I cannot write poetry.
The words are not the problem.
I snap my fingers,
And the words line up like well-trained dogs.
But these are only tricks,
Empty, save for the echoes
Of the passions of others.
My heart sits in its chest,
An unused treasure.
I yearn for a touch I have never felt,
A face I have never seen,
A friend I have never met.
I dream of love and heartache,
And other foreign shores
I fear I shall never reach.
Recipe for Melancholy
Ingredients:
-you
-a loved one (results will vary depending on type)
-a worthwhile relationship with above
-an intolerable situation
-failed solutions
-despair
Mix self, loved one and relationship until well blended.
slowly add intolerable situation and failed solutions,
then crumble in despair. Cool indefinitely.
serves 1 to 5 billion
-srw
11/00
For even more angst http://www.geocities.com/theevilwriter
Well, considering I’d have to get really, really, specifically lost to get laid, I think I’ll take the first:)
That about does it for my good poetry . . . unless you all want to see the stuff I don’t show you because it looks like bubblegum crap without the music.
You folks are sooooo fantastic that I’ve been inspired!
well… inspired to share a bit. Mind if I share a few short ones?
**CUTE**
The way you look at me is babies
Soft and caressing
I want you to think of me without that sickening gentleness
That moping sadness
That slobbering hate
They are taking from me without ever being born
They remove your hand from me before I find fulfillment
They are missionaries to chasten me through your action
But I am a savage
I am a warrior
Seeking glory and worship for my own self
Indeed I am selfish
I am love
Fierce, burning, mind destroying
It isn’t right
I don’t want the presence of children when we fuck
4/4/01
(This won third place at a poetry slam hosted by my school's literary magazine)
VESPERS
His mane reaching up under her fingernails
grasp moving up shoulder
neck
pause at the bell
ring
flick
ring
Her mane dripping over his darkness
breathe reaching for flesh
neck
pause at the harshness
lick
flick
lick
3/31/01
**WAY DOWN**
I know that you are the
one
with the power
in this...
this friendship
this flirtation
this…
you pull my strings
ever closer to your sweet mouth
talking of Faulkner and his
indefatigable histrionic
language
you talk...
of his descriptive verbiage
and your eyes speak other words
as inflamed
as his passion for the South.
Do you worship in the Deep South as he does?
I can show you how to follow that river
its name eludes me
it is old and ancient
wisdom beyond thought
it calls...
to you
my smiling Lucifer
3/30/01
~~~~~~~~~~
Thanks for humoring me,
~MagGood poems, all. I laughed a great deal at the Shakespeare one.
I guess I’ll post another one of mine.
morpheus-thanatos
so that when i die i live on
for hours
days
years
after i am gone
i boldly step through
this in-and-out shadow
machine on the eve of destruction
to find a new path
and be further down my chosen road
by tomorrow.
even after i die
i still live through walking specterly
in dreaming.
i have lived my life in sleep
no time to worry
of men’s scheming
no time to hurry
no time to weep-
At Nocturne’s suggestion I’m posting another one of mine. Bear in mind that originally I designed it as a song, which is why part of it repeats.
I am not Enough
You chose and wanted me.
And I had what I wanted
But I was not what I could be
I took your love for granted
And I am not enough
To satisfy your soul
To give you what you need
To come and make you whole
I am not enough
For all that you deserve
And yet you let me stay
Because I want to serve
I broke things off last time
For I was scared of us
I wasn’t feeling right at all
I didn’t want to cause a fuss
And somehow through the grace of God
When I came back to you
You did not run or hit or scream
Your love was there and true
And so I write this song
Because I cannot say
How deeply I’m in love with you
Since that wondrous day.
And I am not enough
To satisfy your soul
To give you what you need
To come and make you whole
I am not enough
For all that you deserve
And yet you let me stay
Because I want to serve
I am not enough
For all that you deserve
And yet you let me stay
Because I want to serve
two offerings…
something amazing
world.
something amazing happened today.
and all around, without a sound
without a word
i watched them march
into the bleeding houses,
bleeding from the mouth.
the blood spilling into the
world.
i saw one kicked he fell
and was taken away
they said it was for attention
(medical or otherwise)
but i knew we wouldn’t see him again
…
something beautiful
something amazing
the tyranny of distance
yellowing
pale, grimy walls
my dust stained face
(my tear-ripped eyes)
this warm room isn’t small enough
to hold me in.
a finger smudged window
out there is a road
at the end of, is home.
a bar to barricade my door
nails to hold me in,
if i get out,
a tempest on this town
this smudged out photograph
with decaying stores and
faded white houses,
small town stories and
jealousies you wouldn’t
care to write about.
a run-out of land
where proprieters of forgotten glories
whimsy on their fast greying triumphs,
feeding their egos,
like flocks of crying seagulls
snapping at a snatch of glory.
wrapping up their John Dory
a proud display of Australian slavery.
tomorrow brings a nine hour journey
a baking, drowsy, sorrowful slide,
where the city will seep too slowly
into this broken, sunburned countryside
I’m not much of a great critique of literature, but once in a spanish class not so long ago while watching a rather weirdo chickin little cartoon, I came up with thiss little ditty:
Yo soy un gato.
Yo soy un gato.
No me gusta trabajar.
Yo soy un gato.
Yo soy un gato.
Duermo en la secadora.
Yo soy un gato.
Yo soy un gato.
Soy muy quemado.
Yo soy un gato.
Yo soy un gato.
No tengo nada pelo.
Yo soy un gato.
Yo soy un gato.
No me gusta trabajar.
Yo soy un gato.
Yo soy un gato.
Duermo en la secadora.
And for those of you who didn’t have the pleasure of learning Spanish, or can’t remember if you did, or got a cool language like German, here’s the translation:
I am a cat.
I am a cat.
I don’t like to work.
I am a cat.
I am a cat.
I sleep in the dryer.
I am a cat.
I am a cat.
I am very toasted.
I am a cat.
I am a cat.
I don’t have any hair.
I am a cat.
I am a cat.
I don’t like to work.
I am a cat.
I am a cat.
I sleep in the dryer.
Not really poems, I know, but still, i found them amusing and so did my friends, and aside from making a whole new post, I have no place to put this.
Why have I not yet seen any of these poems in Teemings? Some of them should be submitted (though not mine, because I’m not good at taking suggestions from anyone in this area).
What has become…of me
the silence is glassed and glazed thick like the spit in my mouth
and I sweat out the only available moisture
so dry
this desert in my mind
give in
let go
turn back
no relapse for an hour at least
what thought rules that desperate look in the hollow eyes of the blinded
seek the light
get it right
no patience for the ignorance of innocence
tread upon the trampled flesh of the helpless
help yourself
inside the temple where gods feast on the souls of the dead
from ambrosia to cynosure
a parasitic illusion of allusions
volatile with threats of veracity
get out
while volition remains an option
crawl away under the dust
and remain a part of me
as if part of me remains unshed
my shell is dry
peel it back
as the old gives in to the new
as the excoriation begins
each syllable a drop of acid
each drop a stagnant regret
each regret an affirmation
of what…has become of me
This one’s old as dirt.
“A few hours rest”
My thoughts are as stars flashing
Out through the darkness of such a blithe
Existence, but unlike the constellations, they
Seldom intertwine. Only black confusion with
Clarity blinking in and out.
This is the reality of my perception
I’m walking the thin line, one side of hell, but
One step from greatness. But in which direction?
And if the world shared my views, would I then
Become obsolete?
Sometimes my head hurts from the velocity of my dreams
And I pray for blinding light of dawn, and reality
To give me a few hours rest
Great work all around. gex gex, I really like your “Something Amazing”.
Now, my poem:
Northwoods Lover
I know where you go
in the forest and I wait
for you there. In the orange
light of an autumn afternoon,
I straddle the thick and sap-moist
limb of an old-growth white pine,
my bare feet dangling in two
stories of open air.
I peer eastward, hoping to see
you sauntering through the field
of tansy and aster. I have
a bandana full of wild
apples in my lap, and
if you come I’d give you
my fruit for your flowers.
Meanwhile I twist off the
apple stems, slowly and methodically,
trying each time to reach
the “W” of your name.
She burned her bra,
She took her leave
Of wifley duties
And made grieve
Her husband dear,
That evil he!
And started living
Just for she.
She left the kids,
She dropped the roast,
“For now I’m free!”
We hear her boast.
“I’ll find myself!
I’ll seek my path.
White men in power
Shall feel my wrath!”
Oh, feminist!
We laud you now.
To lowly males
You’re loathe to bow.
And glowing with
This revelation,
You flip the bird
From the Greyhound station.
Afterwards,
Lifeless, grey flesh,
twisted bodies.
Nothing left?
Moving onward, looking down below.
A wave of people, cresting, breaking on the shore.
Minds, trapped.
Souls, caged.
Helpless?
Moving onward, growing.
A tower, gleaming in the sun.
Crawling with life
and yet empty.
Futile?
Meeting others, shown.
Empty carcass,
danced around, buried.
Freedom.
comments please this is the first thing I have written in years. This thread motivated me, thanks.