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Author Topic: the poems thread  (Read 254180 times)

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armyoflarry

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Re: the poems thread
« Reply #15 on: July 23, 2007, 11:31:25 AM »

I erased the past
decided to reach out again
it should have been the perfect moment
the romance you insisted you wanted
spit back in my face
I can't love you
you don't love yourself
I can't make you love yourself
I can't pretend this is enough

I can't be who I am
I pour emotion out strongly in real time
you hold yours in only to cry it out later in bitter waterworks
because you know it is wrong
but you won't make the change
I don't want you to change who you are
I want you to know who you are and stop killing yourself over it
accept it and move on
or I must move on
and it will be my fault if it makes you feel better
I don't want you to be sad
I just want you to grow
shelter is fine but I can't cover you forever

my mistakes are mine
your mistakes are yours
you may erase me from your life
but that is not what I want
I tried to leave a positive mark
but you hold the eraser
and I just fade




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Also, oh my God I could eat your family pets right now. GNNFFGH!!

Rob

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Re: the poems thread
« Reply #16 on: July 23, 2007, 01:30:05 PM »

Variation on a theme began in five minute poems or whatever that thread was called

An Observation

Poets and prophets,
pundits and preachers,
Intellectuals,
philosophers,
critics
are like assholes
everyone
is one
(at some point)
some are smooth
and pink
and clean
others are hairy
and bear the stench
of not quite
wiping
well enough.
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Everybody dies
Frustrated and sad
And that is beautiful

Devery

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Re: the poems thread
« Reply #17 on: July 23, 2007, 05:37:54 PM »

i looked up
and saw you
by the window
your hair, red
in the sunshine,
made you look
just like an
earlier girl, but
her smile had been
for someone else.

i took your hand that
day as we walked into
the clearing near a
stand of old maple trees
we lay our backs
on a small incline
in the grass

playing the branches
like a conductor
the wind used a score
written before time
had changed everything
finding rhythyms
not found in concert halls

i touched the tears
the wind had placed
on your face and looked
up into the sun

a small sunflower from
last season was level
with my eyes
when i leaned forward
it held the strange music
on its face
i saw it spread down
into its tiny roots
and further into what was
beneath the ground
until it touched the sky
and came into us

in that instant
we awoke to see
ourselves in the sky
with the wind and
the trees as the
final notes sounded

your hand reached
for mine and i
squeezed it so slightly
with a reverence
demanded by the mystery
of this moment







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"The world is going to hell in a hand-basket, but it sure is nice up here on the hill."   A. Kujawa

Rob

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Re: the poems thread
« Reply #18 on: July 24, 2007, 03:05:47 PM »

Very nice soda mark...mind your n's and t's...second to last line.

Now,
where the hell
did I leave my pencil,
and
that other guy,
you know,
the pale
thin
sickly one
that sucks.
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Everybody dies
Frustrated and sad
And that is beautiful

Kenny Wisdom

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Re: the poems thread
« Reply #19 on: July 25, 2007, 05:45:12 AM »

Many thanks to Hobbesey, for shining the Dadaist torch into mine eyes!



See Anarchy for explanantion, the Scrolly thread:

Transcriptions of your results are very welcome!  :D

I'd like to call this poem:

I Saw a Shooting Star and Puked a Little In my Mouth

Bib!
Bisaw
GG
Osh! Las!
Bie
Ga!

© Kenny Wisdom Poems from Eurocummings and Other Short Stories 2007
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http://www.diggers.org/overview.htm

A life played for keeps. Read it, dig it, man...

Laissez lire, et laissez danser; ces deux amusements ne feront jamais de mal au monde!!

Greg Nova wrote:
Harper tu n'es qu'un petit couillon!

Devery

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Re: the poems thread
« Reply #20 on: July 25, 2007, 11:30:28 AM »

LAST BREATH

for jennifer and carole anne


We can’t do
other than
to compare it
to the first.

It becomes large
and important
because of 
the seasons
in between.

Are you waiting
with us who hover
or does the struggle
rob you of death’s
perfect beauty?



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"The world is going to hell in a hand-basket, but it sure is nice up here on the hill."   A. Kujawa

armyoflarry

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Re: the poems thread
« Reply #21 on: July 25, 2007, 11:40:53 AM »

LAST BREATH

for jennifer and carole anne


We can’t do
other than
to compare it
to the first.

It becomes large
and important
because of 
the seasons
in between.

Are you waiting
with us who hover
or does the struggle
rob you of death’s
perfect beauty?





That one made me cry. Another fine poem, Dev.
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Devery

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Re: the poems thread
« Reply #22 on: July 25, 2007, 11:48:01 AM »


That one made me cry. Another fine poem, Dev.

Thank you.  Me too.  I witnessed a death this week and felt the other one from a distance.
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"The world is going to hell in a hand-basket, but it sure is nice up here on the hill."   A. Kujawa

armyoflarry

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Re: the poems thread
« Reply #23 on: July 25, 2007, 03:23:35 PM »


That one made me cry. Another fine poem, Dev.

Thank you.  Me too.  I witnessed a death this week and felt the other one from a distance.

I figured. It reminded me of watching my Mother go. I've got about 30 poems about that alone. It was the most intense thing I have ever been a part of. I never believed in spirits much until I felt hers lift out of the room. It was so empty after that. Yet every once in a while, I feel it return when I'm having hard times. So as sad as it was, it also is nice to know that they come back to visit every now and then.
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JasonWakefield

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Re: the poems thread
« Reply #24 on: July 25, 2007, 06:29:13 PM »

This is one I wrote when I had a horrible holiday with friends in Tenerife.


Hitler On Holiday

Surrounded by the palm trees' barred square
With their hanging leaves, sunlight glare,
With a gun in my hand, thinking
Of shooting the man that gave me shame
Of questioning a culture, Predicting
The future, seeing faces in my mind,
The light that I find is making me blind,
Enclosed within a circle of eight friends,
Feeling Hitler and his family send
Soldiers of discrimination, of dictatorship
Of disgrace, of inflated shit, with
Misappropriations of my segregation,
This holiday has turned 'gay'
So they say, so I say, How I pray
To go home, away from this windless
Cyclone, Sun and sand in my hands
Turns to cunts and cockroaches
On coaches, Over sensitive, But
Incensed by their cynicism, physical
Aggression and oppressive pessimism,
Hotels on hills, hot and shot,
Bloody after my sullen bullet pummelled
Their sunny plights, Alcohol funnelled,
Feeling my reality distorted, but
Knowing it to be different and sorted,
Organs are disorganised, tied tight as
The bite from a snake of the fake,
Like a dog released free from a leash on
The beach, irritably hot sick escapes
From my face, onto their shoes, The
Continent moves despite God's gravitational
Glue, Soothing oceans become seething
Socials, I'll say what I want and it's
Of an unintelligible font, They can't
Consider how proud I am of my mirror,
Constructed with sound mind, reflecting
Their innocence back to their eyes,
What they see is anything but me,
But a reflection of themselves trapped
In their perception cells, Sunburnt
Despite dirty white shirts covering my
Body, Scabs on my knees teased
By the gentle breeze, Crying alone,
Trying to postpone the thoughts of
Conflict through Creation, Cameras
And Sodomy.

Devery

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Re: the poems thread
« Reply #25 on: July 26, 2007, 01:05:25 AM »

the undertaker spoke
in a low voice
as she held
her mother's hand
and kissed her

he stepped back
and waited
for the ritual
to be complete

she removed her
baptismal pillow
from beneath
her mother's head
like precious glass
she held it to her face
and smelled
remnants of
the dying

the body moved
to the gurney with
practiced skill
gown smoothed
collar patted
like a father sending
her daughter off
to a first dance

the bag zipped
in steady glides
head tucked in
the last piece
of a garment
woven by death
out of the
final bits
of life

her mother's
spirit began
to disappear
at the closing
of the back door
of the hearse

but her daughter's
heart was opening
to her mother's
new world as
she walked
into the drive
and watched it
pull away

transformed
into the child
her mother
knew when
she herself
had been
young
she whispered
"goodbye mommy"
held tight
to her chest
she waved her hand
in tiny movements
like a little girl

falling into me
her eyes looked
beyond the
empty space
that was
not yet filled
with angels'
tears


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"The world is going to hell in a hand-basket, but it sure is nice up here on the hill."   A. Kujawa

muckymuck

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Re: the poems thread
« Reply #26 on: July 26, 2007, 03:36:35 AM »

oh.my.god.fuck
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muckymuck

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Re: the poems thread
« Reply #27 on: July 26, 2007, 04:34:48 AM »

I have a few poems....but Im not so shameless
maybe tomorrow
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armyoflarry

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Re: the poems thread
« Reply #28 on: July 26, 2007, 12:14:54 PM »

This is one I wrote when I had a horrible holiday with friends in Tenerife.


Hitler On Holiday...
You hit that one out of the park. I really like the "cunts and cockroaches" bit, and the end bit as well. Good job.
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The Great Ma Chao

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Re: the poems thread
« Reply #29 on: July 31, 2007, 08:23:27 AM »

Write more Rob. You're my favorite.

--

I am the dusk that makes way for the dawn
The truth that's covered up in a state of alarm
The pinnacle of precedence that's doing you harm
The constant consternation of a breakthrough at large

I am the ebb that makes way for the flow
The sacrificial innocence to settle the tow
Appointed and anointed to quicken the blow
Fueled by severanced reverence for just wanting to know

I am the moon that steals the sun's wasted rays
Surrounded by stars that only glow for your gaze
The statue blowing kisses in the downpouring rain
The man behind the mask who didn't ask for the fame

I am the smoke that's rising up from the gun
Wistful in the pistol till the damage is done
Enshrouding the image of the one who has won
Gone before you realize where the fuck I came from

I am chaos, let me be your muscle and bone, wield me for a purpose that I don't care to know, a purpose that is worthless or the start of your glow, I'll make you mine or make you shine, just get this show on the road, I don't care who lives or dies, I just survive by the flow.

I am chaos, I am not selfish or prude, I strive to be divine in the hands of the few, those who understand that I am not here to choose, those who thrive under pressure and the stress of the crude.

I am chaos, my name rings like a bell, whether you're on your way to heaven or god sends you to hell. I'd say I've done well, hiding my true shape in a shell, intentions getting mentions but no one's catching my tells, mystified so amplified, I'm breaking records in sells. 

I am chaos, I live in infamous fame, I'm doing everything correctly so I'll keep with my game, ain't got a reason to change as I'm embracing the blame, existing unchained's allowing me to break past the frame, take me by the hand and I will show you the same, you can't adapt you'll get attacked 'till you remember the name.
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