04-09-2004, 02:58 PM | #1 |
I can hear my ears
Join Date: Oct 2003
Posts: 25,571
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Poetry
share a poem or two. I promise not to make fun of you, ya big sissy.
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This body holding me reminds me of my own mortality Embrace this moment, remember We are eternal, all this pain is an illusion ~MJKeenan |
04-09-2004, 03:13 PM | #2 |
I can hear my ears
Join Date: Oct 2003
Posts: 25,571
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I walk the world now in the gloaming,
My silken tendrils roaming, roaming. As though the very air were foaming; roiling, boiling nether light. And in the shadows, I do linger, Grasping without fingers, fingers. What cold silence I could bring her, crying, flying from the night. ...still working on this....i haven't decided if this is about a ghost or the fog.....
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This body holding me reminds me of my own mortality Embrace this moment, remember We are eternal, all this pain is an illusion ~MJKeenan |
04-09-2004, 04:26 PM | #3 |
I thought I changed this.
Join Date: Nov 2002
Location: western nowhere, ny
Posts: 412
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I'm taking three (3) writing courses this term. College Comp, Intro to Poetry, and Making of Metaphor.
The latter has, in the first two weeks, assigned three love poems to be written. Here's what I've got so far. Untitled He stands on her stoop, having just given a quick jab to a gray, paint-caked button. A buzzer sounds inside, and the silence that follows drags on as if he just told an awful joke. He fidgets, trying in vain to dry his palms inside the pockets of his rented tuxedo. A noise. Glancing up from the suddenly interesting tops of his shoes, he catches sight of her. A sharp intake of breath. As the door opens, he pauses. Staring blankly forward, he is not overcome by her stark beauty or some other cliché fate. Glancing furtively over his shoulder he panics, breaking character. "Line?" -- Hollywood Romance A table set for two, lit by a single candle. Half-drunk glasses of wine, no waiter in sight. Off to the side of the table is a bouquet of red roses. They hold hands, smiling. Pause. Zoom out. A darkened room, a man on his couch, a blanket covering him, a remote in his hand. In the glow of the television sits an empty popcorn bowl and a can of soda. -- Young Love Sprawled across his bed. Around him, his room: Pink Floyd posters on the walls, a cellphone, clothing in heaps. He loved her completely, calling once or twice an hour. Stalker if you insist, but he thought it was loyal. One day he was answered by an angry beep, saying her phone was occupied. Taken aback, he looked around for an idle distraction. Turning to his dust-covered computer, the keyboard untouched since he met her, his journey was short. The roads to Rome were since redirected: Everything ends in porn. His pants fell past his knees and he began with the fervor of a madwoman making toast. Across the room his phone began to ring, but he would not abandon his post. Time passed, he finished. Ten feet away, the phone blinked. "Eh," he said, "maybe tomorrow." |
04-09-2004, 04:42 PM | #4 |
King Of Wishful Thinking
Join Date: Jan 2001
Location: Philadelphia Suburbs
Posts: 6,669
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Metaphors
'Do you like metaphors?', I asked her, waiting.
'Like a simile?', she smiled, sweetly, I thought. 'Like is for similes, as you should know'. 'As a metaphor, your question is a puzzle'. Her brows knit, her eyes glowed a fair green. 'Poets like similes, politicians like metaphors.' 'Nonsense', I replied, 'Poets change reality more than politicians' 'A duck is like a duck', she said. 'A duck is a duck', I replied. 'Duck!' she cried, throwing the towel.
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Exercise your rights and remember your obligations - VOTE!I have always believed that hope is that stubborn thing inside us that insists, despite all the evidence to the contrary, that something better awaits us so long as we have the courage to keep reaching, to keep working, to keep fighting. -- Barack Hussein Obama |
04-10-2004, 11:23 PM | #5 |
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Join Date: Dec 2003
Location: New Jersey
Posts: 516
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Planters mixed nuts, 56oz container, filled with nuts and dried pieces of papaya
Borg Cube ceramic coffee mug filled with pencils and pens thermometer with LCD display, reading 57.0 outside, 73.9 inside little stuffed cow that actually looks like a pig with cow coloration, wearing a sign that says "SAVE R HIDES. EAT CHICKIN. Chick-fil-a" rectangular box of transparent smoke colored plastic filled with paper clips checks, standard bank issue blue with security features, number 313 on top headphones Swingline stapler, not bright red, but rather matte black tiny reproduction of mars Pathfinder rover forest green cotton longsleave shirt lying all rumpled where I left it after getting home from today's trip to New York City $15 Best Buy gift card with an image that changes when you look at it from different angles small nail clipper mostly empty aluminum 12 oz can of Pathmark seltzer '3M Precise(TM) Mousing Surface' mouse pad, if it had a sense of self, this one would believe that its pedigree and name would make it superior to all other mouse pads- it would be wrong several pieces of aluminum confetti shaped like parrots, pineapples, and palm trees all fallen out from inside an envelope of an invitation to a hawaiian themed party that was in early March Post-It brand Post-It notes, light blue, small rectangular pad Last edited by Slartibartfast; 04-11-2004 at 01:11 AM. |
04-11-2004, 12:04 AM | #6 | |
I can hear my ears
Join Date: Oct 2003
Posts: 25,571
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Quote:
I walk the world now in the gloaming, My silken tendrils roaming, roaming. As though the very air were foaming; roiling, boiling nether light. And in the shadows, I do linger, Grasping without fingers, fingers. What cold silence I could bring her, crying, flying from the night. My dank embrace, her soul is chilling, See? Her tears are spilling, spilling! That she feels my touch at all is thrilling, Sublime, the time ‘tween night and light. Old fear now as the light grows stronger, I pray the time be longer, longer! Where sunlight shines, my mist no longer. From thee, I flee before the light. The Ghost I walk the world now in the gloaming, My silken tendrils roaming, roaming. As though the very air were foaming; roiling, boiling nether light. And in the shadows, I do linger, Grasping without fingers, fingers. What cold silence I could bring her, crying, flying from the night. My dank embrace, her soul is chilling, See? Her tears are spilling, spilling! That she feels my touch at all is thrilling, Sublime, the time ‘tween night and light. Old fear now as the light grows stronger, I pray the time be longer, longer! How my heart, in life did wrong her, No cheer, I fear, my ghostly sight.
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This body holding me reminds me of my own mortality Embrace this moment, remember We are eternal, all this pain is an illusion ~MJKeenan |
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04-12-2004, 11:54 PM | #7 |
Has Body Temperature
Join Date: Oct 2003
Location: I come from a land downunder
Posts: 1,105
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come correction fluid, master of the liquid paper, god of correctional stationary
come see the error of your ways, for to err is human and you are always in the wrong.
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We'll never be as young as we are right now |
04-13-2004, 09:27 PM | #8 |
Has Body Temperature
Join Date: Oct 2003
Location: I come from a land downunder
Posts: 1,105
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dear brother
I'll never understand
the life you took away but the hurting and the tears will leave me soon, now any day I will recover and this too will pass if only you'd realised in this life, nothings lasts I will one day forget everything I will forget every fact I'm going to push you so far away for such a selfish act if in my dreams you haunt me I wont recognise your face you'll be a ghost without a name and a love that's been replaced
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We'll never be as young as we are right now |
04-15-2004, 11:58 AM | #9 |
a real smartass
Join Date: Dec 2001
Location: Kirkland, WA
Posts: 1,121
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This is a few months old.
Azure, violet, copper, scarlet, rose, mauve, maroon Every sunset color, both the cheerful and the sad, each hue is manifest within a fibrous bloom, resting gaily atop a verdant lily pad Betwixt a fluted cave of granite grand, the wind croons a contralto reverie. Lay and loll upon the soft sorrel sand and gaze upon the flowers of the sea. |
04-19-2004, 01:45 PM | #10 |
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the early bird was caught
by the cat who in one of it's earlier 9 lives had been a worm. revenge is sweet like the song of a robin, abruptly stilled. silence is golden like the eyes of a cat. its all in the eye of the beholder, anyhow. if we are what we eat then cats are robins and robins, worms. QED: the worm ate the bird. i think i'll sleep in late and avoid the entire question. |
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