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Sunn O)))
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Zan-beef

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(Originally posted on: 05-21-05 12:01:23 AM)
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Ok... lets see. Well, I'm not much for criticism, nor for creating specific threads for my own art. I noticed the 'art of the day' thread, yet, it was more for exhibiting things you found and not necessarily created.

I write poetry on a whim. I have the words, I jot them down, most of the time I'd like to post them for the heck of it, yet see no reason why they should have their own thread. I'm assuming some of you, or even those who don't post much in the Gallery (but can or desire to write), feel just the same. So if you think your poetry is bad, good, awe inspiring, short, long, or if you wrote something on a whim and see no reason to give it its own thread, why not post it here?

I figure from now on if I have a poem that I have written that I want to publish on INTL, I'll post it here.
"Oh Joe Cocker"
(you like Joe's Cocker, don't ya?)
"It's up where it belongs."
Sunn O)))
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Zan-beef

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Reply 1 of 106 (Originally posted on: 05-21-05 12:02:29 AM)
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Two poems I have written which I'm not overly impressed with. Both are untitled.

I
A mind races at 4AM
and the things which
drive you, shelter in
their hidden place
I can not deny
that hopelessness finds itself
among starry brambles
but to be faced with the
face of pity...

Even the walls remain decorated
with painted beaches
landlocked by seagalls
leading only to question
the waves

They mock - telling
those of unfit humanity
and... sadness...
(which look on it in pity
for it cannot speak with words
it cannot comprehend the
little things. It molds
and doesn't know change.)

II
wicker winds
and wicker trees
dance among the wicker weeds
thunder clasps
and thunder roars
thunder within its cloudy core
fears of falling
more and more

and where do I fit into this?
I hear a sullen, draspy hiss
the snake of hate rears its head
careful not to further tread

and where do I fit into this?
would it be a hit and miss
if I lay among the weeds
under thunder, wicker trees?

or must I wait to hear the song
could it be that I was wrong:
wicker winds
and wicker trees
dance among the wicker weeds?
"Oh Joe Cocker"
(you like Joe's Cocker, don't ya?)
"It's up where it belongs."
This reply was last edited on 06-04-05 01:23:49 AM by Sunn O))).
Snowy
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Reply 2 of 106 (Originally posted on: 05-21-05 01:05:57 AM)
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Something I wrote using a formal structure while debating about the worthiness of freeform poetry. I, of course, am very respectful and in love with freeform so that is my stance while using the other's structure here.


through her children via paintbrush is this treason
to speak of the curved hip of crippled sister moon
from the bonds of love, from the sonnet of reason
gifted to us by the slender dying hand of a flaming june.

i may dither in these waters, they lap softly at my thighs
frigid birthing and the bud of gentle whispering
willow hissing in the breeze of life, song of sighs
they weep black bark and await the spring

pour into the vastness! remote from their censure and ridicule
we are skyclad and yearning to taste the liquor of this vine
while they are the grey sky beyond the swaying trees
i am a wild thing rested within cool confine.

my breath shivered bright and frosted upon these wings of old
i acknowledge the grace and worthiness of both our starcrossed souls.

The fear and the yearning
It's gonna eat you alive
greenidentity
Disco naps and liquorice Snaps.

It is time for some fine fine wine.....or box wine it's all good man

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Reply 3 of 106 (Originally posted on: 05-22-05 02:26:00 AM)
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Quoted from Snowy:
Something I wrote using a formal structure while debating about the worthiness of freeform poetry. I, of course, am very respectful and in love with freeform so that is my stance while using the other's structure here.


through her children via paintbrush is this treason
to speak of the curved hip of crippled sister moon
from the bonds of love, from the sonnet of reason
gifted to us by the slender dying hand of a flaming june.

i may dither in these waters, they lap softly at my thighs
frigid birthing and the bud of gentle whispering
willow hissing in the breeze of life, song of sighs
they weep black bark and await the spring

pour into the vastness! remote from their censure and ridicule
we are skyclad and yearning to taste the liquor of this vine
while they are the grey sky beyond the swaying trees
i am a wild thing rested within cool confine.

my breath shivered bright and frosted upon these wings of old
i acknowledge the grace and worthiness of both our starcrossed souls.


I like this one a lot and you certainly use your vocabulary skills. There are many descriptive words here. It's an image comjuring and dramatic poem, for sure.

I always liked Dorothy Parker a lot. I like my poems to tell a story of emotional journey, life lesons, everyday mundane things, normality and insanity. I don't look for imagery as much as I do for emotional and human nature undertones. And I like it to look simple even thoguh it isn't. Like somethign the writer is describing that I perfectly understand but could neevr in a million years describe as accurately. I wrote one awhile ago, it's not great but not bad. Probably my most mature and structured one to date thoguh.

Life lessons don’t come cheap
Worn out welcomes on Desolation Street
Don’t wanna be young no more
Don’t need more time to settle this score

Never has there been a scream of mine stifled
Fears were never cast away and trifled
My heart is now glass, no thing porous
So sit here with me dear
Appreciate my coldness.

Take time and observe me, deliciously clear
Map out your Philadelphia, New York locations here
They’ll stay on me while you forget
Your lost years make me a prophet

My thoughts are tangled up no more
Control is remembered as mere folklore
Slip into apathy forget all concern
Sit very still and negotiate terms

You walk down your path
All gone away
I walk home alone
New territory claimed.

If a hen and a half can lay an egg and a half in a day and a half how long will it take a monkey with a wooden leg to kick the seeds out of a dill pickle?

"If it weren't for my horse, I wouldn't have spent that year in college."--Lew!

What means more to you,
A lap dog or a dead lion?
This reply was last edited on 05-22-05 04:34:17 AM by greenidentity.
Sunn O)))
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Zan-beef

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Reply 4 of 106 (Originally posted on: 05-24-05 04:32:29 PM)
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Not bad. I kind of like them.big grin

Three more:

III
we stood
on the edge of night
and you asked,
'is that what you call a sunrise?'
'yes,' I said,
'it must be;'
and I described it for you:
the reds burned on the landscape
the black was all but gone
rising slowly
it was - we were live.

IV
can I describe the colors of the sky:
the blue caresses the blue
pillars of black lines scrape
silhouettes from the viking landscape
(woods drape of snow
toned the lightest).

the eyes move from side to side
glazed over with the permafrost
that echos the hues
and then
then
out of all the noise - a solo

something so different
so shocking and strange:
the pillars give way to green and brown,
blindness,
for a second or a moment
'with me,'
it disappears.

Ciel of a Labyrinthe
it complicates
(if it fits in darkness)
it laughs
(if it is in light)
and the clouds over bear, over
it.

I feel the urge to drift
'The sun,' it asks me,
'is it floating'
and I can't decide
if it's floating or whether...
hanging.

(the dust clouds my eyes,
cataracts, if it asks so,
if the desolation of
concrete was enough to appease;
I'm haunted, lest I get weary)

Don't take it from me!
I seek to drive it. To
drive the sun, that stark
blue sky - 'coffee'
in midst, last images
crowds of peons, peons
placed in coke bottles,
it complicates, it laughs.
"Oh Joe Cocker"
(you like Joe's Cocker, don't ya?)
"It's up where it belongs."
This reply was last edited on 06-04-05 01:24:10 AM by Sunn O))).
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People are a danger to society.

there is a guy who gets it on with three girls at once and they all have amazing unibrows

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Reply 5 of 106 (Originally posted on: 05-24-05 06:13:37 PM)
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I read Tim Burton's "The Melancholy Death of Oyster Boy & Other Stories" this weekend, which is the inspiration for this poem.

Janey-Sue

There is no one you will ever meet
Who's quite like little Janey-Sue
She's got a toaster for an arm
And stands and three foot two

We were best friends while we grew up
And to my heart I held her close
I loved her for her wit and charm
But more so for her toast

She would often whine to me
That it made her really hot
To heat up all that tasty bread
That really hit the spot

We were to be married this very year
A reception with fancy vegetables and pork
But her toaster arm got itchy
And she scratched it with a fork


There's a really strong influence from the book there. It also made the poem really easy to write. I just made that up.
"I went in the Haunted House, and around the corner, Frankenstein was patiently waiting for me."
Theatre on the Edge
My Musical Compositions
Smokey
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Reply 6 of 106 (Originally posted on: 05-24-05 09:22:20 PM)
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For some reason I overlooked this thread...I'll just compile my very very amature attempts at poetry here, though there are threads for most of them aswell.

Very lazy, nameless poem
I've taken my last sip of life
I took that final curve
this is our last goodbye
It's more than you deserve
I'm reflecting back to a past
That never existed
I'm breaking the tinted glass
up and over the window ledge
I'm falling in spite of you
the winds embrace lets up
I see you falling too
but I just can't wake up
and all of my blood pours out
I have no voice left to sing
I can't see anything now
and I can't hear you scream
I want to hear you scream

Guys like us
We sit on the sidelines and watch the world go by
We think, we drink, we laugh and cry
But we'd never let you know just why
Guys like us, we long to die.

Locked up tight in the basement of past
Having long conversations with insects and rats
If the sunlight came it'd leave too fast
Guys like us aren't built to last

While eight legs dance on a web of flames
Our eyes go red as we pass in shame
We can barely remember her face, her name
But Guys like us can't taste that pain

When the gates of fire are opened up
We step right in without a fuss
It was the only light they promised us
So we smile and burn with Guys like us

Mushroom Cloud
As I sit beneath my mushroom cloud
My thoughts start to rewind
Though I try to wash the memories out
They stay fresh in my mind

She saw a light where darkness reigned
I guess I was her chosen one
But the good in her drove me insane
What she saw in me, I saw in none

As the morning leaves my body reeling
I take a breath and make a vow
To march forward to faith and healing
But the night takes that away somehow

So I burn through life as my heart drowns
Night devours day, and then
With another shot of whiskey down
The cycle starts to spin again

From my mushroom cloud I gaze upon her
Sorrow dances with regret
Two steps is all that keeps me from her
One step is all I'll ever get

Sea of Love (call it a working title)
Please open up your rusty door and step out of your car
If I walked this road alone I don’t think I’d get very far
I see the world through tinted glass but you’re crystal clear to me
So wear my love like a leather glove and pray it sets you free

I watched you fade to darkness and the pain consumed my heart
His shadow caught up way to fast and your stitching came apart
Somehow I think I’ve lost myself, I let my conscience slip away
If the bleeding clots, my heart will stop, but if it flows I’ll be okay

Powdered death turns into snow and falls upwards to my mind
I know I’d get right up and walk away if I only had a spine
I’m running past a thousand doors and crashing through a wall
I drowned my fear in a single tear without the strength to fall

The choices seem so narrow now; I think I’ll go back to the sea
It tears apart the continents so what will it do to me?
As the current pulls me under I hope it takes me back to you
I hear that every face will find its place; I wonder if that’s true
Deathofsmokey: Hey send me a picture of your vagina so I can glue it to my cat
Snowy: That'd be like..an echo
Snowy: pussy PUSSY pussy PUSSY
Deathofsmokey: haha, you're so hilarious and original, send the fucking pic
Snowy
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Reply 7 of 106 (Originally posted on: 05-25-05 11:31:25 AM)
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I dont think it's lazy not to name your poems..for me it's always very very hard to come up with any way of encapsulating them and when I do it sounds trite..no matter what. Here's one I just finished pecking out. I began it last week.

you find me here
seven years dead
on the floor
in pyjamas
watching kids cartoons

ache, my old
familiar
friend
company
as my eyes are swallowed
by dancing citrine pixels

a hesitance
to look out the window
to prove that percussion
rain
why?
i guess it’s true

the spirit land
of childhood
swallowed me
whole
as battles raged

just beyond
my view

The fear and the yearning
It's gonna eat you alive

This reply was last edited on 05-26-05 03:57:33 AM by Snowy.
Smokey
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Reply 8 of 106 (Originally posted on: 05-26-05 08:27:48 PM)
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I meant the poem was lazy, not the fact that I didnt bother to title it.

In Distress

With a demon riding on my back, I challenged everything
If heaven wouldn’t take me back, in hell I’d gladly sing
Sacred blood coated every angle as I carried out my goal
And slit the throat of any Angel who would dare to save my soul

Just when your life was perfect, it all came crashing down
Maybe you saw it coming, and tried your hardest not to frown
You held firm to all your rationale, and as the story goes
He sat and told you everything you didn’t want to know

My attention turned to God himself and I moved in for the kill
His peaceful smile unfazed by death, I lost my burning will
I dropped my weapon to my side, this is as far as I would get
The demon cursed and spat, and I had one last throat to slit

You wrapped yourself around your heart, and prayed that it would heal
You muddled through the endless dark, to find a better way to feel
There was no alternative to pain, yet you stood fast in your quest
But when the world came crashing down again, your faith was laid to rest

I found you here along the way, and I offered you my hand
It’s an offer you may never take, but to this day it stands
My wings are torn and tattered; I doubt they’ll ever fly again
But you still have a fighting chance, so with my end - begin
Deathofsmokey: Hey send me a picture of your vagina so I can glue it to my cat
Snowy: That'd be like..an echo
Snowy: pussy PUSSY pussy PUSSY
Deathofsmokey: haha, you're so hilarious and original, send the fucking pic
Bon

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Reply 9 of 106 (Originally posted on: 05-27-05 01:13:06 AM)
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i don't think this is very good but whatever

a childhood tale

treading through snowcovered grounds
through a pale polluted peach darkness
i find myself running through the wind
frozen but never neglecting necessary darkness

dragging through the snow was difficult
but i found the best spot

the road the fence the trees
all formed a picture of quintessence
in love with the time i shall always remember

i gaze in awe at the beauty

then meet with 2 perfect strangers upon home
Sunn O)))
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Zan-beef

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Reply 10 of 106 (Originally posted on: 05-27-05 01:38:36 AM)
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It's good, Bon. Two more for now. The first of which I wrote 5 years ago, although it's strickingly coincidental.

Interesting Nonetheless
Compared to nothing
The escaping of another reality
It was interesting nonetheless
The people there, wasting
Slipping away, no mortality
Though I must confess
I slipped away too.

Pointed Houses
pointed houses
a viking valhalla in the mist
of summer's dim
walking... hiking?
beneath the threat
of unusually dark trees
'This is it,' you say
wrapped in a worn winter chair
'Maybe we'll see eachother another day,'
and like the faux pedals,
you remain exactly as you were -
unchanged, stern, and disappeared,
drifting as the mosquito,
as graffiti on the wall of a nearby church
(always graffiti) -
the surroundings never quite fit in
nor the dark trees forbid of their colours,
getting darker and darker as the hours pass on by.
"Oh Joe Cocker"
(you like Joe's Cocker, don't ya?)
"It's up where it belongs."
This reply was last edited on 05-27-05 01:44:50 AM by Sunn O))).
Smokey
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funkle smokey

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Reply 11 of 106 (Originally posted on: 05-28-05 03:35:06 AM)
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Man Will Fall

I floated aimlessly through space
Entertained insipid thoughts
Oblivious to pain and hate
Until I made the drop

Sonic boom
Impending doom
A world with just a single moon

Gravity took hold
New air attacked my lungs
Choking I looked down below
Or maybe it was up

From the clouds I saw a city
And what a sight it was to see
On the surface it was teeming
With creatures just like me

And in the middle of my fall
I heard the birds of heaven sing
I spun around mid-air
To see the sky eluding me

I broke concrete
Fell to my feet
In the sewer beneath the city streets

There an alligator sat
Still bitter from the flush
With an inviting voice he spoke to me
And instructed me to hush

“You’re nearly at the bottom now,
And are you free of doubt?
You see, the path below may let you in
But it will never let you out!”

Then there was fear
The words he spoke
It was all so clear
And I awoke
Deathofsmokey: Hey send me a picture of your vagina so I can glue it to my cat
Snowy: That'd be like..an echo
Snowy: pussy PUSSY pussy PUSSY
Deathofsmokey: haha, you're so hilarious and original, send the fucking pic
neon

is going to post her bus stop here tomorrow, and we will love it.

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Reply 12 of 106 (Originally posted on: 05-28-05 07:28:27 AM)
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wow your all..so good at it.
Well i don't even know how to write poetry really at all but i thought i'd give it a try..Compared to how good all the others are I don't even want to put it up. Doesn't rhyme in some places and stuff.. :\ well my friend said as long as it comes from the heart that's all that matters.. (cheesy, yeah i know) anyway this kinda came directly from the heart i guess.

Fathers staying lie

Daddy what's that bag i see you holding once again?
Daddy who's that woman leading you away once again?
Daddy please don't go, don't say goodbye
Daddy can't you see? my soul, and heart do cry

Because even if mummy is here your little girl yells in fear
You left her here all alone while she needed you to be right near
Mummy cries every day and slowly loses grip
Your little girl wonders how she can take care of all the shit
As the glimmers of hope start to fade as she sees you're not around
Her soul and spirit starts to die and make it's graved mound
While you can't see the pain there in your little girls life
Daddy please wake up and see i need you here tonight come away for even a moment from you horrible bantering wife

I needed you the time mummy almost died
I needed you the time that strange man almost slit mummies throat
I needed you when mummy started taking all of those small pills

But all those times I needed there was one thing that i desire
a hug, a father, a adult strong who will never go and be, that one and cheated liar
Snowy
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i always try to make a statement with my fashion...thats why today i wore a crop top with a pic of richard nixon captioned: growl at sweat

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Reply 13 of 106 (Originally posted on: 05-28-05 10:09:52 AM)
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I like bookended poems, Smokey likes to use repetitive imagery or phrases, it's kinda like the stamping of a foot on the ground in time with some music, or perhaps the defiant beat of a heart. Your poem is charming and heartbreaking, very young, like a wise little baby crying in her cradle while her hands are stretched out somehow, beyond the crib to embrace a badly damaged and weeping mother. I think perhaps it needed either four Daddy/Mummy bookends or three, not a four/three..a small nod to structure that would give the work itself a little more literary validity. Out of all of them so far, this one lets off the most ambient heat, for all it's fledgling status.

The fear and the yearning
It's gonna eat you alive
Smokey
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Reply 14 of 106 (Originally posted on: 05-28-05 10:30:05 AM)
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I definitely need a beat to write poetry and a certain sense of consistency with both the theme and the rythym. A problem is making that beat generic enough that anyone can get it without hearing the beat I have in my head writing it.

neongrls poem is great especially since she prepared us for it to suck.
Deathofsmokey: Hey send me a picture of your vagina so I can glue it to my cat
Snowy: That'd be like..an echo
Snowy: pussy PUSSY pussy PUSSY
Deathofsmokey: haha, you're so hilarious and original, send the fucking pic
neon

is going to post her bus stop here tomorrow, and we will love it.

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Reply 15 of 106 (Originally posted on: 05-28-05 08:03:57 PM)
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Thankyou for the advice i'm a serial-killer :)
Snowy
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i always try to make a statement with my fashion...thats why today i wore a crop top with a pic of richard nixon captioned: growl at sweat

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Reply 16 of 106 (Originally posted on: 05-29-05 07:42:36 PM)
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when you come home
there’s a man
in your kitchen
he's been waiting for you
but he hasnt been cooking
just waiting
eating a slice of
white bread
reaching out
grabbing and pushing
you
back into your bedroom
pushing your spine
against an edge
of the closet
newly stacked with Mum’s castoffs
his fist punches your cunt
then he grabs your throat as you
moan in terror and kick
at the carpet
because he’s trapped your legs
as he lays on you and
produces a pocketknife
with a fake jade handle
you probably stop strugging
perhaps hyperventilate
as he sticks his other hand
where nobody else’s
ever was
the stupid oaf
remembers buttons
the phone rings
wont stop
and the hyperawareness
of your terror observes
tendrils of fear
bloom in his angry eyes
he gets up
and just runs out
imagine that
you lucky girl

Burn the candles deep inside
Yeah you know where I'm coming from
Snowy
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i always try to make a statement with my fashion...thats why today i wore a crop top with a pic of richard nixon captioned: growl at sweat

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Reply 17 of 106 (Originally posted on: 06-02-05 09:46:30 AM)
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i wish we still had the gallery. here's one I wrote after waking up tonight.


i’d definitely prefer
the happy lies to die
least with nightmares
you wake up with a
‘Phew! Glad that isint real!’
instead of the ache
‘God I wish that were true.’
percolation of hours
strings to numb
the bloody valentine
strumming rythum
sympathy and recognition
suck the wound, get it out
get it out
the coward who’d face
a thousand guillotines
march me up ressurect me
vivisect me
just dont place him here
in these dreams of mine

So easy to know and forget with this kiss
I'm not afraid to go but it goes so slow...
Kitabatake
Fishing with Firecrackers

2efficient4spacebar

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Reply 18 of 106 (Originally posted on: 06-02-05 10:10:17 AM)
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Quoted from Snowy:
i wish we still had the gallery. here's one I wrote after waking up tonight.


i’d definitely prefer
the happy lies to die
least with nightmares
you wake up with a
‘Phew! Glad that isint real!’
instead of the ache
‘God I wish that were true.’
percolation of hours
strings to numb
the bloody valentine
strumming rythum
sympathy and recognition
suck the wound, get it out
get it out
the coward who’d face
a thousand guillotines
march me up ressurect me
vivisect me
just dont place him here
in these dreams of mine


The word "phew" weirds me out. -edit- In poetry, at least. Words seem so cliche these days. I want to write poetry with bodily discharges, emotional and physical.
That's about when I met nelly, she was the village belle.
I was just a panderer, but I loved that girl like hell.

Then along came a city slicker, all finely dressed and gay.
Before I knew it, the son of a bitch stole my nelly away.

So I'm just resting my bones a while, and then I'll be on my way.
I'll get the runt that swiped my cunt if it takes till the judgement day.
Snowy
INTL Premium Member

i always try to make a statement with my fashion...thats why today i wore a crop top with a pic of richard nixon captioned: growl at sweat

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Reply 19 of 106 (Originally posted on: 06-02-05 10:22:55 AM)
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Heh, that was deliberate actually, (honest, I bet you dont believe me after our encounter on the - k thread ;p) because it sounds so normal it's abnormal and maybe annoying because it's so plain and perhaps something you'd see a child in a cartoon exclaim. The stereotypical thing you say when you realise a really bad dream was a dream, juxtaposing it with the sincerity of my thoughts once im fully awake and left with the discomfort and how to digest the happy one. Thanks for the feedback, glad you explained what you meant in the first sentence.

So easy to know and forget with this kiss
I'm not afraid to go but it goes so slow...
Smokey
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fuck this title

funkle smokey

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Reply 20 of 106 (Originally posted on: 06-02-05 12:09:13 PM)
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I think the only reason I have trouble with your poetry is because I can't relate to it.

Here's something I just typed up because I got bored.

I'm the banter of the prophets
I'm the vapor in the wind
I'm the last nail in the coffin
Inside the tomb of honest men
I'm the echo of the tyrants
Who refused to spare the rod
I am the bitterness of Jaded men
Who've lost all faith in God
I'm the whisper of the forest
I'm the slither of the snake
And when the bomb has finally dropped
I am the silence in its wake
I'm the screaming of the infant
I'm the thunder from above
And when your thoughts escape your words
I am eternal silenced love
Deathofsmokey: Hey send me a picture of your vagina so I can glue it to my cat
Snowy: That'd be like..an echo
Snowy: pussy PUSSY pussy PUSSY
Deathofsmokey: haha, you're so hilarious and original, send the fucking pic
This reply was last edited on 06-02-05 01:52:29 PM by Smokey.
Smokey
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fuck this title

funkle smokey

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Reply 21 of 106 (Originally posted on: 06-03-05 08:59:18 PM)
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The gallery needs to come back.

If I had died

If I had died I would have been
Better off than I was then
I wouldn't dwell on all my sins
Or drown myself in sweet toxins

If I had died she wouldn't be
Burdened with the weight of me
Around her spins a tragedy
As far as blinded eyes can see

If I had died there'd be less rage
From within his cold and rusty cage
He'd never scream or curse my name
And I wouldn't hate him just the same

If I had died I would be free
From the limits of society
From the nuisance of technology
And the politics that shackle me

I know that I should stay away
From whatever makes me feel this way
I should keep this bottled up inside
And I guess I would, if I had died
Deathofsmokey: Hey send me a picture of your vagina so I can glue it to my cat
Snowy: That'd be like..an echo
Snowy: pussy PUSSY pussy PUSSY
Deathofsmokey: haha, you're so hilarious and original, send the fucking pic
Nickolati
Moderator
...moved to Idaho?

the cumstain that is left on the wall 11 years after the party has ended

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Reply 22 of 106 (Originally posted on: 06-04-05 12:13:42 AM)
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In the depths of a springtime sky,
My mind expands, droplets of ink in water.
Consciousness shot across an evanescent plane of limitless cool.
Ghosts of the ancient oceans that once covered these hills
Stir barring branches and call out their lonely memories -
With the voice of wind among papery leaves and thunder.
In these electric moments my skin wants the spark
Of an unexpected thought, that melts into pleasure
Of familiarity and knowledge of someone known.

These two could feel the thrill of smallness
Against a mountain of chilly clouds on the edge of a cliff
Where once only I tasted the pleasure
Above a gray lash of river
In the wind your hair coils
Around my face as you kiss me,
And the warmth of your skin
Against my lips and chest is the only heat
Not taken by the coming storm.
Rather than filling it overfull, its better to stop in time.
Sharpen the blade to a point, but the edge won’t last forever.
Gold and jade may fill the house, but no one can retain them for eternity.
Boasting of wealth and virtue, brings trouble on oneself.
Reticence when the job is done, is the Way of heaven.
Snowy
INTL Premium Member

i always try to make a statement with my fashion...thats why today i wore a crop top with a pic of richard nixon captioned: growl at sweat

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Reply 23 of 106 (Originally posted on: 06-04-05 01:10:57 AM)
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You big ole romantic, Nick. I like the final part the best, a nice evocation.

So easy to know and forget with this kiss
I'm not afraid to go but it goes so slow...
Sunn O)))
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Zan-beef

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Reply 24 of 106 (Originally posted on: 06-04-05 01:17:14 AM)
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V
elevating to the level of the wisps,
foggy in the body of the hood of a car
clear to the undaunting eye;
solemn to the pitiful envy
of uncounted trees abolished
by the paths of unwanted machines
if only for business
and the quick pace of society
if only a changing of the seasons,
and the wick of undying smoke

Lucid, not Pale
I feel thoughts I know are wrong
in drops of blue
my shabbiness constrains me
I desire to live,
but I find I am willingly trapped
within my own devices

VI
fluorescent lights...
purple screens...
computers that have no name
no personality... only clones
clones in computer drama.

Cliched This Poem
howling winds
slipping through the crevasses
banging with the knock
of prosthetic blinds

I can see vehicles in the distance
trucks caked with granular dirt
finger prints along their sides
people on teeter totters, playing soccer

I watch
and see the 1980's
clouds shaped...
objects...

and pupils, tired, and furiously
snapped right back to reality:
click, click, click
the blue screen of death.
"Oh Joe Cocker"
(you like Joe's Cocker, don't ya?)
"It's up where it belongs."
This reply was last edited on 06-04-05 01:24:32 AM by Sunn O))).
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