Kevin's Watch

Hail everyone!!

If you haven't been to the site lately, head on over there!! There is a new catagory under the "From the Author" forum. POETRY!! And it is WONDERFUL!! Here's an example...

The Unholy

There is no rest from the unholy:
grubbers after others' dreams;
those who deny; and those, pretend;
vacated souls, befouled with death,
and ignorant of how it seems

or what it means to lie at life,
to falsify our trust and hope.
The unholy are the lost of self
who drag all other selves to dirt,
bound by blood and common rope.

There is no rest from the unholy,
feasters on our needed dreams.
We are their victims, choked by those
who wallow in their chosen mud
made from our blood in deliberate streams.

"See how you wound us!" so they cry,
hurt by truth, that mortal soap
by which they are unvictimized,
and so made less themselves.
"The fault is yours who pay for hope."

There is no rest from the unholy--
uncleansable, or so it seems.
No lime can burn their hurts away,
or teach them to regret
the carrion-eating of our dreams.

--Stephen R. Donaldson, April 1989

Just awesome!! Wish my brother could have seen these.

WOW! Yes, bery good Furls, I shall go there now

This one, reminds me of how Isaiah felt when I first met him.

Mr. Donaldson, if you are reading this, I salute you!! These poems are magnificient!! Please post more!!!

Rock Poem

At eight PM this evening
I kissed my mind goodbye
At eight-oh-five this evening
I almost wondered why
At eight eighteen this evening
I drifted out to sea
And never even noticed that
I'd lost the best of me

I'd do without it gladly
I'd face my loss with calm
If I could just remember
What keeps me warm


At ten PM this evening
I kissed my soul goodbye
At ten fifteen this evening
I sat and watched it fly
At ten nineteen this evening
I saw it dim the skies
And never even recognized
My own forgotten cries

I'd do without it gladly
I'd face my grief with peace
If I could recall tasting
Just one release


Upon the stroke of midnight
I kissed my heart goodbye
Upon the stroke of midnight
I watched my passions die
Upon the stroke of midnight
I saw them burn like trash
And never even felt the change
As I slumped down to ash

I'd do without them gladly
I'd fall and be content
If I'd ever understood
What living meant

--Stephen R. Donaldson, January 1998

Ah, my heart!

Good how these are... i perfer Stephen's... Stephen's seem... more... personal.

They're both great poets.

I meant your Brother Furls!!! not Donaldson! I perfer your brothers work

First Mark Tuvor wrote:Good how these are... i perfer Steven's... Steven's seem... more... personal.

They're both great poets.

Personal towards the author, not to me.

Hugglesssssss

It all touches me, I'm a lover of words, poetry, literature, and the music it makes in my heart. These of Mr. Donaldson's sang to my soul in such a personal way, even tho he doesn't know me or Isaiah or Stephen. And, that is what the written word is supposed to do, touch the reader in some special place. That's what makes a great writer, and Mr D. is, in a word, great.

Furls Fire wrote:Hugglesssssss

It all touches me, I'm a lover of words, poetry, literature, and the music it makes in my heart. These of Mr. Donaldson's sang to my soul in such a personal way, even tho he doesn't know me or Isaiah or Stephen. And, that is what the written word is supposed to do, touch the reader in some special place. That's what makes a great writer, and Mr D. is, in a word, great.

I actually don't like poetry that much.. But I really love reading your brothers work.