Posts by CoreyNiles92

Response to: Harvest Moon Posted August 20th, 2012 in Writing

Unoriginal, Uninspired, Nonsensical, and I could write something far better, 0/10 for writing. - mhzinski

No need to leave your review Mhzinski, I got ya covered.

Harvest Moon Posted August 20th, 2012 in Writing

A new hunger arises, under the Harvest Moon's horizons.
to her eyes, and her heart, our greed for her surprises.

Watching, waiting, wishing there, this man finds solace truly rare,
playing, biting, holding her hair, this man finds redemption anywhere.

He harvests from life, a simple pleasure,
in a final stare, a measure of terror.
With his knife, stole from her all she could spare,
a gift for him of all he did care.

Stoked campfire, carved, crafted in leisure,
this man finds comfort in the warmth of a flame.
A light in the night, with darkness he will fight.
A flight in the darkness, eases his pain.

In seeking gain, for what we keep,
within our yield we must peek.
Sow crops in burning heat,
passion renders this field truly weak.

Life offers reward of bounty too few,
for our vision, is gifted a blinding skew,
that even with the gifts we receive,
lifeâEUTMs colorless hue, will poison the eve.

Watching her child grieve over her corpse,
wailing and shouting, confronting her lies.
A promise was made, hoarse tone and all,
that mother would return, to child at home.

The cries cast out all about orange hued fields,
to the campfire, sparking excitement in eyes.
An itch felt the man, with blood on his hand,
a stitch sealed his sorrow, echoing cries of the land.

Tonight you've felt passion take rise,
as black ink lines your eyes,
past cheeks, trailing to where words release,
mouth tainted by black,
quivering lips where trails meet.

Lips once met with succulent grape,
violet gleams of juicy streams,
tasting of your wildest dreams,
a comfort life offered,
Not good enough it seems.

Red torn seams, of Amethyst gleams,
pools of purple, highlight the scene,
a razor pulled cross your thighs,
free screams from black lips, in fearful cries,
as lips meet darkness, your final prize.

In a pool of your comfort, a harvest of choice,
you've stolen from life, your true gift of voice,
Reaped only to be sown, what in you was grown.
A part of you dies, and it dies alone.

Stolen from her child, to gift this man's smile,
a child sees stolen all that was worthwhile,
defiled her corpse in a theft most vile,
this woman who's life became just one to the pile.

Stolen from life, our most precious friend,
what in the end would have already been lend,
Stolen a comfort, seeking to mend,
a pain that would for only a while offend.

Under Harvest Moon's horizons, as was always fated,
to her eyes, and her heart, Harvest moon has been sated.

Response to: I died of consumption. Posted August 9th, 2012 in Writing

I do see what you are trying to explain, but it was you who had difficulty understanding my meaning was it not? Could it not be that you do not understand every poem that's ever been written, or possibly that you did not spend enough time trying to determine more than a singular meaning for my poem, a meaning that would rend it inadequate and easily criticized? Do you not think also that your writing 101 comment was mildly offensive, and unnecessary for the review?

Response to: I died of consumption. Posted August 8th, 2012 in Writing

I just need to clear a few things up, I feel that maybe you came into this wanting to find corrections for my work, I will detail my meaning for each line, and maybe we can come to a review, rather than the typical Newgrounds slamfest.

Those gears between your ears, -Your brain, simply a biological machine that processes thought, not AI, or a robot.
like wars of Chevaliers, - A part of you that seeks self destruction fights the part that seeks redemption and freedom.
beckon unto your final years. - The previously mentioned war, will soon bring your demise.
And my words like poison, you feel - My words of guidance from self destruction, will seem like poisonous ones.
like thorns of hard steel, rending flesh, - My words will hurt and cause you pain, stripping self destructive thought.
crawl slow into your heart and mend. - In time they will reach your heart, and will help you.

Eternity Posted August 8th, 2012 in Writing

I've had my taste of poison,
my fair share of shame.
Seeking salvation at the edge of a wire,
IâEUTMve played life's bitter game.

Followed from torrid summer days,
through the maze of winter's haze.
Chasing that ever escaping conquest,
of contest that blindly pays.

Passion has surely been tame,
as none have won this game.

So alone we do play this day,
as no lovers stay, may fill the task.
And this game of which we play alone,
can never truly last.

It seeks angrily to freeze our bones,
see our hearts, conditioned in agony roam,
searching for the sun ahead,
seeking light for our path on loan.

Our bones hollow with frost will shatter
and our bodies will twist and maim,
our names entertain mystery, and
in history they remain.

The reaper remains calm and still,
the sum of life is of his list.

And what life may seem to some;
war of the feeble and weak,
When seen cracked down to the core,
remains a question left to seek.

Easily thought to have run its course,
when man's final force ceased is breath.
On his final cold, restless eve,
only the score on this manâEUTMs tally is left.

This game is not so simple friend,
so simple is not the game.
Rebirth is the question of many then,
may rules of life and death see lend?

For we the nation who roam alone,
who've no home for enemies to seek fight.
Seek within the living, salvation from our plight.

We will never find what eagerly we seek,
as we seek that which is within,
we are blinded by an illusion of,
A brilliant reflected sin.

Gaze unto the mirror within you, a dark and twisted knife.
Peer deeply, there within you and you'll consume the night.

And this game of strife you'll surely see,
Is forever yours,

Forever in eternity.

I died of consumption. Posted August 8th, 2012 in Writing

Those gears between your ears,
like wars of Chevaliers,
beckon unto your final years.
And my words like poison, you feel
like thorns of hard steel, rending flesh,
crawl slow into your heart and mend.

Response to: Sold your soul, for a lofty goal. Posted July 30th, 2012 in Writing

Do not worry, my feelings weren't hurt, I was merely saying if you had hurt my feelings, which I'm quite sure you do on a regular basis hurt other's feelings, you will more than likely stomp out many aspiring writers dreams, and cause them to forfeit before they can become anything of greatness.

Also, Inspiration, followed by station, a writing station or a station of artistic creation.
Fire, quickly the idea of passion comes to mind
Quill, a writing utencil, the tool of creation for a writer, or anyone involved in the process of creating a story
Now you feel your tales fiend, I am speaking of a tale, once again reminding the reader of a storywriter
There's your story, Once again I am reminding the reader that my poem is referring to someone creating a story
Now you've your spin, A twist in a novel, or film or fiction of any sort, I am once again reminding the reader of my purpose
You've made the scene, I finish the poem by summarizing it's entirety, and bridging the gap from obscurity to the realization that the poem is about a director/writer, Though it could be taken as anyone creating a piece of fiction.
Personally, I was able to understand the meaning of the poem, and others have understood what the poem was referring to, I believe it was your entrance into reading it in anger, looking for holes to poke that made it hard for you to understand what it was about, the first thing a person must overcome to be a critic of any relevance or significance.

Response to: Sold your soul, for a lofty goal. Posted July 30th, 2012 in Writing

1)Find what inspires you, take that inspiration and surround it in indignation. - Find something that inspires you (in this case filmaking, surround that inspiration with hatred of anything, or anyone that will seek to rend you of it, be it critics, directors, actors etc.)

2)Now you've a station. - Now you have your base, control, as well as grounds to make a film.

3)Aspire to a liar; do allow your desire failure to transpire, once more to your devils pyre beckon. - Make the decision to lie to yourself when you know you're making poor art forms, allow your true desire (to make art) no chance to come to be, Once more you've allowed your inner demons to consume you (by allowing yourself to lie in order to make garbage, pretending that it's art)

4)You now have fire. - You now have the passion needed to make a film (though unguided)
bend your will, and swallow their pill, a bitter swill to you shall fill. - Fail to have the mental fortitude to keep true to yourself, do what they ask of you (movie producers) and fail to follow your own vision, You are consuming their trash ideas, and taking it as gold.

5)You've aquired your quill. - You've aquired your ability to write, from the minds of your producers through your hand. (Rather than from your mind, through your hand)

6)Steal virtue, surely it won't hurt you. Adorn the green feathered cap early. - Take credit as an artist for creating pseudo-art (or true art in the minds of the public, who have been trained to swallow any nonsense hollywood produces), Trick yourself into believing it is something more, stealing credit for being an artist, when you're a hack put in the symbolic image of Robin Hood's trademark hat (who is a thief)

7)Now you feel your tales fiend. - Outside the literary sense of being a director/writer, the tale is your current situation and life, the fiend is you, loosely transmitted back into the literary world, as finding the stories conflict.

8)Bury into your failure's quarry, your piously tailored earthly glory. - Hide deep within you, and seal away the dreams and visions you had for yourself as a true artistic director.

9)There's your story. - You have the story for your film/fiction, as well as summarizing the story of my poem.

10)Cast out your discipline, for sooth it's clear you'll never win. Why cast aside your pleasureable sin. - Throw away any ambition you had to be a good director, forget any integrity, because you've already accepted you will never make anything of greatness, so why trade making easy money by selling out to make less money being true to yourself and your work.

11)Now you've your spin. - You have the twist of your film/fiction, as well as the realization and acceptance of your total shift as a filmmaker to become a sellout.

12)Ween your dream of becoming King. Sing endlessly, of your suffering. - Follow your dream to become the best of the movie industry, regardless of artistic integrity, and forever you will be reminded of your failure, never escaping from what could have been. What you wanted to be.

13)You've made the scene. - You've made the key scene of the film, you've completed the film, you've created your masterpiece, which no longer is YOUR masterpiece, You've become what you set out to become, for the wrong reasons, and have failed at your own ambition.

There's an old Italin proverb, that I do believe can aid you in certain ways, "You can catch more flies with honey than with vinegar". You really ought to be more constructive and less offensive in your reviews, You could have easily asked me what any of my lines meant, I am brand new to Poetry, and haven't a clue about it, I am writing from my heart, I do not present anything I create to be anything more than a fun hobby for myself, thusly I should not be judged as if I were Edgar Allen Poe, when I am simply a human just like you who is doing something that he enjoys doing, If I were more sensitive or could not take criticism you could quite possibly have taken away any ambition to continue writing (in turn bettering myself both as a writer and a person).

Tell me my brother, why would you attempt to cause suffering to your fellow man? What could possibly be in that for you? What is it that makes you become so harsh when judging others? I do not mean this religiously, only as an allegory, "God does not have within him the audacity to judge man before man dies, why then should we as human's seek to judge man before God", I understand that criticism is very important, but only when constructive. You have turned Newgrounds into your own personal punching bag, where you can take out your frustrations on anyone who attempts to enjoy life or share with his fellow man something that may be of significance to them. And that is not criticism, that is self-righteous, self-aggrandizing and loathsome behavior, and to refer back to my original statement, You will surely catch more flies with honey than with vinegar. If it is truly your wish to revile others and be held in the position of an antagonist, then so be it, that is your prerogative.

Though if it truly is your desire to be disliked, hated or some sort of martyr of true knowledge. Know this, I do not dislike you, you are not my enemy, I do not dislike the things you have said to me, and I accept them, But I will not conform to your will, I am simply a new writer, who enjoys writing and wishes to share it in a forum in which I may be heard, I have not stated I have a mastery of the knowledge of poetry and writing, I realize you feel you do, Give me all of the constructive criticism in the world, but do not insult me so harshly, You may be a talented writer, but you have shown in the past two reviews of my work that you have not the talented heart, nor compassion that one requires to truly be an artist.

I wish you peace and prosperity so you may realize seeking to hurt someone in any way shape or form, is wasteful and an unskillful practice. I wish for you enlightenment. And a superbly good day.

Sold your soul, for a lofty goal. Posted July 29th, 2012 in Writing

Find what inspires you, take that inspiration and surround it in indignation.
Now you've a station.
Aspire to a liar; do allow your desire failure to transpire, once more to your devils pyre beckon.
You now have fire.
bend your will, and swallow their pill, a bitter swill to you shall fill.
You've aquired your quill.
Steal virtue, surely it won't hurt you. Adorn the green feathered cap early.
Now you feel your tales fiend.
Bury into your failure's quarry, your piously tailored earthly glory.
There's your story.
Cast out your discipline, for sooth it's clear you'll never win. Why cast aside your pleasureable sin.
Now you've your spin.
Ween your dream of becoming King. Sing endlessly, of your suffering.
You've made the scene.

My heart finds pain Posted July 25th, 2012 in Writing

She appeared to me, so wondrously fair,
without a worry no reasons to care.
She took my breath and ignored my stare,
a beauty she became, when I met her in Spain.
But out of the air and back to my lair,
that beauty was crushed, and my heart was rushed,
not a glimmer remained of that beautiful dame.
And in the darkness my vision was blinded,
her face was twisted and bitterly winded,
that beautiful being, who I was no longer seeing,
was lost to me, sick harmony.
Spare me the pain I gain, when I stray from my heart's vacation in spain.

A beauty she became when I met her in vain.

I think he likes me... Posted July 14th, 2012 in Writing

"I think he likes me, he gave me the most intense stare at lunch today"

He had gone over the scenario many times in his head, rethinking every detail, he knew she was onto him as earlier that day he slipped up, and made his feelings evident.

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"I've been playing around with different hairstyles all night, hoping to find the hottest one, I know he usually doesn't go for girls like me, I have to be gorgeous for him! I have to be hot"

He shaved his smooth child-like face, of which he had for many years been insecure. Whilst deeply examining his delicate visage, he achieved realization to what this night meant for him, and what it meant for her. It had to be perfect if he were to ever shed his boyhood blossoming into the man he always dreamed of becoming. He had dreamt of her lips on his for months, wondered for years.

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"I wonder if he's thought about kissing me, I wonder what it feels like to be kissed...Oh diary, I have never been this excited. Everything is coming together, and IâEUTMm STOKED!"

He had considered finally pursuing this course of action for little over a week, had conveyed interest, and avoided thoughts of her mother's contempt towards him for what he planned to do. He had been with many girls, even some women, but none as important or close to him as her.

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"I bet he's had sex before, I know he has, all those bitch girls he's been with, he would be so much happier with me, I could give him everything he ever wanted, I could be his baby...ugh, why am I so lame!!!"

He wondered if it was wrong that he had watched her in the privacy of her home, that he had gazed upon her in consummate adoration, and felt raw insatiable lust for her body. He had wondered what wondrous delight he would receive feeling her body deep within as if to touch the deepest part of her, feeling her soul.

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"Oh god, I can't wait until tomorrow, I know Mom met him, I hope she liked him. He left a rose for me, she placed it on my pillow, I imagined that he had snuck in during the dead of night, and placed it there for me in some romantic gesture of grand proportion"

He withheld his thoughts to the deepest part of him, as to avoid dissent in his conscience. He did not want to admit to himself that things had long since been overstepped. Beginning to feel this escapade had gone too far, that all he had known was soon to be broken before his eyes, shattered for all the years to come, he felt a flicker of doubt, but thoughts of all the years he had spent as a platonic absolute to this girl inspired him, reconstructed his desire anew, more passionate and determined than ever.

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âEUoeI want to recall the dream I wrote about last night, 'he came in through the window, lightly tapped, and we shared a deep loving gazeâEU¦What I felt was beyond this world, I have never felt such love, no other has ever felt such adoration and desire for me, I love himâEU¦ Is that weird?âEUTMâEU

He dreamt of her all night, his mind refused to wander from thoughts of her naked body brushing up against his, her lips adjoined with his, thus becoming two parts of a whole. Sweat covered his body, his heart raced, for he had never felt such desire but that of which he received from this girl he so intensely admired. He fantasized of the loving bond they could share, beyond what he could ever imagine the two might hold. He wanted this, he needed what had always been his to take, and keep forever as he was destined to for sixteen years of his life.

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âEUoeThis time tomorrow, I am going to be the happiest girl alive, nothing could bring me down now, not the essay Mrs. Carthy assaulted us with today, not the shit Mom will give me tomorrow when she finds out I dropped Bi, not even that bitch Stacie and her band of sluts, tomorrow is my day, tonight the doorwayâEU

He couldnâEUTMt resist any longer, he had to have her. The flower wasnâEUTMt enough, he was tired of merely showing interest to no ends, he had to take her, and he desired and lusted so deeply for this. He had planned to go through her window, strange as it seemed it was the most romantic way he saw to go about it. With his conscience and moral compass blinded, he disregarded anything romantic, and he took the easiest route. The possibility of being caught by her mother was far too taxing, it would ruin him in more ways than one, he would go through the house, he did have the key after all.

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âEUoeGoodnight diary, all this excitement has nearly put me to sleep, and IâEUTMm not even in bed yetâEU¦ the bed in which weâEUTMll share our first passionate night togetherâEU¦ Oh EM GEE! Agh IâEUTMm so giddy, this is too much, I have to go to bed while IâEUTMm mentally prepared for whatâEUTMs to comeâEU¦âEU

Success, he had made it past the doorway, he felt tired after his long day of work, but knew that would soon fade, once he held her in his arms while slowly, and with fiery passion made sweet love to her. He crept up to her room, placed his ear to her hollowed cedar door, and listened, first to the rapidly intensifying music she had left on nearly reaching itâEUTMs climax, then to her exuberant moans sounding off in the halls of his mind, plaguing his heart with painful lust, and finally to his heartbeat which he imagined matched hers as if God had planned this from the beginning. His bulge had swelled to the point of painful stinging; his throat swollen by the gorge of saliva derived from his carnal lust. He placed his sweaty hand on the knob, and with his final thoughts of the boy he used to be as the song on her stereo reached its epic climax, twisted the knob, and assaulted the room like the Assyrian Soldiers in the Battle of Qarqar.

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She screamed in horrified confusion, âEUoeDad?!âEU

Response to: I think he likes me... Posted July 13th, 2012 in Writing

Please remove this. There are some errors in it due to copy/pasting the story from my Facebook/Notes page. I will be re-posting the story without errors.

I think he likes me... Posted July 13th, 2012 in Writing

"I think he likes me, he gave me the most intense stare at lunch today"

He had gone over the scenario many times in his head, rethinking every detail, he knew she was onto him as earlier that day he slipped up, and made his feelings evident.

------------------------------------------------------------
----------

"I've been playing around with different hairstyles all night, hoping to find the hottest one, I know he usually doesn't go for girls like me, I have to be gorgeous for him! I have to be hot"

He shaved his smooth child-like face, of which he had for many years been insecure. Whilst deeply examining his delicate visage, he achieved realization to what this night meant for him, and what it meant for her. It had to be perfect if he were to ever shed his boyhood blossoming into the man he always dreamed of becoming. He had dreamt of her lips on his for months, wondered for years.

------------------------------------------------------------
----------

"I wonder if he's thought about kissing me, I wonder what it feels like to be kissed...Oh diary, I have never been this excited. Everything is coming together, and IâEUTMm STOKED!"

He had considered finally pursuing this course of action for little over a week, had conveyed interest, and avoided thoughts of her mother's contempt towards him for what he planned to do. He had been with many girls, even some women, but none as important or close to him as her.

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