Music Game Features

there were a few i didn't include (i'm looking at you FuzzyHoser and vespera) because they were utterly silly and forced me to write to songs that we're not even going to talk about. let sleeping dogs lie, ladies.


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a combination of succinct poetry and honest prose, what i like most about this piece is that it's personal and honest, without flair. i think he should send it to the subject and everyone should bother him until he does*



while trying to find words to express how much i love this little poem, i came up short because it says everything on its own: so few words tell a complete story and there are more layers to be dissected than some novels manage in hundreds of pages. liz's gallery is lovely and definitely worth a look.


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fascinating and multifaceted--studded with complex language, weighty metaphors, and some of the most original yet stunning imagery i've come across, this poem is a dense read but thoroughly worth the effort.


if you burn mesee, some people
on the inside, are lined
with shelves packed with little glass jars.
people
are pockets of stars.
Supernova Stars in the heartwood box
splinter fragile edges like the chipped rim of a plastic cup; but no heart-space can up
explode
into a vacuum, space-vacuum
quiet
   -less place.
Who knows what specimens
of "that-one-time-we-couldn't-reach-the-next-branch
so we jumped"
"that-one-time-you-finished-your-book-on-the-subway
and looked punched"
(but it's okay because
no-one looked anyway)
"that-rust-under-fingernails-smell"
"that kiss" packed into perfect formaldehyde;
Who knows when they sing:
when their resonance
cracks vials, where will they go?
see, some people
need a place to breakdown,
so I'll be carving out corners
'till things get round
like the arc of the bells in the clocktowers--
I'll carve out space in sound.
there's an understanding of human nature that's subtly stated in the intertwined ideas of this poem. it's also very stylistically interesting; the lines, while varying in length and syllable count, follow a natural rhythm. it spills off the tongue.


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these two haiku play off each other perfectly and show the virtue of the form: using literal images to capture a philosophical idea. LionesseRampant is a brilliant poet, and this is an example of her talent's mastery.



sweet without becoming saccharine--a brief, interesting piece about childhood friendship, in those ambiguous years where it seems you understand the world until it tells you it can't be defined. for such a young writer, sophie has a talent for capturing complex ideas in short works.


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this is one of my favorite songs and LiliWrites captured the essence of it. as always, her use of syntax and diction are masterful and effortlessly poignant. if you don't watch her, you are making a mistake and should correct that immediately.



"When in doubt, deserts." this poem exhibits disrhythmic's two greatest talents: gorgeous imagery and untraditional, original use of rhythm. the scene is vividly captured--and the more you read her poems, the more meanings you find between the lines.


What's That in Your Heart?months later and I'm still pulling pieces of you from my wounds;
memories are salt and you were the ocean that never dried out.
selfishness is the wear of the weary – I wonder, now, how much life
can you steal from a ghost?
my stomach still sinks, I've swallowed too many words. you were
the anchor that allowed me to drown. you were the siren that never
sounded sweet. when the noxious night comes I don't know who's in
the mirror (or what hollowed eyes mean.) am I the one or the nothing
that died out?
I tried so hard, I tried so hard to lose my shadow and forget myself
somewhere dark. I'm trapped between hell and a hard place,
trying to build heroes from ashes and saviors from sunken men.
I tried so hard, and I lost myself again.
what's that coming down? the ground is littered with pieces of me,
the most painful part is remembering;
it's time to let it all go.
usually, when a deviant tends toward longer poems, i find their work hard to get through; there's an art in wandering without losing meaning, and intricately-ordinary has mastered it. this piece in particular is formed of interesting metaphors strung together by crisp language and tangible emotion, as well as thoughtful ideas.


Dead-WeightIt will be raining,
the clouds thick and persistent,
when you first start to wonder
what brought you here.
It will be raining
and you will be cold,
your jacket,
ignored and abused,
still slung
over the back of his favorite chair
and you will wonder
why the calluses on his fingertips
make you shy away.
It will be raining--
the clouds thick and persistent
as his dead-weight gaze--
and you will be cold--
your jacket forgotten
in your haste to escape--
and between
the first groan of thunder
shaking your nerves
and the lightning sparking
a branch overhead,
you'll find these words
scrawled like destiny
across the Evergreen's trunk:
Buy an umbrella;
don't give your heart away
without it.
honest and heartbreaking--betwixtthepages knows how to manipulate her audience into feeling. this poem in particular is so human, so raw, so truthful--i was impressed and speechless, and i'm still not quite sure of what to say other than i'm glad she's willing to collaborate with me


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thrumming with life, this poem is sharp and acrid--RiseandBe is willing to write poetry that doesn't paint her the hero and has a bravery with words that i find consistently captivating.


Amanda Won't Tell You Again     You’re back once again, eye to eye with the bugs on the floor. You’re trampled, worthless, but it’s alright, they can still hear you breathing. The truth is that he’s already at ease watching your naked body rising and falling behind that glass screen in his room while you’re trying to stay one last time – one last time because you’re all that’s left. And for some reason, you thought you could you could fix him by spreading out your legs and letting the whole world in. Well, that’s easy now. Try protecting them instead. And for some reason you thought making him inhale his mother on you would make you all worthwhile. Oh Delilah.
     I’ve never saw a more delusional girl in the same drunken place. You slammed down, “Amanda, I’m in love” with your hands. Trust me. You’re not. You’re only an addict getting high off those who’ll play with you. It doesn’t matter if I give you my fists
one of the only prose entries i received, this vignette is an interesting interpretation of the song--it uses many of the elements while still putting an individual twist upon it. the style is addictive and draws you through in a trance--lovely, really.



yearning and bittersweet, this is a poem of love lost and lasting admiration. the emotion is raw but told in refined, beautiful imagery, complemented by precise and flawless diction.


that's okayLace Madonna says it’s okay for her baby to die.
She says, “Wrap him in my weeping veil and bite at him with
science
forever. 
And heaven forbid a loose-lipped unzipped whirlwind
breathes him back to life.”
But he was born that I could rip transcendence to shreds
and hang on his arm playing the goddess I always knew I was.
I dream in flappers and rags, the flush of imperfection
and my mother's words above my womb of covers
the immaculate conception of "rise and be."
If I love him, are we eternal?
Earth sways as we call for him from heaven and hell.
His mother bares her teeth at me, guarding her Christ,
her baby, her four oh merit scholar scientist martyr savior of her race
“I raised a sacrifice for my bad teeth and irritability,
and I loved him
first.”
But, Holy Mother, I soothe him with my tongue.
I’ll be his Mary, don’t you worry.
They only call me Magdalene for my demons.
I hope it’s not a crime that I burned myself out of history
visceral, cutting religious imagery--christianity through a sardonic lens, yet InkatMidnight's bitterness never becomes pretentious. this is a fascinating poem, and it deserves to be read and reread.


susurrationvertebrae like rough marbles down my back,
clacking back and forth as your finger
strikes each in a row, coaxing
a constellation from the
fissures of my fresh
sunken skin
　　　　　　burrow/bury/betray
(he made a home in a gap between two of my ribs
and sometimes i feel him laughing at my heart murmur)
the use of style and language is masterful; the concept is interesting, and as always, reflexively delivers angst without coming across as juvenile.


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trembling-knees has a talent for language and shorthand poetry that is unrivaled; for someone who releases so much poetry, her ideas are always fresh and raw. she knows how to make words do what she wants in a short space--and this narrow poem is a perfect example of that skill.








*don't actually do that i think it's harassment.