I reach for the sky, spreading my wings
Even with these wings I cannot fly
For you see my wings are broken
These pure white wings are tainted black
The darkness is keeping me grounded
Seeping through my feathers
My expression, one of longing
I, long to go home, for you see
I’m a fallen angel, one of the worst
An angel who fell in love with a demon
Who was forced out of heaven and shunned by humans
The demons hate me still, even my lover
Who tainted these wings black
I’ve come to hate everything
The demons, the angels, the humans, God
I just want to atone for my sins and go home
But who would take me back
I crumble to the ground and cry
My tainted feathers falling
I beg, pray for forgiveness
I pray for death
It never comes
I pray for mercy
It never comes
This is my
Eternal Hell
I wrote this as I watched Constantine. This has to be one of my all time favorite poems I have written, besides Just Like You!
Wednesday, February 28, 2007
One
ONE
One time
One chance
One night
One moment
In time
One day
One word
One Way
To make
Everything right
One song
Is all it
Takes for
Everything to
Be gone
One minute
To change your mind
You can lose
Everything
With one look
With one touch
One dream
Can be broken
One time
One chance
One night
One moment
In time
One day
One word
One Way
To make
Everything right
One song
Is all it
Takes for
Everything to
Be gone
One minute
To change your mind
You can lose
Everything
With one look
With one touch
One dream
Can be broken
With just one word
I wrote this a couple of mouths ago.
In Good Company
One of few "romantic" pieces I have ever written, I afraid I'm not very good at it.
I left the fire
To sit alone
On a dock that’s too familiar
Waiting for someone to wonder where I’ve gone
Longing for good company
I sit here and wait for a friend
That started this trend
A year ago
Hoping she decides to show up
Kind of pathetic really
We lay on the dock and watched the sunrise
Though I don’t anymore
I can’t seem to sit that long without someone to talk to
And the stars aren’t all that interesting anyway
When they’re not here to see them
I splash my feet in the water and recalled how cold it was
But you insisted on swimming anyway
At 3 a.m.
I said you’d get pneumonia
So you pulled me in too
We eventually pulled ourselves back on the dock
Tried to keep warm
Dawn reared its head
So we decided to go to bed
You were tired so I carried you back to the cabin
When I sit on that dock
It reminds me of that bittersweet weekend
Where I had the best company
With a beautiful girl
And the best conversation
That contained no words
I left the fire
To sit alone
On a dock that’s too familiar
Waiting for someone to wonder where I’ve gone
Longing for good company
I sit here and wait for a friend
That started this trend
A year ago
Hoping she decides to show up
Kind of pathetic really
We lay on the dock and watched the sunrise
Though I don’t anymore
I can’t seem to sit that long without someone to talk to
And the stars aren’t all that interesting anyway
When they’re not here to see them
I splash my feet in the water and recalled how cold it was
But you insisted on swimming anyway
At 3 a.m.
I said you’d get pneumonia
So you pulled me in too
We eventually pulled ourselves back on the dock
Tried to keep warm
Dawn reared its head
So we decided to go to bed
You were tired so I carried you back to the cabin
When I sit on that dock
It reminds me of that bittersweet weekend
Where I had the best company
With a beautiful girl
And the best conversation
That contained no words
A Common Ground
I'll glad to see there is a common forum for you all to share your writing. There's much to be said for those who are brave enough to share thoughts and feelings that are sometimes personal and private. Poetry, good poetry, is a challenge to write. A single word can change the mood. A single phrase can touch the soul. A single poem can bring let you relive the best and worst of the past. Poems can inspire and make us examine who we are and what we stand for.
Thanks Nathan, for making all that possible. Maybe some day I'll get up the courage to post a poem of my own.
Thanks Nathan, for making all that possible. Maybe some day I'll get up the courage to post a poem of my own.
My Friend, The Moon
Well here goes anything. I have just started writing and I'm still pretty self concious about my writings. I hardly show anyone and if I do I ask them not to tell anyone about them. I think this is probably one of my better ones.
Well, Hope you enjoy.
*Sliding through the night.
Guided by the beautiful light of the
Moon.
I’m humming a tune.
I’m at peace.
Just walking alone,
Barefoot in the twilight.
I’m able to escape my life
I’m feeling comforted in the streetlight.
It’s a wonderful night.
I don’t have a destination.
Just walking, wandering,
Trusting my guide.
The moon.
I hear footsteps.
Recognize them as my own.
Have an urge to run
The sound of my feet hitting the ground
So comforting to know
There is something that I can rely on
The land isn’t going anywhere.
Always there.
I come to a hill.
I stop running and stand still.
Laying down.
Staring at the stars and the
Moon.
Glowing that calming light
On my face.
I drift off into a dream.
Suddenly flying.
There’s nothing that I am not defying
I look around me,
I see the hill,
Me sleeping,
My city I call my home.
I’m rising, flying.
I keep drifting upwards toward my best friend.
The Moon. *
Well, Hope you enjoy.
*Sliding through the night.
Guided by the beautiful light of the
Moon.
I’m humming a tune.
I’m at peace.
Just walking alone,
Barefoot in the twilight.
I’m able to escape my life
I’m feeling comforted in the streetlight.
It’s a wonderful night.
I don’t have a destination.
Just walking, wandering,
Trusting my guide.
The moon.
I hear footsteps.
Recognize them as my own.
Have an urge to run
The sound of my feet hitting the ground
So comforting to know
There is something that I can rely on
The land isn’t going anywhere.
Always there.
I come to a hill.
I stop running and stand still.
Laying down.
Staring at the stars and the
Moon.
Glowing that calming light
On my face.
I drift off into a dream.
Suddenly flying.
There’s nothing that I am not defying
I look around me,
I see the hill,
Me sleeping,
My city I call my home.
I’m rising, flying.
I keep drifting upwards toward my best friend.
The Moon. *
Tuesday, February 27, 2007
Just Like You!
Written with a pen,
Sealed with a kiss,
If you are my friend,
Please tell me this:
Are we friends,
Or are we not?
You told me once,
But I forgot.
So tell me now,
And tell me true,
So I can say
“I’m here for you.”
Of all the friends
I’ve ever met,
You’re the one I won’t forget.
And if I die before you do,
I’ll go to Heaven and wait for you.
I’ll give the angels back their wings
And risk the loss of everything.
There isn’t a thing I wouldn’t do,
To have a friend just like you!
This is the poem that I am planning on saying at the graduation. This poem is dedicated to all of my friends.
Sealed with a kiss,
If you are my friend,
Please tell me this:
Are we friends,
Or are we not?
You told me once,
But I forgot.
So tell me now,
And tell me true,
So I can say
“I’m here for you.”
Of all the friends
I’ve ever met,
You’re the one I won’t forget.
And if I die before you do,
I’ll go to Heaven and wait for you.
I’ll give the angels back their wings
And risk the loss of everything.
There isn’t a thing I wouldn’t do,
To have a friend just like you!
This is the poem that I am planning on saying at the graduation. This poem is dedicated to all of my friends.
Stormy nights
Stormy nights
Rain falls
The drops hit the roof
We lit a fire
To keep warm
I can’t hear any thunder
I can’t see any lighting
But the power out
Candles all around
Lights the way
The storm settle downs
The sun comes up
I go outside the
Smell is still there
The smell that
Was there last
Is still there
The smell of
Stormy, rainy nights
The drops hit the roof
We lit a fire
To keep warm
I can’t hear any thunder
I can’t see any lighting
But the power out
Candles all around
Lights the way
The storm settle downs
The sun comes up
I go outside the
Smell is still there
The smell that
Was there last
Is still there
The smell of
Stormy, rainy nights
I wrote this a couple of nights ago. I like the smell of rain and I like it when it rains. And I also like candles. Please leave a comment.
Monday, February 26, 2007
One Chance To Many
You said you loved me
But now you don't
You just want to break
It off like nothing happened
What happened to us?
You won't talk to me
You won't tell me anything
You act like I don't exist
Just give me one chance
One chance to talk
But you won't
Why can't I have a chance?
I gave you plently of chances
I want to leave also
But you said no
You said you would change
All I had to do was
Give you a chance
I gave you plently of chances
But I can't have one
Tonya Jean McGinnis
I wrote this when Josh and I broke up. And their is a very long story behind this poem. So I hope you like what I wrote.
But now you don't
You just want to break
It off like nothing happened
What happened to us?
You won't talk to me
You won't tell me anything
You act like I don't exist
Just give me one chance
One chance to talk
But you won't
Why can't I have a chance?
I gave you plently of chances
I want to leave also
But you said no
You said you would change
All I had to do was
Give you a chance
I gave you plently of chances
But I can't have one
Tonya Jean McGinnis
I wrote this when Josh and I broke up. And their is a very long story behind this poem. So I hope you like what I wrote.
Friday, February 23, 2007
Running out of Time
You are runing
Out of time
The days are going by
Very very fast
Weeks and Weeks
But not fast enough
Gone and not back
You are wasting your time
Get back on track
Before you lose by to much
Don't stop or you will not make it
Hurry, Run, Fast
Oh, No
It's too late
Already gone
No more time
Angela K. Woodman
2/23/07
Well I just wrote this one today as you can see. It is not a love or friendship poem. It is actually a sport poem. Well tell me what you think.
Out of time
The days are going by
Very very fast
Weeks and Weeks
But not fast enough
Gone and not back
You are wasting your time
Get back on track
Before you lose by to much
Don't stop or you will not make it
Hurry, Run, Fast
Oh, No
It's too late
Already gone
No more time
Angela K. Woodman
2/23/07
Well I just wrote this one today as you can see. It is not a love or friendship poem. It is actually a sport poem. Well tell me what you think.
Novel
Pulling from the reserves eh? I'll post this one. It was on I Hate Wednesday a while ago...
The hand that takes, the hand that feeds.
The hand that lies, the hand that bleeds.
Like an off brand aspirin cured headache the hand comes back 4 hours later. It leaps back in bullet-time, full force, drilling, sawing, carving its message into your synapses. You pop yet another Roundy’s brand tablet and attempt to read the inscription. A message cryptic, with no end, just a mish-mash of adverbs nouns and slightful adjectives. A horror novel you realize towards the edge of the still printing scripture. A series of them all as dark and inconclusive as the next. With no definite beginning or end you try to avert your eyes. You shut them, say a prayer and open to the vast sonnet staring you down. You blink, still there, blink, imposing, blink, growing. Tattooed, burned, the scar tissue that rests in your eyes is still developing. The plot unfolds, characters are developed and there is no aversion, no serenity just the ever self-creating epic scrolling across and down across and down.
The hand that takes, the hand that feeds.
The hand that lies, the hand that bleeds.
Like an off brand aspirin cured headache the hand comes back 4 hours later. It leaps back in bullet-time, full force, drilling, sawing, carving its message into your synapses. You pop yet another Roundy’s brand tablet and attempt to read the inscription. A message cryptic, with no end, just a mish-mash of adverbs nouns and slightful adjectives. A horror novel you realize towards the edge of the still printing scripture. A series of them all as dark and inconclusive as the next. With no definite beginning or end you try to avert your eyes. You shut them, say a prayer and open to the vast sonnet staring you down. You blink, still there, blink, imposing, blink, growing. Tattooed, burned, the scar tissue that rests in your eyes is still developing. The plot unfolds, characters are developed and there is no aversion, no serenity just the ever self-creating epic scrolling across and down across and down.
Thursday, February 22, 2007
I'm Giving Up
I posted this on Universal Satire a while ago but it's my favorite one.
I’m giving up.
I’m joining the bandwagon.
This thinking, writing, typing,
It’s getting me nowhere,
Fast.
I want to be stupid,
Ignorant,
Intolerant,
Have someone else do my thinking for me,
Like a man sitting high in a chair
With dirty hands
Right with blood
Left with oil.
The rest of the people look happy
Maybe I will be too.
The news is too complicated,
Propaganda is simple.
I like simple.
The man in the chair seems nice,
He says he had to get his hands dirty
…… For or freedom.
Because the bad people will come
If he leaves his chair.
The propaganda says that I need to help,
By also getting my hands dirty,
For the sake of patriotism.
The propaganda says that if I don’t agree with him then I am helping the bad people.
That’s simple.
I like simple.
The man in the chair follows an old book,
He says I should follow the old book too,
If I don’t then I’m helping the bad people.
That’s simple too.
I like the bandwagon.
It’s simple,
Simple is nice.
You should join with me.
It would make the man in the chair happy.
Then he doesn’t have to make his hands dirtier.
I’m giving up.
I’m joining the bandwagon.
This thinking, writing, typing,
It’s getting me nowhere,
Fast.
I want to be stupid,
Ignorant,
Intolerant,
Have someone else do my thinking for me,
Like a man sitting high in a chair
With dirty hands
Right with blood
Left with oil.
The rest of the people look happy
Maybe I will be too.
The news is too complicated,
Propaganda is simple.
I like simple.
The man in the chair seems nice,
He says he had to get his hands dirty
…… For or freedom.
Because the bad people will come
If he leaves his chair.
The propaganda says that I need to help,
By also getting my hands dirty,
For the sake of patriotism.
The propaganda says that if I don’t agree with him then I am helping the bad people.
That’s simple.
I like simple.
The man in the chair follows an old book,
He says I should follow the old book too,
If I don’t then I’m helping the bad people.
That’s simple too.
I like the bandwagon.
It’s simple,
Simple is nice.
You should join with me.
It would make the man in the chair happy.
Then he doesn’t have to make his hands dirtier.
Welcome
I am not sure how many of you know much about me but I love to write. Poetry is a big part of my life. I often will right poetry to relieve stress or just to get it out of my head. It is an ancient art never perfected and forever being revolutionized. To that effect I invite you to post your art here. No poem is to angsty, irrational, or gut spilling. Share as little or as much as you like we are here to learn from, draw from, and inspire each other. Please no harsh critiquing. Constructive criticism only. Everyone has their own style and modus operandi.
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