallsofIce]

WARNING: This poem at points is a little offensive, maybe too so, and at other points way too bubblegum. I don't really like it that much, which is a shame because it's been in my head for so long, I really wanted to do it justice. But, oh well. Anywho, just know that these aren't my personal opinions, rather just a topic I wanted to explore. Oh, and the song I thought about while writing this is a song called "Lola", By the Kinks. If you know it that may help.

Heroics are Done for.

Well I think my country belongs just to me,
and only the White man belongs in my family tree.
Yeah, I'm a bigot who harbors thoughts of evil,
but I pulled all sorts out of Ground Zero.
Am I a villain? Well, am I still a villain?

To my savior I kneel with my head held up high,
and as I'm knighted with honor I give a happy sigh.
I hear Jesus singing in a peacefull lull,
and for him I smash my sword through an Arab's skull.
Am I a hero? Tell me, aren't I still a hero?

I hold my chainsaw up above my crown,
and with it I bring the whole goddamned forrest down.
I come home tired, ready to quit, but then my boy says,
"Thanks for keeping me fed another day."
Am I a monster? Well, am I still a monster?

I turn the trucks away from where the owls live,
and I realize I've made life better for everyone.
And as I step over a homeless man,
he keeps sayin' he was a woodsman's son.
Have I done the right thing? Tell me, have I done the right thing?!

As I'm lookin' on through space and time,
it gets harder and harder to distinguish the line.
Is Good and Evil really that close apart?
Is right and wrong really just in the heart?
And are there any heroes? Are there...any..heroes??

Like I said, eh.

BTW, not racist.

[BallsofIce]

Magnum's Ballad

Billy stood like Galahad,
like from the myths of old.
Arthur's only true friend,
or so Billy was told.
But Billy didn't feel much like a Knight,
he'd been in that Spanish heat so long, he only felt the cold.

His 357 shone like silver in the sun,
he walked a little lighter knowin' he held that heavy gun.
Now perhaps he'd never killed a man,
but he wanted to before the Day was done.

Oh Billy! Don't you kill that man today!
Lord knows it's gonna be the Devil that you pay.

Billy'd never take a life, but he weren't afraid to die.
He'd fought his share of battles with a world that liked to lie.
So when he saw the Desperado commin',
he just wondered idly if this'd be the coffin where he'd lie.

The Desperado stood across from him,
unaffected by the heat.
His brown hardened skin led
to calloused hands and feet.
He wore a belt of bullets,
the barrel of his shotgun and Billy's eyes would meet.

But Billy stared into his Doom and laughed away his fear,
His soul bore no regrets, and his mind willed away his tears.
His balls shrunk into his stomach, but still, he grinned ear to ear.

And all the land would remember the cry,
of Billy's sacred holy words, "Eat shit and die!"

Billy drew his gun.
He drew his gun. And he fired.

Oh Billy! Billy killed a man today!
And now...he's got Hell to pay.

All six rounds exploded
in the Desperado's chest,
as blood poured out from the holes,
gone was Billy's jest.
Little clouds of bone flew into the air,
like so much dust or smoke.

The taste of blood entered his mouth,
as he watched the stranger go.
He no longer wanted water,
he just wanted home.
He no longer thought about the stars,
or old forgotten Rome.

Throughout the years,
he never left, in spirit or in heart.
The pink wet embrace of woman
didn't free him from where his Hell had start,
and as he drowned in Whiskey River,
he couldn't out swim his thoughts.

Oh Billy! Why'd you kill that man that day?!
Ohh, now the Devil done collect his pay.

[BallsofIce]

The Olive Trees are Dying.

They used to stand so proudly,
they could make Ares feel at ease,
nothing ever could compare,
but now nothing has the chance.

The child doesn't want to fight,
his sword's stuck in it's sheath,
the monster 'cross the plains is just another boy,
and with crying sobs he stabs.

The Virgin's been deflowered,
the warhead breaks her wall,
ignoring her cries it explodes right in her womb,
and now the water's tasting foul.

The skies are yellow,
the seas are red,
with dying gasps the people scream,
"why couldn't we have the olive trees instead?"

[BallsofIce]

Silence.

There is no Paradise,
Been strung up next to Jesus Christ,
and the two of them share
an awkward Silence.

Lady Liberty is gone,
Anarchy has won!
and she takes her ravagement
in shameful Silence.

Why would anyone want to go to sleep,
when they just wake up next to this?
What the hell's the point of my pretty fucking words,
when everyone listens, but the people who count?

And over rocks and stones,
the dead begin to moan,
and the sound they make
replaces the Silence.

[BallsofIce]

The Wolves of War.

Howls from bugles fill the air
and the deers and the weak look up in terror.
The righteous bark and unsheathe their mettle.
The Wolves of War are howling.

A blood red moon fills the sky,
as brave young warriors clean their guns.
The Virgin's song goes for them unheard.
The Whore of Ares Calls for them.

The drums beat loud, warpaint hiding their innocence,
and their hearts cry out for murder.
At home their women are locked up safe.
The Hall of Heroes await them.

They cry out Death! And raise their shields,
and charge into the mass! They bite off ears,
and intestines entangle and break their mettle.
Their buckles rust, and young men are blinded
by bits of brain that fly as heads are blown clean off by gunfire.
The lust for War hath gripped them.

In the morning, limbless men awaken screaming.
And only Thanatos is smiling.

[BallsofIce]

I was pretty emo when I wrote this. It's pretty bad.

Love Song.

The black and fiendish paragon is seen up in the sky,
it's wings as white as doves, or as a blind man's eyes.
The people flee in terror, but soon his arrows fly,
and the hellion they've dubbed Cupid, claims two more to die.

I once was in his clutches, my bondage worst of all.
I followed any wolf with curves, followed any siren's call.
I meekly licked the boots of love, while claiming I was tall.
Then always they would leave, and I was alone to fall.

Logic would decree that my first fall be my last.
But damned if I didn't encore, powerless to make it last!
I know some make this all look easy, like they have a blast.
But this be the last time I'll be braying like an ass.

[BallsofIce]

NOTE: I don't Charleston. I don't Charleston. For the love of God, I don't f**king Charleston. That's there for the poem, because the way I hear it sung, it's all 1920's, and, like, that's the dance of the era. But I don't Charleston. Don't think I do. The results can only be disastrous for you...

Pluto

Hello, Pluto.
Hope you don't mind...if I join you.
Things are getting crazy,
on the mud ball I call home,
just when I couldn't take it, you're out here all alone.
I think that I'll just lay here, and try to find the sun.
I'l even set a picnic, and I won't mind when no one comes.
(I really won't.)

Hello, Pluto.
I really wish I could stay longer.
(I really do.)
But truth is, I'm needed,
even if I don't need them.
And if I stay here longer,
I couldn't call me a man.

Really it's a shame, 'cause there's so much more that we could do.
Watch for Hailey's comet. (Do the Charleston on the Moon!)
But there ain't much time left, to continue this charade.
Soon I'm to play the tragic hero, o what a lovely promenade!

So, goodbye, Pluto.
Hope I see you...again.
(I really do.)
But it's doubtful I'm commin' back here, anytime near soon.
Probably not until a thousand Junes.
But one thing's for sure, I'll have you on my mmind.
So goodbye, Pluto. This is...goodbye.

[BallsofIce]

I was going to ask this on the Mentors section, but I think that's just for RP stuff, and I'm unsure of where else to ask this, so...

what do y'all think? Yay? Nay? Don't be shy, if I suck at something, tell me. The goal is to eventually not suck, right? ;)

[Cloud]

Let me be the first to say I really enjoy your style of writing, just something about it stands out, talks to me in a way.

Keep it up though, I'd like to see more.

[BallsofIce]

Goddammit. Sorry, posted when I didn't mean to.

[BallsofIce]

After the Battle

High atop,
Midgard old,
the Rainbow Bridge,
we did hold,
courageous heroes,
we did mold,
from the valient men,
around us.

The skins of bears,
adorned us so,
the furs of wolves,
we wore so,
maddened rage,
ever so,
absolute
in claiming!

And we fought so hard,
and some did die,
but never once,
did we ask why,
we were all so,
very justified,
for we found, that we did weep,
when looking at our kingdom's
beauty.

Now sitting 'neath,
Yggadrisil,
we won long ago,
yet I am weakened still,
and one day we'll all,
lay forever still.
The enemy's blood,
did we spill,
but it does not seem
to move me.

The ravens caw,
they've much to feast,
'tis my way of life,
that fills their beak.
One day I too,
shall become a scavenger's feed.
For, through the thick and thin,
I suppose that's what a Hero truly is.

[BallsofIce]

(Author's note: I really don't like that title. I've never been good at naming stuff. And since I already wrote Magnum's Ballad, which feels a bit similar to this, I might change it. I am open to ideas, people. Anyway, enough boring crap that ain't poetry, on to the meat! :) )

Ballad

In the village
of Grom,
sleep was never easily
obtained.

For at night they would hear,
something that filled them with fear.
The screech, of Goblins
a-plenty.

Beast and babe both,
were chosen for their hunger,
and many a farmer and parent,
ended with nothing.

And whether blade or gun,
the farmer's had none,
and mothers would weep
in despair.

But one day brought the sun,
and below it a figure,
on a lone horse,
he did ride.

Yes, 'neath the sun,
was Hope's only son,
and on his belt, his irons,
swung heavy.

His steed was dull gray,
and from it, he descended,
his riding leathers, no brighter,
then his horse.

He wanted rest for twelve nights,
but the farmers were shy,
wearing black, they mourned,
even still.

And at the sight of his guns,
some were filled with terror,
but others,
dared to dream.

Before some could protest,
the elder offered him rest,
and water and bread,
a-daily.

Coming in from the heat,
his horse tethered tightly,
the lone stranger
took off his hat.

From the crowd came a gasp,
then from the youth drew a laugh,
for the stranger's ears,
pointed, quite sharply.

The elders drew forward,
and his eyes were a-pleadin',
and he asked the stranger
for help.

And as the stranger sat well,
the elder spoke of their Hell,
and of the terror that inflicted
them all.

The stranger sat silent,
his raven hair gleaming,
and his face gave nothing
away.

But against the dark the moon would shine,
illuminating the stars divine,
and the stranger's blue eyes
steeled in resolve.

He spoke not a word,
but nodded once firmly,
and relief,
swept through them all.

But his prices weren't cheap,
to them it would be quite steep,
for of wealth,
the farmers had little.

Then howls filled the night,
and the farmers huddled together,
though walls were built,
they were still afraid,

But the stranger stood still,
for he was calm even still,
as he struck a match,
and lit softly his pipe.

They thrashed and they screeched,
and the farmers heard crashing a-plenty,
but the walls held,
throughout the night.

Later, when Dawn blessed the land,
the stranger would travel and stand,
only to hunker down,
studying carefully their tracks.

He would pack lightly,
including a rifle and few provisions,
'till stone-faced he rode,
ever on forward.

Twelve days he were gone,
maybe he'd died despite seeming to strong,
and hope slowly
began to die.

But on the thirteenth day the sun arose,
and against it he was a-ridin',
inhuman green scalps
tied to his belt.

He refused invites for his feast,
only stayed to clean his beast,
and asked softly,
if they had his pay.

He took it without emotion,
and gave not even his name,
and on the fourteenth day,
the stranger rode away.