I always like your poetry, JG. Here I really like the imagery of a "dull, nickel horizon" and "dappled fingerprints." I also enjoy all the throat/tongue imagery--you use it well and not in the usual way. The only thing I might change is the use of "ne'er," since it doesn't really fit stylistically with the rest of your diction.

Thanks for your compliment on the story. ;-) Honestly, I agree with you both on the duchess' diamonds part. It's not really my image, but I gave Jem the fireflies line. If you have any suggestions, I'd love to hear them. Otherwise, are any of these variants better?

"as though an elderly heiress' diamonds had been scattered all over"

"as though a chest-full of diamonds had been scattered all over"

I am mostly bothered by the "duchess" part, though I recognize that "diamonds" are cliche.

By the way, that factory is real and is indeed that beautiful. I would take Mika or anyone else there in a heartbeat, though it's about a 40-minute drive.

My own description of it in my journal went something like this:

Cyborgia is when...

When the night-road is the same color as the sky, and the Newark airport brings forth its crop of a field ripe with lights, heavy golden bulbs spreading their pollen in the ionic breeze.

When the pollution-spewing factories rise up in sharp spiraling magnificence like star-spackled castles wreathed in their purple plumes of smoke.

When the slender lines of bridges and wires cut up air and road like lace garottes.

Driving home at 2 am in a post-thunderstorm haze, that is Cyborgia.

I like this description better, but that's my description and not the story's.

"why, instead of semen, couldn't men ejaculate strawberry jam or something?"
--jareth's tights
"I have had contact with a vagina."
--strangeDivine

What about "as though a block of frosted semen had been scattered all over"? That would sound fresher.

The most beautiful words in the English language are not 'I love you,' but 'It's benign.' | Mon Espace

Yeah, I was iffy on the ne'er, but I tried loads of other words and I just did not like the way anything else sounded. I was thinking the word usage might be justified because I'm talking of archaic things throughout the poem, but it probably just comes off as pretentious. I'll probably change that.

Anyway, thank you for the encouragement. It is much appreciated.

"as though a chest-full of diamonds had been scattered all over"

This certainly sounds better to me. Though, I'm afraid I'm in love with your original description and nothing about the diamonds will please me now.

The Cyborgia vignette is incredibly inventive, and there's an elegance in your manner of describing the factory that doesn't seem as forced as Jem's. Then again, this makes sense as you said you can't really identify with the character.

Of course, it's not to say the story's description is bad, it works rather nicely.. I just think your personal version is quite clever, in particular.

"we went to pizza hut after school and lived the rockstar life for the first time that day." - 13athroom

Everything hazy,
World is blurred,
Things you've said,
Have never been heard.

Try to walk straight,
Crooked path,
Sky is spinning,
Drunken wrath.

Dirty smells,
Noisy chat,
Can't take much more,
Your endless crap.

Wish I wasn't drunk...

Me? Like you? Like that?!?

Something to try and make up for that drunken crap I posted...

Oh summer days, where have you been,
Still burnished from your winter sheen?
Do you quickly hide from fat old men,
Who shirtless, drink their tepid beers,
To sounds of barbecues and cheers?

Oh summers lost, where did you go?
I knew a person long ago,
Who bounced on pogo sticks till late,
Then climbed a tree, too tall by far
And fell and laughed with boyhood aches.

Oh summer nights, oh starry fields
For you I cannot think, but feel,
Those hazy staggers home so late,
To bumble clumsy at my gate,
Such happy wordless silly groans.

Who knows what summer now will yield...?


Me? Like you? Like that?!?

The Sun rose;
Supercilious
He bared his golden sneer
It glistened;
Sanctimonious
There haloing his sphere

Undaunted,
Delicate,
And, new;
The Moon hung to the day
A dry white stamp
Upon the blue
That still clung to the gray

The Sun,
Punctilious and proud,
Grew weary of her presence;
The crescent,
Slight,
Upon his cloud;
His sky host to night's peasant

So,
Night by night,
He gave twilight
To slake her mighty thirst
Then,
Crumbs of sun
To gorge upon;
Enough that she might burst

And,
Still, she lingered into morn
To drink the honeyed dawn
But,
Sun contained his fiery scorn
To fuel her embonpoint*

A fortnight passed,
And, then at last
His efforts were rewarded
His joy, begot;
The Moon stayed not
It seemed she had been thwarted

But,
To be sure,
He wanted more
Evidence of defeat
So,
In the skies,
He'd leave his eyes;
Most cunning and discreet

When nightfall came
He saw the Moon
Her face, voluminous
Her visage made him
Sob and swoon
So fair and luminous

Lamenting
All his spitefulness
Resenting only he,
He figured, "What delightfulness,
Repenting for my deeds!"

So,
Every night
He leaves her light
Until she is replete,
And,
When she's full
As virgin wool,
Allows her to retreat



*Dictionary.com Word of the Day. Better than using it in a sentence, I guess...

I wish I knew how to quit you...

An old man dribbles down his sleeve,
He stinks of piss and rotten leaves.
Spoilt children cry cry their fuss,
Please someone get me off this bus!

The window sill is dripping steam,
These seats are damp and wet, unclean,
My head is spinning, I feel rough,
Get me off this bloody bus!

The driver laughs manically,
As drunken bastards whoop and scream,
I honestly don't give a toss,
JUST GET ME OFF THIS FUCKING BUS!!!

Me? Like you? Like that?!?

It's good, but it could be great! Come back and work on it once you're pissed.
So good to see you back, sir! I may have to start frequenting T-dubs again sooner than I thought.



Today,
I'm pondering seven ways
To say that I am all alone

Monday
Calls me on the phone
Her voice is just a dial tone
I can't escape her vile drone
Mm hmm, mm hmm, mm hmm?

Tuesday
Stalls out on my street
He wonders how I'm still asleep
How many beeps before he creeps
Away, away, away?

Wednesday
Finds me on the bus
Where people stare and people cuss
I would, but I'm too tired to fuss
With you, or you, or you

Thursday
Sits with me at lunch
Nothing to say, hum drum and hunched
He hangs on my self-conscious crunch
So long, so long, so long

Friday
Is a thing of wonder
Fast and fierce like waves of thunder
He always splits my heart asunder
In time, in time, in time

Saturday
Is soft, like rain
She helps me wallow in my pain
She washes all my sinful stains
With tears, and tears, and tears

But, Sunday
Sunday cannot rest
She kicks inside my hollowed breast
She writhes as though she were possessed
With nothing, nothing, nothing


P.S. I wrote this a couple weeks ago. I just thought it was weird we both rhymed bus with fuss. I've been posting at a "proper" poetry site, but I'm getting tired of sifting through all the poems about peoples' pets to find the good stuff.

"The darkest of these objects is fecal excrement, which Sade advocates that we consume with relish, (no pun intended.)" - Douglas B. Lynott

Dans ces grottes
Des gorgones polyglottes
Ont pris nos atomes
Pour en faire des concerts de rock

Et des spectres phosphorescents
Sourient et glissent doucement
Au dessus de nos sens.

Sortons ! Sortons vite
De cette haunted house !
Je veux voir Mickey Mouse.

I started with two enemas and a moan
I was a fartiste

Women are afraid of mice
But, Mickey Mouse is very nice
I'm afraid of Donald Duck
And, every other Disney fuck

"The darkest of these objects is fecal excrement, which Sade advocates that we consume with relish, (no pun intended.)" - Douglas B. Lynott