I don't really feel that this deserves its own thread - particularly as the relative dearth of poetry makes it stand out like a beacon - and particularly again as I'm really not sure how good is it yet - but the Ka-san Gachou thread just didn't seem right for it, and there aren't any other such threads going right now, and I wanted to post it somewhere. To make up for this, feel free to post any of your own works on the (admittedly narrow) subject, in the classic tradition of (Verse) threads.


I drew her on
A lonely day
Not dressed warmly enough because
I don't think about that sometimes
I wasn't dressed warmly enough either
And I'd shiver and the pen would tremble

I think that had some effect on her eyes

I gave her a little scar that no one would see
And I think
I gave her something to wait for
Though I can't remember what it was

But it must have been something

Because I think she would wait there
Without moving
Until the world
Filled
With snow
Types:
[Note the unannounced narrator shift.]

She was waiting for me
to walk up from behind, across the park,
and cradle her arms in mine
and say
Konichiwa, aho*, je t'aime
and apologize for making her wait
in the snow
on Christmas Eve.

She was waiting for me
to notice her new sweater
in the dark and the cold
and I wonder why she expected
me to look away from her face.

- _Quinn

*: Dummy, with the connotation of fondness. At least, I hope it means that. It sure seems to in Saikano. :-)
Types: Verse, Original
[Note another]

I sit in the snow,
Waiting, his sketchbook by my side.
Why?
I sit,
With crystals in my hair,
Joining the bow he gave me last Christmas.
Why?
I wait,
Wearing his favorite skirt,
Though it's much to cold for it.
Why?
I shiver,
My new sweater (I do hope he likes it!)
Is not enough to keep out the chill.
Why?
I try
Not to cry, as Christmas Eve drags on
And still, he's not here.
Why?

I sit so that I can see him again.
I wait so I can hear his voice.
I shiver, so that his arms can warm me.
I try to use logic and reason
To tell myself that I should not be here...

Sitting...
Waiting...
Shivering...
Trying...

But I am.
Because logic and reason cannot stand
Against the power of the last thing I'm doing.

Loving him.
Types:
[source change]

I waited and waited
As the sky grew dark
And the lights grew dim
Hours and hours I waited for him

Waited for him to find his way
Hisself, his face, and his name
I waited for him to remember me
And come find me under that barren tree
Types:
[rewind theme to start]


Snowflake and Tale
- or -
An Apology For A Portrait

by: Jon Keim (J.Random)
2002 1206 0200

---------------------------

I think her purpose is changing.
As she waits,
for me to fill in the lines,
and the shading,
the little details that will complete her world,
her purpose changes.

At first, a blank anticipation.
The curve of her face,
all the rough lines,
they were happy.

The letter that morning
that set her heart aglow.
Was it a message at all?
Perhaps a mission.

Regardless, the little fire
that burned anew in her oft-vacant eyes,
it drove her to this lonely park bench,
kept her warm,
though the trees were already bare this year.

(Flame was my intention from the beginning,
even before I started sketching).

There she sat,
clothed in construction lines
and doodled pose.
There was hope in that pose.
Time wore on
with the scratching of a pencil.
Details were filled in.
Snowflakes began to drift.

Other people,
the ones who weren't in the picture,
came and found and returned from whence they came.
The flame in her eyes flickered then,
as I roughed out the irises,
but carried on,
licking up, hungrily,
all the hope that remained.

Doubt the fire could last much longer.
She had better find what she's looking for.
More lead pressed itself onto paper,
and the day went by.
The sweater and skirt were done.

Sputtering disappointment seized her
when I tried to put the glints in her eyes.
The shapes all came out wrong,
and the face fell.

The happy touches I added,
none of them worked either.
Wind cut through the scarf,
and the mittens were threadbare.
The ribbon in her hair came out loose.

The fire in her eyes took hold now,
by changing it's nature,
burned her paper self away,
until all that remained
was that on which she was drawn.

(The artist can only watch helplessly
at moments like these.
All your new lines and shapes and shading
only form more faces.
She won't smile at them.)

So now the sun is falling
off the far side of the sky.
Days are not long,
in winter,
but long enough to pass too slowly.

In completion,
she sits with a different purpose,
heart buried somewhere deep in her chest,
a tiny twittering ebb and flow,
the vague light from a streetlamp.

Eyes are cold now.
So cold,
that these snowflakes drifting down her cheeks,
settling in her lap,
are the only things her eyes can make.

To get up now seems silly.
She herself is just another snowflake,
blown to this bench by a chance wind,
only to wait for the morning sun
to rise and seize her
and melt her away.



[!verse] Dammit, Garran! Don't post something as good as that, especially with a challange to continue, when I'm already working on at least three poems and two short stories! When I thought "hey, I ought to do a Sad Girl verse," my poetry engine page-faulted and nearly *killed* me!!! ^_________^

Utterly goofy whining aside, this was, ironically, a lot of fun to write. The first draft came out really quick. I'm glad _Quinn set his poem after dark too, though, 'cause now that I'm done, leaving her there just seems cruel... Thanks muchly to several editors, _Quinn, Garran, and a few in Real Life. [/!verse]
Types:
[A time later, another Eve mayhaps]

I know why, the sad girl cries,
with tears 'twill never dampen eye
But yuki cascading down from high,
these are her tears, a silent cry

crystal tears linger not, alas
a blessing, it seems, cannot last
Happiness--the city shadows over cast
turn this to slush, to shattered glass
This is too good to let languish. So I'll bump it with an entry in another idiom.

"Sad Girl Sonnet" after Sonnet 73

This time of year, the greys that I behold
Are matched by clouds and snow and naked trees:
What sprang anew in spring now seems so old,
As limbs that once were supple start to freeze.
So as the waning day yields to the night,
My hope will fade and all my moods turn dark
In contemplating life lived in twilight
And spent in lonely watch in empty parks.
But hope, though growing dim, is present still:
I wait for that which makes me feel complete --
When it's there, we laugh at winter's chill
When not, we weep despite the summer's heat...
With winter comes scant comfort from above:
Where nature fails, our warmth must come from love.

(Apologies to William "Lyfe of th' Partie" Shakespeare)

Sonnet 73

This time of year thou mayst in me behold
When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang
Upon those boughs which shake aganst the cold,
Bare ruined choirs, where late the sweet birds sang
In me thou see'st the twilight of such day
As after sunset fadeth in the west;
Which by and by black night doth take away,
Death's second self, that seals up all in rest.
In me thou see'st the glowing of such fire,
That on the ashes of his youth doth lie,
As the death-bed whereon it must expire,
Consumed with that which it was nourished by.
This thou perceivest, which makes thy love more strong,
To love that well which thou must leave ere long.
Types: Verse, Original
(This thread has done beautifully; thanks, guys! I keep saying to myself, "Okay, Garran, you started this: it's your duty to post the next verse and keep it going," but my muse seems slow to stir. Until I have something more substantial to offer (Azuki's Yuki piece (which leads me to wonder if perhaps there really is some link between the Sad Girl and our young heroine's name) may have some inspiration in it), here is a cheerful haiku to tide us over:)

It's grown so cold, I've
Not strength to do more than wait;
The wind mourns for me
Yuki's Diary

When I look at the girls
In the magazines
Who are much prettier than I am
(Not as pretty as her, though)
When I look at them
I don't feel anything that isn't my own

But when I look at her, I feel
Sad and wistful and
Lonely
The kind of lonely when you're out in the snow
And you think there can't be anyone left in the world but you
That way
But I'm indoors, and warm, so
It must belong to her
Mustn't it?

Or maybe to him

I want to understand
What he understands
About what it is to feel
This way.
Types: Verse, Original
This is the sadness that goes unspoken:
the tears held back, for if they fall they'll freeze -
the drift of snow, its lonely crust unbroken -
the stillness not touched even by a breeze.

Clear skies would make the night's chill colder;
Clouds are a blanket in the sky.
She warms the heart; men long to hold her
Who only see her while they're walking by.

Only she cannot see how lovely
She is as crystals kiss her face --
Unique as those flakes from above, she
Is as ephemeral a grace.

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