The Leader

[third man girl]

This is written by Bryan, about his leader and mentor (a charismatic, but flawed character, as most great leaders surely have been.)


The Leader

You say his strength is his body
While I say his power is his mind.
You feel he casts you in shadow
While I feel I stand in his light.
You think he’s talking in riddles
While I know he makes perfect sense.
You wonder why his eyes are so dark
While I see them ebony bright.

You see the claws of a tiger
While I see the grace of a cat.
You feel the jab of his knuckles
While I touch the ridge of his scars.
You think his passion is fury
While I sense he’s crazy with lust.
You hear him howl at the moon
But I know he talks to the stars.

~ Bryan ~


Third Man Girl

 

[Wabbit]

You know it just begs for a story!!!!! ARRRRRRRG!

Thanks Please keep writing and posting!

Regards
SillyWabbit

 

[RaVeN]

Damn you're talented!

And I like your writing too

RaVeN

 

[Ashlea]

This one is applicable to so many situations, makes me think of Malcolm X. You write such evocative poetry, keep at it!

 

[Stella Leanna]

Who's Bryan? Since I'm into writing rhyming poems, I think this one's a good one. =) And this is my favorite part:

"You feel the jab of his knuckles
While I touch the ridge of his scars."

And Third Man Girl, I've been reading your poems and I absolutely love them! Keep up the great work! It would be good if you start compiling your works =) It'll be nice to read those in the future. =)

 

[third man girl]

Who's Bryan? Since I'm into writing rhyming poems,

Bryan is one of the characters in the book I am writing. He is a gang member. He is the poet.

Thanks for your encouragement; it is greatly appreciated. I haven’t shown the poems to friends or colleagues, because they would nod their heads and look at me strangely. (I can detect a raised eyebrow at fifty paces. )

Interesting that you like rhyming poetry. I wrote a rhyming poem earlier in the week, on a high from the positive feedback from the Book Forum. But, as before, I had difficulty pressing the ‘submit’ button. Deep breath. I’ll do it now. See ‘Initiation’.

Third Man Girl

 

[Martin]

That was bloody amazing!

Cheers, Martin

 

[Stella Leanna]

Bryan is one of the characters in the book I am writing. He is a gang member. He is the poet.

Thanks for your encouragement; it is greatly appreciated. I haven’t shown the poems to friends or colleagues, because they would nod their heads and look at me strangely. (I can detect a raised eyebrow at fifty paces. )

Interesting that you like rhyming poetry. I wrote a rhyming poem earlier in the week, on a high from the positive feedback from the Book Forum. But, as before, I had difficulty pressing the ‘submit’ button. Deep breath. I’ll do it now. See ‘Initiation’.

Third Man Girl

Good luck with the book! I plan on writing a narrative poem about... (hmm, I'll just post when I get the chance) but it'll be like an exchange between two people. Just through poetry. =)

Why, won't your friends believe you have written those amazing poems?! I myself like approaching my literature teacher (he's gay, and he has his poems published in a newspaper) and ask him for comments on my poems. It's really great to have someone to criticize my work. =)

I'll be checking that one right now!
(and btw, I wrote a poem, it's there, the thread is "if you're into sad poems" and it was kinda yucky.. but that's one of some poems I enjoyed writing, but not actually paid much attention to, in terms of form and style)

 

[third man girl]

Why, won't your friends believe you have written those poems?!

Because, where I live, they don’t understand daydreams. They understand books, but don’t understand that books have to be lived, to be written. They understand movies, but don’t understand that movies have to be imagined, to be realised. They understand TV drama, but don’t undertand that some person, somewhere, is sitting in some dark cupboard, transferring dreams to screens.

Picture a white van. What do you see, Stella? A white van?
Or a white van; a driver and his mate dressed in black; heavy iron tools; a girl striding along the pavement . . . . . . . a swirl of leaves; an empty street.

Where I live, imagination is considered symptomatic of a brain disorder.
And I can’t think why.

Third Man Girl