The Poetry Marathon

The white walls between the artworks
Seen and unseen daily
Framing the frames
Unremarked.

The silence between the music
Coughed and whispered over
Framing the notes
Unnoticed.

The pauses between the words
Chasmic conversations
Framing meaning
Unspoken.

The stillness between the beats,
Pulses echo outwards
Framing the heart
Unfelt.

The empty days inbetween
Give us time to breathe
Framing our growth
Unseen.

There are very few true beginnings
Maybe only one.

Changes masquarade as beginnings
With or without ends.

But they feel important, beginnings,
And we mark them well.

Wait, countdown, prepare for beginnings
Celebrate the start.

May the impulse of this beginning
Last until the next.

It’s me again, Kell the Quill, back for more random acts of rhyme-ness.

Just the half again this year, since that technique worked so well for me last time. I’m planning to—

Wait, respecting one’s physical limits isn’t a technique. What’s the word I’m after? Talent? No! Trick? Eh, not exactly…

Tactic! That’s the bunny! That tactic worked for me last time. Yes. I forget words sometimes. It’s a thing. I might write a poem about it, if I can figure out how.

Anyway – when not rambling on about my deficiencies, I write speculative fiction. I also dabble in song-writing, game design, and yarn-crafting. One day I hope to discover what I’m good at; in the meantime, I’ll keep on making good art stuff.

My sense of humour is unapologetically British (or rather, English) and my influences are many and diverse. Hey kids, how many can you spot?

With apologies to Jonathan Coulton.

This was a triumph (of experience over optimism)
I’m making a note here, (because my memory is awful)
“Huge Success!” (came from being realistic)
It’s hard to overstate my satisfaction

Aperture Science (has given me many hours of enjoyment)
(Although I hope we never see anything like it in the real world)
For the good of all of us
Except the ones who are… (OK, I’m going to stop you there, GLaDOS)

Nothing good can come from following too closely
In the footsteps of people like Cave Johnson
And so my filk departs, and my own voice is heard,
Wittering on, without metre or rhyme
In a sleep-deprived haze of happiness
That comes of setting an attainable goal

I shall now stop talking, for there’s sleeping to do
Then tomorrow morning, I’ll start reading on through
All the poems posted here, from this and other years
But for now, I’m barely awake.

P.S. I feel exhausted, but I’m still awake!
P.P.S. This isn’t healthy, to be still awake.
P.P.P.S. Oh look, the filk’s back. Am I still awake?
Still awake.
Still a-

My book was Garden by Zhou Fang, and the first line of actual text is just the word “Nothing”. The poem/filk above does contain that word, so I’m counting this as a technical prompt response, even if it was far too easy. 😁😃😄

Spoilers for Blue Sky, right through to the end.

(more…)

Spoilers for the end of Portal 2, and a reference to Blue Sky. Press the button – if you dare. (more…)

References to Portal 2 and Half-Life

Wheatley is once more alone, or as good as,
His companion mindless, and deaf
To his monologue

GLaDOS is once more in charge, or as good as,
Her memories back in their box, her
Control, absolute

Chell is once more going home, or as good as,
Though her home lies in the past, beyond
The Seven Hour War

The player is back in the real world, or as good as
Though cake will be forever significant,
Blue Sky lies ahead

Spoilers for Portal 2 right through to the end. This poem lies beneath the Facility.
(more…)

Serious spoilers for Portal 2. To proceed, click the stalemate resolution button…
(more…)

Spoilers for Portal 2.

Riding high, crowned with success
Each nerve on fire with joy
And power

My bird’s eye view shrinks you
And Her to ants, to specks
To nothing

Sweet freedom nears, yet I
Have more than that, I am
Aperture