Democratic Donkeys
TNPer
Post your poetry for everyone to see! :
:
:
Poetry
- Thread starter Democratic Donkeys
- Start date
- Pronouns
- she/her
- TNP Nation
- Former English Colony
- Discord
- Erastide
Why does my toe hurt?
Please make the pain go away
I need painkillers
Please make the pain go away
I need painkillers
Kumiko
TNPer
Things have changed
I was still no one
No love, no life
But everything was fine
I lived the lie
I lived my life alone, unloved
But stable.
Then you came back
Words on a screen
Words in my ear
And told me the lie
Was no way to live
That it gets harder
And it has.
But what of me?
How could you do this?
You've made me angry
Sad, alone, unfufilled
But at least now I know
I have always been that way
And I can begin to love for real.
I hate you
I hate what you've done to me
I hate you for what you were to me
I hate you for what you've become
I hate you for everything
I hate you for opening my eyes
I hate you for not taking me as yours.
Own me, for I am yours
I have nothing left
I will leave everything
I will be whatever I must
I want nothing else
There is nowhere for me
But with you.
I was still no one
No love, no life
But everything was fine
I lived the lie
I lived my life alone, unloved
But stable.
Then you came back
Words on a screen
Words in my ear
And told me the lie
Was no way to live
That it gets harder
And it has.
But what of me?
How could you do this?
You've made me angry
Sad, alone, unfufilled
But at least now I know
I have always been that way
And I can begin to love for real.
I hate you
I hate what you've done to me
I hate you for what you were to me
I hate you for what you've become
I hate you for everything
I hate you for opening my eyes
I hate you for not taking me as yours.
Own me, for I am yours
I have nothing left
I will leave everything
I will be whatever I must
I want nothing else
There is nowhere for me
But with you.
Pierconium
TNPer
Poetry I hate
It is worthless and pointless
I will not take part.
It is worthless and pointless
I will not take part.
Fedele
TNPer
I must disagree, Pierre. Having a taste for poetry is the most subtle and sincere complement a person can give themself.
My Heroine
Won't you please take me up high?
Tell me I never have to die
Please - save me once again
You have always been my heroine
Take away that which gives me pain
Clear my life of that wretched stain
Tell me there is no such thing as sin
Hold me once more, my heroine
I could never leave you even if I try
You are the one that makes me fly
I will always love you until the end
You have saved me - my heroine
With you I lose track of time
With you my life is sublime
I'm never frustrated nor am I mad
My heroine never makes me sad
There is no evil when you are near
With you I have no need to fear
I was safe when I called out to you
With open arms, to me you flew
My Heroine
Won't you please take me up high?
Tell me I never have to die
Please - save me once again
You have always been my heroine
Take away that which gives me pain
Clear my life of that wretched stain
Tell me there is no such thing as sin
Hold me once more, my heroine
I could never leave you even if I try
You are the one that makes me fly
I will always love you until the end
You have saved me - my heroine
With you I lose track of time
With you my life is sublime
I'm never frustrated nor am I mad
My heroine never makes me sad
There is no evil when you are near
With you I have no need to fear
I was safe when I called out to you
With open arms, to me you flew
Honeysheep
TNPer
deik-wow. great x
Kumiko
TNPer
The unrestrainable spirit
Lies within me
Poised in bondage to me
My one truest friend
Unreleased and unseen
But by a many few
Plain and unrecognisable
A face you only see once
Someone that doesn't exist
Anywhere but in words
Thoughts too fast to capture
Eloquence rehearsed
For the first time
I am known and loved
Never without company
With reputation and dignity
Unrebuked by those around me
Accepted for who I really am
In a commune of equals
I stand out
Known and adored
With ears around to hear my trouble
Thoughts that keep me sane
Love that keeps me happy
It is not for me to know love
Not just yet
But I pine for the day
When my heart of blue
In which will flow the deepest red
From the King I desperately seek
But morning lies silent still
No sound of another so very dear
Stirring beneath a covering we share
As he wakes and I shall soon seek
A blissful slumber achieved
By knowing he is near me
So sleep comes sparing
Preturbation of spirit
Preventing solidity of rest
Making me weary always
In happiness I rest
Only but for his word
And for the images in my mind
As I make myself small upon my bed
Of a comforter made man
My truest desire made real
As real as it can be
Until he may seek me
This time I tremble
I am timid and weak
Unable to stand without his words
Be they slight or significant
I am open but unbroken
Nothing to defend or hide
A conquest so total
Made with so little effort
The walls made by years of labour
Falling with such alacrity
His army in victory
Resolve failing at the gates
Enter! I cry out to him
Thou has won me to the fullest
Not one thing lies hidden to ye
Mine walls hath been blown asunder
By thine merest breath
And yet there ye stand!
And he calls to me in return
Twas nae mine intent to do this
Mine army seemeth so weak
We needed only solace
Yet now ye offer to us home
A home we cannae seek
Our wounds weep still
With blood fresh and bright
No scars have yet formed
Yet ye seek to treat us
The lacerations must close
For us to be ourselves again
For if we took thy respite
Thy tendest loving embrace
And permit thee oversight to us
We wouldst take of thee a touch
And become but for thee alone
A cross I cannae bear
So I remain
My love most dear away from me
My pain and deepest sorrow
Bearing down weight upon me
My silence my comfort
The scent of something I hate
He rises in morning
As if woken from Death
Confused, daft and amusing
The cup in his hand
A bitter brew coveted
Whose flavor I abhor
There will be no more lies
To others or myself
And my thanks to him
To shatter my own spell
Both prison and protection
From others and myself
I only wish to see
For you to just believe
And don't look back
If you leave me to die
And when you go, bury me
So I may fade back into the lie.
Lies within me
Poised in bondage to me
My one truest friend
Unreleased and unseen
But by a many few
Plain and unrecognisable
A face you only see once
Someone that doesn't exist
Anywhere but in words
Thoughts too fast to capture
Eloquence rehearsed
For the first time
I am known and loved
Never without company
With reputation and dignity
Unrebuked by those around me
Accepted for who I really am
In a commune of equals
I stand out
Known and adored
With ears around to hear my trouble
Thoughts that keep me sane
Love that keeps me happy
It is not for me to know love
Not just yet
But I pine for the day
When my heart of blue
In which will flow the deepest red
From the King I desperately seek
But morning lies silent still
No sound of another so very dear
Stirring beneath a covering we share
As he wakes and I shall soon seek
A blissful slumber achieved
By knowing he is near me
So sleep comes sparing
Preturbation of spirit
Preventing solidity of rest
Making me weary always
In happiness I rest
Only but for his word
And for the images in my mind
As I make myself small upon my bed
Of a comforter made man
My truest desire made real
As real as it can be
Until he may seek me
This time I tremble
I am timid and weak
Unable to stand without his words
Be they slight or significant
I am open but unbroken
Nothing to defend or hide
A conquest so total
Made with so little effort
The walls made by years of labour
Falling with such alacrity
His army in victory
Resolve failing at the gates
Enter! I cry out to him
Thou has won me to the fullest
Not one thing lies hidden to ye
Mine walls hath been blown asunder
By thine merest breath
And yet there ye stand!
And he calls to me in return
Twas nae mine intent to do this
Mine army seemeth so weak
We needed only solace
Yet now ye offer to us home
A home we cannae seek
Our wounds weep still
With blood fresh and bright
No scars have yet formed
Yet ye seek to treat us
The lacerations must close
For us to be ourselves again
For if we took thy respite
Thy tendest loving embrace
And permit thee oversight to us
We wouldst take of thee a touch
And become but for thee alone
A cross I cannae bear
So I remain
My love most dear away from me
My pain and deepest sorrow
Bearing down weight upon me
My silence my comfort
The scent of something I hate
He rises in morning
As if woken from Death
Confused, daft and amusing
The cup in his hand
A bitter brew coveted
Whose flavor I abhor
There will be no more lies
To others or myself
And my thanks to him
To shatter my own spell
Both prison and protection
From others and myself
I only wish to see
For you to just believe
And don't look back
If you leave me to die
And when you go, bury me
So I may fade back into the lie.
This is the beginning of a roleplay I once played with some people. We were going for 'epic', so it's pretty long. If nobody tells me to stop, I'll go on posting parts (the below isn't mine, actually, my part follows later).
I
Over the crest of the land, the red sun rose,
burning through the sky, scorching its foes.
Off in the distance, crowed a lone cock,
calling attention to a man tending his flock.
Running his hand through a toustle of white wool,
Gideon shook his head and in his heart felt a pull.
It had been long since Leila last came to call -
he feared that between them stood a fearsome wall.
Many times he tried to scale that wall,
but its edges slippery caused him to fall.
She had pushed him away and out of the fold -
he wished that on to her he had been able to hold.
"It is dangerous," she had said through tears.
"I certainly have plenty of my own deadly fears.
As I go off to fight in this war,
I fear that I must show you the door."
How he had managed to put it behind him he did not know,
But the rest of the women returned without Leila in tow.
They could not tell him that she was dead,
But she had been dragged off, covered in red.
The previous night, he had received a letter.
For hours he thought maybe it would be better,
but knowing that Leila was captive tore at his heart,
and sleeping on it only made his mouth feel tart.
After seeing his sheep safely back to their pen,
he was determined to stride into the lions' den.
Leila would not save herself, he thought,
so armor and a sword he went and bought.
I'd post it all at once, but that won't raise my post count.
I
Over the crest of the land, the red sun rose,
burning through the sky, scorching its foes.
Off in the distance, crowed a lone cock,
calling attention to a man tending his flock.
Running his hand through a toustle of white wool,
Gideon shook his head and in his heart felt a pull.
It had been long since Leila last came to call -
he feared that between them stood a fearsome wall.
Many times he tried to scale that wall,
but its edges slippery caused him to fall.
She had pushed him away and out of the fold -
he wished that on to her he had been able to hold.
"It is dangerous," she had said through tears.
"I certainly have plenty of my own deadly fears.
As I go off to fight in this war,
I fear that I must show you the door."
How he had managed to put it behind him he did not know,
But the rest of the women returned without Leila in tow.
They could not tell him that she was dead,
But she had been dragged off, covered in red.
The previous night, he had received a letter.
For hours he thought maybe it would be better,
but knowing that Leila was captive tore at his heart,
and sleeping on it only made his mouth feel tart.
After seeing his sheep safely back to their pen,
he was determined to stride into the lions' den.
Leila would not save herself, he thought,
so armor and a sword he went and bought.
I'd post it all at once, but that won't raise my post count.
Edit: Forgot to say this one's mine, unlike the last.
II
Eredhrin was a minstrel’s son,
In days long gone, in Caelerin
Renowned for his travels far
No gate could bar him from within.
‘Tis true, he had a wandering hand
And through the land, it was oft told
When Eredhrin was a visitor,
Quick, lock the door and hide the gold!
At heart he was a kindly soul,
His tunes so doleful, that they might
Reduce a gallows-man to tears
Or rally fearful souls to fight.
And yet this tale concerns it not
For while his lot would later turn
To great, heroic works of fate
From whom the greatest men could learn,
These days, he was an unskilled bard,
Though good at heart, a common thief
Whose fingers were more expert with
A purse than handling lute or leaf.
And so it was, one ev’ning dark
No dog did bark nor raise a roar
When, ‘mid the chattering noise around
A knock did sound the tavern door…
II
Eredhrin was a minstrel’s son,
In days long gone, in Caelerin
Renowned for his travels far
No gate could bar him from within.
‘Tis true, he had a wandering hand
And through the land, it was oft told
When Eredhrin was a visitor,
Quick, lock the door and hide the gold!
At heart he was a kindly soul,
His tunes so doleful, that they might
Reduce a gallows-man to tears
Or rally fearful souls to fight.
And yet this tale concerns it not
For while his lot would later turn
To great, heroic works of fate
From whom the greatest men could learn,
These days, he was an unskilled bard,
Though good at heart, a common thief
Whose fingers were more expert with
A purse than handling lute or leaf.
And so it was, one ev’ning dark
No dog did bark nor raise a roar
When, ‘mid the chattering noise around
A knock did sound the tavern door…
Kumiko
TNPer
Beware of Me
The night comes, and I will stand to greet you.
Beware the beasts that lurk about,
beware the cold that bites at you,
beware the traps I have set for others.
I do not resist you,
but others may,
things I cannot control may strike at you.
Beware the snow that falls as it may beguile you,
and freeze you solid.
Beware of me,
for I may not be all I seem.
No matter what I wish I were,
I am only myself,
so beware of me.
As bleak as any future foretold,
as cold as the winter about you,
as cruel as any villian you find,
as dead inside as any corpse you lay to rest.
I am no prize,
nothing someone would want to win.
So I am here should you want of me.
Just remember I am unfit to be trusted,
unfit to be loved,
unfit for anything you could need.
Keep your eyes wide open,
and beware of me.
This poem is translated.
The night comes, and I will stand to greet you.
Beware the beasts that lurk about,
beware the cold that bites at you,
beware the traps I have set for others.
I do not resist you,
but others may,
things I cannot control may strike at you.
Beware the snow that falls as it may beguile you,
and freeze you solid.
Beware of me,
for I may not be all I seem.
No matter what I wish I were,
I am only myself,
so beware of me.
As bleak as any future foretold,
as cold as the winter about you,
as cruel as any villian you find,
as dead inside as any corpse you lay to rest.
I am no prize,
nothing someone would want to win.
So I am here should you want of me.
Just remember I am unfit to be trusted,
unfit to be loved,
unfit for anything you could need.
Keep your eyes wide open,
and beware of me.
This poem is translated.
To Fall, In Autumn
by me
Let go of August's
lowest murmur,
it is in the the dark
foliage of sleep.
it wandered,
an intimate of every stone.
At the window
I might catch
the still dying of the last light.
To live with burning hands
isn't easy -
that taste of blood
does not lead to
a crown of flame.
It's the composition
of my suffering
that tidal breezes
always bring over
black sheets of water.
Life is
illuminating
the blindness
of the wall.
The night before we spoke
burns me -
the salt
of the mouth which bit
before it kissed.
The soul's work
is unlearning...
Quenched,
or crumbling to dark.
A little boy
climbs the stairs
as autumn
hangs by a thread.
I'm not bitter, I tell him -
never in my shadow
did lumnious things die
so young and obscured.
by me
Let go of August's
lowest murmur,
it is in the the dark
foliage of sleep.
it wandered,
an intimate of every stone.
At the window
I might catch
the still dying of the last light.
To live with burning hands
isn't easy -
that taste of blood
does not lead to
a crown of flame.
It's the composition
of my suffering
that tidal breezes
always bring over
black sheets of water.
Life is
illuminating
the blindness
of the wall.
The night before we spoke
burns me -
the salt
of the mouth which bit
before it kissed.
The soul's work
is unlearning...
Quenched,
or crumbling to dark.
A little boy
climbs the stairs
as autumn
hangs by a thread.
I'm not bitter, I tell him -
never in my shadow
did lumnious things die
so young and obscured.
Silently, Eyes...
by me
He wants her silent wants told him.
In silence he wants her wants to need his eyes to tell her his needs.
He wants her needs to tell his wants her wants to be his need.
His wanting her a sudden needing.
A need that wants no words for telling.
He needs her silent telling of needs;
her wanting his silent need for telling in the wanting silence of each word.
Eyes meet in need, and wants told pass in silence.
Needs needed want in the silence passing.
Eyes told of her need to want him to want her wanting,
to need her needing her to want him: his needing, his wants.
Needing each eye of silent, wanting needs.
He told her he wants her silent he needs her; she wants him to need her,
to want her to need him.
He wants her silent eyes to need his needing want.
Each silent wanting, he eyes her needing his wants, his needs...
Her eyes - silently - need his eyes to need her eyes in the silence of each needful wanting to need him.
He wants her to know she wants him to want her.
He wants her eyes to want him silently.
Her eyes need his in all the silence.
He needs her to need him. She needs him to want her.
He wants her to need all her silent wantings.
Eyes need eyes.
Silence wants silence.
In all: their needs.
In all, in each;
in the silence of each eye needing each eye.
by me
He wants her silent wants told him.
In silence he wants her wants to need his eyes to tell her his needs.
He wants her needs to tell his wants her wants to be his need.
His wanting her a sudden needing.
A need that wants no words for telling.
He needs her silent telling of needs;
her wanting his silent need for telling in the wanting silence of each word.
Eyes meet in need, and wants told pass in silence.
Needs needed want in the silence passing.
Eyes told of her need to want him to want her wanting,
to need her needing her to want him: his needing, his wants.
Needing each eye of silent, wanting needs.
He told her he wants her silent he needs her; she wants him to need her,
to want her to need him.
He wants her silent eyes to need his needing want.
Each silent wanting, he eyes her needing his wants, his needs...
Her eyes - silently - need his eyes to need her eyes in the silence of each needful wanting to need him.
He wants her to know she wants him to want her.
He wants her eyes to want him silently.
Her eyes need his in all the silence.
He needs her to need him. She needs him to want her.
He wants her to need all her silent wantings.
Eyes need eyes.
Silence wants silence.
In all: their needs.
In all, in each;
in the silence of each eye needing each eye.
Seen
by me
There's something harsh and glaring
about the reality of sight.
It is, pointedly,
an ultimate confirmation.
The truth that cremates hope
in luminous conflagration.
The ordeals in all its validity,
the scalded eyelids we are left with...
I will join the small concourse
who shut their eyes in order to see.
Belief is sight enough for me.
All my dark keeps hope alive.
by me
There's something harsh and glaring
about the reality of sight.
It is, pointedly,
an ultimate confirmation.
The truth that cremates hope
in luminous conflagration.
The ordeals in all its validity,
the scalded eyelids we are left with...
I will join the small concourse
who shut their eyes in order to see.
Belief is sight enough for me.
All my dark keeps hope alive.
K
king_girl
Guest
Soneto 17 -- Pablo Neruda
No te amo como si fueras rosa de sal, topacio
o flecha de claveles que propagan el fuego:
te amo como se aman ciertas cosas oscuras,
secretamente, entre la sombra y el alma.
Te amo como la planta que no florece y lleva
dentro de sí, escondida, la luz de aquellas flores,
y gracias a tu amor vive oscuro en mi cuerpo
el apretado aroma que ascendió de la tierra.
Te amo sin saber cómo, ni cuándo, ni de dónde,
te amo directamente sin problemas ni orgullo:
así te amo porque no sé amar de otra manera,
sino así de este modo en que no soy ni eres,
tan cerca que tu mano sobre mi pecho es mía,
tan cerca que se cierran tus ojos con mi sueño.
~ ------------------------------------------------ ~
Sonnet XVII
I don't love you as if you were the salt-rose, topaz
or arrow of carnations that propagate fire:
I love you as certain dark things are loved,
secretly, between the shadow and the soul.
I love you as the plant that doesn't bloom and carries
hidden within itself the light of those flowers,
and thanks to your love, darkly in my body
lives the dense fragrance that rises from the earth.
I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where,
I love you simply, without problems or pride:
I love you in this way because I don't know any other way of loving
but this, in which there is no I or you,
so intimate that your hand upon my chest is my hand,
so intimate that when I fall asleep it is your eyes that close.
No te amo como si fueras rosa de sal, topacio
o flecha de claveles que propagan el fuego:
te amo como se aman ciertas cosas oscuras,
secretamente, entre la sombra y el alma.
Te amo como la planta que no florece y lleva
dentro de sí, escondida, la luz de aquellas flores,
y gracias a tu amor vive oscuro en mi cuerpo
el apretado aroma que ascendió de la tierra.
Te amo sin saber cómo, ni cuándo, ni de dónde,
te amo directamente sin problemas ni orgullo:
así te amo porque no sé amar de otra manera,
sino así de este modo en que no soy ni eres,
tan cerca que tu mano sobre mi pecho es mía,
tan cerca que se cierran tus ojos con mi sueño.
~ ------------------------------------------------ ~
Sonnet XVII
I don't love you as if you were the salt-rose, topaz
or arrow of carnations that propagate fire:
I love you as certain dark things are loved,
secretly, between the shadow and the soul.
I love you as the plant that doesn't bloom and carries
hidden within itself the light of those flowers,
and thanks to your love, darkly in my body
lives the dense fragrance that rises from the earth.
I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where,
I love you simply, without problems or pride:
I love you in this way because I don't know any other way of loving
but this, in which there is no I or you,
so intimate that your hand upon my chest is my hand,
so intimate that when I fall asleep it is your eyes that close.
There was once a young delegate called Dali
Who with Chodean Kal was quite palli
Apart from the name
They were one and the same
Which gives this short rhyme it's finale.
Who with Chodean Kal was quite palli
Apart from the name
They were one and the same
Which gives this short rhyme it's finale.
Fulhead Land
TNPer
certain lee / trees are turn ing / once more reds tip leaves / not caring / green is gone & this mind loves the walk ing / loves the wound ed / & in down time / really / only thinks of stars / whits of lite follow the dipper over the mountain / see see / it'll take you to dawn / between drags of cigarettes / & late nite & i feel / the / a shift coming on & round / /& once a gain i've bitten / hard / in to some thing bitter / / i can't for get / loss of breath / glint of tooth / ah a smile / i'd walk a million miles to taste that smile a gain this very thing keeps the body going mind @ bay / it's the water / constant lee drawn back to the edge of blue / verge a bohemian nite cap / when air tastes like some thing you can't for get / sugar wine salt / i could swear it was clover & i have hand to hip / finger to bone / a long the line of / spine / it all ways pass es & i am walk ing on / in to / nite time a gain / broken a way from yellow & orange of / all day / clouds cover & i am smelling sweet soap again / cover ed in ash once more / soaking in water up to my chin / trying to wash clean fire / st.ill in my cheeks
- by my friend, ms. finch
- by my friend, ms. finch
random ditties from IRC last night:
Last night I had the strangest dream
The strangest dream of all
I dreamed I was in heaven
Away from life’s hard call.
And then I saw the oddest things
As I looked down below.
The signs in heaven said “TNP”
In hell they said “NPO”.
Gaspo is in pergatory
Doesn’t know which way to go
The good part says TNP
The evil says NPO
But there’s no need for a decision
No need to force his hand
The NPO’s so trigger-happy
He’ll eventually end up banned.
Last night I had the strangest dream
The strangest dream of all
I dreamed I was in heaven
Away from life’s hard call.
And then I saw the oddest things
As I looked down below.
The signs in heaven said “TNP”
In hell they said “NPO”.
Gaspo is in pergatory
Doesn’t know which way to go
The good part says TNP
The evil says NPO
But there’s no need for a decision
No need to force his hand
The NPO’s so trigger-happy
He’ll eventually end up banned.
draft rough
city weather marvel
you of age and cups
grab the hurdle of jaundiced
fanaticism, come
free the winter in my
palatial meandering
no one sees some kind of love
middles and worry the things
of night goes away
pulse you in the beat, vary
the dandelion edge of
no, this is not
more your versifying and i am
in metaphor because i like
the way you dig me
frank the mellow of an old senselessness
we are in the mellifluous
lining of things, the
silk veined filigrees of purpose and
mathematics instant
you are change you are
the end of time and even your
particles have a consciousness
that you ignore
some proton of misdirection, an
atomic misunderstanding
burn your nuclear manifestos
and go find something
real in the dark i like
the way the wind
shoots something like real past
the burnt curry spillover
wafting from the stove
the way its gush feels against the blister skin
on my numb baby toe it wasn't
a glorious injury,
merely the wrong jaunt in bad shoes
even marks of skin the
scene unfolding
outside i see you inside out and
pink
floyd is all over me again, but
i will not, will not
subvert myself into lyrics at
least, not the ones that
everyone knows streets fill
with seeds and
Vera you know they're all dying
they can't come home
it's thin ice and i'm so
comfortable in my high hopes,
in my being numb plastered
filters and avian flu
who keeps tabs on
the things that will kill us?
i don't have
the time or the damn to give
i will unedit myself back
into consciousness and you will wonder
at the spiral staircases
that i descend to bring this
tray to you gold it is, my silver
platter, platitudes or really
just
be serving you words because
i have nothing else to give
nothing else i want to give
i am content with feeding you tripe
cooking it is the
fun part anyway at least, that's
what the man said
i didn't really know
what was happening i picked
a word and suddenly was
at the end
a watched poem never boils
in the betweening and then
you miss the whole point you
filled the pot for
in the first place
IGEdit: Two periods snuck in there. But I killed 'em.
city weather marvel
you of age and cups
grab the hurdle of jaundiced
fanaticism, come
free the winter in my
palatial meandering
no one sees some kind of love
middles and worry the things
of night goes away
pulse you in the beat, vary
the dandelion edge of
no, this is not
more your versifying and i am
in metaphor because i like
the way you dig me
frank the mellow of an old senselessness
we are in the mellifluous
lining of things, the
silk veined filigrees of purpose and
mathematics instant
you are change you are
the end of time and even your
particles have a consciousness
that you ignore
some proton of misdirection, an
atomic misunderstanding
burn your nuclear manifestos
and go find something
real in the dark i like
the way the wind
shoots something like real past
the burnt curry spillover
wafting from the stove
the way its gush feels against the blister skin
on my numb baby toe it wasn't
a glorious injury,
merely the wrong jaunt in bad shoes
even marks of skin the
scene unfolding
outside i see you inside out and
pink
floyd is all over me again, but
i will not, will not
subvert myself into lyrics at
least, not the ones that
everyone knows streets fill
with seeds and
Vera you know they're all dying
they can't come home
it's thin ice and i'm so
comfortable in my high hopes,
in my being numb plastered
filters and avian flu
who keeps tabs on
the things that will kill us?
i don't have
the time or the damn to give
i will unedit myself back
into consciousness and you will wonder
at the spiral staircases
that i descend to bring this
tray to you gold it is, my silver
platter, platitudes or really
just
be serving you words because
i have nothing else to give
nothing else i want to give
i am content with feeding you tripe
cooking it is the
fun part anyway at least, that's
what the man said
i didn't really know
what was happening i picked
a word and suddenly was
at the end
a watched poem never boils
in the betweening and then
you miss the whole point you
filled the pot for
in the first place
IGEdit: Two periods snuck in there. But I killed 'em.
Autobiography
Dan Pagis
I died with the first blow and was buried
among the rocks of the field.
The raven taught my parents
what to do with me.
If my family is famous
not a little of the credit goes to me.
My brother invented murder,
my parents invented grief,
I invented silence.
Afterward, the well-known events took place.
Our inventions were perfected, one thing led to another,
orders were given. There were those who murdered in their own way,
grieved in their own way.
I won't mention names
out of consideration for the reader,
since at first the details horrify
though finally they're a bore:
You can die once, twice, even seven times,
but you can't die a thousand times.
I can.
My underground cells reach everywhere.
When Cain began to multiply on the face of the earth,
I began to multiply in the belly of the earth,
and my strength has long been greater than his.
His legions desert him and go over to me,
and even this is only half a revenge.
Dan Pagis
I died with the first blow and was buried
among the rocks of the field.
The raven taught my parents
what to do with me.
If my family is famous
not a little of the credit goes to me.
My brother invented murder,
my parents invented grief,
I invented silence.
Afterward, the well-known events took place.
Our inventions were perfected, one thing led to another,
orders were given. There were those who murdered in their own way,
grieved in their own way.
I won't mention names
out of consideration for the reader,
since at first the details horrify
though finally they're a bore:
You can die once, twice, even seven times,
but you can't die a thousand times.
I can.
My underground cells reach everywhere.
When Cain began to multiply on the face of the earth,
I began to multiply in the belly of the earth,
and my strength has long been greater than his.
His legions desert him and go over to me,
and even this is only half a revenge.
Same Old Nothing
(by my friend Hippie Craque)
Post partum depression.
I didn't like the womb
and I don't like what's outside it.
Post orgasm.
Licorice tea is the only thing separating me from the void.
The void.
I need a new word for the void
but I don't have one.
Another 420 comedian
caught in the machinations of a joke larger than himself
(a dull, serrated knife cutting into his insecurities, I had to laugh
it was sick, grisly, emotional trauma, he laughed too, we all did)
made a sex tape, a joke the same size as himself
put him on a certain level
put me on a certain level
as observer.
This is what I look like in the morning
when I don't care.
I'm wondering what I'll look like to the others
when my living arrangement changes.
I'm wondering how things will change.
Will I find new people to be unkempt around?
I've always wanted to grow a big fuck off beard.
I've always wanted to be myself
myself, the person I want to be.
I've always wanted to grow a big fuck off beard
but there's been something in the way
the craving
the craving
the craving because of the memory
because the dog almost had his day
almost got his treat one day, almost.
Thought he had it so his brain jumped the gun, said
GOOD BOY in the language of neurotransmitters, YOU GOT YOURS
but it was a game, higher level than he could understand
and he hadn't gotten his after all, but the imprint was made
and every time the bell rings
though he knows, now, it's futile, failure
he still feels the feeling, beyond his control
hardwired to possibility, and the neurotransmitters
flow, beyond his control, here they go:
the craving for those healthy natural endorphins
the brain's reward for meeting healthy natural objectives
like having healthy natural children
with healthy natural girls
on healthy natural birth control
at the healthy natural saloon
will make me do unhealthy
unnatural things
for no gain
but memories
of my brain having jumped the gun
to flood me with endorphins before
reaping the real reward, a rush
like a hoot of crack, leaving me wanting more
then leaving me lacking and depressed, calling the void a void
cause I don't know what else to call it.
Memories, imprints, the rush
because of face recognition sub-routines
and sophisticated modern analogs to primal social cues, hardwired
and contours, and sweet voices, and degradation that runs
on the same circuits as libido
because those things gave me that rush
which is a chemical related
to opiates and stimulants
because those things gave me that rush
I can't grow my fuck off beard.
Because even though it gives me a warm tingly feeling
to tell everyone to fuck off
even though it makes me feel at peace with myself
like I'm on god's tranqs
and gives me that spiritual glow
like I'm in the organ loft, haunting your opera
nonetheless
I crave
and facial hair is one thing I'm willing to control
to maximize potential
pathetic potential
for being loved
physically
because I'm so bored with my mind
and anyone who loved me for that
would have to be seriously ill
which is why I'm rich
in half-crazy platonic contacts
so useless for my agenda
so fucking useless
so motherfucking useless
so cocksucking useless
and not crazy enough
discerning, discriminating
you know who's gonna provide
the endorphins you need, it ain't me.
Yes, it's just an ancient chemical craving
it means nothing but that, that petty thing
so just pretend I've got my fuck-off beard right the fuck on
and fuck off
and I'll save myself
from myself.
(by my friend Hippie Craque)
Post partum depression.
I didn't like the womb
and I don't like what's outside it.
Post orgasm.
Licorice tea is the only thing separating me from the void.
The void.
I need a new word for the void
but I don't have one.
Another 420 comedian
caught in the machinations of a joke larger than himself
(a dull, serrated knife cutting into his insecurities, I had to laugh
it was sick, grisly, emotional trauma, he laughed too, we all did)
made a sex tape, a joke the same size as himself
put him on a certain level
put me on a certain level
as observer.
This is what I look like in the morning
when I don't care.
I'm wondering what I'll look like to the others
when my living arrangement changes.
I'm wondering how things will change.
Will I find new people to be unkempt around?
I've always wanted to grow a big fuck off beard.
I've always wanted to be myself
myself, the person I want to be.
I've always wanted to grow a big fuck off beard
but there's been something in the way
the craving
the craving
the craving because of the memory
because the dog almost had his day
almost got his treat one day, almost.
Thought he had it so his brain jumped the gun, said
GOOD BOY in the language of neurotransmitters, YOU GOT YOURS
but it was a game, higher level than he could understand
and he hadn't gotten his after all, but the imprint was made
and every time the bell rings
though he knows, now, it's futile, failure
he still feels the feeling, beyond his control
hardwired to possibility, and the neurotransmitters
flow, beyond his control, here they go:
the craving for those healthy natural endorphins
the brain's reward for meeting healthy natural objectives
like having healthy natural children
with healthy natural girls
on healthy natural birth control
at the healthy natural saloon
will make me do unhealthy
unnatural things
for no gain
but memories
of my brain having jumped the gun
to flood me with endorphins before
reaping the real reward, a rush
like a hoot of crack, leaving me wanting more
then leaving me lacking and depressed, calling the void a void
cause I don't know what else to call it.
Memories, imprints, the rush
because of face recognition sub-routines
and sophisticated modern analogs to primal social cues, hardwired
and contours, and sweet voices, and degradation that runs
on the same circuits as libido
because those things gave me that rush
which is a chemical related
to opiates and stimulants
because those things gave me that rush
I can't grow my fuck off beard.
Because even though it gives me a warm tingly feeling
to tell everyone to fuck off
even though it makes me feel at peace with myself
like I'm on god's tranqs
and gives me that spiritual glow
like I'm in the organ loft, haunting your opera
nonetheless
I crave
and facial hair is one thing I'm willing to control
to maximize potential
pathetic potential
for being loved
physically
because I'm so bored with my mind
and anyone who loved me for that
would have to be seriously ill
which is why I'm rich
in half-crazy platonic contacts
so useless for my agenda
so fucking useless
so motherfucking useless
so cocksucking useless
and not crazy enough
discerning, discriminating
you know who's gonna provide
the endorphins you need, it ain't me.
Yes, it's just an ancient chemical craving
it means nothing but that, that petty thing
so just pretend I've got my fuck-off beard right the fuck on
and fuck off
and I'll save myself
from myself.