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28th Dec, 2009


[info]warmbodies in [info]poems

maybe maybe not

some things
never change
maybe we can
start all over again

maybe
maybe not

some people
never change
so maybe we can

maybe
maybe not

[info]callmemrpurpose in [info]poems

meteor moles

sometimes I feel so alone
that I would enjoy the company of a meteor
taking it's cosmic interest in my face

sometimes I feel so alone
that everyone I ever cared the least bit about
piled in at one mega party
is as appealing to me as counting moles
new and old
and it's not too different really

sometimes I feel like
crushing the life out of hope
for having ever fooled me
and burying it
in the back of a dump-truck
heading to a landfill in dimension zero

sometimes misery becomes so perfected
that nothing can stop it
and nothing can change it
but anything can start it

a friend of mine said I've perfected the art of misery
she really got it

sometimes there is no solution
we can only live with it
yeah, hopefully not forever
but right now hope is a straw
my fingers are oily
and I'm just going through some motions
my hands don't know what they're doing

[info]s3ld0n in [info]poems

the rock, on waking

Life is gone.
Living things being gone,
Lifeless things are no longer
Lifeless.
There is no lifeless.
Lifeless is gone.

I am dead.
Being dead, I do not think.
I think no longer,
"This is life, and
That is lifeless."
I think no longer,
"This is right, and
That is wrong."

Right is gone
and wrong is gone.

He is gone,
it is gone,
flailing is gone,
concept is gone,
tumbled is gone,
query is gone,
and leaf is gone.

This is gone.

The rock, on waking, yawns
and thinks no longer:
"I am gone."

[info]s3ld0n in [info]poems

(no subject)

Hail Mary, full of grace,
how many times more will I say this?
In my heart I know this action--
this speaking of human words,
decreed sacred by human words,
prescribed by a mortal human man
to me as penance for my
mortal human sins--
is, in a way, arbitrary.

Holy Mary, mother of God,
since when do these words
in this order
in this language
this number of times
save the human soul
from torment in the Lake of Fire?

Hail Mary, full of grace,
what does it mean to be blessed?

[info]shaqziad1610 in [info]poems

Poem - Into the snowy dawn

This is my first post here as new member. So i guess i better share something as greeting. It's a poem i wrote during winter last year. Well, not like i ever meet a single snow drop in my life, but maybe i just follow the flow.


Into the snowy dawn )
Do comment on this piece. >.

26th Dec, 2009


[info]journalfriend in [info]poems

The Beauty Continues..



As I reflected this morning...

The beauty of Christmas and its gentle tenderness has the power to bring both joy and tears... and yet as I look out the window and see God's grace and the splendor of snow, I can only respond in awe, joy, and tears.

It's still snowing! ... depending on what part of the state, folks got 12-24 inches...and Yes, I love the snow!








[info]jimthecat in [info]poems

(no subject)

i came home to find her
on the kitchen floor

tweezers
an eye dropper
and some glue in hand
putting an egg
back together

[info]jimthecat in [info]poems

(no subject)

i turn to droplets of solid rain and fall upon the face of the wind.

[info]jewelia13 in [info]fem_singer_pics

Merry Christmas, everyone! I bring you presents!

Beginning with... )

[info]xlyudiinvalidyx in [info]poems

(no subject)


your screams
they make me
feel
alive

they speak to me
and like dust
they fly

they soar
and live on

they echo
or maybe
you're screaming
again?

keep going
scream the silence away
my dear

live in my world

the street lamps call to me
they murmur sweet lies

the fallen white of sky
dusting a rotten palace

the dim lights of people flicker
hauntingly dull

the smoke rises in ringlets
a soft grey illusion

they're calling to me
telling me all

all that i don't
ever
want to know.

I`m not sure why the first poem is like that, but I figure, better there and a little fucked up, then not at all, ne?

 


[info]freya_sacksen in [info]poems

More sestinas

Read more... )

24th Dec, 2009


[info]danail in [info]poems

his hiis

Timur- a that Hop-o'-my-Thumb
--Did not trust in The Tangra- anger of Aggiyll-
--And Asparukh descendant Akhileos-
--and Anger such them-- Timur foresaw
-- But to meet Kristening peasants from them and Prince--

--It from Harvard or Prinston-
--And here arrived look-and
--The Tiger in a Zoo
--Inscription of Tigr-
--Taxists ithere here for the Street
--A Cat s steps Tcаis Yena-
--It looked in in his Glass-
--Not understood that its Head in in his Past'-
Timur in said tiy molodoy and in on Centimetres
8 Hands with Half

O GERMETISTE TRISMEGISTE MNE NE WSE ROWNO
hip hop

23rd Dec, 2009


[info]serous_paroxysm in [info]poems

"Unpainted Canvas" by Chanctetinyea Ouellette

This is a whole poetry book, not long (so you can easily read it), but very very good.  I'm linking this book with permission; I thought I'd share it because GOOD poetry is hard to come by nowadays.  Please read and vote on this book of poems.  This is a very good writer trying to get back on her feet in the writer's world, and her work is truly good.

The book is called Unpainted Canvas.  It is a collection of verses.

Click for links to more of Chanctetinyea's poetry )

[info]jannaboo in [info]poems

Cut Here


a song I scribbled down this morning.

Check it out )

22nd Dec, 2009


[info]artaud_damaged in [info]poems

Sick.

I'm holding a hammer.
And there is blood on
the bathroom tiles.

Looking in the mirror,
staring at the deep scratches
across my face,

I know that something isn't right.

In the room next to me,
a 'Nurse with Wound' record plays.

The volume is up,
but not high enough to silence
the screaming girl.

I found her drunk in a park,
I dragged her home.
We dropped acid.

I put the record on.

We got naked,
she was junkie thin.
Wide-eyed and feral.

...then I hit her.
She must have fought back.
Or tried.

Because now,
I'm holding a hammer.
And there is blood on
the bathroom tiles.

My blood.

This time I went too far.

21st Dec, 2009


[info]bellatempesta in [info]poems

elysian


she dreams of fiery reckless heavens
underneath a patchwork cut-out sky,
contours in the dark amid worlds

(her laugh is brazen, it chimes true)

there are splinters of gold
in his inky eyes that hold the sea
speak of a puzzle that they weave

their languid dance batters against the dusk
with a quiet imperfection 
a bruised charisma 

(drinking of heroes and philosophers)

a butterfly brews the storm of ethereal kismet 

she knows them beneath her eyelashes

the arch of his wings
the elusive bones that curve wildly

but she dreams it better when-
there is such an elysian
intertwined between their fingertips.

[info]blueserenity22 in [info]world_travel

(no subject)

Hello! :)

I am planing on going to Ireland to live there for two-to-three weeks, but have never gone out of the country before (well... I've been to Mexico and Canada [I'm in the USA] but it's not really the same thing). The trip is still in the makings (no official travel dates yet, just getting information) and was hoping I could get some pointers/information for "good things to know when traveling"? I'm googling, etc but wanted to ask actual people, too haha.

Questions off the top of my head:
  • Can I use my laptop there? I've heard the power outlets are different but assume I can get a converter? Or are there enough internet cafes that I won't have to worry about it? :)

  • What are your suggestions/opinions about international phones compared to just emailing? Are they worth the cost?

  • When is the best time to book a flight? 6 months before? 3 months before? Does it matter?

  • How to find cheap flights (www.cheapestinternationalflights.net?)

  • Any ideas on how expensive public transportation is there, or ideas about the best way to travel (I've heard renting a car is pretty pointless).

  • Other stuff? :)



Thanks!
Tags:

20th Dec, 2009


[info]s3ld0n in [info]poems

sewn up and lain to rest

this poem opens itself with a knife.
"
using the knife like a scalpel,
the body is split
"
open
"
bleeding all over
the guts are a tangle
and littered with vestigial bits:
"
this love is like no other;
a stone on the hill like the sun on the horizon;
light over water;
the bombs bursting in air;
zang tumb tuuum;
before the law;
Major Major Major Major;
and so on.
"
its origin must be lowly;
its designer must be feeble;
it must have been a blind watchmaker--
this results from hearing about Giants' shoulders,
their hands counting the seconds
while nothing has happened but the obsession with...
"
but it had come too late.
there was nothing it could do.

[info]chelseaspeaks in [info]poems

Last tear

My eyes burn as the hot tears fall

No sound escapes my pressed lips

As I sit in the deep, and the dark letting my depression devour me

and wrap its chilling arms around me

as its hard grip tightens around my heart

draining the last ounce of light

I have I don't want this!  Why am I still here?

I don't want to remain in this cold, stark, painful place

alone

I feel a spark inside as I break the grip he has on me

and look down at myself

Watching as the light inside slowly rekindles itself

feeling the tears dry up on my face

leaving no trace

as I pull myself together and prepare to leave here

[info]artaud_damaged in [info]poems

Foetus.

Um, I guess this poem has nihilistic themes... that may offend.

... )

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