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Cwilk

All of my poems

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Since everyone on the last live stream encouraged me to share pretty much everything I have, I figured I'd give you all the poems I've written (only 7 thus far, but I took a year-long break after the first three, and started writing again lately). I'll also provide some background information about what the poems mean, which gets pretty personal in some cases.

So yeah, I'm gonna post every day starting from today (fitting as it's World Poetry day today :p). This first one is called

 

"Past"

I exist here, silently.

In my dim room, surrounded by desaturated floor tiles.

Surrounded by darkness and unorganized files.

If I'd listen closely, I would hear the past.

 

The past where the brightness still lasts.

The past where I'm surrounded by the comforting light.

Surrounded by the sweet cyan sky and the crisp white.

 

There I existed, quietly.

Waiting for the darkness.

Waiting for the floor tiles to turn colorless.

 

But I exist here, silently.

I breathe in and listen closely


Commentary: So, this poem had a more philosophical motive behind it. It really isn't personal, but it speaks about how things always seem brighter in retrospection. With the lines "Waiting for the darkness" etc, it points out the stupidity of being stuck in the past or just saying "oh things were so much better in the good ol' days", and also doing nothing to make the present feel more enjoyable. 

This poem was the very first poem I ever composed, and I'm not a huge fan of the wording of it all. As my first poem, I wanted to stuff all kinds of stuff in it that really didn't compliment the over-all picture. The line of "unorganized files" obviously just wants a rhyme for the first line :P. There's also a reference to a song very very very personal to me, "Four Years Gone" by Sleepaways. I'll go more in depth of that in a later post and poem, but in there was a line "And if you listen closely, you could hear the past". Sure, the personal touch was nice, but it felt shoehorned into this poem.

Over-all, it's a good first poem, but with a bit of a shabby structure. Let me know what you think! I'll post another one tomorrow, called "The Storyteller".

 

Matt/Cwilk

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Posted (edited)

Thank you! I was actually preparing posting the next one while I got your notification haha

Edited by Cwilk [EnderBoy 7]

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Ok, here we go


"The Storyteller"

I'm surrounded by glass bottles, here on the shelf

The more one's hurt, the more they crack oneself.

I live a good life - I've barely been scraped

On the bottom shelf I've never escaped.

 

As I have lived, I've come to realise,

that the fact the others break and leak

is what makes them have purpose.

I understand that I am still filled and that makes me empty.

I have never been scraped, thus I can't give anything away.

 

I'm here on the bottom shelf, writing a poem

and I look at the blank paper with fear.

I

cannot

escape.

As I lower my head I think

and suddenly dip my pen in some ink.

As I have lived, I've started to know:

as a bottle, I can overflow!

 

I can fill other smaller bottles, bigger ones too.

Yes! That's exactly what I'm going to do!

I can take other bottles to far away lands

or put them directly into danger's hands.

I quickly grab myself a paper pile

I look at the blank paper and smile.

 

Commentary: First, why this poem came to life is because I originally wrote this for a poetry discord server, where I constantly saw others post poems about their sad times and depression and confliction and whatnot. At that time, I really wasn't sad or confused about anything, and so I wasn't sure what to write a poem about. Then I got the idea of writing a poem about just that. Saying how now I can focus on making others feel emotions instead of expressing my own.

Now, my thoughts about the quality of this: honestly, it feels quite awkward at times. I hate the line that starts with "and suddenly", 'cause saying that is completely unnecessary and cliché. It obviously wanted three more syllables to the line. Also the first line of the last paragraph is very cliché too. Another thing is that the second paragraph's lack of rhymes is supposed to catch the reader off-guard and make the lines feel less excited as the other ones, but now it just seems like an unsatisfying flop. I still like the metaphor of glass bottles and overflowing, but over-all, one of my least favorite poems (Don't worry, the poems I'm more proud of will come soon, just going in the order that they were written).

 

Matt/Cwilk

Edited by Cwilk [EnderBoy 7]
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Here's the third and final poem of last year. After this I quit writing for a little bit, as this was just something I tried out to see how well I could do, and I got tired of doing it. The poems from here on out are from this year. I have to say though, getting the next poem out will take a little extra time, as I actually have a visual art piece to go along with it as well! Anyway, here's "Ribbons".

 

"Ribbons"

I've always liked the word "Ribbon".

Don't know why though...

I just seem to like the way it's written.

Alright, let's take the word "snow".

It feels fluffy, no?

 

Like "wind" seems to blow,

"vine" seems to grow

and "fireflies" seem to glow?

 

Ribbons are more, though.

 

Ribbons can not be seen,

and ribbons can never be overused.

"But what do the ribbons mean?"

Heh, I guess I'll give you some clues:

 

The more I showcase one of them,

the more it gets trampled upon.

And the more I shelter them,

the faster they're gone.

 

I love my ribbons, though.

 

Whatever happens, I'll shelter them from snow.

I'll hold them tight when wind blows.

Whatever happens, I'll let them grow,

and I'll introduce them to glow.

 

I'll dedicate a poem for them

I'll turn them into a metaphor.

 

Huh, what should I turn them into?

I've always liked the word "Ribbon".

Don't know why, though...

 

Commentary: This was what I thought to be my last poem, so I went out with a bang by writing about something really personal. I liked how the word "ribbon" felt kind of red and shiny, and the more I thought of it, the more I liked the abstract images I got in my head when I thought of the word. It was an indescribable, abstract, but wonderful word. So in my head, I coined the term "ribbon" for my passions that have some indescribable quality to it. In this particular poem, it's a lot easier to just view it as "passion" though. You can also see how even a year ago I was scared that sharing stuff will lead to that thing being ruined, and the "ribbon" quality lost in them. I might've been overly paranoid, but this is still relevant to my life.

Now, criticism! Yeah, I used to have some awkward lines and rhymes back in the day. Paragraph four has the most of these weird lines. Apart from that, it's alright! I like the structure more than that of "The Storyteller", and it's about as good as "Past". A good enough note to end on before a hiatus.

 

Matt/Cwilk

Edited by Cwilk [EnderBoy 7]
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Alright, I'm really sorry, but I didn't get the art piece done quite yet. To make it up to you, here's a WIP, and two poems in one day!
I'm also gonna mess up the chronology with uploading two poems, since the one I made between the following two is the most personal poem I've ever written and it will take more time and a longer post to explain. Anyway, here's "Echolocation". That's also the name of the currently unfinished art piece.



"Echolocation"

I'm standing in a rainy lane

But one day that, I'll have to feign

And since these minutes may diminish ,

I'll have to leave this note unfinished

 

Waiting for a bus, I met a girl

Her hair was shaded wet vanille

Luminous green eyes, a jazzy mint

And a reminiscent post-look glint

She's wearing a long-sleeved shirt -

white; and a starlit skirt

 

Seeing her, a world between

I note a difference in the scene

something that was yet foreseen

The rain was turning green

 

Suddenly, I realized:

They don't see her

 

Well, I guess that something was foreseen

I repeat, a world between

 

The rain got louder

Spewing glowing sparks

With this girl, in a bus station

An intimate echolocation

 

I left; my bus came

The girl faded into feeling distant

It took me a while to cross that distance

 

Finally though, I found her again

With brighter eyes and a cuter smirk

A brown jacket and a bluer skirt

It's euphoric to say it's true:

I'm still in love with you

 

So I'm standing here, in a rainy lane

But one day that, I'll have to feign

And since these minutes may diminish

I'll have to leave this note

 

Commentary: This poem is about a fictional character I made up a long time ago. I've always loved the idea of imaginary friends or using fictional characters as something comforting. I'm not particularly religious (agnostic), but I'm guessing this is sort of like the comfort you get from God looking after you. Honestly, I don't think imaginary or made-up friends are anything childish; they have the power to be as mature or self-conscious as you are. One day, I had the idea to make a more romantic imaginary partner. Not to make up an arbitrary girlfriend, but more to act as a direct form of comforting love. Anyway, this poem basically speaks of two worlds, the imaginary and "real" one, and how they don't have to seem all that different. Funnily enough, the poem speaks of "my" perspective (quotes because I think it's a more metaphorical me; I think every artist's piece is self-insertable to the reader/viewer to some extent, so it's not distinctly me in there), while the drawing is made of the "imaginary" world - the girl holding an umbrella to a character no one else sees - romantic stuff.

The first and last two paragraphs are actually about the process of drawing this piece (yeah, I wrote this poem in February, so that goes to show how long I've tried to draw this). The girl I had made up always seemed very bare-bones and without much personality. I guess I thought it to be cool and post-modernistic to have a cold, personalityless character, but ultimately, how long are you gonna like drawing a character if you can't like any of their traits. So one day, I tried to make her feel like a more warm of a character (brown jacket, actual personality etc), and it worked. The last paragraph conveys that I just might lose the spark from loving some fictional character(s) again, like I did in the middle of drawing this art piece.

There are some more awkward lines here too, but I don't blame myself for that, as I just came from a year-long hiatus. It's better than the previous ones, in my opinion.

 

Matt/Cwilk

echolocation3.png

Edited by Cwilk [EnderBoy 7]
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Alright, to balance out all that personal stuff, here's a clever poem I wrote lately.

 

"Board Game With a Telegraph"

To set the scene up:

in an attic, floating in space

a setup with misplaced sheets and graphs.

Yet our subjects are positioned nice and neat:

me, a die, and a lonely telegraph.

 

I roll a 6

What's a telegraph

but writer of morse - in turn a mix

of bleeps and bips; and nothing more.

A one-dimensional photograph.

Playing board games on the floor:

me, and a stupid telegraph.

 

It rolls a 4, and then a 2.

Well hello to you too.

What's a die, but a simple cube,

made of lines and dots on loop.

A truth is nothing more than half.

A double-meaning telegraph.

 

It rolls an 8

What am I

but two dots viewing morse

Tell the truth or tell a lie

This double-triple-bluff stuff's wild

But it leads to errors in my mind

The best option, to compromise

To flip a coin or roll a die

An infinite telegraph

 

It rolls a 6

What the f*ck

 

Commentary: So this one is another philosophical thought of mine, relating to bluffing/lying, put into a poem (I'll explain this as we go along). The first paragraph does exactly what it said, and set the scene up. No significant wordplay here, but I liked the rhymes and how I got out of the habit of just making them land on the ends of lines. The rest of the lines move more and more into philosophical complexity/accuracy.

The second paragraph is the most surface-thinking one - basically, viewing things as they are, and thinking you understand everything accurately. It intentionally dismisses the telegraph as nothing more than a simple telegraph. Missing the fact that, in this poem, the telegraph's a metaphor. Meta stuff.

The third paragraph starts off with a wordplay - 4 dots/short bips mean "h" in morse, and 2 mean "i", spelling out "hi"; followed by "Hello to you, too". The paragraph itself introduces the idea of reading the dice pips/dots as dots in morse. This paragraph also gets a bit deeper on the bluffing thought, acknowledging now that not all is as it seems and people can lie. Now, the telegraph has gotten some metaphorical meaning behind it, thus "double-meaning telegraph".

The fourth paragraph also has a little joke at the start - like I mentioned, 2 dots in morse mean "i", and thus, "What am I, but two dots...", making a wordplay, although really the two dots are eyes (pronounced as "I-s" haha, I just noticed an extra cleverness) viewing morse. But anyway, here comes the main point behind the poem: once you get to "what if they're bluffing? Or what if they're double-bluffing (meant to appear as a bluff)? Or maybe triple-bluffing (meant to appear as a double-bluff)?", you can just keep on going for infinity, doubting your last conclusion (here comes the last line of the paragraph, "an infinite telegraph"), thus, sometimes, the smartest thing to do is just take a 50/50 and flip a coin, roll a die etc. If you thought this thing was confusing, believe me, I thought so too, so an extra wordplay - "errors in my mind", and 8 consecutive dots in morse (first line) mean "error".

The last two lines first give a comedic ending - the telegraph started rolling in the third paragraph, and we've ignored that fact thus far. So "wait what the hell, why and how are you rolling?". Second, though, notice how we shifted from actual dice displays to morse a while ago - we ignored the fact a die doesn't have an "8" face. Here's the kicker though - the reason the storyteller freaks out now is because 6 consecutive dots don't have a meaning in morse! So the lines convey that we could still be presented by something we don't understand and have nothing to do besides say "***". A humbleness to finish the poem, saying "I still don't understand everything"

 

Hope I didn't completely wreck your brain with that, sorry if I did 😛

Matt/Cwilk

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Here we go. I actually wrote this out on paper, in reference to the title of the poem, "halphandwriting" (hαndwriting). I'll give you two versions, plain text and a picture of the hand-written one.

 

"halphandwriting"

About a year ago from now

I found my now-nostalgia on a shelf:

some things to redefine myself,

a memory box to fall in love,

and poems so special I'd leave them all

in a wholly different catalogue.

 

A later evening, I made a die.

Something to reminisce me by,

something to connect to me, and

something so succinctly analogue,

it had to become history.

 

A moment I'd like to share:

the mountain-climbing, drowning air

I felt between the stars back then;

we centered a universe, I and they.

 

And yet some questions left unanswered.

In my dreams, a familiar standard:

light blue hoodies and autographs.

I guess, on behalf of perfect timing

it seeped into my handwriting.

 

A paper topping the question stack:

"do I want to take it all back?"

 

Commentary: This poem is verrrryy personal, and it talks about a strong influence in the past two years of my life that have basically redefined it. Here's the main story behind this, and I'll go more into detail by taking the paragraphs one by one.

This is gonna start on a random point, but bear with me. About 7 or 8 years ago, I got to play Super Smash Bros. Brawl on the Wii. At that time, it was one of my favorite games of all time, so when SSB4 came out, I started playing that and more importantly, watching content on Youtube for it. In I think 2015 or 2016, I discovered a YT channel by the name Alpharad, which made such content. I watched it on-and-off, not really thinking much of it. It was fun, but nothing earth-shattering. Then, in 2017, when Alpharad had moved on to more diverse content apart from Smash, I had a casual summer trip with my orchestra. While I was there, I watched a lot of Alpharad videos, made nostalgic and fond memories, and I guess that's when Alpharad/Jacob became more than a Youtuber to me. Call it teenage-hood fanboying, but this was the best kind of it there was. I also watched his secondary channel Friends Without Benefits (FWOB) and became a fan of that, too. At one February night, on 2018, I made a fan account for FWOB, entitled FWOBAverageGuy. I basically averaged the channel's Mario Party rolls to see, which member of FWOB was the highest roller on average. While running this account, I joined a community of other FWOB fans, and actually kinda started a movement of FWOB fan accounts. In came FWOBNoContext, the most popular one today, FwobInspiring, and like, 10-15 others (I know it shows that FWOBNoContext and others started their accounts before me on Twitter, but that's because my original account got shut down.). I made great memories with that community, and the experiences I went through hold a lot of sentimental value to me today. I also want to share the most defining moment of this all. Moving back to Alpha, I discovered his music and his band Sleepaways (or maybe it's Saving Sound and the album is called Sleepaways? Idk.), and most of all, a Sleepaways song "Four Years Gone". Surprisingly, I wasn't a big fan of it at first, but kept on coming back to it, because it held some nostalgic indescribable value. This song has become the most defining, important song of my life and this 2018 experience thus far. You don't have to understand just why it holds so much meaning to me, because I even don't. It just seemed to appear at such a perfect time of my life to make it so special. But alright, I've rambled enough, let's move on to the poem, and I'll share some more details.

The first paragraph is pretty understandable. I made memories and went through experiences that redefined me. The last two lines reference the original poems I wrote ("Past", "The Storyteller", and "Ribbons"), as I wrote them in 2018 too, so some of the effect this all had on me reflected in those poems as well (In "Past", a reference to a line in "Four Years Gone", and while I wrote "Ribbons", I definitely had some of those indescribable passions/feelings in mind I felt during this time).

The second paragraph is about FWOBAverageGuy and it's creation, as I averaged dice rolls and I've come to mainly connect FWOBAverageGuy to dice in general. And it did become history to me.

The third paragraph is a reference to an Alpharad song "Center of a Universe", which I found at an emotional evening, too. This is also a very influential and special song to me. The lines try to convey the atmosphere this song gave off to me, and the "they" in the last line is the community I mentioned earlier.

The fourth paragraph first lines convey the fanboyish feelings I felt for Alpha. Believe it or not, during this time, I actually did see some dreams about getting autographs from people I respected. And here comes the title, too. The experience of this all seems so defining that I came up with a metaphor of it seeping through every time I write. If you didn't realize already, the "alpha" in "halphandwriting" comes from Alpharad.

The last two lines question whether I want to participate more in the FWOB and Alpharad community again, or if I want to leave this experience as something special, and put it to rest before I find a way to ruin it somehow. The last line itself is a reference to another line in "Four Years Gone": "And if you feel so lonely; we could take it all back".

Finally, an exclusive explanation to the hand-written version: the line coming from the last line I just felt like making. I thought of putting all of the effects this experience has had on me, every special memory, all my love on this line, and then I just drew it. It's art I made on the way, and it's the most indescribably beautiful thing on the poem for me.

 

I hope you enjoyed that. Not gonna lie, it was a bit uncomfortable to write this all out and I kept out some facts, as they feel so personal they might be looked as weird by others. But don't worry, I wouldn't be sharing this much if I didn't want to. Just understand that this was all happening in my head back then, where there is no potential judgment of others, and it's easier to understand things that can seem weird but hold so much sentimental and meaningful value.

 

Thank you for reading

Matt

halphandwriting.png

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To finish this all off, here's my latest poem which you have already seen, but I'll give you all some commentary as well. Here it is anyway

Sparkling Yellow Traffic Lights

Before we sail to dreams and drive to dusk, 
we just might need a little stardust. 
So I'll introduce you to a certain place:
an orange room, 
that's lost in time, and lost in space.

It's faraway, but it's a cozy room.
While under clean sheets, the month of June
revealed through the orange drapes. 
Facing the bed, a closet, shut with tape.
A desk on your right, with modest design;
caught by your nose, a scent of pine. 
Through a newly-formed sliver in the drapes, 
onto the closet door, a ray escapes. 

The monochromatic spark of light
this beam projected is a pretty sight. 
This created flicker dances around
to the rhythm of outside traffic lights. 
As cars pass by, the light jumps up. 
I view this spark with luck in my eyes;
to catch this sight well-unconveyed by rhymes. 
This orange room and surrounding lights
make me humble to get to spend the night. 
I'll see you tomorrow morning, I hope. 
If not with my eye, then with a telescope. 

Imagine yellow street lights across the globe, 
beating a pulse, connecting our own
still monochromatic and beautiful world. 

Imagine a single traffic light, 
taking shelter from the rain drops that intermix. 
Falling xylophone-esque ticks. 
As a drop passes through a crevice, 
the imaginary street lights reminisce
of a time they were all linked together
In that orange room
that's secluded, forever.

Good night

 

Commentary: This poem was about a real experience I had, while away on a vacation, in a strange room. I tried to write into words the kind of excitement and wonder I felt that magical evening. I think I did pretty well on that! I've always liked reading or hearing words in a song or poem that make me feel some wondrous emotion, and doesn't try to describe why it feels so nice. My main inspiration on that is Owl City, as I feel like his lyrics have always had that quality to them (listen to "Alligator Sky", "Fireflies", "West Coast Friendship" or pretty much any other song of his).

That's pretty much it! I really don't have to explain any of the verses, since I just made it with the purpose of sounding magical and wondrous. Now, some info about the end of this little poem-excursion: I won't be uploading poems or explaining them in this topic anymore. While it was fun to share my true emotions and experiences without any filter, I don't want to feel like I'll need to explain the meaning of my future poems. That being said, I'll probably still upload them on the lyrics/poetry topic, just not here. Thanks for reading how ever many you read. Here's the chronology of the poems if you were confused:

Past

The Storyteller

Ribbons

**year-long hiatus**

Echolocation

halphandwriting

Board Game with a Telegraph

Sparkling Yellow Traffic Lights

 

Bye and happy April!

Matt/Cwilk

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