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Literature
The 3 Types of Bad Poetry
The Preteen Love Haiku
I thought I loved you
But then you were mean to me
So now I hate you
The "Original" Love Song
It feels just like lightning
This feeling so frightening
It feels like a fire
This burning desire
You say that you love me, but I love you more
No one in the world's ever felt this before
T r U e A r T
this p r ob a b ly lOOks like
u
n
  i
  n
   s
    p
     i
     r
      e
        d
dr.i.v.e.l
BUT!ITS!NOT
i.am.a literaryGenius
just ask e.e.cummings.
norea lly.
i   a   m   a   g   e   n   i   u   s.
i am!                 i pinky swear
:iconFormlessforce:Formlessforce
:iconformlessforce:Formlessforce 4 38
Literature
A Defense of Tired Words
My love! Although a thousand miles
and all my wisdom speak against,
I'd spurn all of my common sense
and trudge that distance, for your smile.
Ha! Proud and scornful of such verse,
I'd thought myself above cliché,
an artist in a higher way,
yet here I pen that which I cursed.
But if so naturally come clichés
to mine and countless other tongues,
perhaps some thread between us runs
and similar blood runs in our veins;
from every mouth these same words call.
Cliché is not, then, lack of art:
the common patterns in each heart
make dreadful poets of us all.
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:iconformlessforce:Formlessforce 8 12
Literature
Myopic
An ant ascended the first time from his hole
and saw nothing but gray,
the earth and its mysteries obscured behind a fog.
"Surely my tunnels are all the world," said he,
and returned underground,
and thought no more of it.
And this is man a hundred fold!
This is man, and this is me.
I speak of The Big Picture as what I see
in a mirror or a microscope;
I know only myself and the merest fraction
of knowledge there is to be known.
The grand tapestry of plans within plans
was not revealed to me,
I see one circumstance and declare "life is misery,"
determined to miss the splendor of a thousand miles of forest
for the decay of a single tree.
What nearsighted foolishness, to say
"The world is this," or "the world is that"
as though the world were anything but a world,
a sphere of light and shade fully owned by neither.
Let "there are no words" be words enough,
and let man's fickle tongue give no more definitions.
A philosopher descended the depths of despair,
and knew an entire universe to be
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:iconformlessforce:Formlessforce 62 26
Literature
Second Death
The shock of solitude had finally begun to sink in. Earlier I had looked upon my furniture with no thoughts but "we often sat and talked at that table," or "that was her favorite chair," as though in some way she still lingered in this house, though she had taken her leave of it, and of me. For a time I could not even sleep in my bedroom, knowing my wife and I had lain there, full of joy, and what I'd thought was love. As my mind settled, I moved back in to my room, but a different thought plagued me- "this bed is unutterably empty." At first there was a feeling of haunting togetherness, now, an almost palpable separation. My house was a vacuum, a void, and utterly still, save for the motion I forced myself to bring to it.
Despair seemed the most natural reaction, but I by no means let myself indulge in it, though it crept in through every defense I left unwatched. Often a ray of sun would shimmer through my windows, revealing that I had forgotten my house was dark, and immediately I w
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Literature
The History of Forvanskaad: I
The History of Förvanskaad, Part I: The Void, and Creation (-∞ to 0 Y.E.)
The universe began as Své. Své did not create it, but was it, and was the only thing in it; a pure, shapeless, and infinite spirit. Amidst timeless aeons, he was alone with his thoughts, and at some point that cannot be known (for there was no measurement of time at this point) he made a world of his thoughts. Time and matter came into being at once, a dream within Své's mind and yet very real. He made all of himself but his own thoughts separate from the world by a barrier which he called "Sky," and inhabited the dark outer realm. He placed a sun above the world, which was for now only a blank ocean. By day, the sun reflected against the sky and obscured the view of Své, but by night the sun hid below the world, and the stars, the physical manifestation of Své's spirit, could be seen clearly. In this way Své was visible to his creation. He would become known as the
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Literature
Atrophy of Alloy
How pure we were, when born from ore:
simple and untainted, a metal of one shade,
stainless and whole.
But now I am a makeshift alloy,
stronger perhaps for being made complex,
but having lost all shine.
And stronger only in some ways;
for my parts are of differing qualities.
I have been left in peace, and so I rust at varying speeds,
my heart tarnishing and arms thinning
while my legs march on unaware.
I have been too long undisturbed, and thus decay:
I am beyond upkeep by oil.
I creak with the desire for mallet and anvil,
for constructive demolition.
I implore the ancient Smith who set us forth from our molds-
bring coal and bellows,
and fire.
Ignite the forge's noble rage,
and let fly the screaming, rapturous agony of the hammer!
Chip away the impure flakes,
let the malformations rejoin the whole in molten baptism.
I do not ask to be made simple again,
let me only be more firmly joined.
:iconFormlessforce:Formlessforce
:iconformlessforce:Formlessforce 4 17
Literature
The Law of Seasons
Of the four, I know Autumn deepest-
for I, like the leaf,
lose color and fall when my season comes,
in a cycle as old as rhythm;
old as rhythm and repetition.
Undulation is a law, I am reassured,
unbreakable as gravity.
(As though gravity were less hateful!)
The mightiest wave has the lowest trough,
and the greatest height the steepest fall, and
my greatest victories over Egypt
always end with forty years of desolate wandering.
Is progress then a lie?
Is there any real change, or
do we pattern ourselves after our Sun, our Moon, our Earth,
traveling vast distances, to at the climax of some epic journey
end right where we'd begun?
Our waxing becomes waning the moment it passes its fullest.
Tell me it is false!
Prove me wrong! Prove me wrong!
Prove me wrong, please...
Show me a man who has found success stable,
show me a stairway that only leads upward.
(Just as likely you could show me a summer which never grows cold!)
Show me a leaf that does not become a dried skeleton lying on th
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Literature
Drought
Art is a dry well,
and the muses' tongues are not wet with instruction.
Cracking lips are licked to speak,
and a parched pen thirsts eager for ink,
and repeatedly the well-bucket lurches down the shaft-
After so many dry returns,
the sense of frustration is almost poetic.
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Literature
The Black Fog
I.
I have made words my refuge,
an impenetrable fortress of myriad black lines and dots,
a stronghold of thought and ink.
I thought it beautiful at first-
the sun banished all shadows from that place,
and the ephemeral mirages of safety it gave
were bright as its own fiery stare.
The first night robbed me of this blissful illusion,
showing with grisly clarity the nature of my surroundings.
This is no fortress but a prison,
and within are horrors unfathomable.
II.
Now the surreal black fog of ignorance and doubt
hangs heavy on these halls, even in the daytime,
writhing and reaching in grim unrest as I walk among it.
Through it the sunshine is gray at best,
and that bleak contrast
is more ominous than absolute darkness;
It says that the sun exists but is unreachable,
a mocking celestial face.
The worst of the irony is that this ferocious dark haze
seems to reveal more than any light did.
I wish I could hide from it.
The Reaper strolls within this mist,
and beasts even less welcome linger
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Literature
Beyond the Bounds - Collab
Often with eager eyes and Icarian dreams
I have gazed off to the east, to the sunrise,
and dreamt of escape-
from what, I do not know.
I think myself foolish at times, and perhaps rightly,
for I have no fears nor dangers and no desire to seek them.
But what fairer lands lie beyond this rolling sea
of concrete and familiarity?
What greener pastures?
All my life I've heard the tales of yore,
strangers poor and abandonded
coming back with dreams fulfilled and quiet riches.
If only I could drink of that nectar,
my lips dripping with ambrosia...
But I am not a stranger to this land.
If anything, I am a stranger to myself.
What lies yonder past the rolling hills
in the sky painted by the sun,
I can only close my eyes and imagine.
And yet time ticks by, slowly draining
the life out of this youthful and ambitious passion.
Though I am fully prepared to wait,
thoughtlessly counting each grain of sand
as it meanders down the hourglass,
Those dreams are all my heart beats for.
When age has robbed
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:iconformlessforce:Formlessforce 3 17
Literature
Be Not My Goddess
Let me never say
"I am nothing without you,"
for that would make me nothing altogether,
a hollow creature-
and such a thing can only be a parasite.
Let me never say
"I need you,"
for that is not love.
No man has ever loved opium or heroin,
he despises them even as he craves them.
So I would think of you.
Let me never with shaky countenance and weak bended knee
beg you for anything-
O, let me never grovel!
Let these lips never whisper
"I am not worthy,"
for in saying those words I would make them true.
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:iconformlessforce:Formlessforce 49 84
Literature
You Name Yourself Apollyon
Those who live by the sword shall die by the sword.
For those who swear by the sword,
living is punishment enough.
What unseen foe do you rage against,
slashing with abandon, and the intent to kill?
You have no enemies here,
save for within.
(And, oh! How that one longs to destroy you!)
Your hatred has had its way with you,
and you wield it as a warhammer-
with it you will nail Pandora's box into a coffin,
and bury what hope was left inside.
With it you will smash your own way through dead rock-bottom,
and there become the antithesis of progress.
You will undo everything, waging war against the past
and therefore the future.
Frantically will you sprint in the opposite direction of time,
upheaving every stepping-stone that got you here.
You will break through every barrier and threshold you have crossed,
until at the climax of your fury
there will be nothing left to unmake, at your beginning-
a most bitter end.
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:iconformlessforce:Formlessforce 24 41
Literature
Child of Mutability
Polaris, a beacon of stability,
held steadfast in place against the shifting cosmic array.
Here on Earth's solid ground I struggled to keep my feet still.
What limpness of will was I born with,
to be borne by the wind,
and to chase it?
For I have turned from stance to stance to stance,
and circumstance to circumstance,
and in circumspect see that I have never held still.
In three short years I have learned how to fight,
and learned not to.
I have hated with ferocity to make even Cain tremble,
and have loved deeply enough to kill even that hatred.
In less than half a decade I have been romantic and cynic,
zealot and skeptic, sinner and saint,
but I have never been solid.
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Literature
Voice of the Bells
The bells of Old North Church tolled nine times over Boston,
calling a requiem for humanity.
There under that watchful eye
had risen modernity from the primordial bath of antiquity,
and there modern man stole the reigns of his own fate;
bloodying tooth and claw in ever-steeper ascent.
This silent watcher, relic of ancient days, knew well
that soon the conquerors would race to the top of even its own steeple
and bury it in their wake,
leaving the past to decay underground.
And so the funeral bells rang out not in prophecy but in warning:
"O man,
yearn not foolishly for the past,
for growth is engraved deeper in thy synapses
than in even the Redwood.
Forget not, though,
that severance from thy root is death
and it is the weed and not the tree which chokes out all other life,
it is the tree and not the weed which survives Winter's silent rage."
Big Ben struck midnight over a sleeping London,
where the children of Babel dreamt of a brave new world,
a world in which they climbed the heights
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Literature
Reflections
The waters of the void lay still,
a dark glassy ocean reflecting a scene that tormented me to near insanity.
The reflection of the man I had become ran helpless from the clinging ghosts
of all my past selves.
In the distance raged a grim red aurora,
the fires those selves lit in the name of corrupt love,
my attempts at making a beacon of myself;
To shine my own light.
Attempts that threatened rather to burn me up completely,
leaving only darkness to take my place.
Tonight a calmer light than they has given me the courage to throw myself at that taunting sea before me,
recklessly diving into battle against my very reflections,
the ripples of my impact scattering and destroying that wicked image forever.
That tranquil glow has taught me also that even the most overwhelming darkness is still only the absence of light.
I find myself in awe of its source:
That gray rock which has stood for ages against the night sky,
mirroring the sun’s light to tell the darkness “Fear the dawn!
B
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Literature
Informis Vis
Sing, formless force within me,
a melody deeper than words.
Sing strongly yet inaudibly,
notes without sound-
I shall hear more clearly without my ears as mediator.
Sing of existence, for that is all you really are;
Sing of the miracle of consciousness,
to ride the winds of time as dust,
to, in the ever-advancing present, be.
Sing of love, for it binds you at the seam;
Love not as a feeling but a knowing,
not of hormone or thought but of deed,
sing love that cannot be held in chest or limb or even mind.
Sing, formless force within me,
a melody deeper than words.
Merge with it and become it, for at my
truest, deepest, simplest
I am you,
and I shall be a song of existence and love
for aeons after I cease to be a body.
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:iconformlessforce:Formlessforce 15 30

Random Favourites

Literature
Lithium Love
         Doctor : Arfvedson
               Patient : # 69
               Block : 41
               Room : 3
Laura said I was hers.
Lilly always wanted firsts,
But loved me last.
Better broken before,
Than too soon later.
And when [di-zr'] runs cold
And carbon imitations won't do.
Send me into delirium
And all of me breaks loose.
Like silver liquid
Filling my veins.
Numbing my pain.
Keeping me sane,
For now.
Your unkindly affection
Only feeds this addiction.
These elements connect us.
But we'll be broken...
Soon one August
You'll discover, negatives
Are what fuel any cell.
My love,
Your lies.
Can only last so long,
before it dies.
And as of this very hour,
Your thoughts seem to [kon-spyr']
With mine, as we attempt in vain
:iconSho-Ku-Ten:Sho-Ku-Ten
:iconsho-ku-ten:Sho-Ku-Ten 2 2
Literature
you confuse tar with asphalt
when he was young
he was
scorching, writhing tar--
the color of a leather coat,
the heart of a lazy smoke ring that melted
into a bar room’s rafters
he was
smeared imprints of tire treads
that read of illegal u-turns and impatient
swerving through multiple lanes
a cast-off strip of truck rubber
that trundled whimsically
by itself
but now
he is
the residual warmth of worn asphalt
and illusory walls that stretch into the sky
from painted yellow birthmothers’ arms
lines which summon him into being
and subsequently trap him
like a chalk-line séance circle
(and he wonders if he is any more real
than those ghosts summoned by gap-toothed children)
and though he may idly dream
of roaring defiance to a no-passing zone
and entertain the idea
of careening off the curb into twisted, dangerous uncertainty
he is resigned to matching pace
for now he is
black and white speed limits
no gray areas, no remainders
only steady mile markers on a one-way road
and a clearly marked, inevitable e
:iconanelle:anelle
:iconanelle:anelle 4 2
Just Breathe by Lady-Tori Just Breathe :iconlady-tori:Lady-Tori 674 58
Literature
how to give back a soul
I clatter against
a photograph of a porch swing--
when you and I scraped white splinters
into our fingernails
as we shyly tested the tensile strength
of slowly creaking, corroding chains
our skin was bleeding violet shades of sunset
as we rubbed our legs nervously together,
hoping cricket song could replace speech
the porch light cast us in a spotlight
shared only by desperate, whirring moths
and flawed carpentry
I took solace in Cassiopeia
you in Perseus
because we were too terrified
of seeing what each of us were
reflected in the other’s eyes

--and realize we have always been colored in that ink.
we
(wandering the halls, silent movie shadows
who have hidden our subtitles away)
are fluent in slammed suitcases
and collect wallpaper cracks in our knuckles
plastered as we are with
stiff, posed photos and beer labels
we would burn
were someone to scrutinize us too closely
and they would not understand
that I still have splinters buried in my skin
that you crane your head towar
:iconanelle:anelle
:iconanelle:anelle 6 11
Wish upon a star by sedativegod Wish upon a star :iconsedativegod:sedativegod 37 16 Old Mine by RichardRH Old Mine :iconrichardrh:RichardRH 20 5 Whales at flight by wulfnstein Whales at flight :iconwulfnstein:wulfnstein 144 47 Island number 8 by wulfnstein Island number 8 :iconwulfnstein:wulfnstein 16 26 TIH: Clean Harry by 8BitLoser TIH: Clean Harry :icon8bitloser:8BitLoser 3 5 New Born by lpeters New Born :iconlpeters:lpeters 479 68 berlin wall by WIRTA berlin wall :iconwirta:WIRTA 8 10 Pelican by WIRTA Pelican :iconwirta:WIRTA 29 45
Literature
No.36
Breathe in me deep, that
i could feel and live again.
Yes, come kiss me wind!
:icondowe:dowe
:icondowe:dowe 8 28
s p r i n g by SsGirlo s p r i n g :iconssgirlo:SsGirlo 76 75

Activity


deviantID

Formlessforce
Ross
Artist
United States
Favourite genre of music: All different kinds of rock and metal. And then random stuff from other genres.
Favourite style of art: Poetry all the way. I love visual art as well, but can't make it.
Operating System: Vista... bleh.
Favourite cartoon character: Alphonse Elric
Personal Quote: All my favorites are too long to list here.
Interests
Wow... it's been a long time. I kinda just fell off the face of the Earth. To put it simply, real life got more interesting.

I think I disappeared around the beginning of March, which was when things were less like they should be and more like a bad high-school television show. My group of friends was split in a few directions by the most ridiculous person ever after I started dating one of our mutual friends and his obnoxious ego couldn't take it (she'd turned him down earlier). That romance lasted about two weeks and left me with a more cynical outlook on relationships and a bit of (thankfully temporary, I'm over it now) mild misogyny. Anyway, enough about that, but it was the start of me disappearing. Then came my school's musical, which took up the rest of my free time for the next two weeks, and then came my final papers, and then graduation, and getting a job... yeah, I've been busy.

But, also, I kinda hit a dry period with writing, so I didn't have much to do on here anyway. It happens every once in a while, but it's usually for the better. My style actually evolves more when I take a break from writing than when I write constantly. I've been studying poetry a lot and kinda rethinking my methods of writing it. I've come to like some of my old poems more for it, and dislike some that I had thought were good. I've got a poem or two in the works now and I'll hopefully get those up soon.

It looks like DAWriterStrike is just about dead :/ I already apologized to the other staff members for my disappearance, but I think me sticking around would have just delayed the inevitable. It was never that organized and really didn't accomplish that much, but I think there was a pretty decent community going on there and it's a shame to see it dying out. Does anyone reading this know anything that happened while I was gone?

Anyway, I have a lot more free time now that it's summer, so here I am. It's good to be back, for anyone who cares.

P.S. What's the deal with Llama Badges?
  • Listening to: La Dispute
  • Reading: Charles Wheeler - The Design of Poetry
  • Playing: Fallout 3
  • Eating: M&M's
  • Drinking: Water

Comments


Add a Comment:
 
:iconblanchedesneiges:
BlanchedesNeiges Featured By Owner Nov 5, 2015  Hobbyist General Artist
Your poems are beautiful! I love the way you write.
Reply
:iconhugqueen:
HugQueen Featured By Owner Oct 24, 2010   Writer
Happy birthday! (:
Reply
:icontallen-forandi:
Tallen-Forandi Featured By Owner Oct 24, 2010  Hobbyist Writer
Happy Birthday, Formless!
Reply
:iconlizerus:
Lizerus Featured By Owner Oct 24, 2010  Hobbyist Digital Artist
Happy Birthday, chap.
Reply
:iconharudoku:
Harudoku Featured By Owner Sep 10, 2010
Don't see you around much, tee em gee.
Reply
:iconkiharta:
Kiharta Featured By Owner Jun 15, 2010
and thank for the fav as well.
Reply
:icontwilian-princess:
Twilian-Princess Featured By Owner May 11, 2010
I love your poetry. I applaud you. :clap:
Reply
:iconformlessforce:
Formlessforce Featured By Owner Jun 11, 2010
Belated reply: thanks :D
Reply
:icontwilian-princess:
Twilian-Princess Featured By Owner Jun 11, 2010
it's fine. No problem!
Reply
:iconspirogs:
Spirogs Featured By Owner Apr 25, 2010  Professional Digital Artist
Dude! I just remembered I still owe you a drawing of that Jadron guy!
lol =P
can you send me a description again?
Reply
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