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Poetry....Your favorites, and your own.
My personal neverending story

All that I could have been and all that I never was
Leaves me lacking and always wanting
At the same time not knowing what to look for.

I'm so fucked up, I can't begin to explain
Why I look okay on the outside while
In reality I'm void, blank, empty--I just don't care.

Where I want to go, how I get there
Just amounts to a big "whatever."
I'm always moving while life continues to stand still
There's no end in sight, only complications.

I don't believe in make-up for my skin,
But use concealer well for everything underneath.
The surface wounds never really heal, just cut deeper.
It all looks so perfect on the outside.

Keep myself busy so I don't have time to think
About how I am ultimately lacking in feeling and reason.
I keep denying, pretending--it's all neverending.
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New peeps. New posts. Great reads.

Now someone grab the starter of this thread and tell him to come back home where he belongs, dagnabbit!
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The wind blows cold across the plains
where we once stood, lay my remains
etched in stone but bound in chains
someday I'll be free

The world was mine but now it's lost
we played the game, I paid the cost
my bridges burned before they're crossed
I'm blind yet I can see

I look back on your gentle face
your loving smile and warm embrace
our happiest memories of this place
cannot end my ennui

The minutes kept, days lost in time
lifes beauty, joy, and love sublime
yet only sadness in my rhyme
'til you return to me.
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Blue

Intimations of something deeper,
mortality and water
running like ripples from the epicenter
as your sky rises, reflected, refracted
in the sorrows of the dues yet unpaid.
Baptized in sound, clear, clear wind
blew the past behind you,
painted it onto a wall,
and shined a light on it
like sky, like oceans and oceans of blues sky
mirrored on muddy waters
deep and muddy waters
made cool and blue
intimating something deep and blue about you.
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Titled

My heart is a large kingdom,
made of good bones and talking poems
built on sweet violence and simple murders.
The music of a distant drum
across a dark and wild sea
speaking of beauty, death and drama
opens wide the freedom gates
to freedom roads.
The Gatekeeper, the modern poet,
fights the Great war,
the sweetest dream...
My heart is a large kingdom,
all my wars are laid away in books
in a corner of the universe.
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For certain, maybe

How words must rush the mouth's open gates
in the elimination of half-thoughts
replaced with the spectacle of self-crucifixion
what a gift to give!
To the poor, unthinking, and romantic,
all the same person.
People will give anything for themselves
lies, treachery, and promises
until Death does its part.
and only rattled breath rushes the rusty gates
and they beg for all the things they never said
clang...clang...
They pound the nails, hard, iron nails
with tears and smiles
and tears and smiles
knowing for certain, maybe, that
every day is the last
and that no one really believes in love anyway.
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Quote:

Originally posted by Social


I don't believe in make-up for my skin,
But use concealer well for everything underneath.


Awesome line.
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Some of this stuff is UNBELIEVABLE. I never gave this thread more than a cursory examination, but after two pages...just wow.

Quick comments:

Avalon - I love your stuff; very well done for the most part - though let's say that I am unsuprised by the quality and content (and I mean that as a personal compliment of the highest sort and hope you take it as such)

Dances - whoa, dark and scary shit; very good though. If that's how you wrestle your demons, I'd say your pummelling the fuckers into submission

HMT - interesting combination of tenderness and bitterness in some of your stuff.

Ripley - I think I may need to print your poems out; the snatches I read were terrific, but I was just like "damn, that's long."

Anyway, I need to keep reading more, but not tonight.

I'll throw in a few of my meager efforts for evisceration, if no one minds too much.
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Baggage
Weighted down, searching for air
Fighting against sinking further
To shed this anchor, to finish
One's penance and surge
Upwards to the surface, finally
Gasp that life-giving ether
That is so desperately needed
And desired

(yeah, well - cliches are cliches for a good reason!)
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At the dawn of my day
My gaze strays your way
Catching you as you lay
Unstirring, sedate
Your face bathed in a ray
Of the morning sun

My agreeable bane,
Content to remain
Asleep, as I wait, fain,
For a sign you wake,
Base desires aflame
Blazing with passion

As you stir, my pulse races
I have stayed patient,
Unslaked, time wasted,
Now we kiss, I taste
You, sated to remain
Silent, one from two.
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As I gaze upon
This inland sea
Which forever is
A part of me
I wonder of those
Who came before;
I wonder if they
Swam as far across your breadth
Dove as deep into your depth
Adored the scent of
Your sandy shores
As I desired to.
Will my laughter,
My sorrows, my tracks
Across your banks
Prove as indelible?
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Hmm, I seem to do a lot of gazing.
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Quote:

Originally posted by Sleeplesslumber
Paying Attention

Son.
Come sit down next to me,
It’s time you learned
about paying attention. Mostly,
for people to respect
you as you grow older, be
willing to listen
with interest they can see.

Please Put that gameboy back
in your pocket, promptly.

As I was saying
To show that you deeply
respect those you meet,
keep you ears open… What?

No, you can’t watch Tv.

You won’t gain status in
life if you contantly
loose interest every
two minutes and thirty…

Don you dare touch That.
I’m still speaking to you.
Put that remote down!
Stop. Hey! Football is on.

Suggestions would be great as I would like to make the form of it better and more prominent (In my opinion I suck when writing in free verse which was what this poem orginally started out as.)

Heh - it's funny because it's true.

Personally, I'd say the form is fine through most of it but it sort of fell apart in the last stanza. Though that may actually work for the poem, as it could be construed as "the best laid plans of mice and men go to shit when you're trying to talk to some damn kid."
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Quote:

Originally posted by Joseph Curwen
"Here's to dreams, may they come true."
I say, raising my glass in a toast.
We abandon the lives that we once knew.
Who we were, are now only ghosts.

The masks that proudly we once wore
give way to somebody new.
Yesterdays mask is mine no more.
It was time to bid him adieu.

So, remember this face that I show you now.
For the mask that I am wearing this day,
is only reflecting the man I am now
not the man I was yesterday.

So, "Here's to dreams, may they come true."
Maybe tomorrow we'll be who we say
but for now it's time that we start anew
and cast off our masks of yesterday.

I really love your way with a rhyme. Your stuff really flows nicely.
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Quote:

Originally posted by Chavez
Ripley - I think I may need to print your poems out; the snatches I read were terrific, but I was just like "damn, that's long."

Thanks and I know, what can I say . . . I am frick'in word whore!
that's why my novel has to be split amongst 2 books!
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The king sighs deep and drops his sword
as he kneels on the battle field
with his final breath, he gives thanks to the lord
and collapses in death on his shield

The light of the living has since left his eyes
His mind and his soul are now gone
he'll never again see another sunrise
outside of Avalon.

His armies, countrymen and kinsmen know
that someday he will return
to vanquish even the greatest of foe
The enemies of his kingdom will burn

The years will pass as life becomes death
The centuries lingering on
yet still they wait and pray under breath
for his return from Avalon

They've foretold his coming in prose and in verse
They await the return of their king
To relinquish this burden, and rid them of their curse
so the angels will once again sing

His kingdom will rise much like the dawn
They know this in their hearts to be true
and I'll still be waiting here in Avalon
to share this last sunrise with you.
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Wow. I leave for a month and this place explodes with new entries. Ripley, Brilliant as always. HMT, You make me proud to be among your ranks. Avalon, I have missed you. Don't make me say how much. I'll just embarrass myself. Sleeplesslumber, I love your poetry. Social, it's good to have you here. I dig your poem alot. Please post more. Chavez, welcome aboard. Love your stuff. What took you so long? Joseph Curwen, they're beautiful. Welcome back. So....anybody got any more?
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Sir Eel is Stick

Sir Eel is Stick, reel lee
How wanderless, shapeful
Me and earrings of my end
Get stuck in toe-tall
rooms of tall King shadows
each a one daring fan tome
written with wreck collections
of things which never happened
Sir Eel is Stick, reel lee
But not soda fickle cult
To make things come placated
when you're trying to remember
your name.
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Quote:

Originally posted by HeavyMetalThunder
Sir Eel is Stick

Sir Eel is Stick, reel lee
How wanderless, shapeful
Me and earrings of my end
Get stuck in toe-tall
rooms of tall King shadows
each a one daring fan tome
written with wreck collections
of things which never happened
Sir Eel is Stick, reel lee
But not soda fickle cult
To make things come placated
when you're trying to remember
your name.


HMT, scraping against my soul, words that are yours stick, easily ;-)
very cool!
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Quote:

Originally posted by HeavyMetalThunder

The People We Used To Know
Precisely now, someone you met
Eleven years ago
Took a breath and blinked.
Precisely now, two young girls are swearing
friends forever.
In three years, they will not know the others’
last name.
Tomorrow they will never speak
again.
Hands we’ve shook, glances exchanged…
…all possible worlds of interaction
ever pointing to infinite futures
from single points
of introduction.
We consider the present, revisit the past
And long for things to come
All built on what we can see
Shake hands with…
Breathing, blinking, swearing…
Who knows where they all come from?
Who knows where all of them go?
Does God still talk to the people we used to know?

Wow. This one is terrific.
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Quote:

Originally posted by Chavez
Wow. This one is terrific.

Hey, thanks!
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Quote:

Originally posted by HeavyMetalThunder
Sir Eel is Stick

Sir Eel is Stick, reel lee
How wanderless, shapeful
Me and earrings of my end
Get stuck in toe-tall
rooms of tall King shadows
each a one daring fan tome
written with wreck collections
of things which never happened
Sir Eel is Stick, reel lee
But not soda fickle cult
To make things come placated
when you're trying to remember
your name.

Fun, very fun!
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Quote:

Originally posted by HeavyMetalThunder
Awesome line.

Thanks! Maybe I should post in here more often....
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He's home!!! Welcome back! I've missed you too. I enjoyed the read, Mr. Sunshine. *notice no bullet holes in the smilie*

Joseph, that was nice. Welcome aboard.

To my teacher & Ripley, always great stuff. Please continue.

Social, we gotta get together soon. I know I said right after the holidays. The timing's been off due to David's freaky work schedule. Please give Swykk my apologies as well. Thanks for sharing your work!

Chavez!?! I didn't know you were a poet! He's good people, people (not that you didn't know that already). Great entries here, and a welcome addition. Thank you very much for the kind words (again, you!) but I haven't written any new ones to contribute.

I think the greatest gift you have all shown here is keeping Chainsaws thread alive. Very nice to see.
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Quote:

Originally posted by Avalon
Social, we gotta get together soon. I know I said right after the holidays. The timing's been off due to David's freaky work schedule.

Ditto, Avalon! Just PM me or e-mail next time you have some free time, and we'll see what we can come up with!
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Cool! Sorry to leave you hanging there. I got caught up elsewhere for a moment. But yeah, that sounds good.
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Quote:

Originally posted by Avalon

Chavez!?! I didn't know you were a poet! He's good people, people (not that you didn't know that already). Great entries here, and a welcome addition. Thank you very much for the kind words

Well, I don't consider myself much of one. Basically, I don't write or read too much of it - just sometimes to work something out I'll jot one down, or just to have fun I'll play with meter and sound. And it has at times been a handy tool to get women into bed.

Oh, I showed your stuff to Mel - she liked "The Desert" best (I preferred "The Err is Human"Wink. She writes FAR more poetry than I do.
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It's been awhile, and we have new poets, so let's bust out the questions!

1) Who are you reading?
2) What are your current writing projects?
3) Share any thought you may have on poets and poetry.


For me:

1) I'm enjoying a lot of Gerard Manley Hopkins lately (The Windhover, Binsey Poplars, God's Grandeur). I'm fascinated by his "inscape" technique and his signature sprung rhythm. His poetry also features a lot of internal line rhyme and TONS of alliteration, which is a favorite device of mine.

I'm also trying to figure out how I feel about the Beats; Kerouac, Ginsberg and Farengetti. I like the music of it, and the variations in rhythmic possibilities, but I'm not sure I get the bottom-line driving purpose in writing for four days about a three day binge...it's real and raw, and very counter-culture, typical confessional poetry, but it doesn't have the searching quality of Robert Lowell or Sylvia Plath. It seems instead to glorify the (often) really, really messed up behaviors and lifestyles which the Beats tended to live.

Other recent gems: Anne Sexton, more Jane Kenyon and Donald Hall, Elizabeth Bishop, Gwendolyn Brooks.

2) I'm making a conscious effort to NOT be so prolific with poetry. I used to write everyday. I'm trying a different technique now. i write ideas down everydayl; single lines, single phrases, lists of words I like, etc. Then, once a week I collect all or some of those into poems. Sometimes I wind up with one, sometimes more, sometimes not even a complete one. The three or four I posted in the last few days all came out of that method, and I think they're some of my better ones. Although "Titled" is a made-poem; I took pre-existing poetry/literature book titles and strung them together into a poem. I changed because I felt I was maybe writing the same things over and over, or maybe poems came too easily, or maybe I didn't spend enough time on them. I'm sticking with this method for now, but I already know I want to be able to be a little freer with when I write and how much, meaning more.

I'm also working on a short story about an ex-Priest who becomes a police officer. It's difficult.

3) My thoughts on poets and poetry...I wrote the following poem recently, which came a bit out of reaction to Ginsberg, and a bit out of reaction to my previous method of writing. There are two versions of the poem, both appearing here, because I couldn't decide which said it better. Judge for yourself.


" --- "

Poet!
Stop!
Now, before it's too late,
stop, Poet, stop!
Finished thoughts finish
the last word is ---

" --- "

Poet!

Stop!
Finished thoughts finish
The Last Word is ---

_______________________________

And to finish off this post, a recent favorite.

Carrion Comfort
Gerard Manley Hopkins

NOT, I’ll not, carrion comfort, Despair, not feast on thee;
Not untwist—slack they may be—these last strands of man
In me ór, most weary, cry I can no more. I can;
Can something, hope, wish day come, not choose not to be.
But ah, but O thou terrible, why wouldst thou rude on me
Thy wring-world right foot rock? lay a lionlimb against me? scan
With darksome devouring eyes my bruisèd bones? and fan,
O in turns of tempest, me heaped there; me frantic to avoid thee and flee?

Why? That my chaff might fly; my grain lie, sheer and clear.
Nay in all that toil, that coil, since (seems) I kissed the rod,
Hand rather, my heart lo! lapped strength, stole joy, would laugh, chéer.
Cheer whom though? the hero whose heaven-handling flung me, fóot tród
Me? or me that fought him? O which one? is it each one? That night, that year
Of now done darkness I wretch lay wrestling with (my God!) my God.
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Yes, yes. . . poets update sounds good.

HMT, you are doing some nice reading and I too am playing with unorthodoxed meter and verse . . .

Ripley's update: I quit my job of 14 years as Art Director/Director of Operations for an PR & Ad agency to become a full-time writer. I WILL finish my novel (dark fantasy/romance) this summer.

My man is doing his 2nd tour in Iraq, so I have all the things a good writer needs to finish her work, PAIN, LONLINESS, CELIBACY (ah!), TIME, FINANCES AND BOURBON!

What I've been reading . . . you guys!

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Finishing The Last Words

The conversations all begin the same
No one's interest holds until the talk turns black
Then the worried words begin the game

All the white bones rattle loud the shame
Dancing gladly on someone's bruised and aching back
while syrup sympathy drags good mud through the name-

dropping parade of self-pity and blame
Get a juicy rumor going; a gossip's snack,
before eating the prey thus wounded and lame

Wounded with sympathy , seduction, destruction the same
In finishing the last words, a wish to have the first ones back
Like the freest, wildest beast under predator's paw
would wish she could be tame.
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Quote:

Originally posted by HeavyMetalThunder
It's been awhile, and we have new poets, so let's bust out the questions!

1) Who are you reading?
2) What are your current writing projects?
3) Share any thought you may have on poets and poetry.


1. At the moment, You.

2. Don't really have any. I just write what's in my head.

3. There are no bad poets. There is no bad poetry. Each poet brings something different to the table. We all have a unique and distinctive voice. I would gladly hear them all.
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Guess I'll join in with my answers.

1. I'm reading the Princess Bride at the moment though it is not poetry. I am also enjoying the limericks written by Asimov. Not to deep I know but it is still the winter and in the winter I often get depressed so I try to stay away from reading depressing stuff.

2. Since I do not write poems regularly I still am trying to get used to all the forms available the last one I wrote about the sea was in the villanell form.

As of now I am working on the begining chapters of two seperate stories taking place in the same futuristic city at the same time. I am trying to decide if I want to present the two seperate stories (they are seperate but there are events in one that effect the outcome of the other even though the chatacters in each story don't really meet untill the end) as one novel with each chapter switching off or should they be compleatly seperate as two novellas. (I hope I am making sense)

3. Poetry always seems to have no real definition (some consider limericks to not be poetry) while others say that free verse is no different than prose. I am currently trying to find my own definitionof what is and what isn't so I can better smooth out my style.

And since it is winter I prefer to write cheerful stuff so here is another, I guess it would be called comic, poem.

Simple Beauty

Up in the tower my princess with golden hair
Lies in her bed, her face calm and sprightly.
With Her head resting on a pillow, lightly,
almost buoyant on the down, skull full of hot air.
It was because of her stupid mistake
That I, the castle gardener, cannot wake.
Wheels and needles would, she was made well aware,
be her downfall. Now sorry if I get disjointed,
but there she was in front something all sharp and pointed.
In an instant she chose to forswear
our trust, and drawing parallels with eve and the apple,
she touched it, up in that hidden part of the chapel,
Flat out ignoring our sixteen years of going threadbare!
Afterward the fairies come to the bias decision,
with out giving me time to prepare one provision,
to make the whole kingdom doze. It’s only fair
after all, they argued, that if she has to sleep
we, the people, had to nap just as deep.
And there I was so blissfully unaware,
just hoeing the castle garden for next spring.
When I was overwhelmed with numbness so tiring
that I collapsed onto the flowerbed to my error.
Now would a princess stuck in her bed for an epoch
seem as sad a tale when your pillow is a rock?
Not to mention being forced to live my nightmare.
I, who waged many wars against weeds by thinning,
am dismayed to find that the weeds are now winning.
The state of the roses is even harder to bear.
Bushes that used to be so bright and cheery
Are now miles of briars making the palace eerie,
with thorns so sharp that one prick makes pain flare.
I should know, as the hedge encircles me.

All of this, just because little miss beauty
proved without a doubt that she was a true blonde.
But maybe she isn’t the one to blame,
after all the fairies never, with their wand,
gave her the wonderful gift of a brain.
No, perhaps only a wizard could do that.
I can’t wait till a prince comes to wake that nitwit.
then amidst all the fanfare I could take my hat
march up to the happy couple and declare “I quit!”

Crude I know but I enjoyed writing it...
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Sleepless, looks like an extended sonnet form. pretty cool. I like the light tone of that one. Good job. Also, excellent and fresh rhyme.

I haven't posted for quite a while before this week, so I keep putting up new stuff. I hope you folks don't mind.


In The Dead

The loss comes in plural
belief sinks with the eyes
shrinks with the bones
stinks with the sagging, sallow skin.

God is a cadaver.

Bought and cut for empire.
But a corpse is only you,
missing breath,
both bereft of chance.
But searching ends with dying
The essence leaves at death
borne on wind of final breath

Dissecting the dead God
It's not a wonder
you find no life, no soul,
within nor within
left only without.
therefore learn among the living.
There is time enough and God is giving
and alive, not embalmed upon a table
bound by short and tatty cable
of man's disbelief, no.
No truth is found in death, in the dead
save for every moment wasted.
Therefore learn among the living
be not left without
There is time and God is giving
but the dead are buried with their doubt.
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As soon as I'm able to access my poetry again (it's all currently being held in Michele's portable harddrive since I lost most of the hardware that was in my computer), I'll grow some balls and start posting them.
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Also, HMT, that last one sounds very Slayer, which is a compliment of course! More comments soon (to all).
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