05.24.2006, 02:11 PM | #1 |
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The poetry thread inspired me...
You left for a month last summer. Your favorite clock sat ticking on the countertop. On quiet nights as we lay together, I had listened to its heartbeat and learned to love it. When you were gone, it told of the time you would return. You did not. I moved into another apartment. Each night, as I lay alone in bed, your favorite clock sat ticking on the countertop, telling another time. The heartbeat remained, but the landscape of my heart had changed. I moved it to the closet, next to your things that I had filed neatly away, where I could shut the door and keep it closed. Still, I heard what it told me. I moved it to another room. We went through your things on the phone. You told me what to throw away and what to send. I never heard the clock again. ...post your own poems!
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05.24.2006, 02:15 PM | #2 |
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Somehow
She's got a garden of soul in her heart and the flowers are in her smile. And she floats on clouds made of dreams and hopes like a silver shining wish. I know she knows this I hope she does All her words slide across the sky and into my mind caressing warmly, gently sighing Holding rapture in kingless courts These forgotten wiles and a lost sunrise Breaking softly crashing past the rocks Fortitude withering madly quiet Soothed mute and crossing fingers She's a garden of soul and she grows her flowers madly and storms of trees and leaves in a teacup gently brewing of gold and silver thoughts like silk strands of rain falling on my cheeks I hope she knows this I hope she hopes Pulling a coat tightly around hunched shoulders and doubling up in time slow and brackish crystal sunlight sunken through the branches casting shadows on the thorns and the thickets and the brush of feelings and light drops away far away.
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05.24.2006, 02:18 PM | #3 |
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Love Is
The love is stagnant Static Stuck in a swamp Muddy The river flows Where it goes It don't know Love letter for the lonely To the ones whose faces are burned inside My memory Whose thoughts reign in the recesses of My life I can't get connected I suffer to shudder and feel The cold gripping me in warmth Your eyes shine when it's cold outside Lush and verdant fields of absentia Offer me lifeless comforts In ordained trysts, Trials for the dammned Cold soul craves your confession Drippping guts; bloody, noiseless truths In arabesque continuity In hopeful burnings In a corrupt Palace of Things Intertwined We wait for the Atomic shine to burn us into Ashes and scatter us into Holy Rivers Singing voices will proclaim and tired truths will remain Vengeance and desire, hand in hand Desperate for the time of shattered lands I'm bleeding digits and breaking hands Lying for the wicked blame That tarp that we know so well We have no friends with that aroma I smell in the twinkling starlight Fresh beans ground in the dust Layered like lapidiary concoctions We have no friends with that ornamentation I fall down endlessly wavering To meet you in the hole Where we dance in the black light of noon We have no friends
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Sab Kuch Tick Tock Hai |
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05.24.2006, 02:20 PM | #4 |
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And here is one that i wrote 2 minutes ago:
The Yawn yawn....yawn yawnyawnyawnyawnyawnyawn yawn....... yawnyawnyawnyawnyawnyawn yawn.........yaaaaaaaaawwwwwwwwnnnnnn....yawn! yawn? eh?yawn? yawnyawnyawn yawn yawn yawn YAWN!!!!!GRRRRRR!!!!!YAWN! YAWN! YAWN! |
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05.24.2006, 02:27 PM | #5 | |
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You must spread the Samaritans around before/
giving/ reputation to/ pork. Marras. Again?
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05.24.2006, 02:31 PM | #6 |
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i killed the goddamn clock that you left in the kitchen
it made me think of you, and all the time that we wasted when i sat to drink whiskey it gave me a nasty headache tic-toc, one every second... the alarm went off at seven! the annoying hours you kept! your snoring! and your dog face! i raised my empty bottle, and fucked the clock to hades. --- well it needs work. i just slapped it together. |
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05.24.2006, 04:25 PM | #7 |
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It's a shame, but I had a 3-ring binder full that an ex kept (not av, different ex) & then I have some I've written a few years ago & I just went to the garage out back that I use for storage & I was climbing over boxes & wading through all this crap & all & i couldn't find those...i remember some lines, but not complete poems...
fucked the clock to hades...i like it lines: i found the earbone of a whale today. do you wanna see it? climb out of the cave of the law & the belly of language close to the whole (not a flattering one though) off to see the girlfriend that my girlfriend doesn't know about cutting corners walking the hypotenuse |
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05.24.2006, 04:35 PM | #8 |
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i meant to say, i dedicated my poem to daycare nation
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05.24.2006, 04:41 PM | #9 |
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I call this Laila: Redone(pun intended)
Laila Lesbian Muslim Porn
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rip |
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05.24.2006, 04:41 PM | #10 | |
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Quote:
I might need to update my signature.
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05.24.2006, 04:41 PM | #11 |
bad moon rising
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Okay... a poem I wrote
*Italicized* Italicizing words bends the only girls I've really fucked into more comfortable positions On the stirrups of verse w/ my uninspired hand of gynecology stirring gently. I am hitting the bottom of the soup where it starts to get painful I am straining all the violence from my poetry So there's just noodles. |
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05.24.2006, 04:45 PM | #12 |
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You must spread some reputation around before giving it to AssBlaster again.
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05.24.2006, 04:46 PM | #13 |
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okay, fuck rhyme. it's annoying. let's try something else.
---------- mmm... maybe later. |
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05.24.2006, 04:51 PM | #14 |
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well, i don't feel bad for calling him
a "straight-up a-hole" yesterday now; glad he doesn't diss "Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da"' a critical minutiae-- atypically typical, if you will, & I know you won't. |
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05.24.2006, 04:54 PM | #15 | |
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This is dedicated to Assblaster. It's called Ass Pasta.
Ass pasta It's a gooey and stringy thingy made out of complex carbohydrates. Stuck together by scientists And porn stars It's yellowy and weird It come from my rectal fjords, crevices and cracks. after a particularly woeful night on the tiles. Ass pasta.
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05.24.2006, 04:55 PM | #16 |
expwy. to yr skull
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i put this one in the other thread, but whatever.
Prune juice acid and toxic chalk my esophogus is burning, I cannot talk I'm being rammed in the abdomen by Satan's goat and there's some kind of porcupine crawling down my throat i'm gonna make that the chorus to a song.
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avalanche. |
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05.24.2006, 04:56 PM | #17 |
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"rectal fjords"
AssBlaster only wishes he could write like that himself! |
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05.24.2006, 04:58 PM | #18 | |
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A short poem about Fjords, by me.
For your four Fjords, Fiona - funky floaty spunk.
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05.24.2006, 05:06 PM | #19 |
stalker
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Cock
Cock-tail Cock-sucker What-ever
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insert some bullshit here |
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05.24.2006, 05:07 PM | #20 |
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sounds like a case of diverticulitis
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