Writer's Corner

[Zella L.]

So, we DO need a writing thread. Post your poetry, short stories, streams of consiousness, or anything you like here, and have your fellow furs critique!  

[Zella L.]

Rules

1.Follow the TOS. If you have a piece that's explicit, feel free to post a link, but warn readers of it's rating.
2.It does not have to be furry related. That would be nice, but it is much harder to write about furries than it is to draw them.
3. Warn your readers how strict you want them to be when critiquing, if you wish them to keep your feelings in mind.
4. When critiquing, keep in mind the writer's wishes. If they did not post it, retain common decency.
5. Try to keep your posts clearly different from the peice itself. If possible, it would be nice to comment in the post style of "say" and post writing in the post style of "document."
6. Try to keep what you post relatively short...3 pages long absolute max.
7. If it's very long, use small (but not tiny) font. It takes up less room.  

[Zella L.]

Reserved  

[Shaviv]

I am watching the skies as I lie on my hard metal bed
(at least it's not cold)
and I see a falling star.
Ah, pretty
and then
I remember.
Doesn't a falling star mean death?

I watch it and the star comes down
falling
whistling
pop, like a firework, quiet, off in the distance.
I ask: whose house? Whose parent or whose child
was under that man-made falling star?

And my friends have seen it too.
We see where it came from (the radar helps)
It's time to get to work.
Quickly! Get in! Start the engine again! Turn over that way!
And that's exactly what we do.
We are a machine.
It is our job. My job.
Load!
Lock!
Clear!
I have strong arms and clever hands
I can do this in three seconds
and keep on going
for over an hour
(we don't need to tonight, twice a minute will do)
And so I load, and lock, and clear and load again
Every falling star hand-delivered
He who sends may also receive.

It's funny
because it seems, it was forever ago
there was a girl who lived next door
(her father owned an orange grove
and we would sit together and talk of childish things)
but she was the Enemy, I learned
and now
I saw her again on TV
she spoke of resistance
and self-defence
and doing unto others
She wore a mask, but I would know that voice anywhere.
(My boss says they build rockets in their garages you know)
Perhaps it was she who delivered the first falling star of the evening
and so
I return the favor.

--

(I'm going to get the other poetry thread killed, since it's a repeat.)
(I don't actually like this poem. It's very sad.)  

[Zella L.]

BiNeko: Quaint, but I think you could go deeper into the story rather than elaborating on the circumstances. ^^
And I already commented on Shaviv's.  

[Shaviv]

I actually did know a guy who was a loader like the poem's narrator. He was kind of upset about having participated in killing people, but he rationalized it in two ways: one, they were trying to kill him or his countrymen (true), and besides, he was just the loader (which is a bullshit excuse).

I guess I was partly inspired by remembering him.  

[Zella L.]

Meh, I've only written a few poems in the last couple of years, but here goes:

Only far enough to see
And not of where she wished to be
The heat should only paint
a painted sand,
but since a faulty look misunderstand,
She thought perhaps, a sign of native land.

But three times false, a superficial love
Lost be she as of
Eight moons and yet behold a poem blue
Ill met through which a yellow forlorn thought
Forsooth, again! No promise true.

Hope of which there's no beguile, she
would in the stead find juster herd to be
A new hope forth, and fair,
a different group had gathered there.

Though inviting, life anew,
She took a mate, relations grew,
Never forgot, her origin knew,
Remembered pale where birthed was she
Now not of where she ought to be.  

[Zella L.]

Well, might as well post my short story.

Hannah shuffled her feet against the cracked pavement, looking downward. She
was alone, and Joanne was walking beside her. The pair scuttled their way
through the school parking lot, silence hotly balancing between them.

"Are you still mad?" Hannah asked Joanne in an awkward spurt of silence
breaking.

"Mad about what?" replied Joanne, raising an eyebrow yet still lost in her
own thoughts.

"Good," answered Hannah. She looked up. They were almost at the park where
they would ride the tire-swing like children. It was in fact a very grown up
thing to do, to act out of your age group.

The pollen was visible in the air, and the faux windmill that sprayed a mist
of fine water so mercifully during those scorching cross-country days was
malted with rust. The winding trail of the park reminded Hannah too much of
cross-country, she still had nightmares. Particularly that one day when
Coach Evilhead had assigned them to run the course, then the eliminator,
then whistlework, then striders. She was certain he'd assign the death trap
run, but too many people were crying already.

"I'm gonna go chase the ducks! Look, they're all lined up for me already in
a flock of inviting waterfowl!" grinned Hannah.

"You're freaking evil," replied Joanne with a contorted smirk.

"Chaaaaaa!" Hannah charged at the ducks like a happy-go-lucky bull. She
simultaneously was able to grab a chance to use her catchphrase. Just as she
had suspected all the ducks angrily waddled away-short of an inspirational
flock of pigeons exploding into the air, but it involved moving birds
nonetheless.

It seemed one duck was even more lethargic than the flock, as it just stood
there, bouncing a little, and quacking like a mother who just doesn't get
it. Upon closer inspection, Joanne found the problem.

"Hey dude, is this duck missing a foot?" Hannah tilted her head.

"I think it is! Creepy!"

"Wonder how that happened."

"Quack."

The two girls were able to approach the duck; it was going nowhere fast.

"Quack, darn you, Quack!" it quacked.

"STOP HARASSING THE DUCKS!" cried a heroic but clearly deranged young woman
from a car in the parking lot.

"Uh, what?" Joanne was caught off guard.

"I don't know what she means, but something tells me she thinks we're
harassing the ducks," Hannah intellectualized.

"But we're not!" Joanne denied instinctively, and turned to Hannah. "You
might be. I ain't."

Gallantly the woman retreated from her car and stormed towards them. Hannah
grabbed Joanne by the elbow and took off, leaving the duck to make friends
with the defender of the waterfowl.

"Holy carp," Joanne breathed after she was sure the lady was out of range.
"I think I learned something today."

"So did I," agreed Hannah. "People who live in the park are crazy."

"Hannah, perhaps ducks do have feelings. It's not like we were hurting it or
even laughing at it, but would you point it out to a person if they had one
foot?" Joanne reconsidered the question. "Don't answer that. The point is it's
not polite, and I'm sure that duck was trying to tell us that through its
quacks."

"Do chickens have feelings too?" inquired Hannah.

"It's a possibility. Look, all I'm saying is that we should respect all of
Mother Nature if we want Mother Nature to respect us. Ok?"

"Will it keep crazy people from yelling at u-"

"Yes, OK? It will. You'll get everything you want if you shut up and listen
to me. Deal?"

__________________________

Six weeks Later

The sweat stung Hannah's eyes. Cross-country had started. Summer was
slightly slower at the start of practice, but she knew that eventually
Hannah would be the one trying to keep up.

"Erik is so hot, he can punjab me all he wants!" Summer joked.

"I hope Erik's coffin is big enough for both me and him!" Ooh, daring word
choice.

A few more remarks on how hot this "Erik" is, and a few insults slung at
"the fop" before Hannah saw something disturbing. There, on the little mound
by the random building in the park, a female duck stood. It quacked at
approaching geese, and Hannah's eyes didn't leave it. She searched its
orange legs to find-yes, it only had one foot. The episode from six weeks
earlier rang in her mind. This duck should have flown off to some other pond
by now!

Summer didn't notice at all, of course. "Did you notice what Erik was doing
at the begginni-"

Hannah blindly smacked into an oak tree.

 

[Rainey_angel81]

[ Message temporarily off-line ]  

[Zella L.]

I like how the girl seems a little insane, but still happy.  

[Rainey_angel81]

And a poem I wrote...who knows how long ago

A Soft Goodbye by Rain

it's an odd thing,
love is, a soft goodbye,
in the way of words.

Not a forever,
but a sign of goodnight,
a greeting of good morning,
a hug and a kiss.

We say i love you,
every day,
a soft goodbye,
in the way of words.

We rub furred bodies,
a more intimate feeling,
claws trailing down skin,
a shivering touch.

Although we are different,
far away,
we are akin,
kindred and everything alike.

It's an odd thing,
love is, a soft goodbye,
in the way of words.

I love you,
that is all I can say,
all I can give,
I hope it is enough.  

[Zella L.]

Slender hands dip into such
A pigment red and green, and much
A sensive flow applied to skin
With quite a wondrous touch.

And the scents fume through the blue
As bodies cover with feelings knew
But once when she first followed stars
And dyed herself with laughs of few.

But now the glitter, orange and gold
Lie, though nicely she was told
And show her face, as she would not want,
Painted colors replace the old.  

[Newski]

Watership Down themed Poem. Closest thing I have to Furry writing is my Watership Down fanfics.... I've been writing them for the last six months, mostly based on the Character of El Ahrairah, the great Rabbit Folk Hero.

Anyway, onto my first Watership Down poem.

El Ahrairah Silflay under the moon,
Unafraid of the dangers around him,
Elil, canines who desired his flesh.
He raised his ears, listening carefully,
And when he was done, he simply ran away.

El Ahrairah, Prince of 10,000 enemies,
Sat carelessly amongst them.
With his wits intact,
They could never catch him anyway.

(Elil-Enemies. Silflay-Food, above ground.)

Anyway, here is the Ballad of Alicord, from a story I am sometimes trying to write. A really dark fantasy story. Let me explain: Alicord is the King's Pirate, a mercenary who does only the duty of the King. He is a half elf, who fell in love with the full elf, Asphixis. He also has issues regarding his mother who died in Childbirth and his human half sister (Grieka) who blames him for her death.

Asphixis Decided that since he was this great Criminal, he needed a ballad. So she wrote him one.

The Ballad of Alicord

Alicord awoke one morning,
Under Grieka's watchful eyes,
She told him not to leave the room,
And to beware of her spies.
She could not forgive he him,
for what he hadn't done,
It's been seven years,
and now he's on the run.

He plunged a dagger into her chest,
and left her for dead,
The Lawman found him right outside,
And the saw his hands were red.
Red as the devil with whom he made the deal,
The devil who made his dark fantasy real,
The fate of nations in his hands,
He could start wars across the lands,

He took the prize of Garimon,
And the great Treehold deed,
He returned to Lasata with great speed,
To save the face of the King,
For whom he'd waged the Holy War,
Without him the people would roar,
and stand up and break down the door,
But the King had lived his private life,
And made Alicord the target of strife,
And crooked deals were hidden deep in his chambers.

He stole my land,
now I give him my hand.

"That's a bit short for a ballad," Alicord said, laughing, "And I think it's the wrong key as well."

Asphixis dropped the dagger from her side. Like in a painting from Lorelei, the sun opened up through the trees, turning the green grass gold. Asphisix feel to her knees, and Alicord moved from the shadows that had turned his brown hair black, and his pale skin grey.

"You are worried that I did not understand," he said, "You are wrong, I understand perfectly. But I cannot marry you, not yet."

"An Elf," Asphixis said, "A pure elf lives a long time. And, a pure elf can wait a long time."