The Ramblings of Jayson

Creative Forums Creative Writing
1

So…I’m posting this up instead of opening a new thread for everything…thought I’d save space and just put the poems and writing here in one roof.

TABLE OF CONTENTS (click to jump to writing):
Silence, The Beast *
Left and Right
Relyimah *
The Conviction of Mr. Fleddington *
The Dean of Sorrow *
The Blood Left to Spill *
Numb *
The Right of a Fool
Skyscraper Whiskey
Elliat mul Savvot
The Scream of the Butterfly is Finally Heard
The Sea for the Sun (I Love You)
Sit. Listen. Feel. Breath. Simple. Life.
May Your “I Am” Be Waiting *
Low Gully Gali.
Today She Died
My M.N.
Conversion
Mind Your Class

2

BACK TO TABLE OF CONTENTS (TOP)

[code]Silence. Silence! SILEEENCE!!!

Slipping away as darkness downs,
Eyelids of desperation silence my sound.
Muted autistic into a prison fate,
The torture is impending a sleep of late.

Tearing from the inside at my eyelids sight,
I long for the moment that dreams find flight.
Listening to cruelty announced over the air,
Tribal resonation echoes in the killing fair.

Silence of this beast will soon be heard,
Striking the red eye it’s power will surge.
Tranquil bliss will bless me still,
I swear I will find dreams that bountifully spill.

As
for
silence,

He will sing gently inside of my brain,
Echoing the ballads of the peacefully sane.

Silence. silence…silence… …[/code]

3

BACK TO TABLE OF CONTENTS (TOP)

[code]The steps of the entryway were dripping with sorrow
Left foot first, and then the right. Repeat again, on into the night

“Where am I going?” he asks himself,
“I’ll tell myself later, for knowing now I do not know,
Only one thing for sure,” he notes is left, “Rightly so, I am very low”

So on to the staggering left, and wobbling right,
On into the club for a drink of brighter life.
The music starts and his spirits lift,
He cannot help but the day forgive.
What is to be left about what wasn’t right,
When such happiness in rhythms distract and excite?

“Fiddle me insane to my happy!” he then exclaims,
“For I have nothing! Nothing left to blame!

No…no, I am not right…”

So left foot first, and then the right. Repeat again, on into the night.[/code]

4

BACK TO TABLE OF CONTENTS (TOP)

[code]I am the sound that is never heard,
I am the speech without any words,

I am the presence that is never felt,
I am the essence of heaven’s little hell,

I am the gears of a twisted invention,
I am the beast of a holy man’s dementia,

I am the builder that waits for the fall
I am the silence, the silence in the wall!

You cannot see me, but I can see you,
If I dare to look where you are, and take a view,
I never existed, not even after I’m dead,
But you’ll never leave me, not even after I beat in your head!
Your sight is your blindness, so allow me your highness,
To pluck out your eyes!

I am the shadow that hides in the dark,
I am the scarring that never bears a mark,

I am your prize-work without any worth,
I am your children that never had a birth,

I am the sorrow that comes from your fun,
I am the numbers that tally up to none,

I am the history of the lines between it all,
I am the darkness, the darkness in the wall!

No Sire, you cannot see me, but I can see you,
I dared to look where you were, and took a view,
I never existed, not even after I died,
But you never left me, not even after I bled out your mind!
Your sight was your blindness, but I healed you your highness,
When I plucked out your eyes![/code]

5

Love your stuff Stumps… like many, I suppose, I self-consciously refrain from commenting on others’ creative stuff … I do note, though, that in the “code: select all” mode you’re able to play with space, vis. the " As for silence" line… which I haven’t been able to do in the usual format… so, thanks for showing that!

6

Thank you Oughtist;

And yes, I like the code tag for works like this for the reason you saw in Silence, The Beast, and also because it’s a very tidy way to keep long content from making a page of posts…well…really long to scroll through.
In a way, the Code tag gently allows readers to read a little bit of the content quickly and then if they like what they are reading, they can continue scrolling the code tag window down to read more; otherwise, they can move on to the next piece.
It also “highlights” each submission in a markedly different background and text format from the rest of the posts, so it’s very easy to spot where a piece is on a page.

7

BACK TO TABLE OF CONTENTS (TOP)

Twilight ran Twisted Down the Spire,
as he hid Deeper, Darker, Drawn in Dire.
Whether Master/Foe in the Winking Grey,
He Would not Fasten to his Dutiful Grave.
Rock and Hammer and Hammering on Links,
Racket and Ranting in the Hollowed out Peeks.

TINK-A-TANK
		"I'M A SAINT!"
			CLATTER-AND-CLANK
		"THIS ISN'T MY FATE!"
	CLATTER-AND-CLANK

		CLATTER

	...AND

 CLANK

		JINgle-...Tink-tank


	"This isn't my..."

Voice Hushed out and Rushed out by the Silencing Shore,
Mr. Fleddington, poor Fleddington, awaited the Door.
Hour upon Hour he Tortured his Soul,
Declaration of Death for Twelve Murders all Told.
Nearby the Dew Cried for the Hearts that weren't There,
But the Rocks stood Resolving to see that it was Fair.
8

BACK TO TABLE OF CONTENTS (TOP)

(J. R. Pennington is a pen name I use sometimes for poetry)
*“here you anymore”: “here”, is intentionally misspelled.

9

BACK TO TABLE OF CONTENTS (TOP)

A cold brisk morning in the middle of warring
And it still feels like a rain of steel
Forget all of the stories, and heed to this warning
There is still blood left for us to steal

Dripping from weary, and blood stained furry
We rise to the call of the kings
To fight for their money no matter the country
In faith of winning Heroes wings

In truth none is better at any of this letter
Save for the marksman’s hair
This in confusion is the only true illusion
That an angry eye can bear

The fire of hatred is heat enough to make it
Through the cold red wine winter air
Oh to drink a mug filled with other than blood
And to sleep in until the sun doesn’t care

I savor the thought as another steel drop is caught
But then I realize it was me
I was to be the puddle for this drop to muddle
And now I find that I too bleed

Orange blazoned skies and sweet silence of the cries
As smoke pours from my wounds
My fellows’ run past me and some fall as me
As I join the lay of the doomed

The sir to my left, his eyes are still wet
As we talk the sweet talk of the damned
We hold there a while, in minutes of denial
And to this day I have found no better man

The years, oh they past, in those moments of the last
And I held out a hand that wasn’t there
The sir to my left was the best man that I’ve met
For he never blinked an eye to be scared

My breath I could see was growing very week
And I felt the compulsion to confess
I spilled what remained of my guts that I claimed
And the good sir simply listened to my mess

Somewhere in the middle of playing the Devils fiddle
I choked on what seemed was air
I clamped shut, eyes that stayed open wide
And said farewell, and hello to the sir

As I slipped away further in the land of the Führer 
I heard an angel’s holy appeal
“You’ve forgotten all of the stories, and heeded no warnings
Now… there is still blood left for us to steal.”
10

BACK TO TABLE OF CONTENTS (TOP)

. . .When water drips from the sky,
Does a tear follow close behind?
When it hits the ground and explodes,
Does a tear hold back in its abode?
When it streams away, trickling down,
Will the tear be willing my cheek to run down?
No, No!! No!! NO!!!
It only turns inward,
Looking, staring, ripping inward,
To the heart that gave it life,
The heart it now causes strife.
Damned, DAMNED!! Damned am I.
Come now, thou vile and wretched thing!
Come now, so that I may rip thee from my being!
For rather would I have not you there,
That vial treacherous, torturous tear!
Than to try to find, and confide,
What is only evil, evil. EVIL!! Damned my tear.
But I wonder. . .
But I wonder. . .
11

BACK TO TABLE OF CONTENTS (TOP)

I admit to you that I am a fool,
A foreign to rule and something still,
I argue, yes, but notice this
As your eyes down drift to a mental pill

… So do you

I defend myself with no defense
Save for my selfishness and a tongue
I’ll believe no ideas but for a good idea
And as I see it, I hold the only one

So spill your mind, but please don’t mind
If I seem not surprised at your loaded guns
Shoot me down with the principles you’ve found
And I’ll die from the sound of the dumb

It appears you attempt with simple intent
To bluntly hint at death to my thought
I pray you well at this delivery of hell
But I yet foretell my victory and not…

… As you knew

A saddened acceptance
In awe and reverence
That leads to a change in sight.
For you see
I’ve looked in me
And all that I see
Is a view that’s to me
Truth and so it’s right.

I don’t really care
What’s really there
Just that what I see is clear.
And I think that I maybe think
That there’s nothing really very unique
In this view of mine that you hear.

Sure, all aren’t as bold
To admit this selfish mold
But it’s clear that it’s clearly there underneath
Underneath all the façade’s
Are these social “wrongs”
That all of us pawns
Are told we ought not to think.

…So as I knew
I am right.
And you are right.

…But the fool is a’ writer still.
12

BACK TO TABLE OF CONTENTS (TOP)

[code]Never in a day is there time enough to daze,
And reflect upon yourself.
So instead you find that it’s easier to hide,
Behind all those bottles on your shelf.

What would we find if we looked past your eyes,
Would we find that there’s somebody else.
The mirror won’t hide if it’s really truth or lies,
So just dive…
Dive…
Dive inside and drown yourself in hell.

As the days go by you twist another lie,
And soon your sure it’s the truth.
But the voice inside your head won’t let the past lay dead,
And another bottle finds it’s use.

What did you find as you looked past your eyes,
Did you find that there’s somebondy else?
The mirror finally sighed as you settled in to die,
Then died…
Died…
Died inside as you drowned yourself in hell.[/code]

13

Stumps, you are indeed talented, with many talents. I enjoyed reading through your poems, as I enjoy looking at your “various eyes”.

Can I ask you, why does most of your work appear to more ‘dark’. Do you know this?

14

I was thinking about this last night…I had realized this as well.
Kind of odd, considering I’m not a dark person myself.

I think it’s possibly that my earliest influence in poetry was Poe, and that I like the sounds of the words in English that seem to be “dark” words.

For instance, “Dripping sorrow dances wilting in wallowed wait of faith”
That’s just random off the top of my head, and it’s easy because the words just slip together very easily and comfortably.

I think what I like about it is the tone’s mode; it’s medium, like a classical guitar that is made of a good rosewood.
Bright and happy poetry seems to strike me like brass instruments or a steel string pine guitar.
It kind of hurts my mental ear…like Dickinson.

However, I don’t like all this darkness that I’m seeing in this so I think I’m going to be working on a method for accomplishing the same warm tone with softer contexts.

Oddly enough, I like minor keys in music more than major keys as well.

15

Stumps, I appreciate the way you explained yourself. It was easy to understand when you realted your words to music. I do not see you as a dark person, which may be why your art stands out to me so much. It is very different from your Character. I can see why you are drawn to medium tones, but it would seem as if it is mixed with low tones. I am also drawn to medium tones, atleast right now. I find that my vibrations are constantly changing, but it is always the medium sound that can run through my skin. I try to avoid low sounds, I have never liked the way it felt. It is an awkwardness.

You can still use your same words, and perhaps replace a few. it will still have the masculine sound of rosewood.

Wallowed in faith the dripping sorrow dances for the hope of freedom.

I always wished I could have picked the mind of Robert Frost. Underneath his words was a different sound. I could never decide if I liked him or feared him, but he still enchanted me.

16

I talked with my wife about this, and arrived at a conclusion that I shouldn’t change, as that is just my poetic nature and it is what it is.

Case in point:
Wallowed in faith the dripping sorrow dances for the hope of freedom.

Now, here’s why what I typed was typed:

[size=150]Dripping sorrow dances wilting in wallowed wait of faith[/size]

Notice also, that the “ipping” transitions to the T sound in “ilting”, which ready’s your tongue for the T sound in “ait” and then rebounds back for a soft final of it in recess with “aith”.
ip-ilt-ait-aith.

Another is the eight-of-aith at the end of the line. “wait of faith”.
Which spoken comes out with the ait-ove-aith, so it’s nearly a palindrome sound combination.
Where if you said it backwards in order it would be aith-ove-ait, leaving only the starting consonants to determine the difference in the impact of the overall sound, faith of wait, or wait of faith.

Another is that “orrow” is linked to “ollow” not only be the vowel, but by the consinent link of “ipping” to “ilting” previously mentioned containing the L in it which aids in transitioning to “ollow” a moment later.
The shift close together of ILL to ALL is also intentional.

There are others in this line to the same effect, and through my writing there are scores of such cases.

If I put this in a poem, btw, I would do so as follows

Dripping sorrow dances,
Wilting in wallowed wait of faith.

Which would “beat” out as:
(bold is emphasis)

By stress, this would be:
Dripping sorrow dances,
Wilting in wallowed wait of faith.

So your stress phonetics are:
Dri-saw-dan,
Will-wall-way-fay

Which is:
One-two One-two One-two,
One-two-three One-two One-two One.

If this were a drum beat, it would be:

BA-da BA-da BA-da
BA-da-da BA-da BA-da-BA

Mixed with the rhyming pattern, it flows right out without much in the way of jerking sounds or awkward pauses.
The mixtures of sounds is mellow and somber in general, regardless of the word meanings because of the constant sounds being recited.

The alternative you showed simply doesn’t have this in it, so it wouldn’t be the same relative thing as what I write.

17

I agree with your wife, changing your words would change your style. Regardless, you do what works for you. It does not take away from the fact that you are gifted with sounds.

How far have you gone with your work? How far do you plan to go?

18

I simply write it.
I don’t publish or anything to that caliber.

Recently, for fun on Facebook, I started putting images to some of the poems here that do not have images (mostly so I could post them on Facebook in the photo album, but in hind-sight, it was kind of fun).

Other than this…no plans, it’s just what I do here and there.

19

BACK TO TABLE OF CONTENTS (TOP)

This is a phonetic poem.
There are no incorrect pronunciations of these words.

[code]Elliat mul savvot,
Mundavvon budavvone.
Ra shellit havvin,
Peddi pamen fole mone.

Tishra, peddi tishra,
Peddi tishra fole mone.
Ra shellit havvin,
Peddi tishra budavvone.

Meshish on shevvit,
In lexin terabane
Filleen till kellacy
Meny sheckellings beddowed gain.

Hezbro, meny hezbro,
Meny hezbro beddowed gain.
Filleen till kellacy,
Meny hezbro terabane.

Savvon tel dancid,
Foleshannon cheridome.
Newmot tera nosipp,
Nevell chancid tennajole.

Shethra nevell shethra,
Nevell shethra tennajole.
Newmot tera nosipp,
Nevell shethra cheridome.

Elliat on dancid,
Null savvot foleremole.
Pendit shellitiva,
Shemmon pamen fole mone.

Mesta, shemmon mesta,
Shemmon mesta fole mone.
Pendit shellitiva,
Shemmon mesta foleremole.[/code]

20

BACK TO TABLE OF CONTENTS (TOP)

Fuck you, I enjoy my life.
Fuck off, it's not a piss on all of our throats.
That's right pissy, have fun chewing on my hippy-Jesus-sandal's clown-colored shoe laces.
Don't bother understanding the purpose of the laces on my sandals, or ridicule the stupidity of my dumbass thoughts provoking me to dress as such for my skin of life in my eyes, but instead taste whatever salt brine your bile produces at the smell of sunflowers sprouting from the fields of pain as equally as they come from the illusions of joy.
The endless Farris to impress the import of your new nation founded in revolution is of no consequence to the consistency of the five thousand years that have been gambling on the four winds.
Flip off your own credit and feel free to poster me akin to the stupid and ridiculous sum of singular salt piles eternally resulting in only one.
Go ahead...I'm tired of the sound of your radio white noise, partial grasp of the frequency carrying what is otherwise beautiful notation and account for the airwaves of reality left to the senses and overlooked by the ministry of the angry flibbertigibbet's stuck grasping on the antenna of my family wagon.
The signal of what it's worth to your noise ratio is faded into hexadecimal contrast screaming, "Charlie! Charlie! Charlie! Charlie! Charlie! Charlie!"
Fine!
Exhaustively, I grasp your antecedent consequent.
I just don't give a fuck.
Your dynamic self profession is blabbering puffs of flailing cloud falling when I look down at my shoe laces and smile.

Have fun with the rock in your pocket wearing off the skin on your thumb.
I figured out long ago that throwing that damn thing was far more entertaining than rubbing it compulsively.

Have fun with the rock in your pocket wearing a whole in your pocket.
I'll have to fall short of getting there with you because I seem to have done something stupid.

You see I've tied clown-colored shoe laces on my hippy-Jesus-sandals, and the consequent to this antecedent is that I have tripped and stayed behind; nose in the dirt, staring at the anthill of wonder and provocation - noticing just how funny these guys are when animate.