Alright, this is out of character in the extreme, but a little bit of peer pressure has made me decide to post some stuff here.

So yea, tell me what you think if you don't mind.
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Echoes in the Rain
I walk through the rain, the pounding of the frigid droplets echoing a countermelody to my shadowed thoughts. My soul is troubled with memories of past griefs and shames, and I almost want to weep. Yet it is as though I can't remember how to cry any longer. As I consider this, a single tear falls, splashing into a puddle. As the water begins to ripple, I am granted a single moment of stark clarity. My sorrows die for a moment, and time itself stands quiet in respect.
But my bubble of peace is burst faster than possible with any needle, when I see this miniscule bird on the side of the grass. It lies in a pool of it's own blood, and it struggles weakly. With a fell dread I am certain that nothing I can do will save it, but because of who I am, I have to try.

As I cradle it's delicate body, I weep for my own inability.
Then a light shines, seeming fueled by the ether itself, and the bird looks at me as though asking, "Why do you grieve?"
Then, despite the pouring rain, it flies back to its home.
And the clarity returns to me with the force of a thousand blows, and I realize.

The bird was my heart.
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An Image of Peace
The moon sits overhead, almost blinding in its pearly brilliance, giving the world below a pure, luminescent glow. The stars cover the quiet, dark sky like sequins laid across a soft velvet dress.
Wind tickles gently across the landscape, adding to the cool air, making the grass dance, passing by the trees with but a whisper .
The crystalline lake reflects the world above with almost undisturbed clarity, barely even the slightest ripple across the placid water.

My arm around your shoulder, we lay back in the soft grass, still damp from an earlier drizzle, the blades caressing our backs. For one perfect moment, all is still, and we enjoy the peace.
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Life
Smiles flood my core, uncontainable joy.
The melody of her voices touches deep within, her laughter awakens a part of me long since forgotten.
Knowing I make her smile, this makes me feel as though I can accomplish something that makes a difference.

My mind is filled by thoughts of her.

Her eyes pierce to my very soul.
Her voice sings to me, pulling at my emotions in ways I never knew.
The vision of her is peace pure and untainted.

There is no distance between us, though we may be a thousand miles apart.
I can feel her beside me, hear her whispering to me every time my eyes close.

She fills my dreams, beating back the shadows that forced me from sleep before.

My heart beats with hers, I breathe with her breath.
My veins pulse, pumping feelings into my long dead body.

I could listen to her voice and be content for days at a time, though I long to hold her in my arms.
I can feel her there, though she is farther away than I can reach.

She is there, beckoning with a smile, offering me something I didn't know I was without.
The moonlight pours upon me from overhead, I walk to her and begin my life.
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Music
Echoes roll and grow within the hall of deepining shadows, forgotten melodies dancing within the darkness.
Yet the song has not ceased, merely a pause. The echoes themselves are a melody of their own.
The hall is not truly dark, each shadow seems made of a strange kind of light, not piercing the dark but making it somehow different.

The song begins anew, its source unknown, mysterious.
I am listening to the song, playing it, singing it.
The air moves with the rhythm, the shadows dancing, somehow filled with light yet still shadows.
The song brings life to that which has none.

But my body is not moving.
My lips are sealed.
Still the song remains within me, I remain within the song.

Then I realize I stand under the moonlight.


Listening to utter silence.
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Insomnia
Tired

My head pounds
My bloods throbs
But there aren't this many nerves in my brain!!

The echoes of pulsing blood throb louder, and something within me snaps.
My mind fades, thoughts drifting in and out of chaos
My thoughts fall from chaos into abyssal nothing.

Nails hammer into my skull, screeching fills my eardrums
Confusion invites my mind into its abode

I can't hear, my ears have fallen to the noise
I can't see, my eyes have succumed to brilliant white

Somewhere far away, I feel a thud
The white fades, the noise ceases, the throb dulls.

I fall into the sweet comfort of blackness.
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Into the Storm
I walk among the fields of bright wildflowers, the wind gently teasing across my hair, ruffling my clothes into disarray. The sun burns warmly overhead, fighting away any potential chill. My hand brushes against a particularly large flower, and I pause to enjoy the sight of it, white petals almost luminescent in the light, surrounding a core of soft yellow. I bend to sniff the flower, reminded of older days of innocent youth.

But then, with brutal suddenness, the wind shifts. No longer peaceful or warm, but frigid, sharp and cold, as though it seeks to force me far away from this place that once held peace. The sun shines, but now it is a mockery of warmth, more of a cruel teasing of what has gone. Sirens blare in the distance, and the deceptively blue sky pours rain onto the earth in pelting drops of fury. I look around for shelter, running towards a nearby oak tree, and I lean against it, feeling the solidity and gaining some sense of strength.

Then I am convinced that all is peace, as the wind stops, the sun is warm again. But as the silence settles, I can only think,"Silence more final than death." All sounds, all motion is snuffed into quiet, and I tremble forcefully.

Then from peace, chaos falls. From light, utter darkness. From silence, raging noise.

I am surrounded by the thundering of a freight train, wind tears at my body, throwing me from the tree. Lightning arcs into my shelter, turning solid oak to broken ash, and I am deafened and blinded by the enormous flash and peal.

My ears return to use before my eyes, only to be deafened again by a most terrible chaotic sound, and the wind pulls at my limbs. My eyes watch only blackness, and with cold that quiets the very beat of my heart, I know that the storm is upon me.
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That's all for now, hope you like them.

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"It is dreadful when something weighs on your mind, not to have a soul to unburden yourself to. You know what I mean. I tell my piano the things I used to tell you."

Wow... *the first word that came to mind*

Echoes in the Rain brought tears to my eyes; it's a very deep and cunning piece of work.

Those above lines from Life are so wonderful, so perfect, and so true.

After reading all of your writings, I feel that I have or have had similar feelings with most of them. But Into the Storm is the one that I can relate to the closest.

Your writing is more than beautiful. It's written as prose, yet it all has such a poetic sound to it.

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could make me love you less...

i likes insomnia

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Chris writing > Jamie writing.

There, I said it, and you know it's true.

Life is my favorite, but all of them are wonderful. It's like I felt what I was reading, even though they're words on a screen, they pull you in as if you're there, almost like you're right beside the author.

*wishes she had Chris's writing ability*

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i vote for "Echoes in the Rain". that one seemed to ring clearest with me.

i have no business critiquing the written word arts but i do know good writing when i see it.

*dies again*

It doesn't matter how many times i read these Chris, they are just as brilliant every time round... you really are an incredible writer
I would choose a favourite, but it's way too hard... they all have certain things about them that draw me in.

you pwn teh writing

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Thanks, seriously.


We've been over this already.
Jamie writing > Chris writing.

But if you really insist, Jamie writing=Chris writing.
Thanks.

The responses to this make me feel less frightened about posting my poems here.

Thanks orgo and emma, it means alot that you feel that way.

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"It is dreadful when something weighs on your mind, not to have a soul to unburden yourself to. You know what I mean. I tell my piano the things I used to tell you."

Anyway, my newest stuff....

Eye of the Storm
The storm quiets.
Motion ceases.
Silence blankets noise.

The world stops, darkness falls.
Shadows play upon one another within the void.

Echoes of forgotten sounds bounce and cascade along walls of nothingness.
The emptiness is absolute.

The line between what is and what cannot be blurs and fades.
Dreams replace reality, reality becomes false comfort.

Existance is questionable, all things still.
There is no light, no sound, no movement.

Forgotten are peaceful sunny days, beautiful music.
Utter nothing consumes the world.

Then the void stirs once more.
The shadow becomes a low glare, blinding in it's lack of brilliance.

Sound begins to buffet the still, beating back the silence.
Wind creates motion, stillness ceases to be.

Absolute nothing becomes absolute chaos.

Reality returns with bittersweet clarity as the storm returns.
Life resumes its constant battle.

Within chaos, all is clear again.

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"It is dreadful when something weighs on your mind, not to have a soul to unburden yourself to. You know what I mean. I tell my piano the things I used to tell you."

People want reactions and opinions .. .here's mine.

While lacking the more rigid "Poetic Style" of stanza's and grouped thoughts, your writing shows intuitiveness and a grasp of concepts outside most peoples ken. That being said, you seem to dwell a bit much in this transience, using descriptive metaphor and "Dreaminess" to float the reader along instead actually following your writings purpose. After about 3-4 lines of description most peoples attention tends to wander unless they are trying to focus on what you are saying. This makes it difficult to follow along as you write. More adept readers of poetry, who are used to tangents and sidebar thoughts in the core of a work, will be able to stay tuned into your work, but most people reading your work for the first time will have to re-read it 2-3 times to catch everything you wrote.

A few pointers if I may. Try to shorten the sentences into more distinct entities, or shorten portions of them and use commas to separate the lines within each portion (perfectly legitimate poetic practice). This way the reader will more easily be able to keep track of each portion of what you are saying, and they will tend to "stick" in the mind better. I found even my own attention wandering slightly due to the long lines across the page. People tend to browse right past portions of a work if their attention strays.

Keep at it, practicing shortening, omitting, or even taking poetic license with words (it is become tis, etc), instead of making statements. Phrases like "the pounding of the frigid droplets echoing a countermelody to my shadowed thoughts" can easily be made more interesting, like "frigid drops pounding a harmony with my shadowed thoughts". By removing "articles" (The, a, an) from your sentences it changes the rhythm, making the work seem less mundane, and showing that the author has no need for conventional syntax and grammar. Use a thesaurus, if possible, to find more intriguing (and accurate) alternatives for large words or descriptions. A lot of people write "off the top of their head", which limits both the writer and reader to the vocabulary of one person. By going outside the words you are used to using (Shakespeare knew over 600,000 different words in just the English language, as well as French and Latin) you will not only improve your vocabulary, but also intrigue and fascinate readers. Most people KNOW of more intriguing words, but they just do not use them, so seeing them piques an interest (see? "piques". . .not peaks . .there is subtle nuance difference in the words, and the alternative spelling is intriguing) that would not normally be there.

I found the subject matter and presentation to be very good, overall. Taking your entire work as a whole, in each instance, and watching where the words took the reader shows that you have an inate ability to paint the picture, then lead the reader through it, and examine alternatives and unfamiliar concepts while going through your work. Your endings delight in most instances, bringing the reader to your point of view, and giving them a great understanding of what the work was about, helping them to remember the crucial points made throughout the piece, and leaving them satisfied and comfortable with how it ended. Some of the presentation was simplistic right next to complex ideas, leaving a jangled feeling, but for the most part the works flowed very well.

I look forward to reading a lot more of your work. I'm done critiquing (forever and ever, amen, I promise). Poetry and poetic writings are always open to different interpretations. Some people will go gah gah over your work, some will sigh, some will shake their heads and move on. Don't worry too much about impressing anyone (ESPECIALLY ME!!!!) Do it for it's own sake, and let that be enough.

I'd really like to be able to jump out of my chair and yell YES!!!!!!!!!!! Keep at it .. I'm sure you'll get me jumping soon.

Kris^

omg they are really really good!!! i would love to see more of your writing!! please post more...thanks for posting

Carlz