I think you'll be the same

But I have no idea
Sitting here waiting for you to fall or cry or...
Feel anything at all

You're still the same
But

Everything else has changed

Cry 'Havoc!' and let slip the dogs of war

i...like...your poem.

i thought it was a bird, but it was just a paper bag ...

and...I...love it to pieces

Biased towards odd/pale/creepy/dead/fictional guys.

This is a clear proof how marijuana can harm your mind.

"Learning to cope with feelings aroused in me
My hands in the soil, buried inside of myself
My love wears forbidden colours
My life believes in you once again..."

This is good. Real good. Would you mind if I made you my next featured poet on my little site at:
Distant Disco
http://www.distant-disco.freeservers.com

I need to change it soon and I think it would be fun to use your poem!

"All the world is made of faith,
And trust,
And pixie dust."-Jonatha Brooke

Save the everyday fan: BOYCOTT BOWIENET!

You need to work on your imagery/power words

I...heart...you

little brother

hysterical and useless

It's all insane
It's all the same

It's all we think
It's all we were
It's all we felt inside

It's all I had
It's all I've lost
It's all I ever dreamed

It's all you know
It's all you hate
It's all you wish was dead

It's all me
It's always me

It's all that's on my mind
It's all you left behind


It's all the same



It's all insane

I'm a people person... who drinks

Edited by Remade/Remodeled on 03/26/03 08:30 PM (server time).

Ooo wowie. That is very good. Methinks it needs an extra something at the end to make the rhythm work properly, though.

That Vulcan thing where you grab someone's pants
- Lon Suder

Better?

I'm a people person... who drinks

Very muchly so! Gosh, I could never have thought of such a simple solution. Shows how much I yet have to learn.

That Vulcan thing where you grab someone's pants
- Lon Suder

You're tired of trying
to keep the dead alive

I'm tired of one way conversations
and lonely nights

You have my reasons
I have your lies

One by one I'll stand them up
and one by one you'll watch them fall
Because one by one I'll build them up
and one by one you'll break them all



I'm tired of fighting
to keep your dreams alive

When I'm really only waiting
until right time

You have my reasons
and I have your lies

One by one you stand them up
and everytime I watch them fall
Because one by one you build them up


But they were never there at all

I'm a people person... who drinks

To think
you never saw
while I cherished your looks
as if they were diamonds
and your smile
made me shake

To think
you never told;
wine soaked confidences
wasted
because you couldn't see...
or didn't want to.


To think
you never loved


well, probably for the best

I'm a people person... who drinks

Your prose is brilliant in it's conciseness, and you're clearly a romantic at heart.

I wish it would rain
and turn this dust to mud
and turn the mud to clay
and turn the clay to life
and turn life to something worthwhile

I wish it would rain
and make this pool a lake
and make the lake a sea
and make the sea everything
and make everything worthwhile

I wish it would rain
and change my mind
and change my mind
and change my mind

I know that I must do what's right
Sure as Kilimanjaro rises like an Everest
Above the Serengeti

Justified in thinking
that this wasn't quite time
Matyred for taking what was known
to be false
Reasonable in judgment
Advantageous in positioning
No one needs to know


fucker



I know that I must do what's right
Sure as Kilimanjaro rises like an Everest
Above the Serengeti

he's idle, paler
sitting there in the corner

moth lands over his name
i disregard the former

words are always soothing
i can feel it getting warmer

gone for weeks/months on end
he returns

only to find him
idle in the corner

i learned the truth from lenny bruce

and i thought that all i wanted to do was just reach out there and grab it.

well, shit. i came so close and for nothing.

my stomach is twisting into a knot but not for the same reasons. at least i think so. i'm getting anxious, but i'm not sure for which situation. there's a million things up there. no dust, though. i think too much for that.

i'm not sure why i think it'd make me feel better. but it would, i know it would.

because then nothing else would matter.

i'm no drinker, but i could make an exception. or maybe i wouldn't need to. how long does it take anyway? if i had the money i would've. screw the rules, i'd have come.

i wish i could be realistic. maybe things would be easier then. maybe i wouldn't be taken advantage of.

it's bad grammar to end sentences in prepositions. jesus, i am losing it.


...so what did you say is your drink of choice?

i learned the truth from lenny bruce

Small seductive smile flickered as their eyes met
He shut his eyes it's not supposed to happen like this
Open again but she's still there smile remains
eyebrow raised...

Oh god, but she needs somebody to hold onto
and apparently I'll do, so "My drink of choice is absinthe, but I'll drink anything with you".

God, it wasn't supposed to happen like this.

Stutters his way through the small talk (it's not supposed to happen like this) but somehow she's still there...
Make her smile
Make her laugh
If it has to happen like this, make the most
as

She needs somebody to hold onto
and of them all she picked you
so "I'm really fond of absinthe, but anything will do"

And a few more, a few more smiles and at least he's talking freely now
Refrained from shaking and even looks her in the eye
And he knows what's going on
although it wasn't supposed to be this way
so she says "It's up to you,"

"Well, I live only blocks away,
but I'll go anywhere with you."


She needed someone to hold onto
but we all knew she'd end up with you





I know that I must do what's right
Sure as Kilimanjaro rises like an Everest
Above the Serengeti

Yesterday I saw you by the water's edge,
sitting in the shadows
You cried "It took so long
and now it's done
what more is there to do?"
And you turned away from the waters edge
and said
"Come back tomorrow."

I watched you by the water's edge
and you stepped into the shallows
you moaned "Not long
not long away
but what can I do now?"
Then you turned away from the waters edge
and said
"Maybe tomorrow"

I sat there by the waters edge
as you waded into the mire.
You turned and said
"It's been so long
and he's been so long
and I don't know what to do."
And I turned away from the waters edge
and said
"I'll be back tomorrow."

I returned today to the waters edge
and I spat into the shallows
"You took so long
and now he's gone.
What the fuck can you possibly do now?"
and we turned away from the waters edge
Only to return tomorrow

I know that I must do what's right
Sure as Kilimanjaro rises like an Everest
Above the Serengeti

There's something quite resonant in her smile, he decides
It could make the sun black
It could make the night white
There's something quite resonant in her smile, he decides
Which means he thinks it's fine

There's something quite sonorous in her voice, he decides
It could make the birds flat
It could make the symphony trite
There's something quite sonorous in her voice, he decides
Which means he thinks it's fine

There's something quite invigorating in her manner, he decides
It could make the dull sharp
It could make the stones try
There's something quite invigorating in her manner, he decides
Which means he thinks it's fine

There's something quite loathsome in his person, she decides
He could make the milk curdle
He could make the children cry
There's something quite loathsome in his person, she decides
Of course she doesn't think it's fine

I know that I must do what's right
Sure as Kilimanjaro rises like an Everest
Above the Serengeti

Cracks of white appeared in the grey
'Perhaps this will be better'
But in the end it's still the same
Because the white, it pervades
And the white is just another shade of grey
And in the end, we're still the same
We're still waiting,

Shards of light appear through the haze
'Perhaps our hope has come'
But in the end, nothing has changed
Because the light, it pervades
And the light is just another kind of haze
And in the end, nothing's changed
We're still wanting,

And the white fades to grey
And the light becomes haze
In the end it's the same
In the end,

nothing's changed

I know that I must do what's right
Sure as Kilimanjaro rises like an Everest
Above the Serengeti

A month
A week
A day
An hour
A minute
A second


but never a moment at all.

But seriously folks...

I like the last one !

T.ReX☼BowiE

"Ride a white swan like the people of the Beltane.."
Thank you very much. We love you. Bye Bye.

Times like this
when the rain comes hard
and I'm locked in my room
there's nothing much to do
except try to work out
when I fell in love with you
wait...
I'm in love with you?

Times like these
when life slows down
and I'm stuck in the same places
always seeing the same faces
I stop and think that
I'm in love with you
wait...
I'm in love with you?

Times like then
When everything seems
so much better
and everyone smiles all the time
It's hard to imagine
I wasn't in love with you
wait...

I'm in love with you?

But seriously folks...

ll0ll0lllll0l0lll0ll0llll
ll0ll0l0lll0ll0ll0lllll0l0lll0l
0lll0ll0l0llll000lllll0l0l0ll0l0
0l0l0l0lll0lll0lll0l
lll0ll0l0lllll0lll0lll
ll0l0lllllll0lll0ll0l
2


Bet you didn't see that coming

But seriously folks...

Ûë·ívß]v1/4}ZUY´<THORN>*Y´õy´m



jim nabors is way cool

I had to look at that for a few minutes to actually get it, yeah I'm slow .

T.ReX☼BowiE

Well if it's hers, then it must be mine. It's a ripoff...

he said anything would do.

so she took his hand and they walked and walked until they came to a lake hidden by trees and vines and leaves. it was sparkling. the moon sparkled and the fireflies sparkled and it was surreal.

they drank the water out of the flowers that had been rained on. he said anything would do.

she smiled. she always smiled when she talked to him. when she thought of him. and she was happy, and she hoped that he was happy, because it made her even more so.

it wasn't really awkward, as they expected it would be. they swam in the lake until it got too cold, not really talking much, but both smiling largely to themselves.

and she thought, it could happen.

jim nabors is way cool

I never knew you wrote such great stuff.
I should spend more time in Artiste Forum, you can find a lot of great stuff in here.
If my opinion means something to you, then I'd like to say I like over half of your poems very much

It's a way of dealing with all the feeling
Keep believeing in dreams
...these are the dreams of an impossible princess...

I'd like to be the one
to say what you wanted
needed
longed to hear
and then say it again
to prove it was right
to make you smile
to make you mine

I'd like to be the one
to take you out
around the world
spin you round
upside down
and make you shake
to take a chance
to make a choice
to make you mine


I'd like to be the one
to tie you down
with a picket fence
2.3 kids
crippling mortgage
and a desire for more
to take you down
to make you cry
and curse being mine

But seriously folks...

i am superficial
insignificant
awkward
sarcastic.

i am slighted
discontinued
seeping
discontent.

i am recovering from realization.

i'm not the one
nor the only.
i am ugly
and jealous.

he dangles that carrot in front of my horse.

don't touch me, your hands feel like salad tongs

Would it not be great to get
something for nothing?
oh! but, life is not that way at all!
people expect a return for their efforts,
be it,
love,
passion,
play,
work,
or, a knock at the door,
reciprocity rules the day.

©2004 AtonalFreak

The Atonal Express left the tonal world behind...
Atonalexpress

It's fever, it's a break in your neck
It's never the selected track,
that was playing on your stereo

What goes on the outside messed up my feelings
Steered on the inside out, I need a landrover.. that brings
my honest weeping, but now i'm stuck




Oh... that was crap... ah well.. tried it..

Andy I'm late, Andy please help me. I never get the silverscreen. I'm not exactly your galleryteen

plunge
deep into my swimming pool
my nature lake hot lagoon
count bugs in the sticky air
(blinking airplane disappointment)
lick flowers and sip each other
but you like absinthe
and i only hope
you can be satisifed here

don't touch me, your hands feel like salad tongs

sucking on cigarette lips
feeding me lines to nourish insecurities
your haughty mannerisms
won't allow me in good conscious to
run around naked
shit in the woods
callous my feet
get dirty.

needing your approval
plucks the fruit from my tree
leaving my branches bare
and i shiver with bitterness
only because it's not so easy for me.

and there you sit
feigning righteousness
coolness
beautiful free unwantingness
but you can't even
remember my name
and you won't even use
both sides of the paper.

don't touch me, your hands feel like salad tongs

Man, why is beatled's poetry always so good?

Next time somebody calls you a name, say, "That's not what your dad says," or simply, "I had sex with your dad." At first it might seem weird, and your friends may be horrified, but they'll grow to see the humor in it.
--Glitterbot

you hot burning tan freckled constellation skin
curling swirl tufts of blond ambitious flow
lean against so smooth pressing earthy fabrics
myriad texture amazing sexy nonchalantness
dripping with a smile bearing
white teeth and a fine contrasting deep black gap

me sinuous small compacted boat
swimming pool splashing timid small talk
lean also againt that brown gold buttery fiber
pale moony and reticently unacquainted
of that spongy hot pink vastness of your
lizard-climb-high peachy intellect

we standing liquid cool blue green
steamy planty jungle fluidity from lips into matter
pouring out of deep penetratinf orifices
soaking into wet cerebral combat from
screaming amber secretions of
thick and puncturing coconut milk.

don't touch me, your hands feel like salad tongs

why are you so screwed up? you just smash my impeccable timing to pieces and i look like a fool, and yes, i may be that one that doth know he is. or perhaps not, because of that strange bee-fruit flying down from that cool green weeping tree. it cries and i hug it so it will feel better. and then you cry and i can't hug you because i'm not sure that i can make anything better for you. you with the summer water hot bliss attitude, "everything is okay, don't touch me or my pride will shatter like i ruined your timing." and so i stay away distancing myself so far as i can go and eventually run into warm tan pleasantly squishing squeezing liberalness that bites into apples as if they truly were faces and he's afraid of hurting them. so we melt in and out and on top of one another oozing with that digustingly beautiful wet happiness, like the kind that makes you want to just die and live forever swimming in the moist dirt with the earthworms and the shiny black and red beetle crawling around in the soft brownness and it's at that point that you realize you have nothing to complain about, and if there is, it doen't matter, it's so insignificant, you just can't because everything, you now know, is really alright and the drowning glittering earth is nothing but a bunch of black and red beetles shining and crawing in some vast deep pile of earth packed tightly and securely and immensly into a ball, and you creep with those earthworms and lick the salty crispness of the brown, happy and just alright.







don't touch me, your hands feel like salad tongs

There's...
My...
Face...

What are you doing with that hammer?
Why can't you be a nice elephant?
There are people
Who don't know you
It's better
You know it's better that way.

I'm a DUMBASS!

Well
He never said it was easy
He never said it was good
He never said it was anything
Anything to me, at least

Well
She never said she was happy
She never said she was fine
She never said she was anything
Anything to me, at least

Well
They never said it was gentle
They never said it was serene
They never said it was anything
Anything to me, at least

Well
You never said you loved me
You never said you cared
You never said you were anything
Anything to me, at least


Well

But seriously, folks...

Got up at six
listened to the rain
they say it's only april
but it's been raining just the same
Kissed you twice
Went though the motions
said I enjoyed it just the same
and waited for the walk
down montreal
and nothing else will change

Few words shared over breakfast
don't ask, don't tell, don't care
I guess I don't know what to say to you
I guess it doesn't matter in the end
The tears were cried weeks ago
It's all the same now by the hour
when we walk down montreal,
and talk like it's the same
pretend that nothing's changed

Down montreal,
they know the facts
but take up all your time

Trudging through the rain
Behind schedule for something
That really has no end;
but we'll damn the consequences
talk like nothing's different
Anecdotes and statistics
and who cares anyway?
Knowing it'll all be different;
because when we get to montreal...
nothing is the same

The woman at the desk,
efficient, she does it 20 times a day
we joke about people we know,
girls from school, your sister's friends
anything to keep the mind at ease
down montreal,
you know what I mean,
Sterile, unsympathetic,
Clinical, serene.

Down montreal,
they see them all,
we're just more of the same

Through the corridors,
the mens, the girls
coffee, water, light relief
magazines with johnandyoko
stories we already knew
but there's not that much to do;
on montreal
smacked up tight,
everything's funny to you

On montreal,
you're number 43
of a year not 4 months old
But they get them done in record time
and leave the rest of us with the pain

Leaving when the rain has gone,
I won't pause to say goodbye
I said it in the bed
I said it at the time;
when you mistook apathy for empathy
And I took neediness as genuine
So I'll leave you here,
down montreal,
to deal with what you've done

Down montreal,
they've seen our type
no compassion remains

Down montreal,
they've seen it all
you're just a teardrop in the rain,
a story to relate at dinner
You're conscience the only stain.

And everything stays the same.



But seriously, folks...

Wow.



That's fucking amazing.

Dream on...

Cracks in the surface
Cracks in the path
filth on the pavement
daggers in your heart

ragged little play-thing
pneumatic little whore
disgrace
regret
purge

forget

But seriously, folks...

A poem about me, R/R? I'm honoured.

Did you ever get the feeling
that you're older than you think
Wake up in the afternoon
And it feels like you've been gone
Well, for a while before

But did you ever get the feeling
you'd been gone for sometime
an empty shell
a burnt out husk
No empathy even for yourself

So, do you sometimes get the feeling
That you're nothing at all
Blink and I'll disappear
Sleep and we'll all be gone

Yeah, but would you recognise
Yourself in a few years time?
Blink and you'll miss it
Sleep and you'll be gone

But seriously, folks...

And a crowded room
and a half of grants
suddenly aware of all the people you don't know
suddenly aware of the way you mangle your vowels
so just back away
back to your room
and say

"oh it's just a bad day
in a good month
of an average year"
and can't it be better than this?

and now, much older than you feel
and so much has happened unaccounted for
suddenly, painfully aware of
how and why the years went by
and left you alone and cold
so you just back away
into your past
and say

"oh, it's just a bad year
in a good three
of an average life"
and can't it be better than this?

suddenly hit with the fact that
you've spent this time
waiting for life to begin
saving your hand for the high stakes
on the horizon
hoping that gamblers always win

a bit late for that, innit?

But seriously, folks...

She's standing in the bathroom
As the rain falls on the roof
You're standing in the hallway
Doing your best to look aloof
Yeah, they like it when you don't make eye contact
And they love it when you sneer
And they swoon when you criticise
everything they hold dear

Yeah, she's sitting in the lounge
trying to watch the evening news
and you're collapsed on the stairs
trying to make sense of it all
Because they dig it when you're incapacitated
and they'll falter when you fall
Yeah, they love it when you're drunk
and claim not to care at all

And she's leaving through the corridor
bags packed and lessons learned
While you're standing naked in your room
sins absolved, bridges burned
Because they're all infatuated with bitterness
and salivate when you're cruel
Yeah, they love it when you're pathetic
and really no friend at all

But seriously, folks...

Wowzers, man. That's pretty far out, if you ask me...

W e i r d R o c k e r N o O n e K n o w s

I’m sure I may never know what is to become out of your earthy free bird Elvis-like element. I cannot fathom anything so unbroken like that unadulterated shard of glass sparkling so vehemently in a mouse with false teeth. Your voice, so mellifluous and immaculate I yearn to comprehend that’s such an opposite to the inchoate monkeying degradation of a trailer park beauty queen. You could sit there on cold hard tiles of a dirty inconvenience store seductively counting eggs, oh no they are not broken, this is a good dozen here. A fractal mind fuck you are, never-endingly enticing and going home to watch black birds play in the cornfields. There is a metropolitan climate about your tropical brain that leaks some mustard, some botanical regality, and I immediately become enraptured by such easy fluviation, wake me up wake me up wake me up. Oh no, please don’t, I just want to lie here a little while and bask in the chlorophyll.

don't touch me, your hands feel like salad tongs

Murky shadows creep over grim, pock-marked pavement
As the bloated sun sinks below the crooked mountain line
And people in their houses become incresaingly aware that something is not where it should be
Lights come on
Children stare
The chill in your heart says:
'Time to go home'


If that's not irony then I don't know what is

Sing it up, asshole

--------------
BlackTropic84

Ahhh! There's A Dick In My Eye!

The Sun Is Up, The World Is Flat
Damn Good Address For A Rat

Nice!!! I love your second poem! Reminds me a lot of Pink Floyd's "Eclipse," which goes...

All that you touch
All that you see
All that you taste
All you feel.
All that you love
All that you hate
All you distrust
All you save.
All that you give
All that you deal
All that you buy,
beg, borrow or steal.
All you create
All you destroy
All that you do
All that you say.
All that you eat
everyone you meet
All that you slight
everyone you fight.
All that is now
All that is gone
All that's to come
and everything under the sun is in tune
but the sun is eclipsed by the moon.



I'LL eat the sparkly bird poop cookies!!!

See, when we joked we'd never leave here
It wasn't quite a lie
Because where ever else I've been
Part of me has stayed behind;

Belittled by the wider world
Running from upper middle class roots
Consciously avoiding meaning
Higher than the sun
Knowing we'd amount to nothing
Too scared to even smile

Huddled together for comfort
Clinging to each other for strength
Yet each of us,
in our own way
Alone.

If that's not irony then I don't know what is

No one comes to me in dreams
and no one whispers my name at night
no one tells me where to go
and no one does me any good
no one ever told me why
and no one ever says goodbye


I think I like it better this way.

If that's not irony then I don't know what is

Hey! Turns out you DON'T know what irony is!

Bananas! Bananas! Bananas? BANANAS!

In reply to:

---

Hey! Turns out you DON'T know what irony is!

---

Well, that was implied, but...

If that's not irony then I don't know what is

I ran into you on the street the other day
Your eye was better, my lip was fine
We didn't have much to say
I couldn't ask what I had to
What I needed to know

Because I've paid my pound of flesh for what I've done
But whatever happened to you?

Yeah well,
Free wine always comes at such a price
And ours was a high as any
But we took it then
and we'll take it again
But, you see,

I took my 13 silver peices for my part
What was the price you were paid?

If that's not irony then I don't know what is

You had the misfortune to approach me
lost in a vodka haze
when I thought it would be a good idea
to do something
more foolish than usual

What can I say?
I didn't think I'd live to regret it
but, unfortunately,
the intervention of an ambulance
set me back on my feet

Fuckers,
a few drinks and they're all over you
like flies
to the steaming pile of shit
that you probably think I am

But, I'm not all to blame
I mean,
you were warned from the start.
Yeah, you got a bad deal
but that's your own fucking fault
You should blame yourself
Being slavishly devoted
to the idea that you can mould
a whisper of a human being
into something worth while

You have bad taste in men, sweetheart

If that's not irony then I don't know what is

You don't know what you're getting into
but you can't claim I never tried
to say I was something I wasn't
But you just shut me up

And I kind of like that

But, haven't you known me too long
to start entertaining thoughts like these?
Although, I can't be anything but optimistic
about someone who has seen me at my worst
but can still hope for the best

If that's not irony then I don't know what is

our meeting is imminent
cognizant i will indeed falter
loosen up
you see i need to loosen up
i consider
balmy dreams
of equatorial groves
butterflies
deep spiders
and monkeys lounge
amidst sumptuous vegetation
so lush
fresh apples in your memory
and cool water
drink
step in
swayed by vines
leaves
polished stones
underneath
the sun
penetrates the canopy
and deliciously
your face
little tiny freckles
earthen skin
why, this is happiness
paradise
realize
you are always alone
with nature
animals
and have yet to attain
inhumanness
but
know where redwoods grow
you could climb them
but never to harm
never to harm
or you would feel
the mightiest regret
as you do now
burdened by a lack of perspective
complete attentiveness
to such esoteric detail
do you even remember
to greet the sum with a smile
clouds with a smirk
relish rather than scowl
an eternal breath
passion
is a dripping bees’ nest
slightly unspoken paradigms
of nomadic lusciousness
abound
primal instincts

the essentia of my birth
consciousness
connectivity
remote and peaceful
no need for another
i simply yearn
for such sublime magic
wholly found within
thank you
so impossibly much
someone to share solitude
is an arbitrary system
but works
no formula
a liquid, fluid feeling
changes like the weather
changes the weather
a kingdom of god
is no longer
in sight
only free will
and the power to question
even that.


you kiss me, baby, in the coffee shop
you make me nervous, you gotta stop

overlooked by those seeking masculinity
in all its primal rawness
seemingly understated meek little mouse
dark screaming eyes full of wanting
thin shell of composure spread over
thick, hot blood.
it pulsates through your body
your heart
and your slick fleshy vulva.


you kiss me, baby, in the coffee shop
you make me nervous, you gotta stop

This room has never seen
this kind of thing before
you can tell from the steam
on the windows
and the creaking
of the bed on the floor

But you still have to ask
if I'm just using you
when you see how I shake
and that distant look in my eyes
glazed over smile
and sweat drenched hair

You should know by now
that nothing is conscious
all is instinct,
intuition
and I don't know what it is I say
in the drunken small hours
which we forget in the morning

Perhaps a little too soon

Do you think

if these walls could talk

we'd come in front of a firing squad?


If that's not irony then I don't know what is

I was going through old papers the other day
and saw a girl with long dark hair
at some kind of protest or another
her eyes alight with passion
and a sense of dignity

She was just like you;
Well, just like you might have been
In a different time
With a different morality

I was walking the streets yesterday
and saw a kid bumming a cigarette;
his eyes were dead
I guess he’d seen to much
and didn’t want to see anymore

He was just like me;
Well, just like I might have been
But for a twist of fate
and the grace of God

I was at a bar last night
and saw a couple hand in hand
they were happy and free
like we’d all love to be

They were just like us;
Well, just like we might have been
If not for the pull of decadence
And mutual animosity.


Shane McGowan: I could have been someone
Kirsty MacColl: Well, so could anyone...

a moth landed on a pool of sap
and slow he sunk
to suck the sweet of hidden roots
the solace of the still

then satisfied, he yearned for flight
and shuddering
his sullen wings, he ripped away
and found he could with ease

he leaves his dusted print on me
my flying fuck
once fleeting, now is floundering
beneath a specter's weight

and he who comes and sleeps and sloughs
away the crust
of former bliss is free of me
but, i collect his lust


It's holding the night in its arms
If only for a moment
I can't see the look in its eyes,
But I'm sure it must be laughing

Although I try to forget
the things you said
they're always on my mind
and come back to me
when I'm lying in bed at night

Because
I had this good thing going
and now she's as good as gone
but you always had said
my life was kinda like a country song

Well, meanwhile I've kept on living
doing whatever it is I do
but sometimes I think about how
I haven't seen you in a while
but it'd be a pleasure to

Because
I had this good thing going
and now she's as good as gone
but you always had said
my life was kinda like a country song

Shane McGowan: I could have been someone
Kirsty MacColl: Well, so could anyone...

the sight

wreckage surveyor
how misery delights
enough to slow your gravelly roll
but not enough to halt
although the blood-smeared headlights
spill blood light on the asphalt -
for you to wade through, cautiously
for you to play in, nauseously


It's holding the night in its arms
If only for a moment
I can't see the look in its eyes,
But I'm sure it must be laughing

And once again
the wine is gone
when you wake up to find
you're here with me again
you make your excuses
and leave before six
smoking another of my cigarettes

and once again you're gone
and I don't know what to do
not that I'm not used to it
I guess I just expect more from you

and once agin I'll wake up
wondering how I ended up
at your house
lying next to you
and get my clothes
and shoot off home
and call in a couple of days
or maybe not

and again you lie there wondering
if it was something that you said
and questioning my motives
for taking you to bed


but it's a force of habit
a cycle we can't break
ingrained reactions
a couple of drunken whores
stuck in our ways

let's stay together
sometime
for a change


Lotto: It's like a stock market for the poor! - The Onion

the killer bee,
joseph cornell eating vials of honey
thick chalky mud
underneath his fingernails
scratching at the suitcases
only to discover
nine different browns.
oskar sends his regards, joseph,
and highballs stuffed
with amorphous energy and gin.
tack on a stamp
with the picture of a pope
tongue full of glue
and daschund hairs
eating them like you eat
your butterflies, your moths
fork and knife cut like butter
cut like dripping meats
incisors snap through.
gold teeth of love,
gypsies raid your insides
with an old newspaper
and a copper coin
bull tells me all his friends are dead
i hand him a feather
'go to the horizon and seek peace'
his horns hang
and knows to bury himself in the sand
to survive the night.


you kiss me, baby, in the coffee shop
you make me nervous, you gotta stop

And the first one was a member
of my older brothers' friends
who chewed me up and spat me out
until I stood up and surrendered
and did it over again
because that's what I thought love was
well that's all it was to me
but now I think I'm getting smarter
and won't make that mistake again
so I've cast her aside
with a wave of my hand

but the next one was a sweet girl
who didn't deserve that kind of thing
but man she got it anyway
and she got it pretty bad
but forgave me all the same
there's a lesson there in that
which I suppose I forgot already
but that's the way it goes
when you're young and drunk and laughing
at everything that passes
between you and someone else

So the third one was much older
and as older ones tend to do
she took me in and taught me
all that she once knew
but I knew those things already
and politely took my leave
and she went back to where she came from
a coastal town across the sea
doubtlessly with bad thoughts of our love
but that's all that we were worth

and yet the fourth one was a mixture
of all that came before
and we'd get drunk and roll around
and end up on the floor
and yeah everything was happy
but then everything was sad
until one day she left here
saying 'you're the best I ever had
but now don't hold this against me
cause it's all that I can do
to leave with what I have
and let you keep what's left of you'

so the last one was a sister
of a certain friend of mine
and I took her from her lover
and relieved her of her mind
but when we were standing naked
she could be heard to say
'I wish I'd been much wiser now
than I had been yesterday'
but nothing can be perfect
and then everything was lost
so we went our separate ways
and no one thought about the cost
because we are young and pretty
well, as pretty as we'll be
and though people talk,
people talk, it's nothing to do with me

and I’m still yet to say I’m sorry
for all the things I might have done
but you can never tell who’s worth it
or who's as worthless as yourself
so I’ll go on blindly sighing spitting
at anything I see
safe in the knowledge fate will guide me
from problem A back to point Z
cause it’s nobodies fault we’re heedless
to the lessons of the past
cause when you’re young and drunk and mindless
you want to learn them for yourself

so the next one will be different
as we each say every time
she'll be sweet and smart and sober
with nothing better for her time
and we could lie together happy
playing records in the dark
and there'll be no more need for codeine
acid and absinthe
and no more need of anyone
to tell us what we're worth
well hey a boy can dream
and I do so everyday
that someday things could be different
so don't take my dreams away

(with apologies to Jeff Mangum)

Lotto: It's like a stock market for the poor! - The Onion

It's a funny place to be
when you're stuck behind the wheel
of a car you don't own
on streets you don't know
towards a destination unforseen
but your destiny is manifest
in the dirty puddles beside the road
and the gunmetal skies
and the people that you pass by
and while you try the best you can
to change what will come
it's still the same as it was before
seven sacks of shit with a kick in the teeth
and the people you called friends
are nowhere around
and everything you loved
is behind you in the dust
and the future is the smog on the horizon
and the only thing you know is
what you heard from a guy
you thought you knew
yesterday:
'these are the best years of your life'


Figures.

All virgins are liars, honey

It was a song she'd heard before
with new lyrics
that failed to reveal
on why they'd even bothered

It was a bar she'd been before
with dimmed lights
to hide the fact
that everybody looked the same

It was a book she'd read again
ignoring the knowledge
that it wasn't very good
or worth the paper it was printed on

It was a game like any other
with winners and losers
hiding the real issue
that none of it mattered

All virgins are liars, honey

took rides in the candy bar venues
among dirt and savvy and lawnmower engines
stapled love notes to the bottoms of bars
caroused with henry and the whores
we laughed mighty laughs
idled in the grass
with stains and scrapes on our knees
pinched lightning bugs with fresh jelly
and saluted the navy men
who always feel alone
suspended in hong kong and the philipines
two day passes in dark rainy alleys of the far east.

it rains here and the colors stain your clothes
runs of ink down your arms, and your face
deep earth colors of brown or green
to neutralize the grey of atmosphere.

the seamen know better
shave hastily and throw dice on the wharf
rain rolls off their eyelashes
double sixes splashing mud on the patent leather
and shadows on the cobblestones
at dusk clouds roll out
the sun blurs the heat
and reds and oranges smear into oblivion
the sailors are back to imaginary depths
with their uniforms and ships
leave us here with humid light
and desirous hazy heat
we pick up their plastic wrappers
pick up their dice
and keep them in a pocket
(the one without the hole)
we still think throwing letters into the ocean is romantic.

but the seaglass green really is fierce
next to that sangria sky.

you kiss me, baby, in the coffee shop
you make me nervous, you gotta stop

Beautiful.

And I saw her again
for the first time in a year
the old eyes/lock/crowded room
while we were watching a band play
like in that fucking Sonic Youth video
we smiled to the sound of a theremin
and when they were done I told her
'Baby, you're the same as you ever was'
affecting the common tone I knew she liked
while you sat there and snickered
knowing what was on my mind

And she laughed and blushed and went to the bathroom
leaving me to my own thoughts
'I want this;
this is stupid,
I've done it all before!!!!'
and I asked you for advice
so you just said:
'We all need some relief sometime, Adrian
and I think you just found something
a little more comfortable
to slip into'
Well, you always have been horrible like that.

I left it there, I had no choice, I couldn't think straight at all
remembering the last time we were together,
which was the same as the time before:
at first it goes fantastic
then it goes not at all.
'Fuck it!' you cried
'You don't want any of that!
You just want somebody to hold you
then you home by dawn!'
Well, for you shit can be that simple
but I'm still too young for that kind of thing;
well, maybe too old now, I just can't do that all the same.

And right away I knew something was wrong
when she started sending me poetry
How someone can carry a metaphor
for dead flowers as lost love
I don't fucking know
But you just laughed and rubbed your hands and said
'You've got her where you want her now;
now's the chance to get her back
for all the pain she's done to you'
'You're a spiteful old fuck'
I gently replied
but you'd always been a bit like that

So I replied gently
with nondescript poems about urban angst
and existentialist isolation
you know, my standard bread-and-butter autopilot rant
and told her about my weekends
of decadence and sin
and abruptly she blurted
'I got the results of a biopsy,
can you come hold me for a while'

Well, this was just fucking perfect
it was all de ja vu to me
back to time in April last year
where I braved red paint to be by her side
for the death of a baby that was not mine
and all of a sudden you were quiet
where was your lewd advice now
but without you leering over my shoulder
I had no moral counterpoint
to base my decision on
and I'm still sitting here choosing
trying to decide which is right and which is wrong
but I fear it's all just shades of grey
and I hear you saying
'Hey, at least she won't be around very long'

You really are a bad fucking person, you know?

All virgins are liars, honey

You all make me scared to post any of my poetry. lol.

"I don't know what your problem is, but I bet it's hard to pronounce"
Vanessa

It can't be any worse than mine!

All virgins are liars, honey

well, im in the middle of a bit of writers block..i cant seem to find any inspiration,a nd all of them sound silly, rather than deep. I have a few were..they arnt finished. I have tns of lil bits and peices, with out any real begining or end, does that make sense?

one that goes:

you were always something special
eyes the colour of a stream
with a smile fit for the devil
and a love like heavens dream

and from there......nothing!!

"I don't know what your problem is, but I bet it's hard to pronounce"
Vanessa

I can't believe you can be
so ignorant to what is happening
all around you
and within you is this inner peace
can't you understand?
this is not a gathering storm,
clouds on the horizon and eerie calm;
the hun is at the fucking barricades!
and we can either prepare to repel
or bunker down
and I think I know which you would prefer

But it is not that simple for me
I'm caught in between fight and flight
I want to run but there's nowhere to go
I want to resist but I've never known how
but you can't hide behind words your whole life
and they say that there's more to life than the books you've read
but how much more?

and when it all comes down
I'm still frozen in my place
and the enemy is at the gates
and the wolf is at the door
and all manner of cliches mount their attacks
but I'm still standing dead-eyed
doing things I could do some other time
But, nevertheless, feel all important now.

Do some work, Adrian

All virgins are liars, honey

At this time of the morning
I could believe anything was true;
I could think anything of me
and I could ask everything from you
but we're still just sitting here
waiting for something to happen
do you know what has passed between us?
did it mean anything to you?

At this time of night I could never get to sleep...

You know, there's room over here for two.

How many times before
Could you tell I didn't care?
When you reached out in your sleep
And you knew I wasn't there - New Order

Success
is having climbed a hill
only to start again

Success
is having done it all
and been left wanting

Success
is knowing that there's a part of your life that's gone
and you will never get it back

Success is a hollow feeling
of having done more than enough to survive
at the expense of your soul

Success
I thought I'd never taste
Would anyone like to trade?

How many times before
Could you tell I didn't care?
When you reached out in your sleep
And you knew I wasn't there - New Order

I think I saw him sniffing around early last year some time;
a mongrel dog with a taste for your thighs
But, obviously, I didn't take much notice as that was before
well, before everything that happened in the past twelve months,
before we were anything more than Alex's cousin and some guy from school;
Just a couple of drunks with a taste for VU and red wine...
But then what happened happened
and I take as much blame as you
but when we left it at that
it wasn't quite done,
and we're left doing this wary dance:
the ex-lover limbo, where you can't just fuck
and forget
as we're both wont to do

And now when I see him around,
and I know you don't want my advice
(as useless as it is)
but, baby, a man like that is like an acid flashback:
all bright colours and no sense of release
and you'll lie there trembling looking for some way back;
but you're so fucking sure that I'll still be here
to clean up after you, to sort out your mistakes
to still care no matter what happens
between you and him, or another ex-boyfriend
you forget that just because I'm alone
doesn't mean that I'm lonely
or in need of anything from you

And, did it ever occur to you
I might have better things to do
than waiting around for you to come back
with a few dozen beers and a carton of ciggarettes
to tell me how you went wrong and how
you need some stability in your life when
you forget that I'm only stable in comparison
to your raging Vesuvius of vitriol and regret
threatening to destroy whichever Pompeii you can find
where I'm sort of like a quamire
of bitterness and lamentation
everything sucked in never comes out
but festers and swells, bloated and ripe with decay

I don't know, baby, it's not that I don't love you

It's just wish you'd stay away this time.

How many times before
Could you tell I didn't care?
When you reached out in your sleep
And you knew I wasn't there - New Order

Hello, it's strange
to be here after so much time
stopping and staring at everything
that changes when you are around
a little bit of me
meets a little bit of you
fuck it, sometimes,there's nothing else to do
and you say you'll save a memory
and I'll say it's for good this time
hello again it's always a pleasure
to say goodbye to you

How many times before
Could you tell I didn't care?
When you reached out in your sleep
And you knew I wasn't there - New Order

I am having terrible writers block...so whatever..ill give it a lil shot, I mean it may suck but what the hell.

_________________________

She had the body of a goddess
And the eyes of an innocent child
There was something so sweet about her
Yet something was fierce and wild
You didn't know quite what to do with her
You didnt know how her mind worked
So you wept and you prayed
You worked and you slaved
And you still ended up looking the jerk.


"I don't know what your problem is, but I bet it's hard to pronounce"
Vanessa

In reply to:

---

my first time...ha ha

---

ha ha indeed. ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha.

Oh shit, I'm doing it again.

and if you press a little
and if you try a little
and if you sweat a little
you might get through to a taste of what's within
but don't hold your breathe

but talk
like you mean it
but then again you always do
try to say something that matters
to anyone other than you

breathe
and keep on trying
just forget the fact that
many of us just pray for you to stop

How many times before
Could you tell I didn't care?
When you reached out in your sleep
And you knew I wasn't there - New Order

in the beginning, there i was, wrapped in muslin, soaked in myrrh
salt-licked, sweet taste, sugar lift and onion skins
necessary entomology; the flies in your ears sweep lightly
the cloth has been stitched just so
each cotton loop hugged the twill as it passed
rendering me cocoon and safe in burdock and sinew
the bees stuck in the resin, useless as powder and gloss on a hot afternoon
never had i felt so misunderstood.
rationality ate through me worse than hot acid through my plates.
the rats came floating up, dead at the surface of the bath
and the bees cried, the flies sobbed
the fat tears of communication dampening my paper, running all my ink
but the birth was not so beautiful.
ordinary, sterile
my body rancid with formaldehyde and mold
even the orange peels curled up, insulted.
the cellos in the back mourned
victory and eternal gratitude are lost in battle
the ships sink in violin and upright bass
brass sonnets, metallophone, golden eggshells
things always come and go, they come and they go.
turtle shies away from rocky shores
bull continues his lonely travel across plain and emptiness
i mesh with its curves, pulse along the back of its ridge
opening to earth and gravel, whiskey in my wounds
immortality has such extravagant disadvantage
it becomes lucid at jazz heartbeat, at bodily groove, at uneaten flesh
the rhythms cease;
silence follows terror, warmth is soon to replace an icy exchange
the rats awaken and slip out unaffected
our tests show no harm has been committed.
i am not satiated, my hunger rests on sleeping possum
that is not quite as alive
lay your had on whale oil atrophy, nest and riptide
beatitude and degenerate hypothesis emulate divinity
you will sleep on the bottom of the ocean with me and sigh and heave
the current carries everything away, recycles our bodies
our decay will go on,
we fester and rot,
to continue.


you kiss me, baby, in the coffee shop
you make me nervous, you gotta stop

Like a ghost inside she crept
and slipt into the broken bed
and lay with me there until the morning
'Get me out of here'
she cried,
'I know I've sinned, I know I've lied;
but these people follow with their eyes
their cheeks flushed with providence
their faces hollow evidence
of families who haven't smiled since
the end of World War Two;
or at least since Hiroshima'

So she sook absolution in my arms,
thinking I could wash her clean like I was
John the Baptist;
I replied as best I could,
'I know your sins, they are my own
but you'll need to go to someone else
for the conclusions;'
which she didn't like to hear me say
and left me there to start the day
alone again but with a heavy conscience


How many times before
Could you tell I didn't care?
When you reached out in your sleep
And you knew I wasn't there - New Order

The little asian
turned slowly onto her side
and fell asleep
while i cogitated furiously

Never again
I think I said
but it could have beem a dream
but it was cold in the park and the mist hung low
and the grass was wet, freezing
and
never again
I thought I'd said
but again and again
it comes back in

never again
I think I'd said
but I can't remeber when
as the sun hung low on the hills
and I slunk my way back home
restless now with imminent urges
soon to be released
never again
I thought I'd said
but I'll be back again

I've done a lot of things I'm not proud of and what I am proud of is disgusting - Moe Syzlak

You, stealing into me
faster than the swinging door
between the rules of love and war
becomes unhinged and free of weight.
I know where it does gravitate.

You, peeling into me,
again, just like you did before,
again, the squealing rib cage door.
So, hide my heart inside my skull,
then throw my brain against the wall.

You, slipping into me
faster than the aural scurf
you left behind inside a shirt
you left behind inside my room
is fading to a smell of doom.

You, ripping into me
faster than a name and flesh
slips through the fingers of a death.
Like bone dust breathing into flight.
Devoured by the endless night.

Bring me stories, bring me out, bring me Hell and hellish doubt.
Bring me nothing, bring a smile, bring me somewhere cold and vile.
String me on, string me up, string me out on smirks and smut.
Things get strange, things won't change, in this indistinct exchange.

Stop, drop, shut 'em down open up shop! Oh, no! That's how Ruff Ryders roll!

you tighten
a plug
pleading to be dislodged
from a drain that drains frenzy
into watery self
distributes it evenly among every cell
your warm tributaries
they merrily swell
as you warily spell some four letter word
in a blurred non-language that cannot be heard
in a shiver that wags
awaiting a name
you swaggering braggart of shagging and shame
you staggering Bogart, now drunken and lame
you're a dame in a lonely place
still, smoky frame
shelled in a light
and dark
and tame
and lit by a spark, the dame takes a drag
inhaling a worry
and starting to gag
then starting to choke and joke and joke...
until "come hither" flashes lightning
in my stroke
oh, bright and frightening
in my stroke
to penetrate your flimsy yolk
to venerate your clumsy cloak
to sin with pride
to touch your side
uselessly baroque
inside my stroke

The end of semester is like the vaginal harvest. Capitalizing on all of that sexual tension is like a tribal ritual for me. I put on green paint, buy a 10 pack of Rough Riders and go to town. - Kev

And if I'm gonna keep posting this kinda stuff, I'll require a more angsty theme. I can't take myself seriously with that Rough Riders thing, and how I yearn to take myself seriously.

People are fragile things, you should know by now
Be careful what you put them through

Ah, please post as much as you want. I am currently in something of a fallow period and also dead busy as I am leaving the country in 24 hours. Expect much navel gazing, talk of alienation and poems titled Doesn't Anybody Here Speak English (I Thought We Won the War, Dammit!)? once I arrive in Japan

I've done a lot of things I'm not proud of and what I am proud of is disgusting - Moe Syzlak

Let's be a yeah whore grinning,
on.

The ropes to the ceiling and hangs
her fleshbag is color of human skin
gas mark distress insignia A trouble key, and
Her hemoglobin insect army
Like Antonio Torso feast show
(it is a thing you watch on television)
Bright flash retina scab sky of room And in.
And she thinking touch it
is red going to coos hand
To climbing a reptile blush and

Give me money,
She thinks she is going to touch it.

A festival tiny mouths
sewn bakery among afternoons
liquid perishable, nine month moon
Open queen and stocked
Eyeing spider fourth murtain
(it is like a curtain but mortal)
To bulb and ash splendor, wise
false calendar eruption on in sailor
Alright, can come, dig.
My smile is eight inches big.

Inspired by my crappy haiku. GP, I hope you don't mind, but I'm biting off your technique. (I think you know what I mean.)

To answer your question:
The tree makes a noise
It's a shriek no one hears
It's the curdling poise
of an august Sequoya that's rotting inside,
absorbed by a pillow like sand drinks the tide
Lapping away, now and screaming with blights,
teaming with mites,
and beaming with lights
(The lights help me deal)
But, they bounced off your eyes, because they weren't real

To answer your question:
There's no healing balm
Nowhere in Gilead,
and not in a Psalm
A kiss of the palms is all holy and chaste
But, it honors a myth and it seems such a waste
to be wasting away, now and bleary with need,
weary of creed,
and teary with seed
(The proof helps me feel)
But, it washes away, because it's not real

To answer your question:
It's hard to be true
when you ask me a question
that answers to you
I wish I could know what to say when you're sad
I wish I could be the only to be had
Crumbling away, now and ashen like ruin,
scratching and chewing
a patch of undoing
(The truth is revealed)
And, it means not a thing, being true, being real

Many girls want to be carnal with me... because I am such a premium dancer!

little plastic set of tools
chocolate chip and vericose veins
we came home laughing, to be abated
by shards of ceramic skull surrounding your rosy face
are you dead? are you a ghost? are you even here, at all...
your back, peeling like the color on your commemorative Desert Storm T-shirt
vermilion tan, blue blood, and a perpetually white mind
projecting blankness on a moving screen
that's swirling with time and feeling
you don't comprehend, you fucking mutant
that this is all there is
for that, i hate myself

Many girls want to be carnal with me... because I am such a premium dancer!

Took the slow route to get here and Im still waiting to arrive

spent hours in a town where they all knew my name
but chose not to use it
not that it matters
I am a different person I suppose-

gave myself a new name
but feel just the same
maybe more alone

maybe like my shadows casting me
here in a place where even the rubbish truck plays a tune

unrecognisably�CI admit.


I guess what I am trying to say is I miss you

Subter meat eyes. I candle to your candroid,
A posited question (read: redundant)
And tricks for swelling ankle shocks.
Simulacharm beeb in a John Cage phony,
We listen off cognition and ploy
A mate beat allegory; or is there allegory?
Is an allegory beat comes the beat itself?
Is an allegory thinking the thing itself?
Is an allegory unitrinsic and the beat bought itself

Or chance:
I was watching the number spinning like millionaire and
It a question; brought about; brought about
Broad allegory (stuck) to cognition
Which is itself a cognition and
glory method recursion cunnilinguistic phonemenon
Lexical distorgence simultaneity of meaning and coincidence.
I beatbox the alligatorical until it
bites the coq off my colloquialism.
It is playful butter inheritive to the somehow
and pertaining the formal surgeon (it itselfs reference
faux semantically and semioltaneotically
while I reference nothing but the language is an author
protative cognatogist?)

Or truth I want to refereme of sexiotics
For dinner tonaght fountain that spat phallic
It was like a cock which was its own continuous ejaculation
And bite the baby flesh alligorically off the fiercy
It was delicious and there were tomatoes.
Do you see where I was coming from?

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I remember...how can I remember so many things from previous lifes?

I remember when you sent me that German song, it was so funny it made me cry.

I cried and cried, you moved me.

But I can never show my tears to anyone.

Until I met you as a 5 yearold.

Now I put my big black sun glasses even if it's not sunny.

Cause girls don't cry. At least not in public cause it fucks up their make up.

My ass belongs on your face.

You know that you have climaxed when the poetry ceases and the walls become a room again.
I was once on the beach and the moon had wings, there was a certain tribal logic to it
The arrangement of bodies
Who speaks to whom and when, it has a geometry
There are flowers and there are rocks and there are clouds
If you are not a flower or a rock or a cloud I don't think I know what to do with you
Maybe that's why I treat you like you're not existing.

When I was younger I had certain traintrack fascinations
I could contemplate the possible arrangements of pieces on a chessboard and what language could be used to describe them
It was only many years later that I realized that chess was a language, and that there wasn't much you could do with that.
In the end all I was ever really doing was walking home.

Are you the prettiest one here?
Are you sure that you are or are not the prettiest one here?
I have always struggled with the prettiest one here, they are a difficult concept.
I don't have a lot of ugly friends because I'm very superficial
I don't think that any of my friends have noticed this, because I don't have many friends with big self esteems
What does a big self esteem need friendship for? They have a big self esteem
Most of my friends are broken down bottom-trawlers with pretty faces and bad memories
I am good for them because I don't favor their scarred wrists or eye shudders
They are good for me because they look good to me
I guess this is okay.


Vote for me: TW's Top Fag!

In reply to:

---

I guess this is okay.

---

I am extremely superficial but they never let me be the superficial freak that I wanted to be because there were too many superficial freaks that did too many awful things in this world.

Mother Theresa, Hitler...they were all human beings. But they weren't and I knew that because They killed My dog.

And they made me 50 years older because they said I was pretty and smart but they also called Him pretty and stupid for wanting to live his life. And when I saw pictures of him in his childhood, I saw pictures of me. And then I started talking to strangers and hitch hiked and wanted to take pictures of myself with all of the dangerous people I met and how they all treated me like a human being for some reason and never objectified me by saying that I sound like his mother or her mother. Fuck your mother! And fuck you too!

There I said it. So what if I sound like my mother? Fuck my mother, she's a menstruating bitch like all of us. But the phone never rang and I'll cry myself to sleep on the couch before He wakes up. Because he is a He and the Mother is hurting for him as well.


My ass belongs on your face.

I enjoy to intercourse your language. It makes me foul the rotten things, and that is probably for the best.

When you write, are you thinking of virgin? When you write I see manifesto, which is like being written but I think there is something between your muscle and bone. Have you had an empty cavity? Do you know the mix?

I can't see your problem but that is the charming foreign I think. Is it really matter that I am talking to myself? Have I alcohol or is it wonder.

I think you look fine in your winter jacket. You know?

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That's why I sent it to you. I can't talk English like that anymore.

I still don't understand it but then I don't understand any other human language either. I'm lost.

Did you find me already or are we gonna meet in 50 years again?

My ass belongs on your face.

I just poured over
3 years of my memories
and within all the lust
love desire failure sin
trumped emotions and abandoned dreams
I saw nothing of me

but saw in every awkward elegy
in every failed allegory

an uncomfortable pressing of my sex against your thigh
smooth and soft
yet cold
to everything I tried to hide
just to try to get inside your legs
and feel what was within
knowing it would disappoint
but expecting a miracle
something to save me

save me from myself

but alone I wrote these memories

so alone they will go on

alone I wrote these memories

of a self that is now gone

Like ossein splinters disturbing my frame
in bursts of red light, even green
Peculiar bites emblazon my face -
you will see them and might understand
Softer than words and harder than blows
from a mouth, a manus, a mother, all three
Ugly like violence and fire like hate,
unruly, the way it advanced unto me

Makes me feel fine, like fur on an infant
Makes me feel anxious, the prospect of "Victim"
Makes me feel fried, my insides are baking
My entrails are rising like sweet bread, and smoking,
foresaking my body and cruelly provoking
my heart to jump ship
through a forgiving rip
from the plank of my lung
to the tongue's crimson tip
The organ conveniently finding your lap
You're sniggering, shuddering, standing to clap
Now that you finally comprehend
the joke that I played on myself

Many girls want to be carnal with me... because I am such a premium dancer!

Now that's a horse of a different color!

A horse is a horse, Of course, of course!
When you bury your spurs, do you not feel remorse?
As the protons and neutrons in his color force
suffer a sudden and painful divorce,
do you see glue? Or the low intercourse
of gluons? Or is he a fair, Flying horse,
wild and vapor on the shores of Corse?
Of course, of course, a horse is a horse.

(I'm just seeing how much gratuitous rhyming it will take before someone calls me out on this.)

Many girls want to be carnal with me... because I am such a premium dancer!

When you ask my why
I don't think I could say
but you know the guy,
he's the one I cut down to size
but not so you can notice

I wouldn't say I was lonely,
just exploring different avenues
most of which have been cul de sacs,
I admit

But Bryan
I think his name was Bryan
with the red-wine stain birthmark and prematurely greying face

Well,
I showed him.

Didn't I?

A plan so cunning you could pin a tail on it and call it a weasel...

This is a song. I've directed it to Love. You can apply to anyone you'd like.

You respect me less for being your pawn
So do I, and it's burning my brain
You made it rain
Everyday this week
Everyday you failed to call this week, and..

Love, love, love, love, love
You're never, ever fun
I never, ever win
I always lose someone in the end

Say anything to make me feel okay
I can see nothing after today
You make me cry
Everyday of my life
Everyday you fail to save my life, and..

To love, I kneel
Please make me real
I cannot steal
your rolling thunder
But, when you go
I'll always wonder
where you went
and who is under
You, are cruel
You're cruel, but shiny
I would give to you
my money
I have the patience
of a mother
Don't you smile upon another

You don't cry, you don't laugh, you don't see
No, you hurt indiscriminately
You make me old
Everyday you pull
Everyday you pull my chance to hold you..

Love, love, love, love, love
You're never, ever fun
I never, ever win
I always lose someone in the end

Yeah, time's the great destroyer
Leaves every child a bastard
But when it finally takes us over
I hope we float away together

Sweat whiskey through shallow pores
in the strange July heat
the sun melts the clouds
and they say the rain will go away
but I'm just looking for a place to stay

I think you know I'll be ok


The women outside restaurants will shout their grief
but look them in the eyes and they look away
the rats in the vending machine won't chase
the 2 inch wasps anyway


I think you know I'll be ok

the trains at the station won't go both ways
the girls in the short skirts dare you to try your luck
I'd like to try but I've never had much
at least not enough to lead me astray

I think you know I'll be ok


Whiskey flows down unwashed jaws
the chou-hai vending machines ignore your flaws
the direlects in the park in their cardboard box forts
don't give a fuck if the sky is grey
to them it's always just another day


but I think you know I'll be ok

If a pistol appears in a story, eventually it's got to be fired - Anton Chekhov

I hope, some day, all she'll be is second thoughts

A grey mountain dying on the pomegranate sky
With beauty all around, but not within your narrowed eye
Brandy-colored bruises where your stony thighs were cupped
The Bitch, a bitch, and finally, some bitch that messed you up
And, it's hardly a surprise that she's the one you wrangled up
Cos you never angled up

I hope, some day, all you'll be is weightless spores

I'll taste you here and there, but you'll never test my knees
Though, I'll always toil over how you blindly cut the keys
When you hadn't the schematics, and I didn't show you how
Do you realize that you've made it so no one can enter, now?
So, who is there to blame for the way that I've been swindled?
And, I've been kindled

I hope, some day, all I'll be is everything

Not a florid lip print on an ever-empty can
Not the faded smell of paper money in your hand
Not the harried hubcap, still, spinning, like a top
You never had the time to see me dwindle down and stop
And, it's not worth going back the way you came with ruffled brow
It's not worth a thing, now

I hope you're happy, I hope you're happy with your glass half empty
Even though you got your share

It's been far too long
since I whistled in the wind
and heard it come back
midnight chancers and cold war dances
take me back to when I used to take what I could hold and choke it back

when we were young we could do anything;
but for a half an ounce and an old typewriter impossible to realign.
Nostalgic for a time I never enjoyed, just endured
and wanted for more

But I think what I want
is to forget for now
the warm stares and cold embrace of home
and it's hollowed out husk of what I was
that I cannot remenber
but everyone knew and some loved.

I'll be straight: just fuck my mind away.

Deny your culture of consumption;
this is a culture of destruction

I like this one:

And once again
the wine is gone
when you wake up to find
you're here with me again
you make your excuses
and leave before six
smoking another of my cigarettes

and once again you're gone
and I don't know what to do
not that I'm not used to it
I guess I just expect more from you

and once agin I'll wake up
wondering how I ended up
at your house
lying next to you
and get my clothes
and shoot off home
and call in a couple of days
or maybe not

and again you lie there wondering
if it was something that you said
and questioning my motives
for taking you to bed


but it's a force of habit
a cycle we can't break
ingrained reactions
a couple of drunken whores
stuck in our ways

let's stay together
sometime
for a change


and I can easily relate to it. Do you still like it?

Genius may have its limitations, but stupidity is not thus handicapped.

In reply to:

---

Do you still like it?

---

Well, yeah, I do.

I can't objectively view it as a piece of art but I can say that that is an honest snapshot of the situation I was in and my emotional reaction to it, as most of my poetry is.

This is one that, reading it now, I am very happy with because it is not over-embellished or melodramatic; it just is.


From memory (I'm too drunk and liable to get over-emotional to review it all right now) On Montreal and The history of them all (barring the last verse) are my absolute favourites.


And if you fancy doing anything with any of these then help yourself; all they do otherwise is sit here.


My rule thus far with the two songs I have written that have been released is that no-one owes me anything till my share of the song-writing profits equals 1 000 000nz dollars!

Deny your culture of consumption;
This is a culture of destruction

In reply to:

---

the two songs I have written that have been released

---

So what was your stage name? And did you write the music?

Genius may have its limitations, but stupidity is not thus handicapped.

In reply to:

---

So what was your stage name? And did you write the music?

---

No stage names, the name is Adrian D. Kirby.

And, no, I did not write the music. On one of the songs I was the sole lyric writer and on another it was collabatory.

If you would like to hear the songs then email me at my ESH address and I will hook you up

Deny your culture of consumption;
This is a culture of destruction

Over to soon to be truly impressed
or happy regarding bullets dodged
side-stepping cliches at a mile-a-minute;
I drink to forget but I remember everything

You know, I'd sell my soul tonight
if the price you gave was right
You know, I'd turn it around tonight
if the price you gave was right

And as I tried to remember
the first time
I try to recall the last;
is it any surprise that I can't?

You know, I'd sell my soul tonight
if the price you gave was right
You know, I'd turn it around tonight
if the price you gave was right

At this time of the year
you watch the leaves change
and try not to laugh
at the laughing stock you have become:
too old to justify your lifestyle
and too young to forget what
you worked so long to find out

You know, I'd sell my soul tonight
if the price you gave was right
You know, I'd turn it around tonight
if the price you gave was right

Deny your culture of consumption;
This is a culture of destruction

Liquid snake of memories
invades my sinking skull
A sadness swiftly vines my chest,
and still, I cannot wake
to witness every pixel of my life come disengaged,
as you softly breathe my hair goodbye
and promptly lose my name

As you think to touch me one more time,
then, balking at that shining bank;
your hand, a flexing mare,
a beast so burdened by delayed restraint

Dreaming, now,
I funnel familiar through holes in time,
discover blinding white on shelves
I cannot reach in waking life
Relive every warmer bed, whispers of lurid fabric;
the zip of calloused hands over a ghostly, virgin husk

Every hushed, sweet song that broke like thunder,
parting ribs and sunny hairs,
clearing dust from epitaphs,
revealing holy, hollow stairs,
on acrid notes of fear that helped you hear ethereal sonnets,
too timid to be manifest, too bare to be dishonest

Feeling, now,
the arctic artifice that burned in secret,
the hopeless, swelling melody
that's only dumb in dreaming

"Why didn't you post yesterday?" -- to_dizzy

You tell me your bother then go to him;
that's fine with me
I'll drink whisky


I call you again then fall asleep;

that's fine with me:
I work early


But you know me

I'm not fantastic

I'm not Jesus;

I can solve problems a 1000 miles away,

I'm Lenny C.


I'm not Louis D.


But you're with him, you're not with me;

it doesn't bother me

but when you cry yourself to sleep

you're hurting me, you're hurting me


I just wish that you could see yourself
like we see you


You're wonderful, you're fantastic, amazing...


so it doesn't matter how I feel

as long as you


are happy


I love it when you smile;


so please, for me...



feel happy



feel happy?

Deny your culture of consumption;
This is a culture of destruction

They tell me I'm wrong but I'll continue to stumble along
and forget my name; it was never important to begin with
I think it was more for them than for me and I am tired of a life
bending over backwards to accomodate what you
felt you need and wanted and were dying to find out
But remained unimpressed when you discovered that what I had
was not an answer per se but just a vortex
in which you could immerse yourself and come out none the wiser
3 days later
with disheveled hair and a renewed desire to never return
though to him or me you couldn't recall
I didn't love you but I never said I did and though I heard you say so
many times I forgave you because you were in a tight spot and I was half there as a friend as much as anything else. Some friend, yes.

And I'm bored of continually writing about the same things
as if it was all I thought about
when there are a million desires I feel on a daily basis more important and, indeed, poetic than how I feel about you and I
though I struggle to put those into words and, over the years,
I think I am working towards developing a single unified statement regarding the whole mess;
I guess you will concur that those about you are better than those about her, no?

Oh but I guess hers were written in a time when I was more innocent with my emotions...
but, you must remember that I was also much more self conscious then
and I think I was struggling with a lot of things that I preferred not to address and instead stuck with the
'I have loved and I have lost' approach to explain everything
when in reality I don't think it was love and in the long run the lost was for the best;
she was kind enough to give herself to me absolutely but she had not that much going on that did not relate solely to her and she could justify any of her actions based on her claim that I hated myself
which was not 100% true but, needless to say, I had the last laugh...
do you mind that my thoughts about you become eulogies to her?

But anyway I hope this finds you well and remember that
I never mean anything I do or say and I am equally confused
by whatever comes out of my mouth and wipe the sweat from your forehead and forget I ever called because you're staying there
and I will be here and everything will remain static until February I think, though they've closed down my favourite bar
and I assume Thursday nights aren't as fun

Stop sobbing. You've lost me. Your story is fractured and self-contradictory. I think your hair is beautiful. Yes it was me but I was working as part of a team. No one was hurt. It's on my wall, though you can see the guilt in my eyes in the photograph. Goodbye.

Disclaimer: All opinions stated and allegations made in the preceeding do not represent the view of Evan Torrie, the Moderators or the TW Message Board as a whole

Based on these, I think I write a lot better when I'm either in love or have something recent to cry about.

So, if any of you ladies want to come and seduce me then leave without saying goodbye then, please, go ahead.


Also, reading these, I really miss beatled.

It's a celebration!

If I showed you my lips as a faltering fist,
Would that hit you harder than words?
Divide from me; merciful, swift; don't persist
To section me off into thirds

I've known one astride of misguided perceptions
You've thrown one aside for your grind
I've grown one inside of the murky conceptions
You've sewn out in your own design

Will I suckle, eternal, vermiculate minds?
How'd derangement become such a charmer?
You may think you've pulled off some immaculate crime
But, I see through the chinks in your armor

I love you, but there's such a lot not to love
It gets hard not to treat you like family
When, I've lost my innocence; you, your kid gloves
You removed them to better examine me


Blame it all on my roots, I showed up in boots
And ruined your black-tie affair

I was going through my old stuff and I found this one piece of garbage that I fancied as a fair piece of prose five months ago. So, I took the parts I liked (like, three words) and tried to make something better.




When darkness replaces
Your glittering traces
With faces, so hollow in malcontent

When I sleep in the sun
Where there's room for just one
Where the cold and the space aren't so prominent

It's easy to spite the once startling sight
Of an aubergine hand pinned in buttery white
To forget that there ever was warm, Summer light
Cast upon life and limb
Even, cast upon night

Emblazoning footfalls of angels on cheeks
Drawing out lines to get lost in for weeks
We met in a most perfect phase of dichotomy
We sought for to mutually raise dulcet harmony

With alien glow, you were haloed in sweat
And, ossein splinters rose from your silhouette
As they merged into mine, I'm quite sure that I wept
For a sweet, fleeting oneness that couldn't be kept

Blame it all on my roots, I showed up in boots
And ruined your black-tie affair

This is the first time I've decided to take on this subject matter. The task seemed somewhat daunting, but I felt I owed it to myself to put my muddled insights through the creative crucible and see which thoughts stuck.



I'll still pause for a vestige of my ancient faith
Church bells on dark mornings, with damp cigarettes
As my Brothers and Sisters smoke, dry, with their Wraiths
Where the sun burns as red as their steel bayonets

While false Gods gorge themselves in their rivers of soma,
And, lulling, they purr their nepenthe-laiden anthems,
We hear planes, We hear trains, over, under this coma
And, We wake, soaked in fears, knowing no one could man them

To deny We're still good, fall so far from Our graces,
Is a crime against You; those We strive to remember
But, We can't see two inches in front of Our faces
Past the smoke and the noise and the snow in September

Choking life, the smoke spreads, but won't get any lighter,
Over all of god's Children; too tired to fuss
In our bootless pursuit of a great, ruthless leader
We forgot that the only great leader is Us



edit: I'd really appreciate some feedback on this. I changed it a bit. I like the concept behind the capitalization and lack thereof, but I'm not sure if it's overkill, because, well, I can't gauge how effectively my own thoughts are coming across. Any response is appreciated.

Climb into my arms.. With blood on your clothes.. You've got a glow...

Edited by JarethsGirl on 11/21/06 06:36 AM (server time).

and I wept then:
at first for him and then for me
at everything he had lost and that I myself would never possess;
it is difficult to realize that you are alone
but the poor bastard never had to
deal with his own repulsion day to day

but it was over in an instant and I covered my face
in shame and to hurry the repression of what had come to pass


and though tonight I should be laughing,
you've caught me sobbing on my own

and while the weather should be warm now,
we're waiting on the first snow


and let it clear away the impurities
that I try to keep from view
and let it sanctify the paths
that my footsteps have defiled
and let it absolve the consciences
of anyone that puts themselves to task
for the melancholic reveries
brought about through machinations of my own


and though tonight I should be laughing,
you've caught me sobbing on my own

and while the weather should be warm now,
we're waiting for the first snow

If a candle has burned brilliantly but now stands alone in the dark with its flame extinguished, it need no longer fear that its substance will disolve into hot wax

Half light
for half the night
with curtains that won't close
and blinds left alone
and the stars that trace your spine
through the cloudy sky
and the rain on your face
reminds me of someone,
almost forgotten now;
from a time when the future lay infinitely just out of reach
for the best because it would eventually be squandered just like the past
and the streets lined with trees
as opposed to these gunmetal skies

but I digress

as sleep becomes life
as today becomes whole
I've forgotten myself and what I wanted
, unimportant no doubt,
though my dreams are still taken by yesterday
which scares me more than tomorrow
but there was a comfort there then
that I've only seen now:
a blanket wrappet tightly as a shroud to seal off all thought
and seed spilled needlessly on the ground

what am I saying?

half light
for half the night
the moon in your hair
with the clouds in your eyes
it hurts me everytime

but you'll be gone when I wake up

If a candle has burned brilliantly but now stands alone in the dark with its flame extinguished, it need no longer fear that its substance will disolve into hot wax

Affected less now
in the dull light of the day
but restless austerities
performed, of course, in vain
ensure that sleep will not come tonight

and another young man
possessed by passion
his world betrayed
tears himself apart for the approval of dawn
risen early to observe her son
this time never having known what his predecessor lost...
except for in his dreams where he knows he will see you again

and what of me this time? again the observer
though now to experiences of which I cannot compare
whereas time was I cried,
now there is resignation
and the knowledge that I will be here again in 5 years time
and, comaratively,
tonight;
70 years ago;
2001;
Thailand;
Tennoji;
St. Albans.


All are one:

like runaway horses
with nowhere left to run


If a candle has burned brilliantly but now stands alone in the dark with its flame extinguished, it need no longer fear that its substance will disolve into hot wax

Sorry about the late reply but I only just saw your edit.


Forget the capitals, rely on your words; it certainly works as it is but without the capitalisation it lets the reader chose the ultimate theme as to what is applicable to them.

If a candle has burned brilliantly but now stands alone in the dark with its flame extinguished, it need no longer fear that its substance will disolve into hot wax

As he said
we met again
in foreign lands
in persuit but leisurely
for the time has passed for the passions and sacrifice;
those hallmarks of a young man's game.

His knees damp with dew from the long blades of glass
watching silently the released rapture and celebration of youth
he is prostrate, as ever, before the Temple of Dawn
discovered and destroyed, all in an instant

or behind the books where at once was revealed what he had looked for again
I observed the voyeur and found that he was watching me

for here too there lies the Temple of Dawn
born and decayed and rebirthed once more

And, despite the conflagaration of the flames, his quest complete
only for her to be reclaimed, unlike those before her, in seeming accident
without warning of when or where
the cycle will be complete
nevertheless, he prepares to go to battle again,
then into eternity

and I too will leave, for now
these golden spires
fully aware that time will again have me brought,
broken once more
at the Temple of Dawn:
created, scented, forgotten by the second
just to begin again

Whether in success or failure, sooner or later time must lead to disillusionment...

LALIQUE

____________________

Claude

MySpace

Once more the peninsular bears witness
to our final meeting
withered now, cruel and cold:
the voyeur dessimated and soon to be exposed

he takes the boy as his own to prove his life was not in vain.

But, you know,
I can see the flowers wilting
and the sweat run free
I have seen your clothes dishevelled, the light leave your body and mind;

I swear, I have seen the decay of the angel
right in front of me

when proved wrong
(and both were blinded now)
he sought out the girl we wept for
days and years ago
only to find
she did not know us anymore
and although the garden was sacred
and the moon was faint and waxed

we could see the angel decayed
right in front of me.



See you in 5 years.

Whether in success or failure, sooner or later time must lead to disillusionment...

I don't like it but I guess I'm learning
I never saw you but I'm sure I heard it though I don't remember
of course
I don't remember
the lurch of the train
who we saw and when
taking a dive and thinking about it on the way down

when did you decide to take me home?

Swinging punches
never meant to land
you know, I'm violent by design
but I'm working without a plan
we said
- I'd have her, her and her
but I don't fancy yours much, love

when did you decide to take me home?

Thieves in the night
appear without warning
though they saw me coming a mile away
flanked by gommen
till you were horse
I was only having fun
so leave me here
I won't remember
of course
I won't remember

when did you decide to take me home?

Whether in success or failure, sooner or later time must lead to disillusionment...

Glove slaps and hand claps,
you turn your face from me
though in my mind your picture doesn't change;
the dates stay the same
until you come back around

pink frost and rings lost,
you've started to forget my name
but it'll come to you again
like a word you've never heard,
echoing in your mind


and though I don't say so often,
it's not your fault at all;
and, while my dreams may think different,
I don't miss you anymore.


Earthquakes and dull aches;
bruises that won't heal
I'm on the outside of things but I've found away in:
it's been tested but found insecure;
haven't we all?

January's cold but that Easter was bold,
though it's hard to remember how young we were then;
cavorting and crying in houses now comdemned,
though they'll always stand in my head

and though I don't say so often,
it's not your fault at all
and, while my dreams think different,
I don't miss you any more


Red rain and forgotten pain,
people move on...
and someday I'll be one

Whether in success or failure, sooner or later time must lead to disillusionment...

Que faire quand on ne sait plus vivre ?
Se noyer dans les livres ?
Ou faut-il qu'on s'enivre ?
Vite ! Que le vin nous délivre !

"This is very good, but please don't do it again." - Grandma on my roasted camembert recipe

Time is a traitor and a thief
A cruel beast that leaves us no relief
Under its rule our pleasures seem so brief
But endless seem our many griefs!

"This is very good, but please don't do it again." - Grandma on my roasted camembert recipe

I spent an embarrassing (and fruitless) period of time trying to translate that into English at work today before I found the other version underneath.

Still, it beat paying attention to the task at hand.


And, yeah, my thoughts exactly old chum.

Whether in success or failure, sooner or later time must lead to disillusionment...

These are two completely different poems, actually .

"This is very good, but please don't do it again." - Grandma on my roasted camembert recipe

Wow, that 48 percent in School Cert French I achieved in 2000 was really worthless, wasn't it?

Could you translate the former then?

Whether in success or failure, sooner or later time must lead to disillusionment...

I'll try. I may have to resort to easy rhymes, though.

"This is very good, but please don't do it again." - Grandma on my roasted camembert recipe

If I use easy rhymes to alter the meaning as little as possible, that would be something like this:

What are we to do when we're tired of living?
In books should we be drowning?
Or should we drink and drink and drink?
Quick! Let the wine do the healing!

"This is very good, but please don't do it again." - Grandma on my roasted camembert recipe

Ahh... simple yet universal.

Whether in success or failure, sooner or later time must lead to disillusionment...

Thanks chum.

It's much better in French though, 'cause it uses almost all words ending in -ivre (a rare ending) and is very consistent nonetheless.

"This is very good, but please don't do it again." - Grandma on my roasted camembert recipe

Edited by Froggy Starlust on 01/13/07 10:57 AM (server time).

if you're employing couplets, then the last word should be "healink."


meow

...but I like the poem about Time very much.


Temperature's rising, but any idiot would know that...

Nice one, Frogger. I recently wrote a Time poem, as well..


Time
Will quickly drain
Down the upturned corners
Of smiling mouths
When
And because
They are smiling

Though,
By far, the more savage
Destroyer
Of youth
Is a constant and lovely
Expression
Of nothing

In parallel worlds
Over slants of Time
Deep grooves, it will beat
Where the brine has remembered
The warm cuts, formed
In the stone of cold feeling
By designless flashes;
Brief, wonderful light

The days
Seem to wash
Over creamy, blank banks
Of the frictionless faces
With compassion and grace

But, Time is much harder
To bear when you're older
And, baring the map
Of each heart-beaten path
Is pointless...

As, most of those roads have been closed

"What I learned from the future is Sharpie markers will replace facial hair and all men are impotent except Sean Connery. The future looks bright." - T.P. on Zardoz

Thanks. Too bad I ran out of rhymes in "ief" after four lines .

"This is very good, but please don't do it again." - Grandma on my roasted camembert recipe

Had some (much appreciated) help on this one. See if you can guess who it was!!



For so long, I've needed a word
To describe all the colors that come
When we turn out the lights

Neon rippling afghan patterns
Kaleidoscope crystal amoebas
That float to corners of your vision
The moment you hone in on them

Déjà vu


There must be a word

I only haven't grasped it, yet


It smells like Grandma's blanket
It tastes like being muted
Feels like being paralyzed
Confined to useless thought
That's ushered to its death, by slumber
Smothered in my pillow scent

Déjà vu
éjà vu
jà vu
à vu
Vu

Invisibles


Ils sont si beaux

Je ne sais pas du tout à quoi ils ressemblent

Il doit y avoir un mot

Un mot que nul ne peut comprendre

"What I learned from the future is Sharpie markers will replace facial hair and all men are impotent except Sean Connery. The future looks bright." - T.P. on Zardoz

In reply to:

---

See if you can guess who it was!!

---

Either that's terrible spelling and it was The Banned One, or it's French and your helper was well-known French chef Marc Mardeau, aka Strawhomme.


Temperature's rising, but any idiot would know that...

I must fly away from this town
And its injurious waves of sin
They crawl under my skin
And make me feel so down

Far away on that French island
I hear people are all friendly
Life is slow and easy
And summers have no end

So I'm fleeing that babylon
I'm yearning for a brand new life
With my words and my wife
Southern seas, here I come!

"This is very good, but please don't do it again." - Grandma on my roasted camembert recipe

O please put me to sleep
So I won't think and weep
And please save me from my anger
Against this race so mediocre:
The humans and their petty ways
Their selfish minds and their decay
They leave me in dismay
And complete disarray

O please put me to sleep
So I won't fume and weep
Please save me from my hate
O take me through Death's Gate!

"This is very good, but please don't do it again." - Grandma on my roasted camembert recipe

I'm not as steady as you think
I drown my wounds in ink
But I'm still on the brink
Between gentle desperation
And utter destruction

And everything is said and done
The bullet's in the gun
The pen's on the table
And I'm so unstable
Yearning for oblivion
In a deathly fashion

Now

The words have dried
The bullet takes a ride
Inside my barren brain
Then makes a big red stain
But others feel the pain:
They know this life was vain

"This is very good, but please don't do it again." - Grandma on my roasted camembert recipe

PS: I've been slightly depressed this week.

"This is very good, but please don't do it again." - Grandma on my roasted camembert recipe

A lecherous bilingual thing for a change:

I must confess
Que j'aime tes fesses ;
Je les caresse :
Oh! Such softness!

Now please undress,
Sois ma maîtresse ;
Dénoue tes tresses,
O Shy Goddess!

(I must possess
La pécheresse
Jusqu'à l'ivresse ;
I won't digress!)

Here comes success!
Candeur, jeunesse,
Délicatesse,
And joy endless!

(Did I transgress?
Quelle étroitesse !)

"This is very good, but please don't do it again." - Grandma on my roasted camembert recipe

And a reading of Kate's poem Invisibles: http://www.4shared.com/file/9146107/3a61afd9/Invisibles.html

"This is very good, but please don't do it again." - Grandma on my roasted camembert recipe

Paranoia sets in
when your friends describe someone as looking like Pete Doherty,
and you say he's 'sweeter';
is that me?

I know they've seen me on your screen
but you don't know what they've seen:
the nights where I've stumbled around
trying to find myself
in the bottom of a scotch glass
that they never let me empty


not that I'd want to.


though, I do like you very much
which is why I'm worried:

has my reputation preceeded me
or has it just let me down?



Whether in success or failure, sooner or later time must lead to disillusionment...

Frenchie, I suspect your desire to make things rhyme detracts from the heartfeltness of the overall piece (feel free to correct me if I'm wrong), but I'd still fancy a translation of the sifty bilingual piece.

Also, I need some courting advice if you or anyone else who understands women is free.


Ohro?

Whether in success or failure, sooner or later time must lead to disillusionment...

I don't know, I still like the bilingual thing two days after writing it, so I guess it's not too awful... But I bought this book yesterday and I'm loving it, so I guess you're going to see fewer and fewer rhymes here anyway :



"This is very good, but please don't do it again." - Grandma on my roasted camembert recipe

This is a possible translation (many rhymes are lost, sadly):

I must confess
I like you thighs;
I caress them:
Oh! Such softness!

Now please undress,
Be my mistress;
Untie your braids,
O Shy Goddess!

(I must possess
The sinner till
I'm elated;
I won't digress!)

Here comes success!
Candour, youngness,
Sensitiveness,
And joy endless!

(Did I transgress?
Oh! Such tightness!)

and a recording of the original version: I must confess

"This is very good, but please don't do it again." - Grandma on my roasted camembert recipe

Slightly depressed has got to be better than completely warped...

This is a poem about a pair of star-crossed junkies, one of which has contracted AIDS, while the other is forced to sit back and watch the life drain from him until it's gone, entirely. In the end, she dooms herself by making love with him and presumably contracting the virus, then O.D.ing.

Yeah, I don't know where this shit comes from, but I have quite an effed up imagination.


"Fixed"

I see your phallus as a boil
I see your seed as parasites
I see your lust as an infection
I see your fever; seething fright
I see you lancing your pain bubble
Huddled in the corner, there
I feel me draining to a puddle
Blood and milk,
And, liquid flesh
But, still I try,
To try my best...

I used to see you as Adonis
Clever, clear, and crystal honest
Of all the men, you were the strongest
Of all the ladies; I, the wrongest

Blood and cuts, we smeared with grime
Liquid flesh and liquid time
Crystal mesh on shielded mornings
Needing to white wash the warnings
Needles, thorns of red, adorning
Crests of cars that we called home
Cars that didn't tend to roam
Babes we washed in burning foam

Of all your dreams, I was the longest
Of all my dreams, you were the fondest

I feel the cold, black swan upon us
Here, to preen the pristine white
A kiss,
For every feather, light;
Adrift, but stuck,
Rooted,
And, tight...

I feel you trembling;
Feel disgust
I feel the white and red combust
I taste exhaust;
Your seeping pus
Out of this ugly life, contained
Quarantined
And, preordained
Nothing ventured, nothing gained...

I feel your death inside my veins
Its portwine stain ferments in me
I feel the sickness spread in me
I feel the sickness set me free

I'm pregnant with the lives we've slain
Your side is where they find me lain
In dreams from which we can't revive
The cars we knew not how to drive


I think the influence of TW is alienating me from general society. - to_dizzy

You sick weirdo!

"This is very good, but please don't do it again." - Grandma on my roasted camembert recipe

As a child I sometimes had
What I would call
"Fits of unreality"

I would be in the school playground
Playing football
Always a few yards in front of the goal
Always playing defense
And I was very good at that

Or it would be Wednesday noon
I'd be having lunch
With my grandma
And she'd be cooking veal
With these small noodles I loved
That looked like tori cut in halves
Of course I didn't know that word
Then
They looked like
Small empty shells
And my grandma always cooked them twice
Until they got really crunchy
Because I liked them
Crunchy

Or I'd be at home
Sitting at the kitchen table
Listening to my parents talk
About people who buy expensive things with money they don't have
About the best brand of mattress for patients with bedsores
Or I'd be in the garden
Watching the dogs play
Or I'd be looking at myself
In the bathroom mirror

And suddenly
For a few seconds
The world would become meaningless
The playground and the ball
Would seem like a joke
My grandma at her cooker
And her crunchy noodles
A trick of the mind
My mother and father and pets
Complete strangers
My face in the bathroom mirror
The greatest of unlikelihoods

Yes
For a moment
I could not believe
In myself
And even less in the world
Around me
And it would have been nice then
To be allowed
To put little labels
On things
Labels that would read
"Ball"
"Noodle"
"Father"
"Mirror"

One day my mother noticed
Because
For ten seconds
I had been looking at her
As if I was seeing her face
For the first time
I was terrified
But she was cool
And we decided to call these fits
Something innocuous
For us
"Vertigoes"

The doctor had nothing to say
I felt like an alien
In my own home
I could not believe I was someone
In some town
In western Europe
But still it had to be
OK

A few years later
I started reading all I could about
Buddha
And his life
And his beliefs
And I started thinking that maybe
At the start of a new life
It was not unusual
To feel a little unreal
After all
We all need a little time
To get used to this world again
Don't we?

But a few years after that
I started believing in the power of Cautious Reasoning
And Knowledge
And I decided that my vertigoes
Must have been the effects
Of some malfunctioning synapses
Somewhere deep in these three pounds
Of white throbbing stuff

However
Today
When I look in the bathroom mirror
I still can't believe in myself
I still can't believe that two people
In western Europe in 1976
Wanted this
Me
Their little boy
Now thirty years old
Bent mute all day long
In man-machine symbiosis
Working hard on stuff
People will need
In tomorrow's world
Maybe

And I can't believe
That this may last
For another fifty years
Not that I'm unhappy
Or even happy
I just wonder
I can't see a scheme
Or a purpose
In their world

And on a day like today
When death has seemed so sweet
All day
I just can't believe
That I'm still here
To not believe

"This is very good, but please don't do it again." - Grandma on my roasted camembert recipe

I like this poem a great deal. Your other stuff is more universal, but, I can somehow relate more to this poem than anything else you've posted so far, even though I can't say for sure that I've ever experienced the exact thing you are describing, (and describing quite well, I may add.)

I'm digging the creepier stuff... Here's something fairly new. I'm not even gonna try to deny it... I was inspired by Beetlejuice on this one, and briefly by John Wayne Gacy.



For the warmth that I strive to contain in you;

For the mortar I lay in your cracks;

You give me the gift of a skeleton key,

That's been lathered with smudged fingerprints

You say it's authentic

I wouldn't be sure


It opens all things, save for one stubborn door...


The attic

Refuses to budge;

Hulking portal,

In heavy lit frame

A towering, nightly, archway of defeat

I keep circling through over again

Like a bird fastened tight to the rails

Skating round all the cogs and the wheels

In the tattooing heart of your careful invention

That screeches and stops in another dimension


I swear there's a wild thing, nightly, you welt

It's wasting and writhing, there; pinned to a belt,

Or tucked in the floorboards, like some twisted fag

Of old letters - all dried out and drained of their sap

So dry, now, infact,

That I'm sure they'd combust

If I mentioned I'd stumbled across them, in passing

Rummaging, desperate, like I was just guessing;


Looking to silence the scratch in the walls


I think the influence of TW is alienating me from general society. - to_dizzy

Thanks.

In reply to:

---

like some twisted fag

---

It's too bad Monkeyboy never checks this thread, he'd be glad you mentioned him in one of your poems.


"This is very good, but please don't do it again." - Grandma on my roasted camembert recipe

At least now we'll get to see whether he does searches for his name.

Whether in success or failure, sooner or later time must lead to disillusionment...