Beastbearer's Poetry

Requiem for Chivalry
by Brandon Beastbearer ()

The knights are all gone.
The cads and the scoundrels have won
The hearts of the ladies,
As the horses starve and the armor rusts
And the lowly knights gaze at the busts
Of their fallen heroes.
Arthur and Launcelot to dust reduced,
Their passion and romances long refused
By female hands and hearts.

Dames and ladies pine and wail,
Yet they make their beds cold and stale,
As villains and vermin steal their hearts,
Then rape them and pierce them with fiery darts.
The knights must merely watch from afar,
Caged from healing what the devils mar.
Damsels continue to be in distress,
Yet push knights away when under duress.
They cry for someone to come save the day,
Yet run with swift feet to death and decay.

The knights walk abroad with sword and shield,
Ready to force all the pain to yield.
But when cries reach their ears,
They are bidden to tears.
For dames love their blights,
More than well-meaning knights.
Ulterior motives,
More than romantic votives.
Lust and deception,
More than love and affection.

Brilliant job, I really adore this and it is pathetically true.
I enjoy your writing style and the stanzas are highly evocative Please post again soon, if it doesn't trouble you too much.

That was brilliant.
You have a wonderful talent for writing.
This poem is so true.
Great job. I cannot wait for more.

(for all the disgruntled college students of the past, present, and future)

Real Jobs, Degrees, Grades, Homework

December 17th, 2006. 3:44 AM.
Final exam in six hours and fifteen minutes.
Compelled to write for the first time in a long while, regarding recent reflections.
It has taken two and a half years of college to show me what I lack:
Direction.
Grade school was a simple formula:
Do whatever it takes to go to college.
But now where is the goal?
The catchphrases of
“Get your degree,”
“Get a career,”
Ring hollow in my ears,
As I flounder along,
Semester after semester,
Class after class.
Grades reflect it.
“Discover yourself,”
“Find your life’s purpose,”
Ring equally hollow in my ears.
Where is the time for discovery,
With assignments and tests and grades by the week?
To say nothing of earning money in the midst of it.
If I cannot see the other end of the pool,
I
Will
Drown.
Several new beginnings already.
Each of them full of promise…
None of them fulfilling of promises.
Disappointment from friends and family.
Boredom and confusion from myself.
Where can I do what I love?
Where can I improve my talents and myself?
Not here, surely.
Not in a world of grades and deadlines and wasted monies.
Only in creativity can I be free.
But when the walls of consumerism and the American dream
Rear up, where can creativity go
But to the chopping block,
Sentenced to die by
“Real jobs,”
“Degrees,”
“Grades,”
“Homework.”

December 17th, 2006. 3:55 AM.
Final exam in six hours and five minutes.
Floundering, fighting the frigid forces
Of
“Real jobs,”
“Degrees,”
“Grades,”
“Homework.”[b]

thats really good
write more!

that was really good
but I noticed that you have two topics in the poetry section
I'll fix it for you
but just fyi ur only supposed 2 have 1 topic & keep posting the poems in the one topic
k?

there! all fixed! keep writting!

Whispers from Behind Closed Eyes

Sleepers, awake!
Abandon the cold blindness of night!
Enthrone sight
And through its reign in the morning light
Abandon these fleshy husks
Which time and temptation corrupts
To pass unhindered through the soul’s windows,
Into that piece of corporeal creation that,
Begotten of God,
Reflects His image through narrow panes
Into this world
Of temporal pains,
Till Time and Temptation in reverence fall
To Life, Love, and Joy, and the Lord of them all.


Age Before Progress
Blank stares, downcast eyes, or eyes of contempt all conceal a single mind of cynicism.

Their bitter years,
Their unwept tears
Spit acid at all who are younger.
While eager eyes
A battle disguise,
Fighting to fill their hunger.

The presence of age,
Instead of a sage,
Throws a wall in the way of a dream.
As young, open minds,
With ideas of all kinds,
Must fling themselves upstream.



CSDY-1113

A cartoon’s stairwell,
Whitewashed with time and a thousand failed ideas,
Interrupted only by the occasional mark of creativity
Or colorful launched projectile a generation old.
Intersecting with its brethren,
Solid, to contain,
Amorphous, to allow growth.
The shining bars of inspiration give depth to
This cage of ideas–
This sepulcher of thought–
This tomb of a womb for creation and destruction.
This nurturing garden where emotion and intellect merge and thrive and procreate.

Only a single choice determines if the
Flitting
Fragile
Form of heart and mind’s co-creation will be
Formed and molded within these walls, or
Shattered against them.

So many updates in so little time. The new poems are equally as amazing as the first and in some ways better. I particularly enjoyed Age Before Progress and Whispers From Behind Closed Eyes. You have a very unique voice, well done.

Awesomaticoolio: nuff said.
lol, I'm such a bingo-brain.. But, really, you have an amazing talent.
Keep it up. =)