Poem

[DScott]

Nice.

[Brooke AC]

Thanks!

[Josiah the Carrot Stick]

Indeed.

[Manalive Smith]

Are the beads literally beads or am I missing a metaphor here?

[Josiah the Carrot Stick]

Great. I missed Manalive again.

[Josiah the Carrot Stick]

Bother you, schoolwork.

[Manalive Smith]

Hi Josiah.

[Josiah the Carrot Stick]

Hi Manalive.

[Brooke AC]

Literally beads. Because sand is so fine or so rough, so the smoothness of beads which are larger than sand is just a contrasting textural thing. It’s just where my imagination went.

[Josiah the Carrot Stick]

Sand… it’s coarse and rough…

[Brooke AC]

This has been entertaining

[Josiah the Carrot Stick]

Very.

[Brooke AC]

I’m glad

[Tingle]

So am I.

[Jeff Ross]

I wrote this poem some time back when I made a certain discovery, but I did not post it because I thought it might reveal that I knew said information, which I wasn’t supposed to know. However, I received a certain notice within the past day or so that has given me unlikely confidence to expose my unexpected knowledge. So without further adieu, here is the poem:

“Awkward Potato,” today I wondered aloud,
“Like, Who are you really? Do you look like a cloud?
I can tell that you are ‘clever’, ‘Christian’, and ‘kind’;
‘Creative’ and ‘supportive’ also come to mind.
I’m struggling to picture how actual potatoes
Acquire the ability to write thoughts in prose…

Mysteries thrive on the internet, I suppose.”

[Jeff Ross]

On page two of this thread, Brooke left an interesting poem. It has a certain melodic an imaginative feel to it, such that it’s hard for my mind to fully understand it reading straight through. Therefore, I took the liberty of re-writing it with rhyme, repetition, and homophones so that I could understand it better and respond to it. I was able to transcribe almost line for line, although there are two lines that I either omitted or merged in order to make my interpretation flow better. [Any text in brackets is my original response.]

Ocean of clouds
Shore of wooden beads
Stars amongst the clouds
Swim with pulsing beams

Above clouds, books fly
Softly & steadily their pages crinkle
Autumn leaves like sunbeams fly
Burning like fire, yet remaining fragile

The books they illuminate
While on the clouds landing
Toward shore they gently relocate
The leaves filling the beach upon landing

If one were to step foot there
What would be the sound?
[Come on, Brooke, we know their
Screams of pain would abound.]

The beads sliding under the leaves
The ground moves upon contact
The fiery yet fragile leaves
Produce noise when they interact

If one were to venture into the sea,
What would be the feeling?
[Come on, Brooke, it’s plain to see
Such heat would be unappealing.]

The calmness in each cloud
As it rolls gently past
Does not completely shroud
The heat from the leaves or stars it passed

Does more dwell below?
[Below the clouds or the beads?
Come on, Brooke, must we bellow?
We need a clarification station please!]

Thankfully Brooke said that she might add more later, so I hope that she is able to respond with a part two of the poem.

[Awkward Potato]

Thanks for your kind words and thoughts,
Although I fail to see
The things you feel that you are not
“Supposed” to know about me.
Regardless, mysteries abound
Though maybe not for long,
If all goes well, I may be found
In a certain person’s song.

(Also your rendition of Brooke’s poem was fantastic!)

[Jeff Ross]

(Dankeschön!)

[Jeff Ross]

The first post of this thread contains a classic piece of art.

[Masøn M.]

Exploding out of the back of my mind is a dream
It is a dream that can be spoken, written, and sung
It is a dream that can be hated, cursed, and hung
My dream is hope
Hope for a new age of men and women
Who love other men and women simply because they exist
And because there is a God, somewhere out there
Who sees not what they’ve done, but who they are
They are children, they are beloved, and they are his
My dream is this hope, my hope is this dream
And to stand with or withstand this dream
Will make or break its existence far beyond the exploding walls of my own mind

– Josh Taylor (no, not that Josh Taylor. A different Josh Taylor.)

More of a “speech” than a poem, but oh well!

[Jeff Ross]

Roses are red
Horses eat hay
Sugar is sweet
HAPPY RYAN AND MATTHEW APPRECIATION STATION DAY!

[Jeff Ross]

Since Skype won’t save things forever, here is a classic poem that Bekah wrote on 3/14/18 exclusively for the F.A.C.E. Skype chat. Today she requested its recollection and permanent retention, which Franklin complied with by recording it in his F.A.C.E. writings database. I have placed it here as well for backup:

Ahem….

Sleep and dreams of things we love
But let us remember we are loved from Above
And God will watch over us and stay by our side
If only we obey Him and by His laws abide,
Now I must say goodnight as I start counting sheep
And I will hopefully fall fast asleep

When you are lonely and cannot sleep,

just count your blessings instead of sheep

And you’ll fall asleep, counting your blessings!

Bekah immediately followed up the poem with the disclaimer: “Also I realize that God loves us even when we don’t obey perfectly”

The specific immediate reactions were:
Awkward Potato: “Nice poem” (and then she applauded)
Brooke AC: “Aww, I love that, Bekah”
Bekah: “Thanks I literally just came up with it”
SuperChris01: “On the fly poet”
Jeff Ross: “It reminded me of the White Christmas “Count your Blessings” song.”
Masøn M.: [gif of enthusiastic applause for Bekah]
Bekah: “I know I based the last part of it and the poem was inspired by that song because I love that movie so much I watched it in July once and I watch it all year round and that song is the best”

This poem was originally posted at 10:26pm Bekah’s time on that Wednesday evening, when the F.A.C.E.s were in the process of saying their farewells for the night.

[Jeff Ross]

I wrote some rhymes this morning. I showed them to Sarah Iddings and she found them amusing, so I thought I’d share them with those who peruse the Not-Forum as well:

I’d like to write rhymes into this space right now,
But I’m concerned it would turn into a waste anyhow
As matching vowels and sometimes consonants
Are burning sounds without message or significance.
Consider this line: “I’d rather mime than rhyme chronic”
But if it’s uttered by an anemic mime, isn’t that…ironic?
Lots of puns and wordplay in this little verse, I dare say.
Have fun catching them all…as with a Pokéball of repartee.

[Yes, I used the alternate pronunciation of “repartee” to make the rhyme work.]

[Author]

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