Staredit Network

This section is reletively new (I think) and it hasn't had any posts with writing/poetry in it. Since I enjoy reading quite a bit and I fancy myself a writer (albeit, not a good one), I thought that this would be a good idea. So, post anything that relates to writing here and voice your opinion about what has been posted. Oh, and make sure that your critism is constructive, we don't want any two word posts.

I'll start off with some of my own work:

Judgement-

Is this Heaven?
Is this Hell?
Am I in a place where I can tell?

Did I rise?
Did I fall?
Is there not a place where I can call?

Did the good,
Out weigh the bad?
Could I tip the scales a tad?

I see light.
Is that good?
Did I do everything I should?

Is this Heaven?
Is this Hell?
Am I in a place where I can tell?


Where are you now?

Unicorn, Unicorn,
Where have you gone?
When love is gone,
And hope can't be found.

Unicorn, Unicorn,
Where are you now?
I've lost my love.
Am I to follow?

You were there before.
When I went to school.
When I graduated.
When I fell in love.

But where are you now?!
When I cry for her.
When I long for her touch.

Unicorn,
Oh, my unicorn,
Where are you now?


Untitled (Not done)-

Here I stand.
Alone.
Not sure of what to say.

There you stand,
My love.
So confident, so perfect.

Here I lay.
Alone.
Afraid of what could be.

There you lay,
My love.
So sure of me.

(End?)


Still Here (Not done)-

I'm still here...
Watching over you.

I'm still here...
Fighting for you.

I'm still here...
Laughing with you.

Just open your eyes,
And see.

(End?)


With you (Not done)-

This moment; so perfect.
This feeling; so divine.

Wish we could do this forever,
Just lay here, intertwined.

'Cause it's so hard to imagin,
With you in my arms.

A world imperfected.
A world with so much harm.

(End?)

Easily beaten, although it has some errors. It's good enough.



Although not meant to beat you, I think it's better. Also this came up in my spare time.

uh...my story is up near fourty pages, and thats only the first seven or so chapters, so I'm going to give you the link to the optional prologue and chapter one:

Five Steps to a Revolution (Or the Blue: Ultimatum Prologue)

Blue: Ultimatum~ Chapter 1


btw: this is what I've been obsessing over for only half my life, so I really need harsh criticism...

I have a short story, but I left it at school, I will being it home tuesday and try and post it up here for you guys. I have let everyone read it, and they all liked it, but English II Teacher said "Great story! You should submit somewhere for publication!" <==Last Year, and my English III Teach wrote "Your writing ability is incredible! Great use of sensory detail!" and every student that has read it said it was "awsome" or that they "love that story" sorry to waste a post without giving you the story.

WTF MPSTARK!! DAMN UR GOOD!! Seriously..

MPStark I didn't read all of them but I read a few, you're pretty damn good (not sarcasm).

Yeah, your really good at poetry. I'll have to go find my notebook and find some of mine. Untill then...

Whether the State can loose and bind
In Heaven as well as on Earth;
If it be wiser to kill mankind
Before or after birth-
These are matters of high concern
Where State-kept schoolmen are;
But the Holy State (we have lived to learn)
Endeth in Holy War.

Whether The People be led by The Lord
Or lured by the loudest throat;
If it be quicker to die by the sword
Or cheaper to die by the vote-
These are things we have delt with once,
(And they will not rise from their grave)
For Holy People, however it runs,
Endeth in wholly Slave.

Whatsoever for any cause,
Seeketh to take or give,
Power above or beyond the Laws,
Suffer it not to live!
Holy State or Holy King-
Or Holy People's Will-
Have no truck with the senseless thing,
Order the guns and kill!

Once there was The People- Terror gave it birth;
Once there was The People, and it made a Hell of Earth
Earth arose and crushed it, Listen O ye slain!
Once there was The People- it shall never be again!

---Kudyard Kipling, "Macdonough's Song"

Thanks. Interenting poem you posted, Shmeeps. Very... different. I'm assuming that you didn't write it because of the name after it, so I'm not going to bother to try to critize it.

I'd love to hear your short story, Twisted, if you can find it. Post it here when you do.

I do write short stories, but they don't turn out to well... Here's an example:

Wolf Dreams: Prolouge

A door opened, and a young man walked into the inn. He shook with weariness, casting his gaze toward the stairs that lead up to the rooms. Light from the fireside glinted off his silver eyes; eyes that seemed to have seen too much. He walked into the light and everyone could see on his face the suppressed emotions that were breaking free from inside of him.

Tired, lonely, and scared, he made quite an impression on the gathered patrons. They edged away from the strange muscular youth; afraid that whatever haunted him could and would come after them if they weren't careful.

“I need a room.” The young man said unsteadily. Despite being said softly, his rich tenor voice carried to the ended of the room.

“Sure lad. What can I get you other then that?” the inn keep said. He held his mug up, “Do you want a drink?” He gestured toward the kitchen, “Maybe something to eat?” When the boy did not answer, he inquired gently, “Lad?”

The young man’s gaze seemed to look right through the inn keep for a second and then he answered in the same unsteady voice, “Just the room, how much is it?”

“Two gold crowns.”

The young man’s hand reached toward a belt pouch and grabbed two gold coins. He walked to the counter and dropped them near the inn keep. Then he turned and walked toward the stairs. Only then did the patrons and the innkeep see the sword strapped onto his back. Its worn black leather sheath seemed to fit the boy badly, as if it was made for someone of a different body shape. The nearby patrons could see that the sword's pommel was a silver wolf's head, perfect in every detail.

The young man continued toward the stairs, when the innkeep called out to him. Surprised he whipped around, and a necklace that had been concealed in his shirt, flew out, glimmering in the firelight. It was made out of silver and had an inlaid emerald on the front of the locket. It came to rest against the boy’s black tunic.

“These ain’t no gold crowns! These are gold royals! Lad, these are worth twice the amount!”

The boy looked confused and then he shrugged, “Keep the change”. And he dashed up the stairs, leaving a room full of confused and baffled men.

* * * * *

He was in a room bare of any furniture or décor. His silver eyed flicked from point to point, looking for something, anything at all really. A noise from behind him made him turn around. Standing there, looking at him with searching amber eyes was a silvering black wolf. It seemed to find what it was looking for inside him and nodded (?), in what the boy thought was approval.

The young man edged away, back from where the wolf was standing. Something about it wasn’t right, was… out of place, somehow. He said in wavering tones, “What am I doing here? Who are you?” His voice skidded to a stop when he realized that he was talking to a mute animal. The young man came to a stop against a wall and slid down. When he cam to rest at the floor, he realized that the now familiar blade was now gone.

The wolf came toward him and and stopped a short distance away and carefully and with great dignity sat down. Its somber amber eyes burned into the boy’s silver ones. Then, almost from no where, a voice sounded in the boy's head.

:I am your guardian::

The young man stared at the wolf because he was certain that the voice in his head had come from it. It was a deep, male voice, steeped in time and wisdom. And there was something intimately familiar about that voice, something he couldn't recall.

:You endanger yourself. You must come to us to be taught.::

The young man’s shaking hand went up the locket on his necklace and traced the word inscribed on the back. “Tabatic, son of Pridith, heir to her crown.” It soothed him, made him think of his mother. He couldn’t have a wolf guardian. That was ridiculous! He was human! The wolf thought at him again,

:No! You don’t understand. Things will happen around you don’t come! You...::

But the thought was cut off when the boy’s paralyzed throat came undone and he muttered to the beast in front of him, “I’m human. I can’t possibly be a…” but the wolf was gone.

* * * * *

Tab’s eyes snapped open, and he glanced around the room with fearful, almost frantic eyes. When he saw no trace of the bare room or the wolf, he calmed. That had been a very strange dream, he thought. Or… was it a dream? Could it have been real? Tab narrowed his eyes, deep in thought. No… His eyes shut in frustration. It couldn’t have been. It was just a dream! Silver eyes opened in light of the cautious decision. But he could still feel the wolf’s amber gaze burning into him; still feel its voice echoing through him. He shivered.

Tan got out of the sweat-soaked bed and stretched, groaning in satisfaction as he heard his back crack. The room’s window was open and it let in golden rays of sunshine. They seemed to instill new life into Tab, waking him fully out of his dream and into reality. Warmth and comfort seemed to creep into his expression as he prepared for the journey ahead. That is… before he saw his refection.

The Tab he saw in the mirror was a complete stranger. Bedraggled, unshaven, and at least twenty pounds lighter than he used to be, his reflection looked years older then he remembered. There were grief-marks on his forehead and his chest sported three parallel gashes that ran diagonal. He had bags under his eyes, his hair was long and stringy and he was muscular. He shuddered at what had happened to him, and then the memories came back.

A scream

No. He wouldn’t remember.

His mother calling a name he hadn’t ever heard, but sounded familiar

It was all behind him.

They attacked

No…

Rage boiling up

*Denial*

Blood everywhere

I didn’t do it

Yes I did. I killed them. I killed them all.

Not mother. I didn’t kill her.

No, but she was dead.

Not my fault. It wasn’t my fault.

Pain…and then blackness

Tab trembled, but he stopped himself, tears welled up and were forced down. He needed to get going now. He picked up his shirt and put it on. Pants, gloves, and boots went on afterward. And then he picked up the sheath and slung it across his back. He was ready to go.

He opened the door and walked down the hall and then down the stairs. A crowd was gathered in the common room and he slipped right passed it. The door was opened and he was in sunshine. The stables were where he had most of his equipment and of course, his horse, Trumpet. So he stared of in a brisk walk.

* * * * *

The walk to the stables was refreshing after what had happened. The morning air was calm and cool, and the sunshine was warm. When he arrived at the stables, he opened the doors and walked into the warm, horse-smelling barn. Horses nickered after him as he walked past them to get to his stall. He opened the stall door and walked in.

It wasn’t a big room, but it was big enough for a large horse, a large person and a tack closet. He scuttled to the closet and pulled a key out of a belt pouch and unlocked and opened it. His gear sat inside, a saddle, some tack, a saddlebag full of clothes, and a saddlebag full of provisions. The items were quickly put on Trumpet and Tab quickly opened the stall door, led the horse out of the barn, and mounted. Nudging the horse to go forward, Tab rode of into the morning.

The mild morning soon turned into a warm afternoon that seemed perfect for riding and he managed a decent pace. Dust from the road came up with a warm breeze and Tab looked away and covered his eyes. When he looked back along the road, he saw a group of riders approaching. When they got close enough for inspection, he looked at each in turn.

The leader’s eyes were blue and flickered around continuously. His clothes consisted of chain mail armour over a midnight blue tunic. His fellows had on mismatched leather armour and some grinned with gap-toothed smiles. The all carried weapons, assorting from bastard swords to war hammers. They approached.

The leader with his ice blue eyes looked at him, and then barked, “Lad, drop your weapons and dismount. We outnumber you and outclass you in every way. We just want your gold, your sword and your horse. You will be spared with your provisions.”

And the Tab’s and to the bandit’s amazement, Tab started laughing.

"You... you imprudent brat!" the leader sputtered. He drew his sword slowly and with shaking hands. "You will pay for that insult!" He swung at Tab with three feet of cold steel, and Tab smoothly drew his silver wolf blade and blocked. The leader's eyes widened in surprise at the obviously trained motion, and he backed away. "Boys, I think that you have something to clean up for me."

The bandits dismounted and closed around Tab with grins. To them, he was a promotion on a platter; after all, it was one boy against ten men. A bandit stepped forward and brought his weapon, a pike, to bear. Trumpet whined at the sight of the long weapon and Tab also dismounted. Suddenly, they attacked with cold eyes and unfeeling smiles.

The bandit's "promotion on a platter" turned out to be not so easy, for he fought with skill and speed, blocking incoming attacks and then attacking.
Then, something happened, something terrible. The man with the pike charged with his weapon and missed Tab completely. Instead, it lanced into Trumpet and the stallion reared up and fell back. Tab was stunned; the horse had been a stalwart friend and companion and now, he was gone.

Coldness infused into the back of Tab's mind and he was racked with pain, then sadness, and then fury. He felt something snap inside of him, something that had only snapped once before. He had lost his mother, all of his friends, and now, he had lost the only one that had been left alive.

He dodged, blocked, and attacked with inhuman skill and speed. The wolf-marked blade flashed its way through muscle and sinew. Tab had changed; changed in a drastic way. His once silver eyes were now a beast yellow and they burned with animalistic fury. His muscles bulged with a bestial strength and his lips peeled back to reveal wicked sharp predator's teeth.

One after another, the bandits fell to Tab until there was no one left but the leader. Tab turned to him, sword dripping blood, and looked at him with total contempt. Rage boiled, and he charged the bandit. The silver wolf blade snaked its way into the leader’s belly and cut at his entrails. The bandit’s eyes bulged and he looked at Tab with pain and desperation in his eyes. “Make it a clean kill, lad. I don’t want to die like this.” Tab stared at the leader and slid the blade out. The bandit slumped forward and Tab brought the sword down into the man’s heart.

Rage calmed and Tab looked at what he had wrought. Tears came to his eyes as he surveyed the carnage and he quickly backed away and ran. He had done it again. Running blindly down the road, he stumbled on a rock and was brought to the ground sobbing. His last thought was on his dream, the wolf had been right. And then blackness enveloped all.

* * * * *

Wow, that's actually really good, and alot better than I can do.

BTW: Yeah, that poems not mine, but I like that one alot. I gotta find some of mind.

Thanks, but I'm a perfectionist and nothing I write seems to be good enough... I'd love to hear your poetry or a short story so don't be afraid to post them here.

I haven't been back to school to get the short story, but here is a poem I wrote vor V-Day last year, I won 2nd place in the "WRITE-ON FESTIVAL"

I Know of Love

I know of Love:
The feeling of being complete when we are together,
The feeling of Hell when we are apart.

I know of Love:
Staring into your eyes as you stare into mine,
The warmth of your smooth breath on my neck,
The warmth of my hands on yours.

I know of Love:
How you smile whenever you see me,
How I smile when I see your welcoming grin.

I know of Love:
The feeling of your hair as we lie together,
Suspended somewhere between earth and sky,
The way you look when you sleep.

Oh, yes.
I know of Loave.
I know you.

-Dustin Pearcy

^
II
Thats Me

There once was a man from nantucket
it was said he lived in a bucket....

haha jk i suck at writing about any one topic

I see you people are afraid of clicking my links. sorry, I'm not good at poetry, so I'll post a few prose...happy or sad first? hmmm...lets go with...happy!


-----Untitled Prose-----
I, by no means, have lived a long life. I died at the age of 25, by less than natural causes. If for any reason you are ever in the business of ticking off the gods, I have a great method for you. Its all very simple really, just do exactly as you always told not to do. Ignorance is a very important ingredient as well. You could never forget the ignorance. Don't forget that in order for the full wrath to come down, you must ask a god for help and go against what- well, maybe it would be easier if I just told you what happened the three hours before my untimely death.
I was walking through the town square, when a man in strange clothing approached me. I was carrying a heavy load in my basket, and so I tried to ignore him. "You have been chosen, young one, for the divine mission." I rolled my eyes and continued my barter with an elderly woman selling some nice perfume I was planning on buying for...a good friend of mine. "Young one, what is your name?"
"Padget, old man. And if you don't get out of my way, I can't be held responsible for my actions." I pushed him aside and began to leave the town, towards my small farm that I lived at all alone. The old man fell on the ground and went into spasms. I tried to calm him down. "Hey old man, what's wrong?" Suddenly he fell still. I cursed silently under my breath at my luck and put him on my horse. As the sun began to set. Once I was back at my farm house, with a fire going and dinner cooking, he woke up.
"Where am I?" The old man asked, slightly confused. I rolled my eyes. And handed him a bowl of soup.
"Calm down, this is my home. You were having spasms in the middle of the street so I decided to help you. Now eat that soup, its good for you, and will help you feel better." The old man nodded and did as he was told. Soon the old man was well enough to tell me of his 'fascinating' adventures. As I began to drink my own soup, pretending not to hear a word of what the old man said, I noticed a very different taste in it. The old man's speech began to slur, and he fell asleep, or so I thought, on my bed. I rolled my eyes and prepared a bowl of soup for my wife. She came home late, leaving no explenation as to her night activities. She screamed the minute she saw the old man.
"Honey, calm down, its alright. He passed out in the street. He just fell asleep, alright?" She went pale when I said this and felt his wrist. She dropped it and backed away like he was diseased.
"He is not sleeping, he's dead!" She almost fainted and had a seat. I wondered what could have caused him to die so suddenly when, as if on cue, I glanced over at the cutting board where I had earlier been preparing my meal. Sitting there innocently were three half cut up leaves of stallsmouth, a mildly poisonous leaf good for cleaning and polishing woods. I cursed. "We can't let anyone find him here! What if-" Again, as if on cue, there was a knock on the door. "Quick! Hide him!" I pushed him onto the floor and attempted to cover him with some pieces of wood. My wife opened the door. "Why hello, Mr. Jorgenston. How are you this evening? Please, take a seat?"
"Oh no, that's quite alright. I heard screaming, so I thought I'd come by and make sure everything was going alright." He said. I glared at him significantly. Lucky for him, he picked up on the hint and left soon afterwards. As soon as he had left our property, I began to drag the old man out of the house and towards the forest when I saw a bright light. Finding it strange that such a bright light to come so late in the evening, I followed it and saw a bull there, with three golden horns and a banner of flame following it. For crying out loud, it all but had a glowing sign saying, "BOW TO ME, FOOLISH MORTAL!" So what did I do?
"Hey man. Your ass is on fire." Yep. Those were my exact words. I didn't expect the bull to talk back though.
"PADGET AMSTER. YOU HAVE DISOBEYED YOUR GOD. YOU SHALL DIE BY MY HAND." The voice thundered through the woods, and it was amazing that Mr. Jorgenston didn't come back out.
"You have no opposable thumbs idiot. how do you plan on killing me?" He reared up and bucked me in the chest, which was needless to say painful. "What did I do to you?!"
"PADGET AMSTER. YOU KILLED MY SERVANT. YOU SHALL DIE BY MY HAND." Before I could speak again, he bucked me in the same place. I cursed loudly. "HOW DARE YOU DEFY MY BIDDING!"
"Whoa whoa whoa, its enough that I have a god, but when did you ever tell me not to kill that guy?!" Than it all came back to me. I suddenly remembered that I had one of those really strange dreams that felt like it was a message from god...oh . "uh yeah...about that. Will you find a bit of mercy in your heart if I told you that I forgot?" Again the bull hit me in the chest, which ultimatly killed me.

And that is why I am currently in hell. There is probably a redeeming moral in this story somewhere, but I'm still having trouble finding it. That said, they are calling me back. Apparently they keep a tight schedule of when I am to be tortured, and when they pour salt on my wounds. Just remember that it is not funny when a bull's ass is on fire.

Here is my short story, I hope everyone enjoys!!

It's one a.m., and I am trying to go back to sleep, but my father and his whore are making too much noise in the next room. I haven't slept in a week because of their constant noise.
I throw the covers from my bed as I stand to turn on the radio. As I turn and put my feet on the cold floor, I hear her moan and my guts churn.
Standing in the darkness, I feel my way to the radio with my feet. I kick the dresser where my radio sits, and the sharp spears of pain shoot up into my spine. The mirror on the back of the dresser reflects a flash of light from the storm outside, illuminating the room for whole seconds, and I can see my long black hair, my cold grey eyes, and my frail 16-year-old body in the glass.
As quickly as the almost-foreign image appeared, he faded again into nothingness.
My arms throbbed with pain from my father’s idea of “having some fun” earlier in the day. He liked to “have fun” with me a lot. When people asked me about the ever-present bruises on my arms, I would tell them I had been fighting with some friends “for fun.”
Another flash of light flooded the room as I turned on the radio, cranking the volume loud enough to drown out the sounds still coming through the thin membranes that separated our cells.
Clumsily, I felt my way back to the bed. Sitting on the edge, I listened to some metal and look out the window at the beautiful storm that is rocking the world.
Suddenly, I can hear footsteps moving very fast. My door flies open, and there is the figure of my father. Another flash of light reveals his face to me, confirming my fears. His long, brown hair covers his eyes, but I know he is glaring at me even as he screams his words.
“Shut that off now, James!”
For a moment, I consider doing what he asks---doing what I’ve always done. But, suddenly, I can’t see the point any more.
“Why? So I can hear you in the other room :censored:in’ that whore?” I stiffen as I say the words, preparing for the punch that is as sure to come as thunder that follows a crack of lightning.
He crosses the room in one stride, fists clinched.
The lightning flashes again, and this time I can see all of his face, filled with its hate, but only for a second before the flash in my eye is is from inside and the throbbing cycle of pain begins once more.
“Don’t backtalk me! You will turn it off!”
He rares back for another blow.
Crack! I feel the warmth of my won blood running out of my nose but something else---some eruption of hatred long buried---begins to run out of me, too.
I reach for the knife that has long lain beneath the corner of my mattress and quickly flip out its much-sharpened blade.
I can only see the dark, fuzzy outline of him with my one good eye but it is enough, and I quickly stab at it.
A miss doesn’t stop me; when I feel only the air on my blade, I pull back, jump up, and stab him in the throat. For only the briefest of moments, I am surprised at how easily the then blade glides through his soft flesh.
He falls back and away from the blade while blood crawls like a living thing down the now-crimson knife. Looking into his eye when the lightning floods the room, I see only his animal fear while the hot smell of his blood fills my nostrils.
In some strange way, these sensations make everything better…sweeter.
I jump on him and stab over and over again, screaming until my voice is hoarse.
“Isn’t this fun, Daddy? We should have fun all the time!”
But all I can hear is the blade ripping through skin, metal finding bone, and my father’s gorgeous screams of pain.
In the middle of my glory, I suddenly wake in a sweat, and I can hear my father in the next room with his whore.

Twisted, that's pretty good, if a little bloodthirsty.

Here's some suggestions:

- "It's one a.m., and I am trying to go back to sleep, but my father and his whore are making too much noise in the next room."
How about this - A sharp shriek wakes me up, and I curse mentally. Why the hell did my 'father', have to screw someone every night? I glance at the clock; it's one A.M. God damn.

-"Standing in the darkness, I feel my way to the radio with my feet."
His feet?

- "My arms throbbed with pain from my father’s idea of “having some fun” earlier in the day. He liked to “have fun” with me a lot. When people asked me about the ever-present bruises on my arms, I would tell them I had been fighting with some friends “for fun.” "
Use a single quote instead of a double quote when not directly quoting something.

- Whore is such an overused word, try some other ones, like prostitute, , and other vulgraities.

I am hurt. Why has no one looked at my prose?

thank you for the sugestions, the next writing I do I will try to work with some of that.

My story will pwn you all:

Once there was a lonely bunny who didnt have any friends and he found some friends and everyone was happy. The End.

Yay!!!!!!

I remember reading a story about that...the bunny ran away from home cause he had no friends, but went back home cause he really did.

thus, the angsty teen was born

I got that from a show called Rugrats..

Yea, I have heard that story, I like it when his head gets chopped off! LOL J/K