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Ink to write poetry and One Extra for Gee

The ink is on its way,
Black velvet of empty space.
That gives you so much.
Its drops shall become as figures,
On a white expanse that tell stories,
For us all, it will stand out, on white virgin pages.
There you will mingle with the kings of poetic forms,
Words formed as a stark blitz against the snow.

As if you or I had drawn out life in coals on its surface.
There are many things that this ebony wet creature will do
For you it may coil in forms not seen before,
Yet can be understood, to be the ways of old.
There far out in a shady place,
Where a path winds its way to a thatched cottage door,
The dark eyes of a man will pierce the day for you.

Sending out the thoughts,
Of an age we have near forgotten,
He smiles and holds out his hand to you
In a gesture of understanding,
You will know he cannot stay.
It had been his ways many days before.

Life to him was a verse.
Written in old English on heavenly scrolls,
That even Angels pass from one to the other,
Yet mere mortals still sometimes fail to understand
What is written.
We must therefore draw out the coils
Of that dark wet serpent
Make new beginnings,
Futures that can gladden the hearts,
Gladden eyes for generations to come.

Walk without touching the place you are,
Let dreams swirl around your form,
The dreams for the children to be,
Fly in scudding clouds,
Swim in deep Oceans
Feel their energy and be alive without living.

Find the peace in a babies cry,
Feel the transparent tears of the old,
As they rush to their winter, without fear,
That they cry is for those that they leave behind.
Scribe with your quill,
All these things,
Then say, “Thank you” to the energy patterns,
That evolved to make you whole,
Waste not the light
As the light that beckons you is far stronger.

The ink is in the inner soul
But there it is a beautiful thing
As it absorbs all colours
The quill is made of a feather from an Angel’s wing
Given with the love of all men,
Know that there is a love
Above and beyond that of man
Now Write.

Ink to write poetry
Submitted by Ian.T on Sun, 2013-03-10.. 23-59 as I leave for my hallowed ground
Modified to encompass the dark side just for "Gee"

The ink is on its way,
Black velvet liquid of empty spaces.
That gives you so much.
Its drops shall become as figures,
Creeping among the stones of memory
On a white expanse, that tell stories,
For us all, it will stand out, on white virgin pages.
Hateful cursed white flat pointless shade,
There you will mingle with the kings of poetic forms,
Dark blood grabbed from their bodies before the cold crept in.
Words formed as a stark blitz against the snow.

Hell has gathered another for my bosom
As if you or I had drawn out life in coals, on its surface.
Coals that held no fire or warmth, just damp tears,
There are many things that this ebony wet creature will do,
That it will live outside your frame is good for my dark ways,
For you it may coil in forms not seen before,
Waiting to strike at the centre of your core,
Yet this can be understood, to be the ways of old.

There far out in a shady place, away from that scorching rays
Where my path winds its way to a cottage door,
The dark eyes of mine will pierce the day for you.
Sending out the thoughts, that will keep you cold,
Of an age we have near forgotten, as we live through them.
I will smile and hold out my clawed hand to you
In a gesture of beckoning and understanding,
You will know we cannot tarry here, the dawn is drawing near.
This has been my ways for all those ages past.

Life to me was a verse coined from the depths of hell.
Written in old English on heavy scrolls,
That dark Angels pass from one to the other,
Yet mere mortals still sometimes fail to understand
What is written in that ebony ink, scroll upon scroll.
We must therefore draw out the coils, to enrapture more,
Of that dark wet serpent, we tend to make our slave
Each coiled letter making new beginnings,
Futures that can gladden the dark hearts,
Gladden the diluted black eyes for generations to come.

Walk without touching this place you are in,
Let dreams swirl around your form, they are my dreams
The dreams for the children of the darkness to be,
Fly in scudding cloudless nights, learn the trade of old
Feel their energy and be alive without living, hold the fear of others.
Find the peace in a new babies cry,
Feel the transparent tears of the old, as they dance your wake away,
As they rush to their winter, without fear, lest I draw near
That they cry, for those that they leave behind. Is a cry of joy.

Scribe with your quill, use the dark ink of the night
I will teach you all these things, we have eternity
Then say, “Thank you” to the energy patterns,
That evolved to make you and I whole,
Waste not the darkness, though we dwell there for ever
As the light that beckons you is not for our kind.
The ink is, in the darkest inner soul, let us free is torrent
To us it is a beautiful thing, of life after life we gain
As our darkness absorbs all colours.

The quill is made of a feather from an Angel,
thrown from their heaven
Given with the love of all men, to be gathered, come the great night
Know that there is a love, even in the darkness
Above and beyond that of any stolen soul.
Now write for me of places new.

Ian.T

Style / type: 
Free verse
Review Request (Intensity): 
I want the raw truth, feel free to knock me on my back
Last few words: 
Have just adapted the first write with a little twist as it is now midnight I have to scurry around for the ink of the darkness to write more poetry.. Yours Sparrow. La La
Editing stage: 

Comments

the beginning of a screenplay for one of those quasi-religious, scary movies! I expect to see a young monk copying scrolls and coming across something evil. LOL Interesting right to the end. ~ Gee

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I think that I will adapt this one and expand it to the dark side, it may take a day or so, so hang in there (Bloody Gibbet broke again) I will use the old Oak tree, he, he, he, Yours Ian.T

.
There are a million reasons to believe in yourself,
So find more reasons to believe in others..

author comment

I forgot to mention ,that one of the writers of my bits is a monk, who sits at a desk in a room that has many doors.
He writes of all things, and sometimes writes of the dark side to show that there is depth in the solitude he has chosen, Yours Ian.T

.
There are a million reasons to believe in yourself,
So find more reasons to believe in others..

author comment

in amongst the dark and twisted alleys of that devious mind of yours. I was just looking in the wrong places.
I almost lost my way, and began to think you had escaped again, when I saw where you were going. Nice work! ~ Gee

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But that you can change the form and content to poem is interesting whilst some of the lines when expanded have completely different images. I wane through the 2 versions comparing line by line to see how you had altered it.

I was just playing you ought to see me when I try, I am going on a tasting holiday soon, to find the best long pig in the world lol,
Yours, Gyps fulvus

.
There are a million reasons to believe in yourself,
So find more reasons to believe in others..

author comment

Killer hopes that you will join him for a meal when he is through with his tour. I'm sure that he will have enough recipes to offer you a wide selection. ~ Gee

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Critique or comment today!

It would be an honour to sup with Killer.

I was thrown out of a mortuary yesterday.
They said it was not a store of fast food
That these were due to go to the Crematory
But I stole a few nick knacks, lovely, gory,

To think I spent this many a past year
Chewing the cud or a delicious fresh ear.
Still I shall seek out fresh stores for me to dine
I hear there was a crash on the railway line.

I am tired of waiting for someone to kill
Killer will have to teach me his skill
I have a weapon that will do just fine
I stole Bates knife now I say it is mine.

I am off this night to roam some more
To catch Killer up and even the score
Holiday Inn and Sandals, I am going now
With my knife I will catch up somehow

I have to go as the darkness creeps
Catch the bastards as they lay asleep
But better to tap them on the brow
Screams of fear in my ears does dwell.

Have a good night, I hear screams of fright
The smell is glorious as their beds they shite
But hold on there Gee you know its free
I shall store some for Killers visit with me

Yours drooling, Gyps fulvus

.
There are a million reasons to believe in yourself,
So find more reasons to believe in others..

author comment
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