Poems & Paintings (not for the Fanworks)

[MasterKeyX]

lol, looks like DPM has a fan ;D

[darkphantomime]

So, which one didja make for your wallpaper?

[chibbiamerican]

i used this one

[MasterKeyX]

Does it even fit the entire screen, or did you have to enlarge it?

[Commodore Axilon]

Do you even know how a wallpaper works?

[MasterKeyX]

Yes ::)

[chibbiamerican]

Does it even fit the entire screen, or did you have to enlarge it?

oh i stretch it. i never center my backrounds

[johnny139]

Nice! At first glance they seem to be a 6-year-old hand painting, but once you look at it...

Fancy stuff.

[MasterKeyX]

Which is the exact genious of it, mi amigo. ;D

[darkphantomime]

I feel the need to post more poems.
Be warned, quite a few of these poems are quite violent... And I might change the title of this  topic just so I can get more people to look and comment...


Cirque de feuilles: puppet shadow      8-505

I think you know what it means,
Don't you?
Death, how many shot?
Of vodka, and Russian roulette,
Who would have thought
Suicide could be so attractive
Watch the face, is it yours?
Is it mine?
Or is it the mask all of your demons hide behind?

His name was jack
I guess he's one of your friends now
But how much, shadowy
Step out of the theatre,
Do you know who it is?
Me, you, anyone
The mind, the face, the body
All the same

Look at the street,
Look at your hands
And tell me, do you dance with the devil
In the pale moonlight?

Can you hear the puppet
As he laughs?
Dancing seeing, moving
They say that the terror of man's body
Hard, pale, stiff
Like a mime, a clown to make you laugh
But what of corpus exterior
To see one's face without blood,
Unmoving, immaculate
Like pantomime, flashed in black and white
And to see your face
What terror of laughter
And the masque of the comedy.

Hear the bells
Between the leaves
Tolling, rolling, falling
At each of the notes
Like the crying at midnight,
Of loneliness consumed
By the puppet, and the flashing, fading tune
Hear the screams that echo between the tolls
Upon the church's belfry, crying, then laughing
At the soils, so holy,
Yet carrying on with such a loneliness
Of the laughing pale faced moon, waning
Until the candles, so fallen waxed by the trees
Echoes of the tomb
Like the veins of hands so clutched
Twisted in a frozen grasp
And wonder: is it the hand that controls the puppet
Or the voiding soul that controls the hand?

Of the darkened, lonely tomb
Like a mask breaking upon the mold
Like the clouds at a festival
Where smoke and glass, comedy
Come dance and play
Marching at Chopin's funeral door
Quiet and phantasmic
Like all brothers, tasking at the floor
Of the carnival, coming at night
Out of fear
The terror of the human
Is to see the body in the mirror,
And like the clowns of the shadow
Puppets wander of what things a
soul could so easily possess.
Of wood, and the mirrors lights from the clouds
And the pantomime of the dolls
Crying, laughing, screaming
At what strings and suicide
Could be so easily cut.



Kaleidoscope: Translucid Holocaust

Watch and stare endlessly
Numbingly emptily
At the windows, lowly, freakishly
Where certain fabrics,
Like endless curtains melting into misdirection,
Everywhere, nowhere
And every shout from an opened mouth
Closing quietly

My mouth is open,
Then it closes,
Gaping listlessly at every fear
And how the blood transpires from this pale cheek
Of forgotten airs without fears of lust
Beating, silently like a light
Like giant eyes gaping over there endlessly
Watching staring without a feeling,
Where all the eyes surrounding become unmoving
Like when the cold freezes the blood
The pupils dilate endlessly.

Everywhere there seems to be a cloud
Dimming, faster freakishly
At darkened doors
While staring at the black blankishly
Where lonely lights along the street
Seem to gape and consume
Giant eyes disproportionate to each other
And everywhere, lighting falls
All the balls seem to grow bigger
With each passing hour
Staring endlessly at a window
Where fallen balls of silk
Seem to merge endlessly
Neon globes, watching
From paler stones floating
With darker endless chants
And the giant mouths seem to swallow
Every drop of red ether
Appearing from the phantasmic gourds

The nose is a larger thing
When it inhales itself
Bleeding the ether of dried foam
Palish grey,
Until you see, all those faces
Of modern parody
Drifting out and around
Like the moon ante-twilight
Bleeding from the form
Of each transpiring undertone
Walls of chrome, endless bones
At each of the half domes
Watching, staring, another eye
Seems to come, then to go
Across each of the faces froze
Like laughter when nausea
Freezes and makes numb the wider currents
With every cyclopical breed
Everywhere, nowhere
Across the frozen seas
There it rolls
Endlessly
And silence of the prospecting maven
Enshrouded by pale holocausts
Ashen film of the burning grey
It comes like an ethereal fog
Like seeing echoes
After you drink the tea in the cold, frozen dark rooms
Across the street,
Like the blood that falls against the pavement
Others staring endlessly, blankishly
Like the floating of the grey puffs,
And your cheeks and hands
seem to be openly cut in the rain.

And everywhere
I see an eye
Staring back emptily
In the windows and the glass
When it stares like petrified glass
And from every paranoid (dis)appearing star
I wonder if they can see what it's like
When the glass is cold
And the frozen cobblestones
Seem to stab back vengefully


Memories of lost dreams   10-10-06

I

Heheheh it's another religion,
one where they heighten everything.
it takes from a lonely earth
Emotion and condition
But I'm the last man on the planet
And then there's a red space

I wake up
Everyone's there for once
I've been waiting eleven years
All alone
The last man
The last space
Then when it's night
A tornado strikes up and disappears
Goes around
That's where it's attempted
Then the red space comes
Filled with a blank view in the car

I come up again
Journey to a place of urban shock
Go into the walls
There are people there
And they all seem like they can barely notice me
Watch I'm floating
Moving and everywhere
Go there, and see the man of religion
Mercerism goes
Plug yourself
Plug your brain
Into an organ that contrives electricity into emotions
And try to tell me if you can see
Which man is man, and which are those that cannot feel?

I'll attempt it one more time
The jump between here and there
But it all ends up the same
They go up there
And to a robotic man
But everyone's dressed in black
In the stores across the marble pavement
Everyone's watching from the shop
Waiting for him to come
Eleven years and this
This isn't where I'm from
Because everyone is dead
I'm the last man here
And it's like an electric shock
When they put the metal rods against your head
And your mouth is closed
As if one's jaw were broken

They turn on the power
Like a factory made from assembly
Along the conveyer belts
And the shock of it, the juice making your mouth and eyes twitch
It goes like this for an extended time
Until I wake up again,

II

Here in the desert
Where canyons stretch everywhere
There are certain places
Along the tracks and road
Passing over each other
Until the elevation
Starts to close
And they go off in a cave
Filled with a poison
Off near a station
Where the deserted tracks meet
They fight, one by one
And it all comes down
Until the lady
Golden skin with red hair
Makes a certain thing with the others
Two men with two guns
And the other man facing her
He goes in combat as they face off

The man goes
Into the cave where it's deserted
The gas is flooded
Filled with poison of an unseen color
And it floats
Telling him to drink from the other source

They take their swords
One for him, two for her
And battle in a martial way
But the choreography
It moves silent and beautiful
Then the lady takes upon the other two
And he's waiting for another thing
Seeing two pistols both pointed at her
Moves his sword
Dodging the blow and blocking the first
But the girl with red hair and golden skin
Is turned by the shoulder
And the man with the sword
Fears because he knows
It's all a shot of death.

III

They lay by the track, by the empty fields
Of what was wasteland
And they move
As if all the shadow in the world
Covering a moon with two suns
And it all disappears
As the man they thought as a brother
Walks by
And they go
Because everyone else
When night comes and the cars come
They shout to another
And recognize
No one's there,
Even if the boy with his loneliness
Sees his newfound brother
Disappear into the wastes
And a guitar lays playing
The chords of a thousand year land
To the tune of western wastelands
So very slowly stopping
Until the man fades out
From the two moons and the world with two suns
But no life,
Except for the one
Who waits for his forgotten brother
In the dark.

[MasterKeyX]

oh, I mist say, they're all fantastic! Yet I find myself liking the first one much more than the rest.

[darkphantomime]

I feel the intense need to post this poem. Please, by all manners, PLEASE post and give me your thoughts.

Autumn mourning      8-26-05

Lo upon the summer's eve
what we call by name
Of whom we see, so little forth
The thing of la macabre.
At what haunted yearning upon this soul's
Fury, the ides of Friday what we take with them
To be impaled, to be crucified
All the end, the same.

The night of eve's
The lady of the form
The obscene, the blood of my puppet's son
And the strings, gathering like a wandering noose

upon the flesh of my love,
To be lonely, to be damned, to be feared
Out of the thing I call life
And the knives I put through me,
To reach the scars,
And sever this ever maddening pain.

To feel,
What cold prickling flesh
To feel
Labyrinth of the soul
What shadow that we take
And the life of the calm, fading restless night.
"if this is a gift,
Then why does it feel so much like a curse?"

The halls move, stones shook
In an erratic tempo,
To shake and twitch in one's sleep
Yet passing from here and the elder worlds
Like a fading dream, the fog
Of the hour of decay,
And they, my family waking from this
Shadowy, deeper sleep.

+to be still, to be calm
To hear and feel the things alone
The shadows dancing, the leaves, fading
At the inner fires of the world.
To be holy,
To be baptized with fire, like what heat
Could purify the scars upon my flesh?
The winds and my wings of ebony,
The love I tried to feel, looking across the black sea
Because of the feeling of someone out there,
Someone that I could take, and to love
From soul to paler soul,
And body to colder, fading flesh.

I tried to drown myself in the cold,
The reflection of this somber tomb of water,
Just so I could look at the night I loved,
Sinking and fading from my sight.
The falling came, like a restless dream
But from the heavens, I called them
Looking down below
Deeper, closer the soul comes
To look to the cold endlessness below
Like a spectre looking at one's home,
Larger, deeper, silent
And the many graves I call home
Faintly resting from another world
As if the seas were unfilled,
And the old buried
Could again see the light of day,
And turn from ancient halls
Into the hope that once was across the tower
When the wastelands thrived,
And the spectre of time,
Still far away
From this sunken cathedral,
The bells hollowly tolling to a mass
Raising, and living on below
Like a silent scream.

I melted into the deeper parts,
My body becoming rooted in a place of thorn
Like a stake driven through my back
Yet to peel from this flesh,
The dead leaves across my form,
Twisted, fetus-like
And so I could speak,
To pull off these ancient branches
So the blood, sticky sap
Could melt, and I, could rise
From this deep screaming
Near the church of my birth
And the graves, strewn across the water
Of my fallen, lonely kin,
And the older demons
Haunting me from their constant tolls
At every echo, another scream.

The puppets were tangled
Like a sorrow of the strings,
Hanged, and in motion at my wooden friends.
Like eyes that look out at me, not deadened
But still looking, watching in careful cold love.
The lich of the earth,
Returning like dust into the winds
Earthic tones interspread with the hallowness
Of my blood, bones turned to
Restless winds.

Hear and feel the cold and brighter flame
Like a screaming of the endless fiends
the strings' faster masquerade
dancing across the mountains of upturned earth
and the places,
spreading their black, velvet wings
to shade and cover the moon
so the restless could have their play,
and the dancers of old flames
could jump and waltz macabre
of the solemn fires
leaping higher upon the consuming tune
singing the old songs,
where time was young
and earth,
we could truly love,
as light would be to an ancient,
undying holy wood.

[JDog]

hey, do you think I could use those for my site?

[darkphantomime]

Hmm... that depends... WHICH stuff do you want to use and for WHAT site... (you've had like over a dozen by now)

[JDog]

The poems, and this site:http://kingofhyrule.zeldadiscussions.com/ which isn't fully done yet, there are still some pages that aren't up.