A communal poetry thread...

[The Children of the Revolution]

I noticed many threads devoted to members poetry; a lot of it is good stuff. But unless they churn out stuff every day, the thread gets buried. So this is an attempt to create a permenant poetry thread - IN THE LITERATURE SECTION, NOT CHIT CHAT!!! :P

Anyone can post poetry here; hopefully people will also suggest improvements or comment on previous work. Hopefully.

[Pete]

These poems are pretty angsty if you ask me... but meh

Dead Birds

Tangled falcons taste sour
hieghts fighting to
break free.
How then, is the
chocked crow to remain
free?
Down bellow, deep
beneath fires
riegn as they
do in the places
of worship
surrounding
golden
pews.
How can this be?
the faithful scream,
yet they are faithful
to a flaw
blind
to all but what
their good
figmental
lord says.

Clasped close,
the birds fall dead.
And the faithful still
scream,
uselessly as their
own jury has
ruled.

They rest now like
the dead birds.


Take This Here

Take this here
upon a new
flowering bed
with the heart,
beyond the soul.
Here at the
doorstep
of the graceful
silence
found in burning
heaven alone.
Here, take this!
Why do the blossoms
sprout so?
With posion
on their leaves
instead of
welcoming
lustre?
No. Take this
here to a
place beyond
the furthest
star yet
forever burning
in you.
Take it.

Unshared

Blank stares are directed
to places where they
cannot attempt
to penetrate
past even the most
superfiscal
level of being.
Rolled up,
protected,
in a fetal
pouch as the
torrents of shapely
forces force shadows
down
deeper towards
where stares don't
dare lay
their blank
gaze.
Licking thoughts
feed on air
as if a deep
flames burned
encompassing
those blank
unpassionate
eyes
who care
little for
where they stare.
One tongue breeches
a closed door
hidden deep
within
the rusted
corridors
of thoughts
unthought,
of quotes
unquoted,
of breaths
unbreathed.
Here, deep
inside a most personal
lair where
stares are
never permitted
let alone asked
to visit,
the thoughts
blaze forward
releasing
a deeply hidden
unthought
thought
that is so
impossible to
share.
The blank eyes
still stare
unable to care past
the superfiscail layer
as these depths
are consumed
by the growing
inferno of
unshared thoughts
from the lair.


Written about two weeks ago...ohhh the joy of essay writing and personal life mixing together in creative expression


-Pete

Edit: fixed a few typos.

[The Children of the Revolution]

I was always useless at poetry, but reading some of the stuff posted on Che-Lives recently has inspired me. Well, inspired me to write. Not necessarily to write well. Here is my first effort:

Rage.

I am a shock of lightning,
The roar of thunder;
I am the heart of the storm,
The wrath of the elements.

I am a maddening shriek,
A cry for vengeance;
I am a bloodhound unleashed,
The eternal furies of Hell.

I am a blood moon rising,
A crimson mist descending;
I am a terrible passion,
The beast lurking within.

I yearn to be released,
To be given free reign;
I will reignite ancient feuds,
Open old wounds.

I will burn and destroy,
Scorch slay and raze,
Bring death and decay...
... for I am Rage.



Pretty feeble effort, having reread it... Oh well.

[The Children of the Revolution]

Sorry "CrazyPete", was busy typing and correcting my own typo's!

I like the third one best, especially the "thought / unthought", "quotes / unquoted" contrasts. Nice stuff.

[Pete]

I prefer the third one best my self.

Your's sounds like it could be a powerful speech if read properly (I read it aloud, as poetry is a verbal form). Its structure is well followed, until the end, which is effective as it shows a break, it marks that the conclusion is upon us. Well done :)

I was just with my friend, said I had to leave and write, and this is what came out:

Titleless

And the forms are followed
as the infinite flows
deeper within
a malicious
fold found
once, not
twice,
in a dark,
yes light,
cavern where
one who sees
the seeping
silence is
shocked and
bound
with sorrows
unfound
above where
the light,
yes darkness,
plays twice,
not once,
as shadows
fold and
their
secrets remain
unfound santified
at the surface
of the simple
droplet of
dying sweat
as all rules
and taboos
are shattered.


Edit: I forgot the text the first time oi :rolleyes:

[Alejandro C]

heres something i got from awhile ago:

pentacostal tongues hoard my ears
so many sperm to an egg
angry sounds and dreaming words
but I
am numb.
blank and
starring at my feet.
empty and
frowning.

silent and still.

stupid and stiff.

I imagined my middle three toes were actually
the middle three fingers of some dwarf
trying to claw and crawl his way out of
my foot. his fingers looked disfigured and child-like

and so I let him (out)

and now i'm even more alone



that was drunk about 3 in the morning one day heres a sober one-

i am a piece of the market place...
dont I see
eye
to
eye

cant i sit down on the ground
cant my breath stay with me

wont i cry out when the time has come
cant i see my affliction

i look at my suit in the mirror
i cut my throat with a knife

they say my smile is charming
my teeth will cut them


that one i just made now, it goes along to the music of radiohead's climbing up the walls. i find it very easy to write to music, very similar to the idea of freestyling, but to slower music.

[The Children of the Revolution]

in a dark,
yes light,


Nice inversions again! "Titleless" is good.

"Alejandro C" - I think you write better when sober! Interesting that you write to music; it must be hard...

[Alejandro C]

""Alejandro C" - I think you write better when sober! Interesting that you write to music; it must be hard... "

really, i think the first one is a hundred times better than the second. sometimes when you drink or smoke it helps the writing. "to become a SEER you must go through a rational derangement of all the senses" -arthur rimbaud, my favorite poet.

writing to music is easy and if you do it right it can change your whole style. if you turn on a song and tell your self youll just write the first thing that comes to mind and only get one shot at it, it will help create something fresh. the rhythms of the song help create a very organic structure and rhythm to the poem. then its just a one shot deal, boom your done. an important thing is to not go back in and fix it. re-writing is nothing but censoring yourself.

[Purple]

it's hard to write when listening to punk music...

I'm hovering
above the earth
waiting for my fall
into the dirt
the fear of my fall
I fear these wounds
I have no strenght
My place in the mud
has no room for me
I break away
into decay

You can't free
what I see in me
no one can see
everything in the mind of me
I stumble upon myself

[Pete]

I write when the urge inside of me is bubbling and almost reading to burst, that is when the good shit comes...the atmosphere matters not, although some cds make me think of some people and that leads to letter poems

[Purple]

isn't it beautiful to be alive?

I wake up
to the rhytm of raindrops
dancing on the window
reminds me what a day of sorrow
this day will be

I stand up
and look at the blood in my bed
the remains of an evening gone bad
I hold my arm up to see
the scars I made for me

I walk out
amongst all these people
alone
blended
nothing is what they seem
isn't it beautiful to be alive?

I sit down
and wonder if there's an option left for me
it's hard to reckognise
all the pain the once wasn't there
could it be
is this the end?

I go home
after a day with alot of mistakes
lot of talking but no real company
lot of chatting but not a smile this day
so here I am again

I go to bed
and like all the other days
I feel like tomorrow will be my first day
of my last day
the last time
left in my posession
I take the knife from under my pillow
and re-think my life
and what I have to live for
when it all comes down to a conclusion
the conclusion is a dead end

[The Children of the Revolution]

I wrote this one at 5:30 in the morning yesterday...
Damn sleep...
(Or lack of it)
I wonder, can you tell?!?

Sleep

Sleep is elusive, a phantom,
A shadow in the darkest night;

She follows us silently,
Always quiet, always unseen;

Until it is her time,
Until she sings her sirens call;

And lures you on into Darkness,
And the mysteries beyond.

Sleep is fickle, capricious,
A chaotic shapeshifter;

She brings divine dreams,
Untold passion,
Wild delight;

She brings chilling nightmares,
Fear and oblivion,
Bloodshed and carnage.

She is a mighty Goddess,
Commanding all humanity,
She is unconquerable;

An ethereal huntress,
She strikes at will,
She strikes without a sound,
And none can escape.

[Pete]

When I posted this at the other place I post my poems (Elftown, community of the site where I post my Epic, Elfwood) I realized this poem is like the Katha Upanisad in a few ways, so I named it 'unconscious katha' in honour of that.

-Pete

Unconscious Katha

Discerning between
the negative
rush of
emotional
insanity
and the
light hearted
sanity
of the mind
a
labyrinth
unveils its
newest
trap around
the next
corner.
The wind comes
heavier from
that direction
infinitely
away from
any source,
right
beside the
entrance
(which is
also the
exit).
A dim light
shines
blindingly
bright
here, no
right
there beyond
a torrent
of grief-
filled
happiness and
the
most depressing
scenes of
joy
unimaginable.
It pierces
and blows
so logically
yet without
logic
until it
fades into
my vast
perfectly
pure and
corrupt
mindscape.

[hazard]

Allright, this one goes pretty far back. May six, 2003. As I will be travelling to my "safe house" for the holidays, and this song is in a notebook set for retirement, I needed to throw one of my only creative pieces up for public display. It is, more or less, a summary of someone who I think the world of, although at that time she was just sort of kind of a crush. Or something. Haven't figured it out yet. Anyway, she contained a set of qualities then I will continue to describe as perfect, and is the summation of all of my dreams.

untitled

She's wearing red
Of course, instead
Of a hat she wore
Her hair down, amore
No name brands, no
No blue, no white, no
Her arms in black
One sleeve pulled back

And down again
And up to ten
And catch my breath
And down the clef

She knows I know
Of course it'll flow
Of a red bird risen
Her hair dark, like crimsen
No gasp, no stutter
No pounds, no clutter
Her armies back
One target to track

[Pete]

Excuse the typos, new poem..

Surrounded and ... It cries.

Surrounded and
again surrounded
this field
encompasses me
and
exists deep
within.
I can here the
lip's breathe
struggling to leave,
but the other
senses take hold
and hold it close.
In the background
the music gently sways
to the sound
of brackets.
Deep within and
wholly without
it reverberates
and summons
thoughts as un-
clean as they
are
comforting.
Breathe, again,
comes around,
is seen,
smiles,
and leaves.
Blackened clouds
mark my way
from
day to day,
dream to dream.
That voice, I
hold it
safe
as it brutalizes
my tainted
mind
with false lies
and other
trip
ties.
Breathe, her
again, yet always before,
present within,
lost deep
beyond
the soul.
It cries.

[Purple]

Originally posted by The Children of the [email protected] 8 2003, 03:55 AM
But unless they churn out stuff every day, the thread gets buried.
I think that I am doing pretty well....

[Anarchist Freedom]

the world stops

the world is cold

the heart is frozen

the man is ensalved

the univers is gone


:che:

[Purple]

broken thoughts
lies spread on the ground
besides the shattered pieces
of a soulless man
in a world where i can't find my home
the fragile circle of life
never had it's hold
it has only kept me
from reaching my goal
golden years
in a golden home
in a golden world where hope is gone and everything is old
all that was loved lies like a stain on the window pane
the divided pieces

[Pete]

mwer???

Burrow

Let's pass the time,
You and I,
Up in the one walled fort.
When the time is right,
You know it well,
These passages will be your swill.
Round as the moon
You wander the hills
Of the town turned city below.
Yet up here, at the one
Walled fort we mingle
With each other
And all alone.
Sleep is no thanks nor a bounty
Yet always the song
Your lips carry on
Shines a truth into the bag
Of sly justice.
But up here,
Never alone,
The jokester sings his little song.
Now don't let these tears faze you,
Fore they are but words,
And silence is always uninvited.
So speak of things
And let's take wing
To the silent enclave where cedar grow.

-Pete

[Regicidal Insomniac]

Here's one on our beloved revolutionary for the crowd ;)...


Viva
Sullen dirges
to the charnel box
From Santa Clara
to the Granma docks

Musing the past
Batista’s dark days
Bodies dangling high
over Havana’s roadways

Before you rose
like the sun at dawn
Put the past to exile
with the light that you shone

Over the horizon
like Sol on his steed
Waving from the tank
to the people in your lead

Marching to the palace
with the general deposed
Your army, the people
for what they opposed

Fought to your last breath
to live forever in history
A breath which sounded
“Ever onward to victory”

[hazard]

Here's the info on this one. The date was December the Fifth, 2003, and I was feeling sort of gray. So, I posted this on a usenet group under the acronym MIG, and was praying my love would be able to read it. I never asked if she did or not, but it's allright if you don't mind me moping and acting a little more needy than I should have been.

Spend a day or two like this
Feels like more than
A dozen days
A thousand ways
To forget
And regret
And begin to wonder and question while all along I only cringe
As I convulse
In front of you
You see and you are the reason
You clench and I spin
I fight and you win
Meaning clear and still I fear only that I was right all along
Are you wrong
To try it another way
To try and let me say
To make me sit and stay
To force me still to play
Too long now
I mean how
Else could I have understood
What else would
I have to let
Happen before any form of beget
Began to begin
To seep slowly within
My heart
As you give it a start
Once more, I freeze
I sneeze
And you bless
A sulken caress
Of my spirit, my will
And still
And on and on and through and on
Remember saying I'd wait twice as long?
Through all time and once more
To simply believe that you adore
Something about me and I'd believe
Crimsen colour and pulled back sleeve
Many nights and many days and many more
I see the shore
You washed up upon
In seaweed, tangled, in shells and song
Sang by the whales and dolphins
Cleansing purity of the sins
Hidden by the deepest tide
Time slows and I begin to bide
What manner of being is this
That lay before me awaiting my kiss
To bring to me and bring to all
I have answered her loving call
She sang it once and heard her sharp
As I pluck and pull upon my harp
Notes still wafting and wavering through
Made it, love, and made it true
At last she wakes and looks up and over full
Drawing me towards her as if to pull
Me as far into as she possibly can
Whispering that I am to be her man
Then a wink
Then I sink
Then I wake
Then I take
A hold of something, anything near
Anything to hold back yet another tear
As only fear
Grips and I blunder at the sear
Blazing and burning
As once more the churning
Biting, bitter bold
Vacates me once more and leaves me cold
There she sits and there she stands
And here I hold a list of demands
She gave to me
After setting it all free
I want to return
And rush back and let her know I'll learn
What I have to be with her now
Find an obstacle for me to plow
Another demand and another command
And though she claims to understand
I have not a clue
Besides my knowledge this is never through

[hazard]

Too lazy to write anything new today. Or yesterday. Or the day before. What day is it? Here's anotehr one I put up on the same nusenet group under MIG. Same sort of stuff. I actually thought it was written later than the ninth of december. Actually, I didn't realize that today is the fifteenth of January. This don't really matter, though, do it? Here it is. I'm going back to bed.

At an entrance from years gone past
You stand and I wait and am the last
Moving not
For at last we've caught
A branch upon which we clutch
No longer neither of us upon a crutch
As if you held your hands behind
Your back for me to find
A rose, a card, a leaf, a box
You wore a dress with sheer, tight socks
Its colour soft, its fabric sharp
Strung upon a lengthy tarp
Away you look as you lean into me
Eyes shut tightly, I cannot see
But feel the corner of your mouth so quick
A tiny, beautiful, electric pin prick
Then its done
We've just begun
I hear its over, meaning that its never
Over and in forever
As I've waited and found
You, the wisest and sweetest one around
You, the bearer of laughter and joy
You, who calls me hero and calls me toy
Rewind my memory to the hazy kiss
In my dream I could not miss
At the archway where you waited
I took no time as others contemplated
What would this mean?
How could this seem?
To be anything but a sour tune
Once more the seconds begin to loom
The pin prick shocks us to look about
Where are you? I begin to shout
You where under my nose a second before
Now I know not what is this score
I also ask what this would mean, how could I seem
To believe that in reality, you, my dream
Was to hover
Like a long lost lover
So close and bridge the gap so seductively
That you forced all doubt to finally
Vacate my weary, weathered brain
After so long of hearing my song strain
To hold cohesion and not be overran
I shirk away to think this falls within your plan
You hold my hand and ask me to hold on dear
And do not worry about what to wear
Mention how you feel
Ask how it is that I should deal
A little longer
Still not any stronger
All I have to do is show
And then I will surely know
For there is not one if I do not arrive
I take care to mantain what I need to survive
Through the door, I see your face
Then run as fast as I can from that place
I commune with nature
Feel only less mature
Than I ever did
Wanting only to close my eyelid
Both of them, anyway
For a final time on that day
Too perfect, I am unable to even hope
To compare within my scope
Reason had collapsed long before
My heart seemed dead and could not score
A point for anyone
Done, I feared, so overdone
That I could not find a ounce of logic, an iota of plan
All I had left to do was consider why I ran
Why you lead
Why instead
Of shifting it apart
You had to puncture me with such a dart
Still you hold me firmly
Still I feel no dishonour in making my pitiful plea
Don't let me go
Don't make me show
This to anyone for any reason
At any place, in any season
With no emotion, you bleed you last tear
Then into cool calculation you channel my fear
The facts as I have collected conclude
That, naturally, there was a planned delude
What direction did it face
After my head stopped spinning all over the place
I shout out how
And think that I know now
But puzzled at where next I can find a port
To stand aside and consider, for sport
If I should say this, or just blow a kiss
Upon the breeze so you couldn't miss
Read my intention, my mood
Be it of the honest sort or a bass like crude
Observation prone, breathing entity
You make the call and I will see
If I can accomodate
Promise only to not be late

[STI]

Here's one I made today in Philosophy, but I got the idea for it at the *shudders* mall yesterday.

It's temporary name is "Free Culture", but i'll change it eventually


I see these newly- commodified pieces of life,
Art, knowledge, ideas, information, culture
A 'Voices from Tibet' callendar only $19.99
Locked- away and chained- down by a magnetic strip
But it was really mine to begin with
It's mine, though not in the exclusive sense
by that I mean 'mine as much as yours and yours'
ours
collectively
the way it used to be
before it was bottlenecked and pricetagged
this art, this knowledge, these ideas, information, this culture
It doesn't want to be stockpiled and slowly handed- out
It wants to be free
it belongs to everybody
it IS everybody
but I take some small comfort in the fact that this will never be sold
you can take it
call it your own
because it it
participate actively in the distribution of free culture
our culture
share
copy
distribute
liberate
for god's sake
for your sake
for our sake
share.

[Inti]

I never seem to be able to give my poems a name since they just appear the moment when I write them, its just really a part of what is going on in my small cerebro. Im still not perfect in writing spanish so bear with me, but I think the language is so beautiful.

Un dia sin ti
es un dia sin vivir
que veo la gente pasando
estresados
rapido
mas rapido
como que quierem llegar a la muerte
mas rapido
me siento muerto sin ti
aunque puedo ver la gente en la calle
caminando rapido
con mucha prisa
que me da mucha risa
yo se
se que no vale nada
mis dias sin ti
son dias muy tristes
me siento aniquilado si no estas
ven
ven hasta aqui
mi vida
que te extraño

[Inti]

Tu eres mi vida
mi corazon
como una flor
que nace en mi corazon
tu sonrisa
brilla como el sol
cuando mira en tus ojos profundos
me pierdo de tu belleza
cuando te ries
todo el mundo rie contigo
si te quedas muda
el mundo te espera callado
eres una diosa
munaykuyki
eres mi urpi
mi inka
tan valiente
luchando cada dia
para una vida mejor
pero te digo
solamente nececitamos el amor
que no importa las cosas materiales
cuando me pierdo en tus ojos
nada mas importa
solamente quiero estar contigo
el amor es lo mas valuable que uno puede tener
que las cosas materiales
solamente es para distraernos
de lo unico que importa
esto es el amor
munaykuyki mi amor

[Pete]

mwhah

Jericho
This is the silent hour
A time to forget time
To silently walk and to write
Jericho awaits

Lying mere steps away
It hides inside this shiver
And comes when the music explodes

This hour is of darkness
Running through enlightened streets
And exhaling our frosted breath
Into the dark and silent air

I rest beyond the pen
And before your pedestal

How can you pass this eye?

Come let’s call home
And share our dread
Trading death for an apple;
We do need food for the trip.

Even whispers echo here
Where the screaming is so great
Here in Jericho
Where cars sing in the place of birds

The forecast is clear
Yet clouds hide the stars
Even when the moon
Hangs above in her place
Guiding the walk home,
Keeping her war and safe
The night is cannot be clear

A mutilated haze
Consecrates her grave
Deep within Jericho’s frozen heart
After the dawn has passed
Her cards into my shuffled hand

Frozen tears mark my place
In this overcast hour of silence.

[che's long lost daughter]

I like this thread because it showcases the hidden talents of our community members and I can say that the inner poets in us are on the verge of coming out. I commend all the poems that have been posted and Hazard, I would foam in the mouth if someone would write poems like yours for me. Your work keeps me flabbergasted

Here are some of my works. I think I have already posted these ones in older threads...they are quite old and I haven't written lately because of too much school and hospital work.


Par Avion

You travel to foreign lands
And promote the beauty of our
Country to imperialists who,
In time will turn into
Vampires, sucking the blood
Out of your people and leaving
Lifeless bodies behind to be
Fed to the vultures...


Elegy to War

I stand under the desert moon as tanks
Move around the sandy battlefield while men
In uniforms carrying guns fire at each other and
Smoke and the smell of gunpowder fill the night air…
The darkness was blinding but I can vividly see lifeless bodies
As they moisten the dry sand with their own blood
The sound of bombs exploding was deafening but I can clearly hear
The haunting cries of broken lives and stolen dreams
The sight was unbearable but all I could do was watch
The lifeless bodies rotting away as the vultures feast over them
And listen to the endless cries of tomorrows lost forever
As I stand under the desert moon and wish that my own blood
Would also moisten the sand soon…


Tierra
It was the father of my father’s father who
Cleared the woods, tilled the earth and planted
Crops in this land but the oppressors came and
By some decree of law, it was taken away deliberately
Leaving him just a tenant of his own land
A hundred years has passed—a hundred years of blood,
Sweat and tears poured unto this land making
The soil rich, making the crops healthy so that
During harvest time, my landlord’s pocket
Is filled with money and while his children
Never heard of hunger, my children sleep with
Empty stomachs and I, with my calloused hands,
Continue to till the soil, plant crops
And remain a tenant to my own land

[che's long lost daughter]

Here are some more...


Hallucinations


We are two boats and an ocean so wide
Is every night that passes by between us
The waves are sparkling in the light of
Your eyes and the wind is blowing with
Your breath that touches my breast but a
Big wave will banish all your kisses and
The moment you whisper "i love you",
Disaster will strike-- again you will
Leave me in the dark, with my boat capsized,
Longing for you...


An Obsequy for A Broken Heart


For a long time, Loneliness has drowned
Me in tears and today, I died. . .
But there was not any eulogy written in honor of me;
There were no cries of sadness, no angry words
Being uttered nor any song of sorrow being sung.

Today, I died
But there were no people in black
Who lined up to throw flowers to my
Coffin as it being lowered to the ground

Today, I died
And I am alone in my funeral
I am alone in the cryptic darkness
Of my desolation but I am thankful.

Thankful that loneliness could no longer touch me. . .
Could no longer harm me because
Today, I died.



When the Little Prince Met Milan Kundera

Para você....você sabe quem você é

I am a flower like a thousand other flowers
I have four tiny thorns to protect me against the world
I am beautiful but I am empty
And the Baobabs are starting to consume all that is left of me
But one day you came at sunrise when the sand was the color of honey
And pounded on the gates of my poetic memory

I am a flower like a thousand other flowers
I have four tiny thorns to protect me against the world
But I am the one you have watered and placed under a glass dome
I am the one that you have sheltered behind a screen
And for whom you killed the caterpillars
I am the one you have listened to laughing or crying
Or sometimes remaining silent

Yes, I am a flower like a thousand other flowers
I have four tiny thorns to protect me against the world
I am beautiful but empty no longer because
You came at sunrise when the sand was the color of honey
And wrote your first word into my poetic memory

[Alejandro C]

Che's lld- your poems are simple and beautiful. i especially adore the thin mystical quality. most people tell me that art is beauty. i usually disagree with them, but when i read poems like yours i can understand what they are always talking about... the last poem -when the little prince met milan- is perfect.

[Pete]

Here in the light of the new dawn
Simmering in the silent sleeping ways of those who fell and came before
The undone plan springs into existence
Holding the hand of the unfortunate victor
Who is unwilling to see what it has killed
And unwilling to sow the earth which could support so much hope
Instead a deep cloud broods over head
And threatens to explode with virtual world shaking anger
And sorrow
And pain
To unleash its message
To collapse upon itself and fade away.

[ComradeRobertRiley]

Theres some really good stuff on here.

why dont someone make this a sticky so it doesnt get buried?

[revoevo]

Ok, I'm seriously amateur compared to all of you, but I might as well post some of the stuff I write...

Propaganda
Please drink your fill, my friend!
You know you love the taste.
Eat up the lies, watch with glazed eyes,
Don’t let our wise words go to waste!
They taste divine and they soothe the soul,
And reassure your foolish whims,
They justify your deepest sins,
Have you had your fill yet? No?
Lick clean the bowl before you go,
And when you turn off your T.V.,
Cling on to what you’ve been told to believe
The real deal! The solid fact!
Never lies, but truth intact,
So suck the bottle dry my friend,
And calm your weary mind,
Sleep softly in your featherbed
Dream sweetly of your easy life
Remember others’ pain is not your concern…
Just beware the after taste of lies.

[No title]
From my melancholy state of mind
Springs depression of the softest kind
Knowing I will only be
The enemy.
The truth is seen:
Just look at me!
And who I am!
And what I stand for!
No!
I truly abhor
My greed
And material need
I need not a thing
But my love and my life
And to feel the pain of those that die in vain
For I know you never will.

[No title]
I should be thrown to the streets
For having so much more than I could ever need
And how unfair it is to live my life
So nice
So clean
Oh, how I crave to be a part of what I’d die to save
Enlighten me
Allow me to feel the pain of millions
Those at your mercy
Those you’ve let wither and writhe at your feet
Kill me slowly,
Loudly.
Let them see it in the streets
Kill me for what I mean
Inspire someone else
Because if there is nothing left for me
Just end it now.
Bullet in the gut,
Feel it bleed
Blood on my tongue
As I taste my life draining out of me
This is how I want to die
Why I’d want to end it all
For when I am useful to the cause no more
I want to be another body in the streets
No better than the least
Make me equal in that moment
Let me die for what I believe
My blood would taste so sweet

[Floyd.]

Stillness
Part One – To Those Who Think and Move
Here it is.
Here is your life,
The Technicolor swirl.
You’re standing in it, you’re moving with it,
At least you’re trying to, as it moves around you;
It’s moving faster than you and it’s like an acid trip.
No Marijuana,
No Artane-induced psychosis,
No MDMA,
No Amphetamine,
No peyote,
No amyl nitrite; just the ketamine simulation of reality.
No matrix here, nothing to be seen nor told
which you can’t already fathom;
Providing you have the wits.

This motor-fucker has been slowed down,
This motherfucker doesn’t know where to look.
So he looks to himself helping discover something beautiful.
Instead he discovers himself.
Have you found yourself?
Have you found Jesus?
No, and I’m not looking!

Moloch to the sky,
Moloch to the end,
Let it burn.
Moloch, not the literal,
Moloch of the feeling;
Feelings to the contextual;
Context is the ride,
And the ride is life.
Life,
Can’t we liven it up?
I want,
To break it up,
To smash it into pieces,
Not to analyse.
Not to rebuild.
Not for vengeance.
Not for you.
Not for the remedial.
Not for catharticism.
Not for the sake of destruction,
nor the fires of Moloch.
Not for my darling Ginsberg.
For the sake of feeling itself,
Living.
“Give me convenience or give me death,” scream the capitalists;
“Kill the poor,” echo the poor, mocking the rich with their taunt.
Life, it’s not effervescent,
It’s not bubbling,
It’s not moving.
It’s contained,
Contained to a mind,
Contained from others who wouldn’t understand,
Contained to a body,
Contained to a house,
Contained to a vessel,
Contained to a planet,
Stained in my mind.
Stained in my mouth.
The foul word, as classed by whom?

Here it is.
Here is the language,
The soft shit you cling tightly to in your hand,
In your mouth and at your keyboard.
At your party.
We’re not moving but the tracks are getting longer,
The journey getting farther,
No movement since the last,
No recollection for the past,
No thought for the future.
This is life,
This is immediacy,
Accomplishing for the immediate,
Then death.
Drink all the oil you want;
It only poisons.
This man has no thought,
‘cept masturbatory self-congratulations.
This man is bleeding oil,
He’s nearly empty inside.
This man is immortality and nothing, he is life and contradiction.
He’s summation and beginning,
So he dejects introspection, wanting to know other than himself,
He looks outside,
And sees himself,
Bulldozing mountains of himself into shallow graves,
Screaming blood and fury at himself for not being a humanist,
Thumping his fist for the cause, till it bleeds and the cause is dead.
He sees himself die,
Killing himself.
Have you found him yet?
Have you recognized his face?
No you haven’t; when will you recognize yourself?
Will you see yourself in the light of day?
No, because you’re not looking.

“Bollocks,” beams the cry
“Bollocks,” scream the men. “This is not enough; give me more than I deserve.”
Shovelling coal, they try to make the train move.
Bollocks to the station,
Bollocks to the blade, I’m stepping off,
Bollocks to the journey, I’ve had enough.
Bollocks to your mission, you’re not going forward,
Just swirling ever earthward.
Earthward you’re sinking down.
Happy now?
Progression is your aim,
Possession is your crown,
Sloppy shit your metal.
Greed what brings you down,
Happy in your downfall!
Justice to the few,
Power to the rightful,
Insight to the peaceful,
Blessings to the conservationist,
Gag to the conversationist,
Silence to the pointless.
All I hear is silence,
So I’m stepping off the platform;
My intention not to move after the action,
Ipso facto my intention to be stationary.
Let the train sink,
I’m concrete.
Inactive not pro-active.
“Doing nothing does nothing” reads the proverb;
“Exactly,” I think;
Let the stupid wipe themselves out,
As they ride life and die early.
Restrained to their minds,
Restrained to repetition,
Restrained to mortality.
Ideas and words live on, but only for a second if they’re even spoken.
Restrained by their bodies.
Restrained by their group,
Restrained in their might,
Restrained by their busted fists.
My hands intact I use them to my own accord,
And satisfy myself and others;
I break only the inconsequential and only out of accident or favour.
I don’t care for progression,
But acceptance;
Of not self,
Of not external,
Of not fabricated,
Of not another,
But acceptance of futility,
Expectances of stupidity,
and to shun the poorly taught ideas.
I embrace the act of thinking, not the act of acting.
I want not contentment,
I want not complacency,
I want not,
But to die after life;
Not immortality,
Not the chase for frivolity,
Not forever life,
Not forever remembrance.
I ask nothing,
Not even that which I am given.
I remain grateful for observation,
And my second of life,
My opportunity to stand aside and be persecuted.
Your opportunity,
To see,
To hear,
To be a non-participant,
A conscientious objector.
This is life and it’s your gift,
This is life. It’s for observation not destruction,
Don’t destroy the garden, it’s your gift.
Moloch to the stupid,
Thought to the slow,
Stillness to the speeding,
Contemplation to the active,
Companionship to the lonely,
Blindness to those who’ve seen too much and want to see no more.

This is life;
Don’t try to push it forward.
Accept.













Part Two – To The Inactive

You.
You were young,
You heard the communists speak,
And you listened.
You were young,
You watched fathers bleed and learnt.
You were young,
You watched your boats leak,
And learnt how to swim.
You were young,
You watched others fight and learnt to run.
You were young,
You were victimized for your sensitivity and learnt to read not brawl.
You were young,
And facilitated a personal preparation for a fight to come.
You were young,
When you made mistakes and learnt of another road.
You watched the food disappear quickly and learnt to ration,
Careful not careless you watched from the sidelines.
Quiet,
You became withdrawn.
Private,
you became alone.
Alone,
You wished to run with the crowd to sweat and laugh,
Then you watched them fall from exhaustion.
You were young,
and you had energy,
And used it to learn with vigour,
To run alone.
You were young,
So you taught yourself to train.
You were young,
When you shit in your pants then learnt the toilet.
You were young,
When you learnt to live with humiliation.
Young,
when you took the first step.
Young,
You started to glow.
Young you were needy,
Needy to absorb.
Young,
You swung back and forth snatching up breath,
Breath,
Back and forth.
Idea,
Back and forth,
In and out breath,
In and out idea.
Young,
you learnt to listen.
Young,
You learnt to walk instead of run.
Young,
you were young when you learnt,
do you remember?



Part Three – For the Old and Inactive, by choice and not by

You,
You were old.
You were old,
When you learnt to stand instead of walk.
You were old,
when realization and truth came.
You were old,
when you learnt to not be bitter.
You were old,
When you watched your family die.
You were old,
When you watched your friends die.
You were old,
As you watched yourself die.
You were old,
when you learnt to forget.
You were old,
when you learnt not to learn,
but absorb.
Absorb,
Accept
Absorb,
Back and forth,
Accept back and forth.
Breath,
In.
Absorb,
In.
Accept,
In.
Forget,
Out.
Hate,
Out.
Compassion,
Ration.

Old,
You started to grow.
Internal,
You started to grow.
Old,
You stood still.
Old,
You held your breath.
Movement,
You stopped trying to push.
Old,
You started to expand.
Old,
You started to understand.
Young,
You shot from the hip.
Old,
You bit your lip.
Old,
Push for ability gave way to onset of reality.
Young,
You hated the tide, but moved with it.
Old,
You climbed out of the salt.
Old,
You went bald and accepted the Auld.

Immobile in your youth,
You failed to realize your gifts,
Confined to thought,
Locked in reflection.

Unstable in yourself,
You dreamt of balance,
Confined to pattern,
Locked in repetition.

Through lack of choice,
You saw with clarity,
Sooner than others.
With time you became grateful,
That you couldn’t
Run the race.
That you couldn’t
Taste the oil,
Nor drink the toxin.
Learning propaganda,
Confined to wheelchairs,
Locked in thought,
You learnt to dissect
And analyze.

Young when you saw the truth,
Auld when you forgot it.
Auld when you forgot cultures and barriers.
Young,
You rejected your name.
Auld, you forgot your name,
Auld, you became peaceful,
Dead, you become pieces.
You treasured the gift.
I treasure the gift.

Here it is,
This is life,
And it wants you to expand.
Don’t push forward,
I won’t.
Because there’s no point to the end.
The spear is blunt,
We’re incapable of a lift,
Only capable of falling with force.
Unless you stand still.

Moloch to movement,
Bollocks to Ginsberg and his peers,
Moloch to the past,
Bollocks to the movement,
Moloch to the word,
I’m shutting up.

[Floyd.]

Footnote to Stillness

Inflicted, directed, reflected, insurrected and bow-legged.
The thought can be weak, but the effect strong.
Rot! Rot! Rot! Rot! Rot! Rot! Rot! Rot! Rot!
You happy little grot!
Rot! Rot! Rot! Rot! Rot! Rot! Rot! Rot! Rot!
Let the lot rot.
We love the rot!
After all the thought and consideration;
And countless mind revelations,
We’ve earned the rot.
Let it rot,
Let the maggots eat the decaying deity;
Festering, feasting,
Decomposition of flesh material!
Maternal, meticulous, loving, gushing with movement!
The ground takes us back.
Hot! Hot! Hot! Hot! Hot! Hot! Hot! Hot! Hot!
The words were hot, the thought new,
Now it’s all rot.
Say goodbye to that you knew,
Goodbye to the few who knew you.
Time comes to a turn and the pessimists’ putrid prediction,
Moves steadily in your direction.

Inflicted, directed, reflected, insurrected and bow-legged.
We come to a fall,
a fall from thought and worry.
Gratefully mortality yields,
and frees you of thought.

Grateful! Grateful! Grateful!
Grateful! Grateful! Grateful!
For the rot, grateful!
For the moment, grateful!
For the white-hot notion, grateful!
The decay and emancipation of a thought, grateful!

The casket, grateful!
The ground, grateful!
The body, null and void!
The worms, grateful!
The Earth, grateful for the process!
Natural order, punched but grateful!

Resurrected, resented, cross-infected,
Intravenously fed it.
The body can reject the system,
The social order,
Opposed to the natural decisive direction.
Not something one is born into.
But an offered, like death,
A choice is always given, to a selection.
Resurrected, thought always find shape,
Best when in the form of grace,
Not a vice-like embrace.
No pushing,
No violence, nothing consequential,
No resentment,
No lack of reflection.
You can take the path that believes in the casket,
To live for enjoyment,
and for observation.
Grateful! Grateful! Grateful! Grateful!
Rot! Rot! Rot! Rot!
The old masters rot!
The apprentices rot!
The buildings rot!
Their gold will rot,
And so will you;
So be happy gentle grot.

Bow-legged and shy,
Pimply and pubescent you saw the rot,
and gave-way, wisely.
Haggard and decrepit,
Festering without movement,
Warmth and home was found in the rot.
The soil,
The body,
All rot.

[Floyd.]

If someone actually reads my poem "Stillness" and it's footnote please reply to me with an opinion. You'll understand it better if you love Allen Ginsberg and the beatniks and are well versed in writing and philosophy. I'm only 18, so remember that when you read.

[Floyd.]

Lonely Tasmanian summers
With asphalt in my mouth
And cuts all up my arms
I pound the bitumen
And call your name
So stupid I defend it

You don’t answer me

I lay there with sweat on my back
And blood in my mouth

You won’t return my calls
When I try to make eye contact
You turn away
You left me to wallow in the shame
A shame shared
I’ll defend you to the death
I don’t care
You see, so what if I bleed

[Floyd.]

(there are uniquely australian references in here, if you don't understand then ask)

Negatively geared
Alpha males circle
Grunting and revving
Their penile extensions
Inferiority complexes manifest
Leading to violence
And self-destruction
They poison their bodies
Like pouring sugar in a petrol tank
Drinking into oblivion
Cursing everything they know
They embrace what they hate
“I hate this fucking town”
But they’re never going to leave
Bloodied knuckles
Fists express opinions
As the cycle loops
Fuck you
Fuck all of you and your bullshit mentalities
None you realize your stupidity
I want to kiss you all
And grab your cocks
And confront you
Make you scared
You’re all dumb motherfuckers
Rapists and thugs
You should be oppressed
And pushed into your corners
With words
I want to grab you by the skull
And pull you eyes open
And force you to see
You’re no better
Take your fists away
And let you smash your head against a wall
Fighting equality
They’ll end up dead anyway
They don’t have to be on top
Because no one’s deserving
They’re victims of circumstance
And their sons
So what
They bite the hand that feeds them
Sedate them all
With knowledge
Or maybe isolation
Perhaps they’ll see
Life isn’t wasting them
It’s the reverse
And they’re wasting each other
Fuck you
And your Holden V8

[Floyd.]

Naked In The Rain

Naked in the rain
Collapsed on the nature strip
Gazing up at rain clouds
Spittle in the eyes
He sighs,
Not caring who comes out and looks.
Mothers peer from behind their curtains
As fathers call him a fool;
And flicks the station
A Greek man comes outside
Staring down from his parka
He questions the naked man
No reply
“Are you okay mate
Come inside
Get some clothes on”
Others start to crowd on the suburban nature strip
The naked man feels their presence
But doesn’t care
Submission
Children hide under their mother’s coats
A commotion is caused
As a handful of observers
Turns to a crowd
Cars entering the street stop to a halt
To look at the crazy nude man
Indifference is his gift as he stares up at the sky
Takes a deep breath
And loses control of his bowels
“Dirty ****” utters a tax agent
“Take the kids inside” he orders
But no one shifts
No one knows what to do
Is he a vegetable?
Can he talk?
Are the thoughts shared by onlookers.
Yet none of them speak
And don’t know how to respond to that they fear
So vulnerable
Complete surrender to the elements
To everything
The man lying in front of them has given up
Just as they’ll soon give up on him
Or move along
A little girl starts to weep
Not knowing what to feel
She’s decided the fellow is dead
And grief overcomes her for a stranger
The other children join in
And most are soon crying
The adults are desensitized
They don’t abhor the horror
But marvel at the spectacle
Flashing lights
Someone called an ambulance
The paramedics hurry him in through van doors
The crowd disperses
And the only remnants are a human turd
And the tears of children

[Floyd.]

Word Play

The tears, not the rips
But the hints of moisture
And the satisfaction of to bleed
Other than blood
My tears of reality and introspection
I’m going to stop looking within
I’ll blend into the crowd, just another…
Just another.
Materialistic
Material
Fabric
Fabric of society
Threads, fraying and dissolving
Into the antonym of resolution
My tears burning my face
And scarring your cheeks
Now run
Running
They tear reality
Hence my tears become tears in reality?
Lean over and sip from my mouth
Taste the nonchalant
And feel what life is, while I melt away
The slit widens
And lips make us real

[Purple]

the three stands there as it have before
maybe a few leaf less but still the same
alone in the middle of the grass
not really all that high
old but not really so wise
birds flies up there on the branches
singing their melodies of joy
and bringing warmth and harmony to the core of the three
and while they do the three is getting old and unfold
listening to the birds final songs
and the ending credits of the creatures in the wood
it stands there alone
whitering in the wind
goodbye
nothing could have been...

[che's long lost daughter]

Originally posted by Alejandro [email protected] 26 2004, 07:30 AM
Che's lld- your poems are simple and beautiful. i especially adore the thin mystical quality. most people tell me that art is beauty. i usually disagree with them, but when i read poems like yours i can understand what they are always talking about... the last poem -when the little prince met milan- is perfect.
Why thank you, Alejandro C..hmm, whatever C means. :)

[Alejandro C]

Che's lld- your welcome, you deserve it.


Comrade la vista- the ending to your poem stillness- is almost an echo of the end of my favorite kerouac poems.

the poem is called Rimbaud- there's a topic in the french forum about rimbaud if your interested- but anyway kerouac ends it with-

it all adds up
to nothing, like

Dostoevsky, Beethoven
or Da Vinci-
So, poets, rest awhile
& shut up:
Nothing ever came
of nothing.



where as you end with-

Moloch to movement,
Bollocks to Ginsberg and his peers,
Moloch to the past,
Bollocks to the movement,
Moloch to the word,
I’m shutting up.


I read that and thought- wow if he's making an obscure allusion like that- well.. i'm impressed. also if you hadn't read that poem before- still very impressed, maybe even more that you would go down that same road. anyway- hats off to you too. Fantastic.

[Floyd.]

Alejandro C thank you very much I greatly appreciate your support. I actually had not read that particular poem but am well versed on all the beatniks. I've started to read a lot of Rimbaud recently, I'm currently reading the drunken boat. It upsets a bit that Rimbaud gave up witing poetry when he was 19 (i think it was 19?) anyway it's very discouraging to other poets. I'm 18 now at least I've still got a year in me, lol. If you like I shall post a monologue?

[Floyd.]

This is a documentary poem about an art room I shared at school

Art Room
Timothy James Spurr.
Abigail Ruth Hodge.
Floyd Huon Duncan James.
All the lies and contemptuous culture vulture conversions;
lies and incestuous art ideas.
Self-loathing and inner turmoil nestled in a dim fluorescent den,
Radiating youth culture,
angsty music and unwashed self-confrontation.
People calling and inspecting,
judging and gossiping
as the melodramatic theatrics are swept under the proverbial carpet
every new morn.
Coughing and spluttering we work away;
In our own self involved realities
Clashing over ideologies,
Battles ensue over what lyrics fill the tiny room
Hoping to escape to privacy,
We bicker.

[Floyd.]

Parenthood

Forgive them father, for they know not what they do
Reads the proverb.
A quote
That strikes at a fathers ears
Responsibility
For a crime committed by accident
Pummeling back and forth
Till control was lost
Repentance does little
In reality
Once something’s screwed
There’s no undoing a mistake
Now children surround
Demanding and innocent
They know no wrong
Yet commit every day
The vase was broken
The eldest apologizes
Forgive them father for they know,
Not what they do
Neither does the father
A memory surfaces
He makes a realization
They’re all lost
Lost and accidental
Domestic reverence
And parallels
To deify the ordinary
To misconstrue
The children huddle
‘round they’re father
Fidgeting and selfish
They mean no harm
So he re-assures himself

[Floyd.]

I Sit In The Backseat

Some days the music is more interesting;
Than the voices of my Father and sister
The beat and rhythm hold me
Some days it’s worse and we sit in silence
Lately I ask for the radio to be turned on
So no one tries to talk to me;
Or each other
We don’t talk in the car

I don’t talk

[Floyd.]

Umbilical Noose

Open arms
Busted elbow
Bleeding heart
Diseased pity
Fading pride
Festering guilt
Open door
Separating time
Introspective
Humbled
Stumbling choking
Muffled tears
Bloodstained hands
Slippery overture
Crimson drip
Silky thigh
Morning after
Judgment surrounds
Crying man
Degenerate laureate
Careless cock
Crying fluid
Inside her body
Swallowing pills
Twenty-four dollars
Period returns
A father lost
A guilt re-found

[Floyd.]

This is a monologue but really it's a poetic one

Rant

(Middle-aged man in suit, his tie is literally getting too tight as well as a metaphorically.)

I’ve got an hour to go, an hour till I have to meet the deadline, make a phone call and find something to say, a nothing to talk about, but a something to say to keep her prying mind out and avoid the question. Avoid having to answer and hopefully I can find that little lie that distraction to keep the question at bay. Stop the beep and prolong her hanging up through reaction, I just need to keep the rant up, and practice the words from within, keep them alive even if there’s no meaning attached. The hollowness must continue to spout and I can’t let the silence take hold because it won’t stop, my hand shaking as I hold this little piece of technology in my hand, ringing, beeping and receiving, messages, pictures, the lot. A reflection of the twenty first century, it holds life and embodies what we want to be. This phone will also be my undoing, once the talking stops and there’s nothing to be said because I’m unoriginal and spent and empty of repetition, she’ll ask what’s wrong and my silence will answer and tell her that I’m dead inside, that there’s nothing, no tears, no paranoia anymore, just lies and a cycle of copycat as I drink the coffee in the advert and buy the DVD of the movie, wipe my arse with the toilet paper I bought because I was told to by a puppy. The silence will grab me by my limp dick and atrophied nuts and it won’t stop because society has made me impotent. She’ll ask me “what’s the matter” and then she’ll realize…no, she’ll just know, that she’s dead too. An hour to go, I must keep up the rant, or it’ll all stop and I’ll have to start to live and it’ll be contagious and I’ll have to shun my suit and briefcase and be a communist or something. I don’t want to. The TV said not to. I’m not ready. It won’t stop it’ll keep squeezing.

[Floyd.]

Please no one analyse this piece, comment is fine but no analyses or questioning because I won't answer. I wrote this when I had a breakdown and I want to share it just because it is all of the honesty I have inside me. It's called the only truth I know.

I hate you all and I love you all
I don’t know what I want.
I’m confused and angry and smarter than others I encounter
And everything is fucking pointless and it’s all a lie and everyone’s a phony and we’re all conforming to social standards.
Immerse yourself in enough of anything and you’ll start to believe.
Propaganda and rules surround me. I’m sick and I want to drink and smoke and do heroin and destroy myself and self-destruct. I’m bitter and truthful. I feel as though I’m the only one. I’m a fucking hypocrite and I lie and contradict myself. Because I’m bullshit and I‘m ranting. I want the world to end and I’m pissed off at the millennium. I didn’t believe in the end of the world prophecies, but I secretly wished for it and harboured hate for all I encounter.
I’m in a prison termed humanity. I want to break the walls and experience murder and rape and to be demonized and emasculated and get into fights and punch people and bite and scream like nothing matters. The Dadaists had it right to an extent. Everything is pointless and you may as well just kill yourself. I’ve had a shitty childhood and a poor life thus far. I’m an extrovert and I’m depressive and I cry. I’M CONFUSED. I don’t want. I want top reject. I want to fuck everyone I meet and be an outcast and slut about. Everyone I meet follows the crowd and joins the line and doesn’t question. Everyone believes they’re intelligent. They’re not they’re just self absorbed. People are stupid to kill for their convictions because they believe so strongly in their religion or they’re country. Nothing is worth doing unless you do it for yourself. It’s a selfish world and everyone is a selfish bastard. They align themselves with rules to follow and taboo’s not to break. Everybody is brainwashed by society. Because there is nothing else to believe other than madness. I want a fucking alternative. I want a way out. I don’t want to be faithful. Humans are limited. Art is limited. We believe what we hear and recite opinions of others so as to make ourselves seem more intelligent. Why do we have this thirst for knowledge? Is there such a thing as fate, probing and asking questions? Do I have a choice, is it all genetic am I programmed against my will from the moment my father comes inside my mothers ****. I don’t want memeticism. Yet I conform and I follow, at least I question. I don’t want loneliness, but I need company to survive. I’m extroverted and crave attention. The only person who knows me and gives me the attention I deserve is myself. I’m sick of myself and I’m sick of my thoughts and my body and surroundings. I want to become something bigger like the ending to 2001: a space odyssey. I hate this and I hate you all and most of all I hate myself. I’m sick of the sound of my own voice I can’t think without hearing it and I can’t escape. It’s incessant and won’t stop when I want it to. I want to kill a part of myself. Inadvertently we’re all killing each other and destroying our safety net and plundering the earth. I want to be a communist and a homosexual and vile and go against convention. I don’t want faithfulness I want stupidity and apocalypse and to not have to think. I’m making mistakes and blundering and falling. I don’t care for the body. I’m fat and unhealthy and already self destructing. It feels fucking good. It’s the only thing I’ve ever liked the feeling of. I have interests that have always drawn me towards them. I like music and art and writing for a reason I can’t even describe to myself other than sheer attraction. All of you are phonies and you don’t know what you’re doing. You all talk down to me and tell me how I should be. At least be true to yourself. You only know what your idea of art is, what your idea of life is. Don’t preach to me, because there’s no such thing as race. Only insecurity we’re all different and no one understands one another no matter how much that think that they might. You’re all doomed. Why won’t it just hurry up and come. If I weren’t such a gutless coward I’d of slit my throat a long time ago. Suicide is an intense feeling I’ve tried many times, a super high. When I was perhaps ten I remember I was in primary school my psychotic mother who torments me to this day worked me up into such a rage and a need to escape that I put a tie around my neck and knotted and pulled. Everything got hot and felt like an animation of pictures flicking by fast with running and screaming. It wasn’t as if everything were ending, it was the opposite not a start but something different where everything is full on and you tackle it head on and don’t fucking care because it’s all so surreal and it felt like what I now expect from life. But because I’m a pessimist and a fatalist I see no point in working myself to the bone, to experience as much as I can, because there’s no such thing as success. Ultimately there is only death which I fear yet sickly look forward to in a way. I don’t wasn’t to terminate my existence. Just to stop my paranoia. So I’m self medicating and sedating myself. I’m affectionate to others because I crave love and hope for them to reciprocate. But they’re too thick to understand and selfishly lap up the attention. The only thing that I believe in is myself. I don’t believe in you and I don’t believe in true love. I do believe that unity only exists for the purpose of oppression. Unthinking oppression and everyone is a soldier. Pushing down others, attempting to make themselves stronger. I resent everyone and everything and myself. I’m repetitive and spent and unoriginal. But I AM THINKING AND I AM SMART. Much to my distaste. I hate this and I want to swear and offend everyone and steal and rob and cause pain because that’s all that’s been done to me. I want revenge but I’m gutless and will continue to behave like the rest of them until I am dead. Fuck you all you stupid bastards. In retrospect I don’t love you all I just love myself and this form of masturbation and want everyone to pleasure me or fuck off. I want to be alone and naked and vulnerable, I deserve it.

[che's long lost daughter]

Originally posted by Comrade La [email protected] 27 2004, 01:40 AM
If someone actually reads my poem "Stillness" and it's footnote please reply to me with an opinion. You'll understand it better if you love Allen Ginsberg and the beatniks and are well versed in writing and philosophy. I'm only 18, so remember that when you read.
That work of yours would sound good as a song especially if Zack dela Rocha would sing it ;)

[che's long lost daughter]

Here are some of my other poems...


On Stars (After reading "The Little Prince" for the third time)


At night, people look at the stars and think
That they merely are twinkling lights in the sky,
Ever silent in its glowing beauty
But each one the same as the rest of them

At night, I look at the stars and think
That you are in one of them and that
Your laughter fills one particular star
And I wonder what that particular star is
So I asked the stars but they won't tell me,
They just say that the eyes are blind
And for me to see clearly,
I must use my heart

So, I looked at the stars one last time
And closed my eyes...
I hear my heart beating and then
I heard your laughter

At night, I do not look at the stars anymore
I just close my eyes and listen to them
As they laugh with you...


Tears

Droplets of melancholy, how powerful can you be?
You trickled from my eyes and run through my face,
You touched my lips and I tasted bitter misery;
You continued to flow and you reached my breast,
You seeped beneath wherefore my heart lays
And you, droplets of melancholy smothered it with agony. . .
And with every beat of my heart, liquefied sorrow
Ran through my bloodstream maiming my whole being.
And as I suffer, I continued to ask how
Can this be done by droplets of melancholy

[che's long lost daughter]

Omigod, I hope that this doesn't look like I am spamming. Hey people, continue posting your works here. And yes, here are some more...

*this poem comes together with Tierra, I made these two for the Zapatistas thinking of their creed Land and Liberty

Libertad

Why do you stand on the podium?
Why do you make your long speeches?
Why do you promise that never again will your people
Suffer from tyranny and oppression when I see that
You yourself are a slave to multinational companies
And foreign armies which held us captive in
Invisible cages not made of steel but of a material called
In different names like poverty, starvation, privatization,
Retrenchment, injustice and ignorance
I guess, you yourself are ignorant because you do not know that
With every slice of venison you eat with your foreign allies,
With every glass of chardonnay you clink with theirs,
With every picture of yours taken with them,
With every handshake you make,
You cut my life and tear it into pieces;
You take away the freedom that you promised


Rage of the Depraved (In Memory of Che Guevara and Emiliano Zapata)

I am locked inside a dark room with my hands and feet chained and no one around me
But dementia and paranoia, It felt like hell there but it's hell that
I could touch, it felt so hot...so hot that I screamed but no one could hear me
All of a sudden, I heard laughing and in that very room appeared
Powerful statesmen promising freedom, rich landlords giving land to the landless
And the elite supporting charities and causes
All of them were drinking Chardonnay in their crystal wine glasses
...The laughing became louder and louder--defeaning me until it stopped
I looked up and saw their faces but what I saw were demons
Disguised as good men but inside them are souls that are rotting
Filled with maggots that are eating their bodies up until
They are consumed and nothing is left of them
but their black-colored skeleton
Then the maggots went to the bottle of Chardonnay and drowned
Themselves in the sparkling wine and suddenly, metamorphosed into humans...
Again, I heard laughing
I saw the Zapatista who was shot by some unknown gunman,
I saw the poor farmer who was robbed off his land
I saw the utility man who was kicked out of his job,
I saw the guy who was beaten up to death because he was black
I saw all the victims of oppression and privation
"Rejoice! For all the tyrants have met their doom," I heard them say
They unchianed me and together, we walked out of that dark abbatoir
And bright light touched my eyelid and suddenly, I woke up...

[che's long lost daughter]

Originally posted by Comrade La [email protected] 29 2004, 12:00 PM
Please no one analyse this piece, comment is fine but no analyses or questioning because I won't answer. I wrote this when I had a breakdown and I want to share it just because it is all of the honesty I have inside me. It's called the only truth I know.

I hate you all and I love you all...

IT is good but you should make it into "poetry form" because it looks like it is an essay. But anyhow, some poems are written like that but readers (non-poets) would be bored if it is written that way...it was a great work nonetheless

[che's long lost daughter]

And yet, another one...

Rendezvous

As Beethoven’s sonata eats the night’s utter silence
During the Eve of Saint Agnes, we went strolling in the Woods
Outside Athens, where the Magical Puck inhabits …we walked
We saw Oliver Twist and the Artful Dodger
Running away from Fagin but they were stopped
By the beautiful music made by Hamlet as he sung
Songs for Ophelia while Horatio play the banjo…

Suddenly, the earth trembled, the trees disappeared and
We saw nothing but sand and sea…
We realized we were in Treasure Island and
Saw Jim Hawkins and Long John Silver walking
By the shore as a big ship appeared and
Captain Ahab told us to come aboard.
We saw Ishmael, we mused at his stories
About their journeys across the Seven Seas
But Moby Dick suddenly rose from the ocean
Making the boat capsize.
We were thrown overboard but we managed to swim
Until we reached Mississippi river where Tom and Huck
Were sailing to search for Ind-jun-jo’s treasure.

They rescued us from drowning and brought us
To Misselthwaite Manor where Mary, Dickon and
Colin were planting flowers in the Secret Garden…
We saw the roses, snowdrops, lilies, crocuses,
Jonquils, daffydowndillys, purple flags, larkspurs
And Canterbury bells and on one corner of the garden
We saw Rhett Butler picking up roses for his Dear Scarlet
As they danced under the myriad of stars;
You did the same, you picked up yellow lilies and
Purple flags, and handed them to me but as I was
Reaching out for it, you suddenly disappeared…
I realized I was in the secret garden no longer and
I awoke from my slumber…

But ever I will wait for the moon to rise,
For Hypnos to engulf my spirit, When Beethoven’s
Sonata will start to play in the moonlight,
When we go back to the secret garden,
When we plant new seeds,
When we watch the flowers grow…
When we meet in dreams.

[Floyd.]

I rather liked tears, reminds me of whitman in terms of structure and repetition. Of course your not spamming Che's lld please continue to share as I enjoy your poetry. I really wish more people would join in and post in here.

[Floyd.]

I wrote the poem below when I was 15 or 16 I can't remember, but I'm still fond of it.

Photo of a Funeral

After the funeral
They stood around sombre
Fading into the bricks behind them
The silence of the new house
Quiet
It could have been from a barbecue
Two brothers drinking beer
A moment from time immortalized in ink
Only to fade like a memory
Sagging, and growing feeble themselves
Raising and lowering their arms with each swig
Neither speaking, just looking at each other
The older casting glares askance
Just standing in each others company, but both at their most alone
No need to speak when alls been said
No point in speaking when the words are hollow
After the funeral they refused to talk
Both blaming each other
Not mourning their mother
Just blaming

[Floyd.]

Greedy One

Why even bother
Why not just give up and sit down
Sink in my own self-pity
And wallow in the hatred of others
Drown
Float
Boil
And flail like the fish spasming for water
Spasming for the fix he needs
Air
Life force, greed
Out for number one
Sitting down to retire and cry in a gutter
All winding back to self-pity
Only to revolve and repeat in the same cycle

[hazard]

Though I'm really unbelievably fucking MIFED at this, I'm going to write a poem, a new one, outside of my own thread. fucked if I know what its going to be about. take a guess.

Along an auto sequenced set of events, with precision
Automation and integration
Rule the hour, rule the very rule
That controls, and dying only to surrender
At last that which is the thing, the essence, the truth
An object that cannot be surrendered for it is not even an object
A thing, though it does not exist
Is it even existant, as it is described
What of the bed post?
What of the blessed host?
While in that moment when words
Are spoken and intoned to be heard
Descent succombs and reality fails
Lines of movement turn into hallucination trails
O'erhead the sound of thunder booms
Like a crack, a whip and all submit
Shivers sent into this pollution new
Ears can be plugged
Bodies can be drugged
Alone I feel
To stand and contemplate, and resequence
Structured support as the buildings do not fall
Alone I am not
I stand and I understand
I hear the three
I see the tree
And then I cannot bear this, so a statue I become
While the beaming of the sun
And the brightening stars
Its sister moon and brother station
Circle high o'erhead
Pass the air as it turns to poison
I have, yeah
Complete in this and I cannot shrug
Only turn, once more
Shield my vision from such a door
And get cracking down as this be not a chore

[RedAnarchist]

Heres a selection of my poetry. These first ones are political

Comments are welcome.


Havana

The children of the Cuban island,
Never will be crushed under fascist boots,
They are the future of Fidel’s Cuba,
Freedom shall be their song, Peace their chant


Che

Scarlet tears trickle down his chest,
His breath laboured, his heart weak,
This man of modest greatness,
Of most heroic courage

He inspired the masses to rise,
He gave them the freedom of Communism,
And now he lies dying, murdered
By agents of the people's enemy

This man is Che,
He is a fighter and does not surrender easily,
He detests his killers, and shouts defiantly
Shoot, coward! You will only kill a man!

Although in body he is dead,
He lives on in the hearts of every worker,
Always shall his ideas inspire, and even
When the Earth itself dies, Che Lives!


Conformity

Conformity is an anchor you must never carry,
In a blue town, be deepest red,
Sail away from the greed-infested bays,
And lose the capitalis yoke


Star-Spangled Banner

You are red, for the blood you spilt,
You are white, for your cowardice,
Remember the peace you always reject
You are the banner of hate, war and greed

You symbolise a Government that sees not the
Problems of the world, but only sees profit and gain
You are the flag that we burn
To symbolise the hate that the world feels for you


Burn the Union Flag

Burn that symbol of greed
Let flames engulf the banner of imperialism
Tear it down and squash it into the mud
For in its place we will raise the Red standard

[che's long lost daughter]

Xphile, Your poems are short but they are able to convey the message you want to send. Your poems are angry but as what Zack dela Rocha said, anger is a gift. So keep than anger going and you'd be able to create more poems.

[hazard]

I am having difficulty determining why you decided to modify the colours

perhaps you could explain what each colour signifies

or, if you could explain under which colour formula you are intending them to be interpreted

ie. religious, psychological, literary(ily), etc

[hazard]

allright, because I'm still under mild protest for the SNAFU that sort of was sprung on me from out of fucking nowhere, I'm going to write another poem here. and not in my own thread. so don't think I'm pissed off or fucking mad or anything like that. or, like, I don't know. threatening to vacate the ALP, ha, schematic I'm working under. just a chance to write sme other fucking stuff and see how many lines it takes for my brain to work its way back to the same topic anyway. got it bad. oh yeah.

Surrounded on all sides, a glass house in which I reside
Yet I cast stones
As quickly as I can find them
I cast, and all I can see is crumbling
Rumbling, bumbling
Objects and enities tumbling
Around me on all sides
Since I am surrounded in such a glass house
Stirring not even is a mouse
Toasted like a piece of burnt bread
Yet instead
Of triggering a memory that erupts from a scent
Around me I wonder where all
Have gone, vacated, dissappeared
My house of glass
Should have fallen in one great crash
Since my hurling stones had become so crass
It, my dwelling now
Shielded with a force effect bubble
Telekinetic and energy shield and cloaks deployed
Full steel armour, bulletproof, mega damage capacity and gundanium
Warp drive enabled, physical size shift and deflectors online
I sense that I shall be safe
While I await with a pocket full of stones to toss
Since there is no way for me to incur a loss
Until, as I have been patient
Another house can be mine
To put down the rocks
At last, and be where I want
Be it soon, or later
A while or less
Or sooner than that
Pretty soon, I hope
With history, recent in mind, I dare not mope
But resume to cast out the stones
Under the guise of hypersonic ultra heavy tones
Careful selection and placement
Caring only to keep all of this spent
Time as useful as I can
One down, more to go
And here it is and so

[RedAnarchist]

The colours are there to seperate the poems, so you know which one is which

[RedAnarchist]

This is another, less angry poem

Rememberence

Remember those who Hate murdered,
Remembered those who were forced to hate,
Remember the innocent who always fall victim,
Remember that all lose in war

Admire those who lost their today for our tomorrow,
Always remember war, but never make it
Stop the tanks and silence the guns
And peace shall last forevermore

[che's long lost daughter]

I wanted to post more poems but I haven't made a new poem lately. WOuld someone keep this thread alive???

[hazard]

I'm still not wanting to write any more fucking poems in the fucking communal poetry thread. you know, like, what the fuck. but thats exactly my point. what the fuck. so here it goes.

Today, from a deep slumber I slowly wake
Like a bear in hibernation
With my paws
I toss
Aside the snow at the top of my cave
In that sleep I dreamt of a rave
That began with a drive where I was brought to a state
As a defence was made
In reference to the current phase of my fate
Saw a picture
Heard a lecture
Returned to my cave, to hibernate
Woke to the sounds of an echo
Less human was agreed upon
And I know
With every subsequent replay
Less words could be used
To express this thought that seemed to say
Lets remember and act like yesterday
No sounds
No images
Just minds
Just memories
There I lay, and I freeze
And I, in my cave, my cocoon
I recollect many monthes past
Until the last
Doing it all over again, right then
I wound my leg the same way
I cry out to heaven with the same words to say
I lurch for an instrument I cannot pluck
I cook and stew and think I may be out of luck
Until the midnight hour
An agreement is made and we flick a switch to meet
There and feel the power
At the push of a button
Like I wake today
I lurch for an instrument and start to play
Yet another side
Time spent properly, I bide
Away, and think of the weeks past
The weeks away, time flew too fast
All of January gone
To get back again would take too long
So I can only sing out another song
Hoping that not a single note will sour or be in any way wrong

[hazard]

for fuck all. here I fucking go with another "communal" poem. somebody please pass me the cyanide laced kool aid and fucking be done with it. I'm sick of it. I can't stand it. I can't fucking stand it. but here it is. hurrah! another communal poem! hurrah! hip hip hurray! fuck this...

The widened road seems only to lessen in its width
An illusion, optical
Two lines that do not seem to cross
At no grand loss
Of any kind
This road is as long as it is wide
As wide as it is tall
As tall as it is in its duration
This road, it cannot be walked upon
Nor could it be
Not should it be
Driven upon either
It is a road
Made to be walked on with feet that hammer the pavement like thunder
To hear this sound and wonder
Who can make the step
Sound like that
While the world around stops to listen
A world that is no longer round, but flat
Walked upon as the pavement starts to crack
Flaking into debris and stones
And pebbles, rocks and ashvalt
Tar and salt
Walked upon and into a steady pace
There is no need to pause
Nor is there a need to race
Nor is there a need to mention nor
Not another time, once more
With steps that sound like thunder
Preceeding a lightning crash
Deafened ears that must be plugged
Right on the cue
Timing that may be eventually shrugged
To the sky, a pale blue
A secret sign
A subtle cue
A silent whine
A what to do
Place into a pad of notes
A date, a time, a reason
Another sign of this season

[hazard]

fuck...

Into a ledge I find myself there
Frozen like that
Awaiting re-animation
First my throat is cleared
To allow in life's breath
Still not breathing
Only being
As my body drives on auto pilot
My brain, my mind must be awoken
So again
And again
It is jolted with a thought
It comes down to this
Be sold, be bought
Or be alive and in and on
A thought indicates the wrong
Alternate and I will not allow
It to fix itself there
So I say never
I live, I breathe, I care
I am alive and I am here
And I only want to be so much more near
To the source of it, my reason
For existing as I am alone otherwise
And without
I surmise
I would be as I was when I entered
The thought repeats a last time
Finally, I react, and all is fine

[che's long lost daughter]

Hey Hazard, you poetry god! Thanks for keeping ths thread alive...

[hazard]

no thanks required

on a side note, when I first joined this site almost a year ago. ten monthes ago, I was only in it to field my conclusions regarding my societal criticisms as a whole. if you take a look at these "classic" posts I systematically dismantled all aspects of capitalism, our society, until there was nothing left to criticize. at the time I took a, guess it was a five month vacation, break from posting I was well under way to unleashing the now legendary GUERRILLA POSTINg campaign upon the cyber world.

fortunately, I was able to go back and start writing poetry since I found someone who could inspire me back into it. many a morning I awoke with a grimace and a whine claiming that "I can't stop!", and I really can't. now I feel no passion for criticism of the flaws within our society not just because of my motivation as it holds a permanent position within my life, but also because I realize there is no real point in beating on a dead horse.

however, due to the historical relevance this board has I still feel a certain nostalgic sense towards it. my ALP posts should be seen as a sort of indication where I was in my five month hiatous, and where I am now. these five monthes were summarized in another lengthy poem written in blood, I mean ink, and are sitting somwhere I hope is relatively safe for the time being. I think i was calling that three hundred pager chapter one. and a prelude (75 pages). Che-Lives has been the focal point for what is my latest creative endeavour (chapter 2), which, as opposed to the original hazard posts, was a destructive effort. the revolution began, and was won.

LONG LIVE THE REVOLUTION!

[che's long lost daughter]

Since I want to keep this thread alive, I posted this poem which I made about 4 years ago. Back then, I was just starting to write so I do not know if this one can be compared to the quality of my more recent works. Children of the Revolution, Pete, Alejandro C, Hazard, keep posting....


Surfeit
I lie here in my solitude
Overindulging in the loneliness brought by your absence;
Slumber hasn't yet engulfed my soul so I remain awake,
Thinking of the lovely days when our destinies
Will finally intertwine...

My spirit is revivified by thoughts of you
And I can see it smiling;
Still overindulging, not in sorrow
But in the joy brought by a phantom of beauty
That is you...

Yet, I will never be cloyed

[hazard]

This is a poem I would like to call, forget that. I'll name it some other time.

Between the range
Though it seems so strange
A light in the distance
To a space behind
Almost blind
But there, I cannot tell
Whether it became the badge
A chess board so vast
That it folded in and upon
Itself like an eight, I figure
As long as there is a trigger
Activating this sequence on
A restart, fast
Between the range
Call it a derange
My head grows numb
I cannot walk
Or talk to anyone
So I spin on the sun
Knees buckle
I hear that is not liked
I know not what to do
But sit and try not to feel
Alone with you

[pandora]

To Speak Truth
Where is life when everyone is so dead inside,
Is there life inside these four walls,
Column and blank.
My heart yearns for Mexico,
For children and life,
For streets of cobblestone and saints,
Blue and green.

My heart is old,
Littering the tarmac with it's questions,
There is no peace in there,
In this faded dream of reality,
Only darkness, clammy and afraid.

Live free, live for life.
Speak your dreams, do not be hidden,
For only the passage of time knows your eyes.
And only the passage of time turns dust
From bone,
Tissue from life,
Ashes from Dust.

Speak, and let the truth of your heart ring out!
Speak and let liberty hold you.
Speak of justice, speak of peace,
But most of all just speak of that which lies inside you;
For those who dare not to dream,
Are entombed in silence.
Cheers just made that up so no rhythm, please forgive me

[che's long lost daughter]

Since Hazard (the super genius <_< ) has been restricted, I hope someone would keep this thread alive.

[pandora]

For Che&#39;s Long Lost Daughter: [Not Very Good Please Excuse, simple and silly]
To Err Be It Human Or Strained

My mother told me once
It is better to be human
Than to be perfect
Who cares what others think
They are not you.

Now I sit here
Tongue tied and alone
Thinking of you
And banging out this poem
But I am not a lie
I am the planet
The planet Earth.

Silly and redundant
I speak my heart to you
That you will listen,
But I get no reply,
This is fair.
And I do not share
The burden.
The cost, the dead.

Sinking into emptiness,
Lying on feathered sheets
Sleep oh weary head
That I might wind my arms
And thus entwine, my thoughts
In yours.

For where do we find peace
Is it in the Dialectics of Enlightenment
In the Shade of a Dream
Is it inside every rebel heart,
Where are you?
What are you?
If not my own wish,
For a better world.

[Zapatista207]

No reason for life
Nor a reason for dying
Life lost in limbo.

Just a little haiku I&#39;ve been throwing around in my head. Obvioulsy not to the high standard of poetic works established here, but a small contribution. Tell me what you think.

[SittingBull47]

damn there really is a lot of talent in this thread. Pandora, your poem was great.

Reading all this makes me wish I had a knack for poetry.

[pandora]

Thanks Sitting Bull, here&#39;s another just for you
The Pardon
Delicate despair,
Set the tone, to be shared,
Not to dream, but to consider
What ordinary minds cast asunder,
So humble was your intention
That nature decided intervention,
From heat, came desire,
And desolved a wanton Empire.
Forgotten those who aspire,
Creates for them a funeral pyre,
In our hearts comes the hero’s fire,
Granting us absolution.

In the sea beneath the soil,
Under tree I lay buried,
Deep dark peat on top of me,
I have no fear, but can not breathe
I am alive, and through the roots, light&#33;
I gasp for breath and reach top soil,
Buried here I did not die,
But reborn I reek the coffin,
As I seek for the spoils
That your love may bring,
Do you fear me?
Please do not, I bring no woe.

Often in human emotions seen
Humanist decrees,
Of silent wit and quick motion,
On top of the queer and lonely ocean,
Ostensible, but deceitful&#33;
For what lies beneath is great toil
For those who are unwilling to soil,
Your vows with them.
Their hearts set in stone,
Amongst graves newly dug,
Guessing sobs of what might have been,
They are what they become.
Those who would not become undone.

The moonlight steals my thoughts from me,
A web of deceit alights on thee,
Bursting cellulose of desire,
Is it the same pyre for which you aspire?
Ceaseless worry, ceaseless toil,
Which sped you to my coil?
And wrought your hands in quiet despair,
That you might find me lying here.
Cringing in litany and desire.
The same undying litany lights your fire.

Oh to be free of war and free of strife,
This hell I give it is not all I give thee.
Humbly, I release your soul of all that tires,
To rest in the shade beneath the trees,
Feeling the warm caress of gentle breeze.
Yes, I will free you here.

But first you must run,
Run&#33;
Against all dreams,
Against the balance,
Against all misconceptions,
Run, from mankind’s mortal toil,
Run from the darkness gathered there,
Run to the obelisk of fear,
And tear it down without a care,
That you may truly know me,
And I might break my coils and join you in,
Unfettered Freedom.

[Cobra]

Heres my contribution. I call this poem Criminal.

Criminal

Life of crime
Giving your time
No more wine
You filthy swine

Lock ‘em up
Spit in your face
Your are a disgrace
To the human race

You are not human
You’re a filthy beast
Your time in prison
Should be increased

They don’t care about you
Why should you care about them,
They took away your life
You should retaliate with strife

Are the oppressors really so different
Than you or I
Hasn’t everyone committed a crime
During his or her life

If you kill someone who is worse
Than you are yourself
You get the death penalty
The judgment is dealt

But aren’t the judges
Criminals themselves
For they murder as much
As anyone else

But some might say
Crime must pay
You should be punished
For the rest of your days

Has “Mr. Criminal” wronged you?
Did he make you cry?
Did he destroy your life?
And deserve to die?

It Was The Judges
Who Made “Mr. Criminal” Cry
Destroyed his Life
And Made Him Die

The judges should be put on trial
For their endless slaughter
They should be judged
And be cannon fodder

BURN THE COURTS&#33;

The judges must succumb
To what they deserve
We will hold the mallet
We Will Be The New Order in the court

This is what must be done
Grab hold of your gun
Put your finger on the trigger
It is better to fight than run

If there is to be justice
Keep this in mind
For The Judges might decide that you
Should be locked up and die

[pandora]

The Tongue That Is Unfurled Will Change the World

What enemy do capitalists hope to lie asunder
It is the free heart
The heart that sings of disease
Before it&#39;s too late
Enemy of the facist
This wanton desire
To sing
Truth
Victory
Honor
They can not fool us all
Even though appearences are deceptive
And opinions are faulty
Still honor lives on
In every forgotten dream
In every truth told
In every selfless act bold
The system crumbles
Just a little more

So sing truth
Sing Victory
Sing honor
Let your truth rain down like a parade
And all the Earth will sing in that primal scream
As she shakes the fleas from her belly

Do not be afraid to show weakness
It is the pride which fears weakness on which the capitalists prey,
For what is weakness, what is humility
But the honesty which states
I can not do this alone
I need all of you
But together
We will rock the foundations of their pride.

Marcos once said
We will change you
So there is no you
There is only us
Nosotros
What do we so hopelessly cling to
To think we alone can make the difference
And not the brotherhood and sisterhood
Of every being with honor.

But it means compromise
And dialogue
And listening
To those with whom we do not agree
But I would rather speak with any live thing
Than to read any more lies
In their newspapers of fire

Do not be fooled,
Our bodies are not free
And the witchhuntgrowsfaster,
But
Our hearts grow stronger,
And more avowed
To fight this war of pride
For each voice silenced
Tens of thousands break forth
In a primal scream
Of joy, of happiness
Of the belief
That&#39;s its really happening to us
In this generaltion
We are creating history
With our speech.[B]

[che's long lost daughter]

Thanks for all those who kept this thread alive, I&#39;d post a new poem soon.

[Eastside Revolt]

lal la la

This used to be a poem, but I don&#39;t want people to see it anymore

[Eastside Revolt]

It seems I&#39;ve kind of shut this thread down with my overwhelming stupidity.

So here&#39;s a semi intelligent one...

"False Truth"

My mind without a voice
A harmless plastic knife
My life without a choice
Filled with stress and strife
Gimme cicken fingas finga lickin&#39; good
Sing for bling bling get up out the hood
Is this the truth?
Can I grab it like an ass?
Truth is truth
It can&#39;t be changed like the past
Give me two history books
One from Utah, and one from Cuba
Which one is the truth?
Which one&#39;s comming out the ass?
Sound without noise
When this tree fell, was there to hear
Girls and boys
Man enslaves woman, fails to hold her dear
Factiod.....

[demonio comunista]

do y&#39;all care if i put some of these in my profile? i want change them around or anything, but some of them are really good. and if u dont want me to just say no, i will put some of my own up here later.

[che's long lost daughter]

Originally posted by [email protected] 10 2004, 09:12 AM
It seems I&#39;ve kind of shut this thread down with my overwhelming stupidity.

So here&#39;s a semi intelligent one...

"False Truth"

My mind without a voice
A harmless plastic knife
My life without a choice
Filled with stress and strife
Gimme cicken fingas finga lickin&#39; good
Sing for bling bling get up out the hood
Is this the truth?
Can I grab it like an ass?
Truth is truth
It can&#39;t be changed like the past
Give me two history books
One from Utah, and one from Cuba
Which one is the truth?
Which one&#39;s comming out the ass?
Sound without noise
When this tree fell, was there to hear
Girls and boys
Man enslaves woman, fails to hold her dear
Factiod.....
It would be good if you put some melody in it. I reckon it would sound good as a song.

[peaccenicked]

Here is my latest.

Americanised TV

Subtitled: Do not cast swine among the pearls

The Sleep that never sleeps
The tears that seldom weep
A vacancy not filled
A dream forever killed

Heaven has lost its dwelling place
Hell ascends upon this space
As welcome Death begins to reign
to nullify the ceaseless pain

Abandoned Hope resides in here
And horror now replaces fear
What once was bought as fantasy
is now the grim reality

The worthless, spineless - each aspire
to pedestals that fakes admire
cannonising a saintless crutch
as all that glistens is the Midas touch

Sweet Love has perished from the scene
Sweet Love becomes a hazy dream
that sells postcards and exspensive wine
A truff to feed the swallowed swine


Paul Anderson March 2004

[RedAnarchist]

Untitled

The blood of Che has sunk into the earth,
And has refreshed the tree of revolution,
Its branches of red spread far,
And its shadow is cast over those who hate,
In the hope of a change,
Change for the better,
Forever shall our Tree be fed,
With the blood of Che.

[che's long lost daughter]

Originally posted by [email protected] 25 2004, 02:02 PM
Untitled

The blood of Che has sunk into the earth,
And has refreshed the tree of revolution,
Its branches of red spread far,
And its shadow is cast over those who hate,
In the hope of a change,
Change for the better,
Forever shall our Tree be fed,
With the blood of Che.
It&#39;s a pretty nice one. Simple but celebrates Che.

[Take the Power back]

I found this on my old Diary site that I used for poems, I wrote it in 8th grade, who knew I would become a leftist today? It&#39;s called paranoia 2000

The color has just about left her face...Living proof
sadism lives, believer of lies. Freaky candy, miracle
plant. Living anarchy, revolution now. Fuck Society.
Fucking sheep, do as you&#39;re told. Fucking shield us from
words and images and ideas and beliefs because you don&#39;t
like them. Fucking American bullshit. So fuck society and
its fucking hypocrites who spent the late 60&#39;s tripping
and fucking freely. Now reduced to capitolist pigs,
fucking swine. All we need is love and more money, more
censorship propaganda bullshit. So arrest addicts, acquitt
murderers, fucking sheep. Anarchy_ON. Fucking make
everything good in life illegal. Fucking prohibit what we
desire. We&#39;re done fucking around, change comes now.
Pretentious bullshit. Or maybe I&#39;m just paranoid.

[Lefty]

Peaccenicked- That could be a great poem if you got rid of the forced rhyming.
I don&#39;t write many leftist poems or poems with a political consciousness. I&#39;ll go get my book o&#39; poetry and type one of my most recent ones.

*Pause while Lefty gets his book o poetry*

*ahem*

the small boy in the batman pajamas looks up at me.
he shares with me the revelation that his pajamas bear the batman logo
with the fervency of a newly-converted Jehova&#39;s witness.
I wonder what will happen to him after I leave tonight.
suddenly, I have an irrational desire to see his future.
I wonder: what will become of this boy?
The pliable surface of his personality is still being shaped
like dough by the baker.
I want to chart his progress and growth like a stockbroker
keeping tabs on him when he scores his first goal in soccer
or when he smokes cigarrette butts in the woods with friends in the fourth grade.
I want to be there when he shares his first kiss on a couch,
television flickering a ghostly blue static on his body.

he smiles and points at his shoes.
"Sneakers&#33;" he says and grins the grin of youth.
his short blond hair stands on end.
"He looks just like you did," my mom observes.

I wrote this particular poem about the feeling I get whenever I&#39;m around small children. It&#39;s odd to think that the small kid with the cherubic grin might become an alcoholic wife beater or a loving father of four that helps end world hunger depending on how he fares in childhood.

[che's long lost daughter]

Lefty, that&#39;s a really lovely poem. That is really true, you&#39;ll never know what the future holds.

[revolutionary soldier]

i&#39;ve been reading all the poems and i&#39;m no way as good as some of the shit on this post but i thought i&#39;d post this one anyway.

It’s a Phase

The forest and the wilderness
The dark clouds overhead
Repression from you
Repression from me
And the way I feel
Let me be free
To be who I want to be

Freedom in what I want
Someone you love and so you can’t
Leaving in the night
Coming in the day
Because of obligation
A crooked nation
A frantic equation

A confident girl
In this messed up world
She knows who she is
She wants you to know
But can’t find the words
She’s riddled with nerves
This vulnerable girl

Happy and contented
Mentally demented
Sometimes a frown
Sometimes a smile
Just wait a while
I’ve travelled miles
It’s on my files

When mum finds out
I sit but know she won’t shout
I tell her my answer
It’s only a phase
A messed up craze
A confused maze

A jungle of thoughts
Questions with no answers
A society wanting me to rebel
So they can complain on the news
Leaving me confused

[RedAnarchist]

I&#39;ve just written this, so it might not be brilliant.

Society has lost its mind,
A intelligent thought is hard to find,
In this dark word of greed,
Noone cares about the worker&#39;s need
The Nazis spew their voice of hate,
Humanity knows its upcoming fate,
To be sucked into a void of oppression,
In a storm of national depression,
The leftist yells in despair,
Whats up with society, dont you care?
No more should money be King,
No more should the workers be struggling,
End this wave of exploitation,
Before we get another Nazi nation,
Lift the scarlet standard high,
And let out a revolutionary sigh,
For we shall win and we shall fight,
Long into the unknown night.

[RedAnarchist]

The death of all things sane,
Will be the final act of capitalism,
Its long claws stratch at Cuba&#39;s door,
Begging to be let in once more,
This hatred by America,
of all things free and equal,
This love of opression,
This rejection of compassion,
Only the Left stands defiant,
Agaisnt the corrupt right-wing giant,
Cries of revolt echo ever louder,
For soon we will see a change,
We will see the flag of red flying high,
Above the cities of the West,
That is the leftist quest,
To fight and die for his beliefs,
To be loyal always to the people&#39;s cause.

[RedAnarchist]

Capitalism sings an hymn of greed,
Capitalism bangs the drums of lies,
Capitalism writes a book of sleaze,
And keeps the workers on their knees

Communism sings a song of peace,
Communism bangs the drums of equality,
Communism writes a book of love for all,
And lets the workers stand up tall

We of the Left will win this fight,
We of the Left will change our world,
We of the Left will die for our ideas,
We of the Left know no fears

[RedAnarchist]

As the ancient sand of time falls,
The clouds pass in to the room of walls.
Way above our heads,
That&#39;s where we visit the dreams in our beds.

The boredom sets in,
Our minds begin to give in,
To the subtle changes in, time and space.
But we undergo them, without a trace.

Is this where to poor are leading the blind?
All we do is give them a reason to bind.
This is where we see the fallacies of the democracy,
But we are all human with a set defined legacy.

Ever feel wise beyond your years,
Have you ever been brought to tears?
From something you have seen before,
That seemed to disturb you, down to your core?

Time is not of the essence here,
But we all can stand a little to bear.
Pain and suffering enforced by the mind,
What will we do to the end of time?

The most beautiful dreams are coming to a close,
When we open up to mighty new foes.
They are not of the dire kind,
We end up watching our dreams fade into time.

Time slips into the epoch of space,
Where I have fallen without grace.
No need to lick my wounds of salty tears,
For a unknown reason I will be here for many more years.

[RedAnarchist]

The fall of the tyrant is long overdue,
Soon we will fall down dead too,
Unless we fight,
With every ounce of communist might

Our loyal ideas are for the people,
Yet the fat cats tempt them with apparent fruits,
None of which will give them joy,
Instead they will become the capitalist&#39;s toy

Fuck authority,
We will build our own morality
We are strong and we are free,
We will free the land and sea

Bomb the White House
Destroy the opression of greed,
We need more than a solitary fighter,
A workers army is the weapon we need

Close down the fast food companies,
Burn down the logos of corporations,
We need our free leftist nations
Free of capitalist fat cat lies

Knock down the hierarchy
Implement total anarchy
Fight till your blood runs dry,
Scream out your rebel cry

[RedAnarchist]

The shit has hit the fan
We know the lies
And we know the hate
Of the conservative American

He cries for much, much more
Blair is just an oil whore,
Of Dubya, the utter fool
Capitalism&#39;s favourite tool

The CIA kill the communists
The CIA kill the so called terrorists
They dont have a clue
They are the terrorists

Sharon oppresses the Palestinians
And orders about his brainwashed minions
He loves division and he loves hate
Ruling his fake Israeli state

Bush has his spies
And his has his greed
To spread his dirty lies
And to sow the fat cat seed

He doesnt believe in freedoms or right,
Its a wonder how he sleeps at night
His ways are that of a dictator,
He writes the world&#39;s future and is the evil narrator

[RedAnarchist]

You fuck up our world,
You kill and kill for oil,
Whilst the workers you control toil,
You hater of all things free

Your name is Dubya
Your game is murder,
Your acts are those of a tyrant,
Your words are poison

You sit in your house of white,
Doing what you think is right,
How can you not see youre wrong
You cannot last for long

Your slaves in London
Your whores in Tel Aviv,
Your worldwide con,
You shall get whats coming to you

A bullet to the head,
Wont exonerate what you&#39;ve said
A knife in the heart,
Wont stop what you plan to start

A global war
When our blood will pour
Whilst you sit in your house of white
Doing only what you think is right.

[RedAnarchist]

Burn the Stars and Stripes,
Burn the Union Jack,
Tear down the logos of them,
And show them the morals they surely lack

We wont give up without a fight,
Our martyrs we will see as heroes,
You we will see only as zeroes
Attack us and we will show you our might

The Communists will track you down,
Over land, sea and in the air,
In the village and the town,
You better fucking give your god a prayer

We will burn you down to the ground,
We will deafen you with our revolutionary sound,
We will crush you like an insect,
Your evils we will correct

From our hearts we will fight
From our minds we will destroy the Right
From our eyes we will see no night
For we will see a sun of deepest Red

[RedAnarchist]

Dont tell us what to do,
Our problems are due to you
You are guilty of murder
And will feel our left-wing coup

How can you kill a child, Blair?
How can you watch whilst a family burn?
How could you go to war?
No more&#33;

Stop your evil games of war,
For your bloodshed is hard to ignore,
Your thirst for blood,
Your thirst for more

Peace will end your evil reign
And give us all thats sane
For we shall cull you and Bush,
And the cappies we will surely crush

[RedAnarchist]

Sing, sing the communist rhyme,
Yell our revolutionary lyrics,
Our voices will drown the fat cats,
In a sea of red, red change

Smash the state with a song,
Crush the Right with a rebel sound,
We shall revolt and we shall change,
This, our Earth

[Purple]

the purest feeling
comes in my heart
finding the love
to tear it apart
the purest feeling
takes a part of me
pulling my strings
making my life so hard to live
the purest feeling
falls down in myself
takes me up high
high in the sky
letting me fall in the
midst of the heaven
letting me drown
in the laughter of the ocean

[che's long lost daughter]

I am beginning to miss Hazard. Yes, he might be full of arrogance but we can&#39;t deny that he is a poetry genius. By the way, where is he? Has he been banned totally?

[Eastside Revolt]

"Dime n Dash"

This dime piece
Inhale then exhale
Sai LaVee

This dime piece
Brother can you spare
Lassez Faire

This dime piece
Jesus you got it
Switch those hips

This dime piece
Numerical base
Amputee

[RedAnarchist]

The Palestinian dreams of freedom at night
Hoping for hid nations right
To an independant state
Free of the Zionists hate

Their land is under enemy occupation
Under intense Zionisation
What can they do apart from blowing themsleves up
Violence is king in their wartorn nation

All the nations of the world
Do not see the fear of the Palestinians
All they belive is the Americans
Who only wish to control other lands

[The Feral Underclass]

Originally posted by [email protected] 10 2004, 08:31 PM
"Dime n Dash"

This dime piece
Inhale then exhale
Sai LaVee

This dime piece
Brother can you spare
Lassez Faire

This dime piece
Jesus you got it
Switch those hips

This dime piece
Numerical base
Amputee
I always hate reading poetry because it always makes me cringe with embarresment. Poetry is often not written very well, so when people take a subject which is pretty cheesy and then badly write about it in a form which makes words rhym with each other, it never really works. It just sounds pretentious, cringe worthy and, well, shit. Which a lot of poetry, not just in this thread, but in the entire world sounds like.

Except this one. No pretention, no desperate calls for some release from the woes of teenage angst, interesting. I liked it...it reminds me of Jack Kerouac&#33;

[RedAnarchist]

Constructive criticism there from Joe.

I&#39;ll dig up some of my more better poems that i havent written in five minutes before posting them.

[The Feral Underclass]

I am very shit at writing poetry. I prefer to write stories. This is section from a short story I am writing called &#39;Absurd.&#39; Gives you a chance to "constructivly" criticise me. ;)

The charactor is called Sam, and he took an acid trip and is trying to remember what happened on this day. He manages to do it....

------------------------------------------------

Tuesday. It is defiantly Tuesday because my shift at the petrol station was from six in the morning until two in the afternoon and I only ever do that shift on a Tuesday. I never finished it though. I had come in on time, like I always did and my boss called me into her office. The man, John, who always took my shift over on a Tuesday was stood, leaning against the brown wall, staring at me with his set green eyes, intently, knowing something about me which he wouldn’t let on. I had always fancied John because he reminded me of a rebel child with a motorbike and hate for the world. He was stupid though, and drove a Ford Escort and probably didn’t hate the world at all. She stood up and looked me up and down. I always hated that. It was so intrusive. It makes you feel one inch tall and inadequate, as if you had broken your life to something and ended up rejected from the world. I could sense she was angry. Her face was red and she screamed that I had been incompetent.

She was a confident woman. Tall and business like. Professionally dressed with blonde hair tied back. Twenty-nine in age, soft skinned and liberated, except she always expected men to open the door for her first. Her womb no longer being equal but something else. Inferior or superior, who could ever tell. She enjoyed the affection of men but never to a point where she wasn’t in control anymore. Was this because she was afraid, or because she was power mad? Her hard stern look told you that she enjoyed the power. But I would often watch her twist her soft blonde hair around her finger as she concentrated on the stock reports, timid and playful, and for a second she looked like a child. Innocent and free from anger. She raised her voice to me and called me incompetent again. She threatened to call the police but I didn’t understand why? I asked her to explain but she wouldn’t. She just told me to leave the petrol station because I didn’t have a job anymore.

I had worked so hard in this place, always sweeping and not just like the others. I took pride in sweeping those floors, catching the broom under the shelves. It is a job you can see develop to an end point. Collecting all the dirt and bits of food dropped by eager customers as they left, desperately trying to be full as they returned to work. Collecting the dirt in a bag and seeing it clean, always made me appreciate life. I took care of the stock, making sure the shelves were full, clean and ordered. I would do everything I was told. I had never been rude to the customers and I had never lost money. I enjoyed working there because it was easy and because the night shift always brought strange and colorful people to buy strange and colorful things. Old drunk men who insisted on explaining why they had smoked ‘Rothmans’ all their lives, dippy school girls who giggled at the counter when asking me if we had the latest ‘Sugar’ magazine. Honest people, down to earth and enlightened, not in some way that made them stand out from each other, just a decent quality for life. A single mother sweating in the heat to keep her child safe by her side, counting the coppers in her purse to feed them both. Two in the morning would bring stoned people of philosophy who made me feel equal. The Petrol station dude they would say and them wanting munchies, and although I wasn’t supposed to let them in I always did because it didn’t make sense to stop them. Living a life in this shop. Maybe this was the reason she was firing me, so I asked her politely. She shouted louder still that I was incompetent and not suited for the company. “But why. I don’t understand?” She didn’t want me to understand, I could tell from her stance. She just wanted to be angry. She waved her finger close in front of my face and talked erratically about how she couldn’t run a business with people like me. I told her that I had no idea what she was talking about but her long angry finger just darted faster in front of my face. I had to move my head away from it because I was afraid she would pock me in the eye. She looked deeply at me; her big blue eyes somehow piercing the tension. “Get out of my shop” she bellowed, transforming herself into a tantrum.

John in his clumsy manner touched my arm and something turned inside me, that invasion of my body. That sensation of his hand against my arm, legitimizing this irrational scene and it just made me furious. It wasn’t legitimate; it was absurd. It was absurd that I was being treated like this. All I wanted to know was why she was sacking me. All I wanted to know was why I was incompetent, why she suddenly hated me so much. It seemed only reasonable to me, but she insisted on keeping quiet. Maybe she thought she was explaining, or maybe she was just too angry to remember, but even if she had told me this it would have been ok. At least I would understand why she wasn’t telling me. But she didn’t, she just shouted, pointing angrily and without purpose.

I insisted that I would apologize for what it was if only she would tell me. But she wouldn’t. And it made even angrier. I shouted at her and called her ridiculous, but this didn’t help. They demanded I leave the petrol station and I left, letting the swing door shut behind me, like the end of a good book it was finished. I was so angry that I had been treated like this. The fact I was sacked from my job wasn’t important, just the fact that she was being so unreasonable. I just wanted to know why. The more and more irrational she became the more and more I wanted her to realize what she was doing. But she wouldn’t listen. I understood that I had done something, but I liked her. I only wanted to understand her. I didn’t want to leave in such a way. I wanted her to like me. I didn’t want her to be so angry. I would have said sorry or done something to make things right, she just wouldn’t give me a chance. And it wasn’t even that, it was the fact that she wouldn’t explain her motives. She just shouted, as if I was far to stupid to comprehend what it was I had done. It made me question whether it was me who was being unreasonable. Should I not just have accepted I was incompetent? Maybe I was arrogant to insist she explain, but surely that isn’t the case. Surely taking away my job was deserving of an explanation. It seemed so illogical yet it was real. I walked home confused, dumbfounded by what had just happened. My Tuesday had fallen apart. And I never got to know why she fired me.

[RedAnarchist]

Scarlet tears trickle down his chest,
His breath laboured, his heart weak,
This man of modest greatness,
Of most heroic courage

He inspired the masses to rise
He gave them freedom through Communism,
And now he lies dying, murdered
By agents of the enemies of the people

This man is Che, Cuba&#39;s own revolution
He is a fighter and does not surrender easily,
He detests his murderers, and shouts defiantly
Shoot, coward&#33; You will only kill a man&#33;

Although in body he is dead,
He lives on in the hearts of the masses,
Always shall his ideas inspire, and even
When the Earth expires, Che lives&#33;

[Wenty]

Some of this poetry really is abominable.

[RedAnarchist]

If you need to criticize, at least do it constructively.

[che's long lost daughter]

Originally posted by [email protected] 21 2004, 12:18 PM
Some of this poetry really is abominable.
If you say some of this poetry is abominable then why don&#39;t you show yours and let us be the judge.

No one can criticize a poem except the poet himself.

[Wenty]

No one can criticize a poem except the poet himself

What a load of rubbish. You think the reason we revere such great poets such as wordsworth, keats, blake, shelley, coleridge, poe etc is because they thought they were good themselves? I don&#39;t think so at all, the reason we hold them up high is because so many people have read them and thought their work was worthy of this praise. They&#39;ve found so little to criticise in their poems.

[RedAnarchist]

The socialist flower is greeted by the sun
Which warms the delicate petals of deepest red
It lifts its head to be kissed by the sun
And washed by the rains

Its leaves are of emerald green
For the environment, for nature
Its petals are red for the people
And the people&#39;s revolution

[RedAnarchist]

Per sempre saremo liberi
Sotto la Bandiera Rossa di Comunismo,
Non fa mai ancora le forze di Regola di odio
Sopra noi

La vittoria sarà la certa
Vittoria sarà veloce che guideremo lontano il gatto grasso
E rovesceremo il monarca

La lotta su,
la mia Lotta di compagno finché vediamo che l&#39;utopia
Che non viveremo nella resa E noi non viverà
Nel cowardice

[Revolt!]

I didn&#39;t understand any of that, probably because this is an English speaking board, not Italian.

Heres &#39;Sonnet 33&#39; by Shakespeare. As far as I know its the only one recorded thats about his son who died at age 11.

Full many a glorious morning have I seen
Flatter the mountain-tops with sovereign eye,
Kissing with golden face the meadows green,
Gilding pale streams with heavenly alchemy;
Anon permit the basest clouds to ride
With ugly rack on his celestial face,
And from the forlorn world his visage hide,
Stealing unseen to west with this disgrace:
Even so my sun one early morn did shine
With all triumphant splendor on my brow;
But out, alack&#33; he was but one hour mine;
The region cloud hath mask&#39;d him from me now.
Yet him for this my love no whit disdaineth;
Suns of the world may stain when heaven&#39;s sun staineth.

[peaccenicked]

THE "FIND YOUR VOICE" RAP

"Do not despise the snake for having no horns for who is to say it will not become a dragon" (Ancient Chinese saying)


What do you say when you have no voice
what do you choose when you have little choice
When money talks and you&#39;ve next to none
What do you say when the day is done.

Do millions have to demonstrate
against poor laws made by the state
for will they listen, will they hell
war propaganda is their main sell

What do you do when you are feeling low
thinking Bush and BLiar just have to go
Every four years there is a vote
The Party needs funds, will sell your coat?

What can you do when it is a crime
that it costs too much for TV time
Only the rich can air their views
to tell us lies and distort the news

So tell the aged, tell the youth
have the courage to tell the truth
Point out their every bluff
Shout it out "enough&#39;s enough"

[Eastside Revolt]

Originally posted by The Anarchist Tension+Apr 20 2004, 01:50 PM--> (The Anarchist Tension @ Apr 20 2004, 01:50 PM)
[email protected] 10 2004, 08:31 PM
"Dime n Dash"

This dime piece
Inhale then exhale
Sai LaVee

This dime piece
Brother can you spare
Lassez Faire

This dime piece
Jesus you got it
Switch those hips

This dime piece
Numerical base
Amputee
I always hate reading poetry because it always makes me cringe with embarresment. Poetry is often not written very well, so when people take a subject which is pretty cheesy and then badly write about it in a form which makes words rhym with each other, it never really works. It just sounds pretentious, cringe worthy and, well, shit. Which a lot of poetry, not just in this thread, but in the entire world sounds like.

Except this one. No pretention, no desperate calls for some release from the woes of teenage angst, interesting. I liked it...it reminds me of Jack Kerouac&#33; [/b]
Why thank you Canadian boy.

[The Feral Underclass]

Fuck The Ditone

(spoken with a rythem you&#39;ll no doubt not get)

skepticism, Alturism, Cynicism, Objectivism
Is there anyone, Anywhere Whose stopped Masturbating their subjectivism
For a minute
And reviewed their written emtional egotism
What is this bullshit? You people speak
inside your hidden angst Of blackward
My God
Your so boring I wish I was dead
It would stop this absurdness This self critical obtuseness That somehow lives among the usless
My God
Do something Stop talking
Breathe and accept the pointlessness Of life
And get on with it
My God
You people suck So much
Fuck emtion,
Fuck the ditone
I could go on But I wont
So you will
My God
................Haven&#39;t you finished yet&#33;

[The Feral Underclass]

Originally posted by [email protected] 26 2004, 06:47 AM
Why thank you Canadian boy.
Canadian boy?

[The Feral Underclass]

make me cum again&#33;

Onomatopoeia makes me cum&#33;
Like the thousand year itch
Masquarading as her son
Dune
Face turned in some sand
And I roled around the backdarft Aisle
Pretending I had learnt
To walk
Listening to African drums
Luke warm and johnson
Carresed and lonesome
Tonight
That sound, that voice
Do you think i made it in
I doubt it, the guys a prick
But sometimes its new speak
Communist redwatch
Nazism Hopsctoch
With a brick in his face
Chestnut
Howcome I always end up with these men
Silk ironed like a Kerouac dream
On the road again in times of peace
Of coffee - night stand
Spiders,
Hide Us
In a washboard oven filled butter milk
fuck nut tart killer
my sandwitch filler fell into my heart again
men with a theme make me Onomat-opoeia&#33;

[RedAnarchist]

Where we cage the cappies
And argue amongst the reds
We wanna bring Fat Cats to their slimy knees
And post view after view in our lefty threads

This is a song of our forum
This is the song of Che-Lives
Here you dont need no decorum
This is the song of Che Lives

Here we have TAT Joe
Not one to be snail-like slow
Here we have MidnightMarauder
With his very dubious odour

The sitemaker is Malte
He ensures the site is never faulty
This is a song of our forum
This is the song of Che-Lives



ok, i know its not brilliant but i made it up as i went along

[Revolt!]

stop trying to rhyme all the time. Also, your verses are always 4 lines long. My advice to you is to let things go, the important thing in poetry is making it sound poetic. You can do that without rhyming and without a set structure to the stanzas.

[RedAnarchist]

i know, but my better non-rhyming poems dont seem to be being created in my head anymore. I used to spend ages almost every day writing poem after poem.

[Revolt!]

well its up to you. Personally i don&#39;t like reading all the far left poetry rhetoric either. Although i&#39;m a member of the far left i just prefer reading other poetry.

[che's long lost daughter]

I really like your first poem TAT. The second one is also pretty good. Someone should put some music in it and let that be the Che-lives theme.

[RedAnarchist]

The cry of the rebel screams through the valley,
His words of revolution are like the unruly wind,
Whistling through the trees
Prepared to die for his beliefs, he fights
Fights agaisnt the people who seek to destroy
The people&#39;s revolution
His hair a mass of jet
His eyes simple pools of blue
His aim is clear
To free the people
From the bloodied claws of Batista
The tyrant of Havana
This rebel went by the name of Che.

[Cobra]

Here’s my second poem. I wrote it for all the environmentalists on the forum.


Don’t Fuck With Mother Nature

Hit me with your axe
And cut down my forests
Take your explosives
And flatten my Mountains
Pollute my Rivers
And pollute my streams
I am your slave
Tell me your next command
Do you want to cut off my hand?
Sure go ahead… No&#33; Wait&#33;
This isn’t right
I’ll stand up and fight&#33;

At Bricks I Brawl&#33;

Into Lightning, I’ll turn
Shooting bolts at the corporate bosses
They will bake for dinner
For hungry squirrels to eat
That’s what you get
For fucking with Mother Nature

An Eye For An Eye&#33;

Who will be the next victim?
I know&#33;
Those bastard loggers
I’ve had enough of their shit
I turn into fire and burn them
I’m a blazing inferno
Burn little loggers, Burn&#33;
Ha Ha Ha,
What fun this is.

Justice For All&#33;

I’m a 10-magnitude earthquake
Ripping through the street
The skyscrapers collapse
Rubble at me feet
Rumble Rumble Rumble
Can you hear my sound?
Rumble Rumble Rumble
Shaking through the ground
Ssssssssssssssss… Boom&#33;
Broken gas lines explode
Cars rush down the road
As they run past
They spew toxic gas
They are not my friends
Now I get my revenge

There will be no escape&#33;

From the center of the globe
I’m an Iron Sphere below
Through the ground and into the air I rise
And pull in the metal flies
Metals in the air crash
As it hits my giant mass
Drivers flatten to my surface
Their cars have a new purpose

Come to me&#33;
All Metal Objects
Come to me&#33;

The objects come into focus
Like a colossal swarm of locust
People are turned to shreds
As metal soars through their heads
Cities are turned to bits
This is the apocalypse

This is what you get
For fucking with Mother Nature

[Revolt!]

XPhile - a much better poem than any others

Reminds me a bit of the carlos puebla song &#39;hasta siempre commandante&#39;:-

"We learned to love you
From historical heights
Were the sun of your courage
Put you close to death..."

[Palmares]

These are some poems I did last year.

The first is pretty general. About myself and existence. It still rings true.

The second and third were experiments. I just tried out some outlined structure.

The fourth was the political one. I&#39;m less political now. But in either case, I feel poetry should not be subjected to political connotations to the extent that it reduces the quality.

The fifth was about the girl I liked. She is now my ex. Thus bringing me back to my first poem. The irony.

Solitude

Solitude,
An empty room,
An empty house,
An empty neighbourhood,
An empty country,
An empty world,
An empty mind,
An empty heart,
An empty soul,

Solitude,
I am alone,
An empty room,
Its starves with a silent voice,
Its stillness challenges the calmest sea,
The room opens its mouth,
And the creek deafens like the scratch of a blackboard,
Through the opening,

Solitude,
I am alone,
An empty house,
Its children of rooms breathing in competition,
Their lungs gasping for air,
The air is thick with dust,
Which excretes from the skin of the house and its children,
Past the windowpane the eyelid of the house opens,
To an openness,

Solitude,
I am alone,
An empty neighbourhood,
The impregnated houses stand at attention,
These marching forces are perpetual statues,
Only the tar no-mans-land separates the dialectical foes,
The residential residue reviles in natures benevolence,
But from a distance the army is dwarfish,
And from a distance,

Solitude,
I am alone,
An empty country,
A painting of blotched colours,
Grey and black stains of the metropolis man,
Brown and green of the mother earth Gaea,
An appearance of stagnation,
But this weasel shifts stealthily as if not at all,
And its creator overshadows this mother of neighbourhoods,
From mother to creator,

Solitude,
I am alone,
An empty world,
Waves of silence,
Airwaves of silence,
Heatwaves of silence,
And earthly skin withers to dust,
But no matter,
For mind is over matter,

Solitude,
I am alone,
An empty mind,
The forgotten sea of ideas,
The remaining thoughts of a void,
Nothingness is numbness,
But the mind is not human without the heart,

Solitude,
I am alone,
An empty heart,
A friend is an acquaintance,
A love is a lie,
A lie is the pain,
Sadism or masochism,
Will the soul have salvation?

Solitude,
I am alone,
An empty soul,
But an empty soul is nothing at all,
But a meaning to life,
Ex nihilo nihil fit.


Altruism

Lo&#33; The care for another unselfish,
Shepherds sheltering young through the valley,
Lo&#33; The gift is the reward to relish,

Malevolence, our rival, is hellish,
Conscience, our weapon to mend the tally,
Lo&#33; The care for another unselfish,

Pain of cold-hearted suffering is reddish,
But red is the love of our kind alley,
Lo&#33; The gift is the reward to relish,

Those in need have many an empty dish,
Fight the weapon of the evil – gally,
Lo&#33; The care for another unselfish,

Evil ways and deeds we shall abolish,
Together with this task we will not dally,
Lo&#33; The gift is the reward to relish,

We give many a benevolent wish,
For the Altruist is always pally,
Lo&#33; The care for another unselfish,
Lo&#33; The gift is the reward to relish.


Philo

On one most beautiful day, I loved
A woman of the most wonderful fay,
In search for me she pushed and shoved,
But with cheek and gut I held them at bay,

At last she saw me, however, how my
defiance delicately denied her,
She recognised this game, a simple lie,
This heightened her haste, oh how I stir&#33;

Closer she came to touching my hand, lo&#33;
My hand is caught, escape I can no more,
The gift of her tenderness tingles so,
Hand in hand, together with love of yore,

No more of this material decline,
Guard the love of this ethereal rhyme.



‘Resistencia’

The symbol of the heart of the fire,
A clenched fist against the liar,
M1,
S11,
J19,
A16,
O20,
N30,
D6,
J14,
A20,

They are just dates,
But these letters and numbers relate,
Protest or a riot,
Peace or violence,
Cop or a Killer,

Banners, flags, gas masks, blockades, poisonous gases, batons, guns,
But take a closer look,
Stray bullets, dead bodies, blood, smashed glass, smouldering remains,
The meaning is something,
But the result and reply can be nothing,

For this marching band,
The goose-step is far too bland,
Lift a banner,
Throw a spanner,
Sticks and stones won’t break our bones,
Only the greed from your outstanding loans,

The pig says ‘Back&#33;’
But we a dog-like-matic,
We ain’t slack,
We condemned static,
Erratic,
And against them our somatic
can become hematic.

Bonita

Bonita,
Your hair,
Your face,
Your smile,
Your eyes,
Your love,

I look upon you with blinded eyes,
My dark eyes against your ethereal light,
Empty days now with meaning,
Your love is my life,
Is my love yours?

Your hair is like woven silk,
Your smile is a sunset,
Your eyes of blue steel pierce my heart,
Your love... is not yet mine,

In my dreams you are mine,
You are the wind against my hair,
You are the tears of my encrusted eyes,
You are the warmth of my cold heart,

Helen of Troy is nothing to me,
You are my &#39;belladonna&#39;,
You are my Bonita,
Will you be mine Bonita?



I want you to know that the dates in the fourth peom were on the right hand side of the page, as I can&#39;t put it there here. Also, &#39;Bonita&#39; from the last peom is roughly translated as pretty, or beautiful woman in Spanish. That&#39;s what the name means aswell.

Thank you.

[Wenty]

Lo&#33;

Keep using this word in every poem and you might become William Blake for good.

[The Feral Underclass]

when did you get so *****y&#33;&#33;&#33;

[Palmares]

Originally posted by [email protected] 7 2004, 01:10 AM

Lo&#33;

Keep using this word in every poem and you might become William Blake for good.
I used it so much in one of the poems for repetition. It obviously worked. And it was in only one poem.

[ÑóẊîöʼn]

I believe this is the one of the rare times I post poetry on this forum... I occasionally write poetry but it tends to turn out nasty and depressing.

Comments are most welcome on the following:

The Valley

Here you are then, my friend
Your quest is near it&#39;s end
The only thing between you and sweet freedom
Is the vast army of goons that stand against you

You wander down the valley floor
You see the great press ahead
Vertiginous walls of soil and stone
On either flank tower overhead

The horde sees you coming
A mighty roar arises
from a million bestial throats
You give off a scream of your own

They charge en masse
Raising a great cloud of dust
They&#39;ll kick your ass, unless
You face them head-to-head

You draw your weapon
Your trusty AK-47
Slot in the mag, cock and adjust
You&#39;re entering 7th Heaven.

They charge within range
you fix your bayonet,
Stand up, weapon to shoulder
And start spraying those morons with lead

The stoccatto of gunfire
is drowned out by the
thundering stampede of massed stupidity
They&#39;re nearly on you now&#33;

The blood rises within you
as you come to realise
you will not reload in time
that they must taste cold steel&#33;

As they sweep around and engulf you
you look into eyeless sockets
before spitting that face
And twisting the bayonet.

They are too many for one,
However valiant and brave
though you will die today
you&#39;ll do you best to make &#39;em pay

Eventually you tire
the waves of foes never ending
Your arms weaken, your gaurd drops
and you are fatally struck in the back.

Staggering around, losing blood
They continue battering you
As you become dizzy
you strike out weakly

Eventually you fall, your face in the dust
The victorious foe tramples your shell
As the light slowly fades from your eye
You can tell it was a good day to die.

[Wenty]

William Blake - The Schoolboy

I love to rise in a summer morn,
When the birds sing on every tree;
The distant huntsman winds his horn,
And the skylark sings with me:
O what sweet company&#33;

But to go to school in a summer morn, -
O it drives all joy away&#33;
Under a cruel eye outworn,
The little ones spend the day
In sighing and dismay.

Ah then at times I drooping sit,
And spend many an anxious hour;
Nor in my book can I take delight,
Nor sit in learning&#39;s bower,
Worn through with the dreary shower.

How can the bird that is born for joy
Sit in a cage and sing?
How can a child, when fears annoy,
But droop his tender wing,
And forget his youthful spring&#33;

O father and mother if buds are nipped,
And blossoms blown away;
And if the tender plants are stripped
Of their joy in the springing day,
By sorrow and care&#39;s dismay, -

How shall the summer arise in joy,
Or the summer fruits appear?
Or how shall we gather what griefs destroy,
Or bless the mellowing year,
When the blasts of winter appear?

Simple, effective, brilliant.

[RedAnarchist]

The sweetness of the birdsong
The gentle warmth of sunlight
This is our morning
Dawn of Communism

We burn money like a fat cat pig
We dispose of logos and brands
This is the end for them
Dusk of Capitalism

Communism wakes
Gently embracing the human race
And throwing off the workers chains
For this will be Communism&#39;s day

[RedAnarchist]

Dumb Capitalist
You cant see further than the skin
Dumb Capitalist
We see women, you see a sex object

Dumb Capitalist
To you, money is a diety
Dumb Capitalist
You see love only in heterosexuals

Dumb Capitalist,
You free advert for Coke and Reebok
Dumb Capitalist,
McDonalds sell heart attacks in a box

Dumb Capitalist,
You hate those who are not like you
Dumb Capitalist,
To you beauty is nothing but blonde hair

Dumb Capitalist,
Like a sheep you follow
Dumb Capitalist,
Like you i will never be

[Wenty]

Do you think capitalists make a conscious decision to be like this or is it a natural consequence of the nature of the economic theory? Personally i think capitalism is sort of the natural order of things, intrinsically linked to our human nature. I&#39;m unsure though, obviously it doesn&#39;t make it necessarily right. :marx:

[Ziggy]

Night Life
Lights flash, flicker, blink
Stores close
Sun’s last rays hit my face
Darkness replaces the light
Nightlife sets in
The underground crawls from the cracks
Drunks bar hopping
Ravers grooving
Streets empty, traffic gone
Sitting on a stoop
Watching from a distance
Sounds carried over the wind
Idle chat, music, quiet steps
Nightlife sets in
Time for breakfast
Head for the diner
Eat my eggs nurse my coffee
Add it to my tab step outside
Slowly walk home, flat 52 B
Sun rises over my shoulders
As the new day comes the nightlife ends
Back to the shadows until the night comes again

Ice Tea, Long Island Style Baby
Central neon glass is dark
Go smoke at celebrity boutique
Lest her liberty take the bagel
Guggenheim films restaurant apples perform Broadway
Take not Empire fashion but produce pretzel show star
Buy a bridge
A dog drinks the Harlem jazz
Sandwich days gone badly
Stop cold play pass
Ask subway, “Want to jog to Brooklyn?”

Prisoner of the Institution
Caged like an animal
Pacing back and forth back and forth
I somewhat recall
The outside
But that was long ago
The moments tick away
Gone forever… gone forever
Under the dark of night
I escape
Is… is this it?
Outside I’m actually free
But I hoped for more
Now I yearn for what I had before
Back in my cage
All my needs there for me
Always guaranteed
Nothing more, nothing less
Just an animal in a cage

[RedAnarchist]

Once there was a town named Capitalism,
And in it lived the greedy and the vain,
The town sat in a pool of wealth
And the populace were mere sheep

These people were the brainwashed
These people diid not think freely
They were machines
Fed on fast food and clothed in logos

Women there were mere housewifes
Slaving all through the day
Whilst the children were in school
Learning the American way

This town is now long gone
And good riddance i&#39;m glad to say
For this town was damned long ago
For its views they shall pay

[RedAnarchist]

Silence drowned the people
No action meant their end
No fighters for freedom
No speakers for justice

The people turned into sheep
Only there to serve and follow
Destroyed is the proleatriat
With no protest and no fight

Without Freedom we are only sheep
Capitalist shackles will not budge
We must fight agaisnt the pigs
And free the people fronm their iron fist

[scrap metal]

my stuff isn&#39;t very political....yet

A SONG FOR KATE[/SIZE]
Frightfully full
Of my apathetic wisdom
Knowing you care
And not batting an eye
You scream my name
And my heart goes out
But here I stay
And you’ll never come

I miss the days
When you would say
I love you babe
And I love you too
But now you stay
In your own town
Say you love him
And now what do I do?

What do I do
When you walk away?
Where do I run
When I’m stuck to my chair?

I busted
My ass to make it there
In time
To see you with him
Across the state
And in my heart
Your hate for me
Goes unrequited

What do I do
When you walk away?
Where do I run
When I’m stuck to my chair?

Another day goes by
Right out the window
Now your angry
Because I still love you
And I won’t pretend
I don’t
I Won’t pretend
I can’t


You say “we’re friends”
And I scream fuck that
You never said friend
When you were in my arms
And you never said
His name out loud
When you said to my face
“I love you too”

What do I do
When you walk away?
Where do I run
When I’m stuck to my chair?

Overloaded mind
Overdosed on apathy
Underwhelemd with guilt
For things I never did
Excuse me for being
The way you wanted me
I’m a waste
Of your life and time

I’m so sorry
I didn’t know
When you opened your heart
You weren’t looking for love
And now you wait for a spark
A little sign
I hope he knows
Loves’ not what you’re after

What do I do
When you walk away?
Where do I run
When I’m stuck to my chair?

Money doesn’t matter
Any more to me
When I have the thought
Of your words of love
Your eyes stare deep
But the hole in my soul
Can never be filled
By anyone but you


A picture of us
Hangs above my bed
And the thought of you
With him in my head
No sleep for the wicked
No rest
I’m jaded now
Star studded eyes

I said
I love you babe
And you said
“me too”
I never thought
Of what that meant
Until I knew
It meant nothing

IT MEANT NOTHING

What do I do
When you walk away?
Where do I run
When I’m stuck to my chair?

Busy busy
I’m so busy I’ve got no time for you
Sleazy sleazy
You say I’m sleazy for all the things I do
And now I’m stuck
Running in circles
Waiting for a spark
To make me change

Now you wait for him
Thinking love
I wish I knew
What I did wrong
When devotion and faith
Mean nothing to you
I’ve got nothing to give
More than my everything

What do I do
When you walk away?
Where do I run
When I’m stuck to my chair?

SPEAK HER NAME
The anger that boils in me
when I speak of events with friends
makes me want her gone
but the love I have
when I look into her eyes
makes me want to stay forever
and the sadness I have
when a kiss goes unkissed
makes me want to never return
and the solitude of the road
when my mind is spinning
makes me wonder why I&#39;m here
but the warmth of her skin
against my skin when we hug
makes me want to hold on
and the look in her eyes
when I make her laugh
makes me know
there is a God

(no name)
usted dijo mí que usted me adoró
entonces yo lo vi lo besando
usted nunca dijo que usted era mío
usted sólo dijo que era suyo
Sé que usted nunca lo quiso
pero usted nunca me quiso cualquiera
la ramera que usted me hizo mal
la ramera que usted me hizo mal

Yo nunca confiaré otro
hasta que el luego uno venga
usted realmente me jodió arriba
pero soy un tonto y yo lo sé
Yo nunca lo debo haber besado
Pero yo lo haría todo otra vez

I never need to have this
I never need to know
This feeling that’s inside me
I’ll never really let go

[SittingBull47]

Defeated and broken, the crystal bullet of omerta rattles my bones.
Defunct and de-loused, seperated by a wall of angst that sends shivers down the rivers of my personal Phlegethon.
Come again, transcontinental understanding and universal anathema have never been so far from my grasp.
Swimming in a sea of euphony, I have no choice but to wonder what will give me solace: Death or flight.
They can&#39;t both be right.

[pandora]

My lover walked away from me again

Laughing :P
I no longer know if it is him or the way the wind moves against the trees,

But I am dreaming,

again,

of blue rain, and imaginary flags&#33;
I hope he comes here and takes my picture,

Before I burst into flames.

Thank you for all the dogs,
The crooked streets,

the glimpse of home,

I can see now
and smell the animals, the refuse, the incense,
the food.
And I am spiritualized by it.

Every neutron is alive and pulsating,

With the light,
of your shadow,
of your fears,
of your pain,
it is no longer your prison,
it is no longer your shame,

It is my poetry.
I live through this.
But when, will you ever trust me again?

[che's long lost daughter]

Pandora, I really like your poem. I think it&#39;s very nice.

It&#39;s a good thing that there are still people who are keeping this thread alive.

[Eastside Revolt]

"My version of Slick Rick&#39;s Ladi Dadi"

Ladi dadi we likes to party
We don’t bug nobody though we might get rowdy
We’re just some men without a mic
And when we rollin’ on a joint you know we roll ’em tight
For all a y’all keepin’ y’all in health
So just chill a little while and enjoy yourself
Cause it’s cool when ya cause a cozy conditioning
That’s what it’s about and it’s our mission
So listen closely to what I say
Cause this kinda shit happens every single day
I woke up around ten o’clock in the morning
Looked outside and its raining and pouring
Went to the bathroom to throw up
When I was done upon the toilet I just looked up and said
Mirror mirror on the wall
Who is the weirdest of them all?
There was a rumble tumble, ten seconds it lasted
Then it said you are you freaky bastard
Well that’s true, no wonder that I have no beef
Didn’t even have a shower and I barely brushed my teeth
I have long scruffy hair and my skin is pale
Lookin’ like a drug addict coming fresh outta jail
I’m true to the style on my behalf
The tub is so dirty I can’t even take a bath
Dry, yet oily was my body and hair
I threw on my blood stained jockey underwear
For all the girls that I’ve tried to take home
I’ve got a big middle finger I raised on my own
What I possess is about ten bucks
I put on my hiking boots and my fly green socks
I walked out the door and I stopped quick, oh no
I wondered if I needed my weed, I guess so
Afterwards, I dilly dallied, gumped it through an ally
Bumped into this girlie named Cally from Lynn Valley
She was this rich ***** playing hard to get
So I said “what’s wrong” cause she looked upset
She said uh: “I wasn’t talking to you
I’m on the phone with my boo
He’s on his way
I’m waiting here cause it’s a rainy day
He’s moving keys
And you know that he’s a roid monkey
So get the fuck away from me&#33;”
Now how should I react
This ***** was talking shit, I might go get my bat&#33;
Her mom cut in before I could reply
She stepped up to me and then said “hi”
Smoked Cally in the face and dropped her to the side
Smiled at me and winked with one eye
I asked what was going on cause something must be wrong
She ignored me, and went on about how she wore a thong
She went on, and on, and on, and on, and on
The *****’s been around before my mother’s born
You could hardly even tell, cause she was so plastic
She had these sillicone-filled big bad tits
I stepped back and blew her a kiss
And said you can’t have me I’m too real for you miss&#33;
I ain’t no phony, go ask me mother
And with your plastic pussy I can’t be yer lover&#33;

[themessiah]

Calling this one LIPS. And I&#39;m not being rude or condescending, mocking, annoying, agitating, or anything to that effect.

The block is blue
And yellow too
And where are you
Where were you
All there was for
Me to do
But roll on up
And wait for you
Whoa, to my nag
Not too long, too too long
To lag
And the hair was dark
Like Joan
And I was struck
You came to me
In my zone
Parted your mouth
Whispered something silent and then
I felt it all happen once again
After all the year
All the years
You were there and I was gone
Wasn&#39;t wrong
To stay silent and play
Along
Long time it has been
For us to arrive
For us to begin

[The Feral Underclass]

Indulge the subjectivism

*vomits on the floor*

Where did the birds go?

Nothing else
Nothing between
The absurdities
The witch dreams
And candle teens
Licking each others
Wounded seams
It’s so hard to think
Of a place where
We don’t think
A place where
Nothing else
Between
Us
Or anything
Will teach us
Dark and scaring
Without your friends
Without the endless
No music
No love
No fashion worlds
Or ecstasy curls
No More longing
Or more Singing
Just emptiness
unconsciousness
A tomb of godliness
Existence
Of knowing
That one day
In the sky
The birds won’t fly
Anymore

Condemened

Strawberry milkshake flavoured biscuits
Summer morning sunrise beatnik
Looser drinking in a park
Ice cream and chocolate bars
Fucking in the darkness
Breathing the view top madness
Absurd messes, conversation stoppers
Poppers in a nightclub
Dragon walls
And chemical falls
Flower smells
And soul searching melts
A gang of preachers
Philosophy teachers
And loving one another
We have it all
Existence Jean-Paul
This is what we never asked for
“We are condemned to be free”
So live it
I’ll follow you
And you can dream with me
Take it all in
Sea and air and penguins
What&#33;?
Ridiculous things we have
In this world
A bird which cannot fly
Like a consciousness which will always die
Forever
Just isn’t long enough.

[The Feral Underclass]

Nostalgia

I remember those days,
Sheffield a-blaze with boys
And girls, so free and right.
We enjoyed our innocence
Giving a finger to dominance
Naively sucking at life,
Tight, inside each other.
We burnt our bridges
In the soft sun drawl,
Summer dreams
And city hall,
Steps to enlightenment
Refinement in a day.
Dancing to an alternative beat
In the heat of degenerate fuel euphoria,
Hay role
And paranoia.
I told it to myself,
I didn’t want to get older
I wanted to keep the moment
Wanting to remember you did,
Sarcasm in a bed
Created with a thread,
She said.
"We all change&#33;"
And engage the pointlessness,
Hopelessness.
Embrace the failure
And it&#39;ll never end
Those times I was young,
And the world turned
On an axis
For me,
You see.
And Hold me up high
So you can tell me I won’t die.
And forget the beauty and braveness
The loyalty and brilliance
Of the people I&#39;ve existed my time with.

[pandora]

Revolutionary Love & Social Justice

There were so many dark things,
In the night.
Too many to count.
So I walked over them until I found my bed,
And then came the light.

There was so many dreams we once had
Storms, fire, revolution,
& love,
always love,
as if it were it&#39;s own revoltionary pedagogy,
that could take on the world&#33;

But now look at us,
drifting apart like boats on a motionless sea
I reach for you, but you are adrift from me,
I can not remember your true name.
In its dark tongue;
Although I still can remember your face,
Your eyes, your hair.

Waking in the morning light,
I remember.
So many dreams,
Too many.
To stop the violence in this world,
of poverty and lies.

But most of all,
I remember your heart,
beating with mine,
As I cross into a distant land,
This and the blessings of love,
Are my only protection.

[Zmal]

You order death from continents away
From behind a desk and without a thought
And innocents die for your greed and dreams
Of relection and a place in history
Without reason or just cause you kill
Taking life to satisfy your greed

Then, in front of cameras and bright lights
And behind a plastic smile, you justify each unjust murder
Cloaking the ignorance rooted in your mind
With a flag of stars and stripes
And the brainwashed masses swallow your lies
With a blank stare and smile they ask for more

But soon your day will come small man
Soon your rhetoric will fall on deaf ears
And you will be punished for your heinous crimes
For each life you end
A brainwashed mind breaks free

[themessiah]

hey I know who that poem is about - Bush, right? RIGHT&#33;?

[Wenty]

i sure am getting tired of some of these poems which sound awfully similar. They all have the same theme and aren&#39;t very good.

[The Feral Underclass]

Originally posted by [email protected] 29 2004, 03:22 PM
i sure am getting tired of some of these poems which sound awfully similar. They all have the same theme and aren&#39;t very good.
Would you care to be more specific. Which poems and why?

[che's long lost daughter]

Originally posted by [email protected] 29 2004, 01:22 PM
i sure am getting tired of some of these poems which sound awfully similar. They all have the same theme and aren&#39;t very good.
Then don&#39;t read them. Have you ever posted your poetry here if you ever make poetry at all. Let us all see if we can also say the same thing about your works.

[Eastside Revolt]

Originally posted by [email protected] 29 2004, 01:22 PM
i sure am getting tired of some of these poems which sound awfully similar.
That&#39;s why I postsed the Ladi Dadi

[Zmal]

Originally posted by [email protected] 29 2004, 01:22 PM
i sure am getting tired of some of these poems which sound awfully similar. They all have the same theme and aren&#39;t very good.
If your refering to mine then I fully accept the lameness of it and how cliche it is. I just figured Id do my best.

[Chad King]

Ill post the stuff Ive read while traveling a little at bars around the South East coast of the States...

A pseudo-haiku I throw in for kicks...

It looked good
I wanted to try it
I am consumer whore

Mandie
Once in a person&#39;s life
they will find another
who defines every other
and defines all the others
who will make one heart fly
and all the others die
I had such a girl
The girl, who crashed into my life in the middle of some grungy drunken coke based binge
The girl, that captured me in the middle of such a night with high aspirations attached to some silvery wings and who descended from the heavens itself
The girl, who instilled hope, a bringer of a future to lost children outside her angelic aura of infulence and brought good to the chaos that was life
The girl, who, with style and grace, skipped into my life and pulled me into hers within seconds, holding true to a love at first sight
The girl, who, for months after months, was my life and thanks to a night similar to how we met, soon became the end of my life for months after months
The girl, so reckless, I should have seen it coming but should I have seen it coming why wait to see what could be coming
The girl that I should have expected all to fail for all is embraced with a mortality, even an undying love
The girl... the girl that sent me into myself and who fully justified suicide in my mind
The same girl who made me realize the pen is indeed mightier than the sword and sent my soul into the world of spoken word and from the bottom of my almost empty heart, I thank you Mandie.

Idiot
Sitting around some art fag coffeeshop
plastically enjoying the company of those I should enjoy
I didnt know a simple trip to the bathroom would set off this bitter taste, a bitter taste towards fellow art types who find it humorous to leave idiotic written statements spit forth from an idiotic mindset developed by the idiot itself trying, in an idiotic manner, to "express" themselves
The coffeeshop, with its idiot name run by idiots who have some idiotic anti-Starbucks, pro-art mindset allowing for the populace to run free and spread its idiocy by posting ever priced shit art for idiots everywhere to consume
My perception screams blasphemy as I bitterly sip an absolute shit cup of tea
I despise artists and the mindest that follows with the mentality of "Im an artist, look at me, I am free"
Do you fucking understand the word modesty, or is that somehow not in your "intellectual" vocabulary?
Free from what, who in the hell did you battle
Fuck, I need a cigarette... ha&#33; it appears most artist types do, so do fucking tell exactly how free are you?
Sitting around, playing guitar, proving how much of an idiot you really are, reading/writing poetry screaming "I am pretty" and aiming to get laid because youre too damn afraid to do it on your own time
And right now before me, I see a crowd of people, waiting for some cute soft touch of mind blowing art, but instead get stuck to listening to idiots rant about overly dramatic bullshit plauging their lives before them, and when the idiot is done, you mindlessly start clapping or doing that idiotic "snapping" thing that idiot poets do to respect a fellow idiot, for youre too afraid to tell the idiot how untalented they really are.
Call me bitter, call me crazy, but youre be disgruntled if you were stuck in a world I stick myself in
for I am Chad King. I am poet. I am idiot.

Bowling for Moore

So hows it feel, Mr. Moore
being a symbol of strength
to the pseudo-revolutionaries everywhere
in your overweight world of large houses,
fast cars, over-priced meals and lounge acts
to those who love you.
I never knew one who stood for something so social
could be so capital in their false
and hypocritical lie
You think your voice does a damn thing
you think your inability to to be blunt is helping
you think your cute idealism is doing a damn thing for this country
do you honestly think you are bettering us as a people
influencing our lives to lie is the only thing I see flying here
Mr. Moore, return to the hole of Flynt, MI where you came from from, dont worry, Rodger loves you as much as he does everyone else, dont worry, youre nothing speical
Mr. Moore, I am addressing you, if you can dish it out Im damn sure you can take it
Mr. Moore, Im begging that you dont make up some Awful Truth about small time poets actually trying to influence people as you fail to
Mr. Moore, Im also begging your response is something more serious and powerful than sending a group of super models to my front door
Mr. Moore, do you really hate the Corporate Americans that gave you birth, feed your pathetic flame and let you live your life
Mr. Moore, do you understand Corporations built our society and gave you the chance to openly *****, for youre on TV, one of the largest markets in America
Mr. Moore, I am addressing you and please forgive my bias, for I am having to bring myself down to a biased childish mindset to prove my point, which is very similar to the addressee
Mr. Moore, I ask nicely you step aside and let real men handle the reigns of social takeover, for youre not quite making the cut by not making points
Mr. Moore, I am done addressing you, feel free to return to materialism
Mr. Moore, I have used my freedom of speech as you have that has been so graciously given to us as a people

[Wenty]

Would you care to be more specific. Which poems and why?

All the ones about Capitalism, Bush etc. Same tone, same rhetoric and no originality. Thats the harsh truth I&#39;m afraid, lets not shy away from criticism.

[themessiah]

wenty:

thats a very callous comment to make. and even if I were to agree with you, I would never stifle someone who has the guts to post something in a poetic format. isn&#39;t writing poetry a crime these days? unless your&#39;re working for a greeting card company

chad king:

nice work. like your stuff. your repitition is right on. thought mandie was spelt mandy, eh?

[Hate Is Art]

here&#39;s a couple of poems i&#39;ve just written

~~
Maybe the glory in smoke, dring and drugs is the very though of destorying,
Abusing the body which supported you through the times when you wanted to give in.
Maybe the glory comes from the numbness and wanting to forget,
That everyday the regular shit that comes along
Maybe I want to drink myself blind so that I can&#39;t see this fucking misery
A scared little self-abusers guide to a painless suicide.
~~
Black and white dots for eyes
They blur with the pain of never being able to see you
Withered claws for legs
Too rough and painful from never being able to hold you
We&#39;re all doomed to fall in love with our best friends
We&#39;re all doomed to fail from the start
We can never make ammends
We&#39;re all doomed to become on of them
~~
Purity comes as purity seeks
My favourite life re-developed mid-week
Empty promises made by dead heroes

Set up before the burns of freedom become chains of change
Reform is a backwards glance
Revolution only needs a spark a chance
~~

[The Feral Underclass]

Originally posted by [email protected] 30 2004, 01:14 PM

Would you care to be more specific. Which poems and why?

All the ones about Capitalism, Bush etc. Same tone, same rhetoric and no originality. Thats the harsh truth I&#39;m afraid, lets not shy away from criticism.
I&#39;d very much like you to take your ice tongue to my poems if you would do me the honour.

[Hate Is Art]

Onomatopoeia makes me cum&#33;
Like the thousand year itch
Masquarading as her son
Dune
Face turned in some sand
And I roled around the backdarft Aisle
Pretending I had learnt
To walk
Listening to African drums
Luke warm and johnson
Carresed and lonesome
Tonight
That sound, that voice
Do you think i made it in
I doubt it, the guys a prick
But sometimes its new speak
Communist redwatch
Nazism Hopsctoch
With a brick in his face
Chestnut
Howcome I always end up with these men
Silk ironed like a Kerouac dream
On the road again in times of peace
Of coffee - night stand
Spiders,
Hide Us
In a washboard oven filled butter milk
fuck nut tart killer
my sandwitch filler fell into my heart again
men with a theme make me Onomat-opoeia&#33;


Let&#39;s take a Pedantic and cynical toungue to this one


Onomatopoeia makes me cum&#33;
Like the thousand year itch
Masquarading as her son


Oki, this could make sense if I was Tracy Emin or on drugs?
How do itch&#39;s masquarade as her son? And I know your a strange little idealist but onomatopeaia don&#39;t really hold a lot of sexual value&#33;


Pretending I had learnt
To walk


Pretending you learnt to walk? I&#39;d like to see a video of that one


johnson
Carresed and lonesome
Tonight


We all like to caress our Johnson&#39;s but no one else includes them in poems, if you released this in America on of those crazy nut-job soccer "moms" would be over right away&#33;&#33;


In a washboard oven filled butter milk
fuck nut tart killer
my sandwitch filler fell into my heart again
men with a theme make me Onomat-opoeia&#33;


It&#39;s clear that Joe has been have strange Hansel and Grettel Fantasys again, something about some nut tart in an oven filled with butter milk? Sounds a bit strange&#33;&#33;

How exactly did you sandwich filler fall into your heart? And how on earth did it happen again??&#33;&#33;&#33;?? Maybe you should seek some help&#33;&#33;

Anyways I do actually like your peom, possibly just the sounds of it all (reference to onomatopeia) and something to do with your time in Africa is clear enough, a nice poem though&#33;

Good Work Comrade&#33;

[Wenty]

I&#39;d very much like you to take your ice tongue to my poems if you would do me the honour.

My opinion should be held in just the same regards as anyone else. Whats the point of going through the perfunctory compliments about poems that aren&#39;t very good. Surely by saying so we&#39;re in fact helping the person become a better poet rather than staying as a bad one.

Also, I think DN has analysed enough&#33;


Have you ever posted your poetry here if you ever make poetry at all. Let us all see if we can also say the same thing about your works

I think i&#39;ve made enough icy comments for me to ensure anything i would ever post never got a fair analyse. Besides, you should go to a place such as http://www.zoetrope.com if you want something proper.

[Zmal]

"Pain is weakness leaving the body"
A friend of mine told me that
Where he heard it I do not know
I joke about it often
"Pain is weakness replacing weakness"
I dont know
All I know is that at times
It takes a lot of strength
To let the weakness leave
But if you let the pain get the best of you
And you let yourself colapse and give up
Youll never stand again


My second attempt in this thread. Rip it apart please.

[pandora]

How does one reply
How does one reply,
To soliqueys justifying ignorance,
Replete with a lack of mysticism,
Catering to misogynisic trite.

Does one simply say "enff,"
"Ya Basta&#33;"
"Be Still&#33;"
or does one fight?

I am tired of this,
Different masculine and feminine perceptions
Ending in toil drenched war-fare,
Conceptions of duality as supreme.

I want to be where the world is supreme.
White walls, red dreams,
Where the darkness meets the sea,
And there is no ignorance.

Where my own mental darkness lifts,
Sun streams through the trees,
The fog of desperation lessens,
& there is peace.

War ends, poor children no longer bare the pain of the rich,
How does pain leave a childs body?
A whisper, a cry, a mother&#39;s touch.

I dream of a universe in which,
There is no more patriarchal suppression,
Of every thought,
Every dream.

Where all can finally be free,
To dance between the olive trees,
Under a cresent moon,
Laughing, we forget ourselves,
For a while.

[I&#39;m sure it&#39;s too feminine for some, that I should write some drunken ignorance to make others happy, but I can not do it, even though I have seen so much, my mind seeks beauty instead of filth, perhaps the frat boys delight in such things because they haven&#39;t seen as much trauma.]

To the young man drinking himself to death for want of Mandie or did she just open the wounds? Welcome here, try to find some hope, dying from liver failure is one of the most painful ways to die, all the toxins build up in your body, transplants are hard to get and often involve the mysterious death of orphans in third world countries, so be a dear a go a bit more lightly on the bottle,
from a Bukowski fan.

[Chad King]

Originally posted by [email protected] 30 2004, 02:22 PM
thought mandie was spelt mandy, eh?
Nope, her name is spelled Mandie... I laughed once I finally came out of myself and realized I should have maybe seen it coming, with a girl too good to be true named Man Die... oh well...

[The Feral Underclass]

Originally posted by [email protected] 31 2004, 01:16 AM
My opinion should be held in just the same regards as anyone else. Whats the point of going through the perfunctory compliments about poems that aren&#39;t very good.
I asked you because you appeared bothered enough to give it. I wasn&#39;t asking for compliments, I was asking you to give your opinion. This is a message board, where opinions are the point. You had stated yours to others...why am I even explaining this to you...surely the reason I asked you is obvious&#33;


Surely by saying so we&#39;re in fact helping the person become a better poet rather than staying as a bad one.

I really dont see the point in why you are telling me that. If you&#39;re refering to me, as of yet, you havent demonstrated why i am a bad poet, not that I think there is a way to be a good poet, its all subjective anyway. If you&#39;re not refering to me, why are you defending your position to me, I wasnt attacking you.


Also, I think DN has analysed enough&#33;

DN is a small boy who has an infatuation with a young trot he&#39;s never met, who&#39;s balls havent dropped and has never seen a pair of tits except for the ones he attempts to masturbate too, on late night television. His opinion is inconsequential (For you DN (http://dictionary.reference.com/search?q=Inconsequential)). That&#39;s why I didnt ask for it.

[The Feral Underclass]

Originally posted by Digital [email protected] 30 2004, 11:04 PM
And I know your a strange little idealist but onomatopeaia don&#39;t really hold a lot of sexual value&#33;
Maybe it means something else :o


We all like to caress our Johnson&#39;s but no one else includes them in poems, if you released this in America on of those crazy nut-job soccer "moms" would be over right away&#33;&#33;

The reference isnt to my penis.


It&#39;s clear that Joe has been have strange Hansel and Grettel Fantasys again, something about some nut tart in an oven filled with butter milk? Sounds a bit strange&#33;&#33;

Good&#33;


How exactly did you sandwich filler fall into your heart? And how on earth did it happen again??&#33;&#33;&#33;?? Maybe you should seek some help&#33;&#33;

Don&#39;t you have something better to do than follow me around threads being an idiot.


Good Work Comrade&#33;

You&#39;re not my comrade.

[Wenty]

I really dont see the point in why you are telling me that. If you&#39;re refering to me, as of yet, you havent demonstrated why i am a bad poet, not that I think there is a way to be a good poet, its all subjective anyway. If you&#39;re not refering to me, why are you defending your position to me, I wasnt attacking you.

I was more replying to what &#39;themessiah&#39; (or hazard&#33;) said. sorry.

[Hate Is Art]

DN is a small boy who has an infatuation with a young trot he&#39;s never met, who&#39;s balls havent dropped and has never seen a pair of tits except for the ones he attempts to masturbate too, on late night television. His opinion is inconsequential. That&#39;s why I didnt ask for it.

Which young trot am I infatuated with? The person i&#39;m infatuated with isn&#39;t even remotly political. I can&#39;t really help being young can I? Sorry for not being born a couple of years earlier&#33;


Don&#39;t you have something better to do than follow me around threads being an idiot.


Nope, don&#39;t have you have a real life to lead, being grown up and everything&#33;


You&#39;re not my comrade.

Sorry for being nice, I guess I won&#39;t try that again&#33;

[themessiah]

enough insults

more poems

this is called CONVERSION TRACK

made the upgrade underground
didn&#39;t hear a sound
like the tapping
of those
you wore
not blunt, but sharp
created to puncture and I cringe
and hide away
over the shoulder once and fast
at last
comparing the angles as lost I become
must be someone
bee stung
is the thought that echos
underground
without made did this sound
make or
did it make
and got I was told
when maybe a little more bold
did I become
to check
as the long and even
locks were as perfectly placed as every strand
familiar later when to the archives
I found
now about to unwind
and then I will have unwound

the old checkered static
like an image
of you, the sad teasing smile
been a while
you, and your guile

[Zmal]

An american soldier walks a foreign road
A visitor in a foreign country
But not a guest
He does what he is told
Without thought or question
In his eyes he is a liberator
A soldier of right
A warrior of good
He is young and idealistic
Just like the rest of the men in his squad
They patrol the hot highway
Baking alive under the bright sun

Five miles down the road
An ancient pickup plods along
A determined look is cemented on the drivers face
In the back sit six young men
The same look graces their faces
Its the look of defiant anger
They know they are right
They know the Americans are wrong
They know they must kill
And they know they must die
Their homes have been wrecked
Their lives destroyed
So now they sit in this truck
Speeding down this highway
Hands tightly gripping their rifles

Only a mile seperates these young warriors now
In a few minutes shots will ring out
Breaking the silence of the morning
And men will bleed and scream and die
They will never question why they fight
They know the other man is their enemy
But what the do not know is that they are not so different
In reality nothing but culture seperates them
They are victims of circumstance
Victims of old men in roomy offices
Victims of old men in caves and dirt houses
They will never know
That in death we are all the same

[themessiah]

calling this BEHIND SCHEDULE

had to get my rap
to pay the price
while, all the while, turned and out again twice
thrice
a lean
and behind dark sunglassess, I wanna be
spinning
like you spin
on a rotissierie
and not funny when the brakes
cause thats them
are slammed and I dig and I burn
in the back of my
and you turn
and you lean
and you half cover your mouth
and you laugh
and you beam
like in a vision, like in a dream
your eyes are focused skyward
toward
the screen that gives me targets to attack
what word was that?
why do I put up with this?
but there you are beside me
we kiss
and you hold me
and we both fall deeply
and together we say finally
better there has not been one
and then it was done
still though you said not to mope
once more to conclude and to cope
not granted
and away while speakers
chanted
don&#39;t really know
and only know
but when
just the same

[Palmares]

Originally posted by The Anarchist [email protected] 31 2004, 05:57 PM
I really dont see the point in why you are telling me that. If you&#39;re refering to me, as of yet, you havent demonstrated why i am a bad poet, not that I think there is a way to be a good poet, its all subjective anyway. If you&#39;re not refering to me, why are you defending your position to me, I wasnt attacking you.

Writing (which includes poetry) is a form of art. It is imaginative, conceptual, and subjective. Judging the structure, flow, imagery, etc of writing and poetry is like judging the aesthetics of fine art: it is subjective. It is firstly judged upon the forms already present in the given field. Outlandish attempts can be &#39;good&#39; though, as a revolutionary step, like Picasso and Cubism.

If you really want to writing to be &#39;good&#39; without others using the forms writing being used to judge it, perhaps you should try surrealist writing. I&#39;m not implying it is &#39;bad&#39;, but some think it is complete rubbish.

This is an infamous poem (what do you think - especially Anarchist Tension?):

The Tay Bridge Disaster

Beautiful Railway Bridge of the Silv&#39;ry Tay&#33;
Alas&#33; I am very sorry to say
That ninety lives have been taken away
On the last Sabbath day of 1879,
Which will be remember&#39;d for a very long time.

&#39;Twas about seven o&#39;clock at night,
And the wind it blew with all its might,
And the rain came pouring down,
And the dark clods seem&#39;d to frown,
And the Demon of the air seem&#39;d to say-
"I&#39;ll blow down the Bridge of Tay."


When the train left Edinburgh
The passengers&#39; hearts were light and felt no sorrow,
But Boreas blew a terrific gale,
Which made their hearts for to quail,
And many of the passengers with fear did say-
"I hope God will send us safe across the Bridge of Tay."


But when the train came near to Wormit Bay,
Boreas he did loud and angry bray,
And shook the central girders of the Bridge of Tay
On the last Sabbath day of 1879,
Which will be remember&#39;d for a very long time.


So the train sped on with all its might,
And Bonnie Dundee soon hove in sught,
And the passengers&#39; hearts felt light,
Thinking they would enjoy themselves on the New Year,
With their friends at home they lov&#39;d most dear,
And wish them all a happy New Year.


So the train mov&#39;d slowly along the Bridge of Tay,
Until it was about midway,
Then the central girders with a crash gave way,
And down went the train and passengers into the Tay&#33;
The Storm Fiend did loudly bray,
Because ninety lives had been taken away,
On the last Sabbath day of 1879,
Which will be remember&#39;d for a very long time.


As soon as the catastrophe came to be known
The alarm from mouth to mouth was blown,
And the cry rang out all o&#39;er the town,
Good Heavens&#33; the Tay Bridge is blown down,
And a passenger train from Edinburgh,
Which fill&#39;d all the peoples hearts with sorrow,
And made them for to turn pale,
Because none of the passengers were sav&#39;d to tell the tale
How the disaster happen&#39;d on the last Sabbath day of 1879,
Which will be remember&#39;d for a very long time.


It must have been an awful sight,
To witness in the dusky moonlight,
While the Storm Fiend did laugh, and angry did bray,
Along the Railway Bridge of the Silv&#39;ry Tay,
Oh&#33; ill-fated Bridge of thSilv&#39;ry Tay,
I must now conclude my lay
By telling the world fearlessly without the least dismay,
That your central girders would not have given way,
At least many sensible men do say,
Had they been supported on each side with buttresses,
At least many sensible men confesses,
For the stronger we our houses do build,
The less chance we have of being killed.

- By William Topaz McGonagall

I do believe in subjectivity but not absolutely, and I also believe in agreement (that is, in tastes - art, poetry, etc).

[The Feral Underclass]

I dont know why you told me that Cthenthar because that&#39;s exactly what i was saying...

and you are misquoting sartre...

"Man is condemned to be free; because once thrown into the world, he is responsible for everything he does"

[themessiah]

BELIEF

a pass
meaning whatever the hell
thoughts I to myself
swell
a wait, never waited so long
sinking in a wooden chair until I am a puddle and then
a check
written on paper
another mystery
another caper
what I am
to you
what I am
to be
what I am
to decipher
and then I drop the letter, second
I believe
and then I look into your eyes
I believe
and then you apologize
I believe
then you race my mind, for what
counting to three
finally
no running
and for later
when a day long time span does pass
after avoiding such a crash
the comparisons arrive
point one and directive, angle made, approach vector certain
statement issued, undertone commence
fortnight span on issuance
same
point two and directive, angle altered, locked
contact and tone, motion
same
and then into the central cortex
real, right?
on sight
and all fright
enters into me at once
its all the same

the same
so plain

wracked and weak and I speak
no more
what can I do what must
it is too late
I trust
where I am now
where I have been
where you want me to be
digital encoded statements
you told me to write
vows
and the names exchange

once more you lean across me

once more you tap your finger

[Palmares]

Originally posted by The Anarchist [email protected] 3 2004, 10:16 PM
I dont know why you told me that Cthenthar because that&#39;s exactly what i was saying...

and you are misquoting sartre...

"Man is condemned to be free; because once thrown into the world, he is responsible for everything he does"
You may be right. I haven&#39;t read his stuff for a while. I do swear seeing the quote "We are condemned to be free" in two different novels/plays of his though. For now I will say you are right, but I&#39;ll check those Sartre works later maybe.

Back to the poetry point, I said what I said because you don&#39;t believe there is such a thing as a &#39;good&#39; (or for that matter &#39;bad&#39;) poet. So I was saying based on the stuff I replied, other people do believe there is such a thing. It makes me think of a idea of Sartre of which he said an idea is no longer your&#39;s when it leaves your mind (e.g. if you write it down, say it, etc - others can copy it, change it, corrupt it, etc).

When it comes down to it, if you reject what others say about your poem (if they say anything), why not keep it to yourself since you presumably only accept your own view (or at least since no view is more important than the other, why bother, or maybe selfishness favours your own view)?

Personally, I&#39;m pissed off almost noone said anything about my poems&#33; Except the lo&#33; thing. But I justified it, though I admit it is probably the least best of those poems (despite a friend of mine thinking it was the best&#33;).

[themessiah]

am sleepy

will call this DREAM

in it you are there
still
your hair
is still
the way it was when
first I saw it
when was that?

was it at the bar
not the one
from a far
but near
in
but I halt on
this thought

not then

in a room after an attack
a run
to avoid a pun
you look at me, cold
I look away, no need to get bold
to your waist
and I await
a taste

maybe not then

at a show
when you stood
as you said you would
and you asked me what if that was all
and you pained me
you made your call
magically we both thought
though
I saw and though I remember
only you can tell me for sure

possibly then, but then

early when I was in bunker mode
all I needed
and in place
and you revealed yourself
always in my head space
and then I did have to run
to you
as beneath the set sun
the path laid
to you first
and paid
I might have been
you looked familiar
soft
quiet
and beautiful
and if only then I did know

do I know?

[Kurai Tsuki]

~The Rain~

The sun looms over Terra like a tyrant
He attracts us with the promise of warmth and farming
Then he oppresses us with extreme heat and piercing rays
Not a single living thing can escape his grasp

O&#39; Rain, where are you?
Why do you allow the sun to bruitilize me in this way?
Why do you not come to bring me a bit of relief on this day?
Why do you not come so that i might be uplifted by you

I would love you in any form
Whether you would choose to manifest as a majestic storm
Motivating me with your righteous claps of thunder,
Or simply as a light rain to soothe the earth

You are never given the appreciation that you deserve
We build objects to prevent your merciful touch,
When we should allow ourselves to be embraced by you
And those who would walk among you are then scolded by the Sun&#39;s pawns

I evoke you on this day
Hover above Terra and send your love down upon us
Ignore those who hate you and send yourself to your admirers
Make this day wonderful for those of us who enjoy your presence.

[Wenty]

Within me, but never without:
the dull longing that&#39;s a necessity.
Nothing ever gets resolved,
But, merely keeps going.
The feeling stays the same
Indeliable and coarse,
within me, but never out.

[Hate Is Art]

KoKa-Kola

Small little hole, petty little existance,
80% improved goal, unions persistance
Forced stealing life
But theres nothing to give
So how can we get anymore
Children Don&#39;t Sing
Children Don&#39;t Play
Anymore.

[RedAnarchist]

Your tongue of hatred wags as you
Spew out the hated lies
Even your soul&#39;s windows
Are covering up your truth

Your heart is black as death
Encased in a cage of thorns
And your so-called life
Is a mission to destroy

Spare me your gory life story
You symbolise the darkness
You serve in your mortal state
Forever you will be the same

[themessiah]

I&#39;ve never read so many bad poems at once.

Keep it up&#33;

[The Feral Underclass]

Originally posted by [email protected] 11 2004, 09:17 AM
I&#39;ve never read so many bad poems at once.

Keep it up&#33;
I thought you said it was bad to slag peoples poetry off?

[Hate Is Art]

Your&#39;s are hardly that great Messiah&#33; I made the one up on the spot so it is hardly that great&#33;

[themessiah]

I wasn&#39;t being sarcastic

[themessiah]

am gonna call this poem STRINGS

for as long as I have been able
to walk
without the assistance of a cane
without needing to hurry
or strain
I have been capable
as is the story of the wind
the hurricane
with the force to conjure
to control
to be consenting and consistent
constituent, confident and content
with a pick
I strum
with a tongue
I hum
together
and then a pull
and somwhere you whisper
don&#39;t make me prove it
and you bring me close
a little closer
and I don&#39;t hear you
I don&#39;t see you
I do not know you
there is only I
and I
let it fall
to the ground
depress the button
and then a click
rewind
with only the memory and I need now hurry
to convert and contest
override and set the command
understand

[themessiah]

start posting your poems again

I don&#39;t want to be the only one spinning this tripe bull

[che's long lost daughter]

Originally posted by [email protected] 20 2004, 02:11 PM
start posting your poems again

I don&#39;t want to be the only one spinning this tripe bull
Don&#39;t worry, saviour, i&#39;ll be coming up with a new poem soon

[Hate Is Art]

Somethings allways mean more
Days out but there&#39;s no door
These things mean the most
This day meant the most

Without any meaning Wednesday
Child all you want to do is play
Without any hope Saturday
If I could touch your face

Somethings allways mean less
Who cares that you don&#39;t wear a dress?
Some things mean nothing at all
Like Love means nothing at all

[themessiah]

will call this one High Way

on faith
alone I think to myself
quietly and out loud
to the front
on orders
while on all of my borders
I am unable to think
of where
or how I got there
bound, in a binder
with precision I place
a sequence of dots
to spell
out a word
was it written by who spelt it
or by an unseen hand
close behind

the teacher who taught the alphabet
the preacher who brought the book
the soldier who fought the war
the driver who forgot how long it took

but by the board
we still play tic tac toe
and so
tell me when
and then we&#39;ll go

[Kurai Tsuki]

Darkness, you are both a veil and a portal.
You conceal yet bring us closer to the unseen.
For when I stare into your void,
I wonder whether anything stares back at me.

I wonder as I lay awake,
What you must hide in your domain,
What denizens you host behind your veil,
And what they think of me?

I am receptive yet fearful in your ether,
As I ponder what looks upon me.
I want to know, and yet do not,
Wondering of the effects of such a sighting.

I drift asleep within you
And another night passes without revelation,
As I wake to find the sun has concealed you.
The time of purity has passed.

[Kurai Tsuki]

Darkness falls upon Terra
And those who would dwell in its ether
Are free to leave their shadows,
The now the world is the shadow

The nightkind may now roam Terra
And commence in their varying activities
This is perfectly fitting
As, "shining a light," on them would only spoil them

The secluded and abandoned locations of the world
Are now showing signs of subtle life
For they host those denizens that know the value
Of the cover of darkness

Thus the underworld comes alive
In these varying places of solitude
The entities are now free to assemble
And discuss their plans for the evening

The night life is their life
They know of no other
The world is now theirs,
until the return of the light.

[RedAnarchist]

He lurks within the black nothing
His prey a blur in the corner of his eye
He senses the prey
Senses its fear, its nerves
He aims his gun and shoots
And watches as the bullet
Slices into his prey
Another successful hunt for Che,
Che the guerilla


:che: :cuba: :che: :cuba: :che: :cuba:

[RedAnarchist]

The land shakes with the deathly roar
The lushness is burnt into barren waste
Trees like towers fall as the death wails past
The clouds anger and weep
The sun flees the inevitable end
Silence falls and the quiet is not welcome
For the monster still hunts
And the monster still kills
And the people wake to see the desolation
Its Vietnam. 1965.
And the Yanks have scorched the earth.

[Eastside Revolt]

"Election Sets On The Empire"

Staring at a fat *****
With googley eyes
Through beer goggles
Overwraught
Trapped in a sandwich
Of groups unwise
Cool in Babylon
Falsely Taught

"Martin Luther King Pie"

The veteran works at Wal-Mart
The depression lurks in all hearts
Agression from the false start
A question for the monarchs
Was it worth it?

The world&#39;s turning
Beds are burning
Your children have no wording
For the guilt
Knit into their quilts
Neoclassical thrills
Seeds sown with bills
War bonds with hard ons
Attatched with a detatched consciousness
To economic prosperity
And nationalistic posterity
On a background gnawd
By a white male god

"Oblivion"

Oblivious to my reality
Is the world that surrounds me

I can barely see reality
as a factual actuality
to you I&#39;m spacin&#39; out
racing flaling out
my eyes are seeing tracers
distorted textures
and those over there just might be ravers

Oblivious to my reality
Is the world that surrounds me

A low lying fog is my reality
a cold pea soup
that won&#39;t qiut hounding me
depression won&#39;t allow me
to be light hearted
mania can&#39;t wait
to get the fight started
my mind won&#39;t hold on
my soul won&#39;t go on
careless of your feelings
wackness
ain&#39;t worth the waiting

Oblivious to my reality
Is the worls that surrounds me

Numb, cold, barbaric reality
I just can&#39;t get out of me
this craving for anything
is raging with every day
got some spare change?
got some spare space?
got milk?
I&#39;m cocaine liquidation
the horror of civilization

Oblivious to my reality
Is the world that surrounds me

Fallacy in my reality
has got you looking down on me
I&#39;m clinging to the sides
in hopes of no suprises
unwise my untrust
I could die with one thrust
over the edge
it won&#39;t be
water under the bridge

To Oblivion

[RedAnarchist]

The hollow call of the lying dead,
The lies that spill out,
War, Hate and Disunity,
The battle cry of the Right,
Their mouths open to speak,
Yet this speech is only the untruth.

[RedAnarchist]

All of you who pray to a God,
All of you who call the Flag great,
All of you who still bow to teh Queen,
All of you who the truth has not reached,
Your cosy little society is nothing,
Nothing but a dirty facade,
Behind the mask is a truth,
A truth of hate,
A truth of imperialism,
Your eyes see not what we see,
Your eyes see money,
Your eyes see property,
To you, the flames of revolt are but a nuisance,
And the word love is nowhere to be seen.

[niwi]

what rice dreams about

fields flooded and warm
sun beating yellow on the
moist joyous grasses

stalks huddled tightly
the water cools at night and
chills to the roots&#39; depths

the threshing time comes
bodies sliced, some lengthwise
others&#39; heads fallen

they fall and die each
time, regular as the moon
then return in light

the damp corridor
little city in the reeds
history of pain

[Eastside Revolt]

"Democracy"

Fascism or Liberalism
What Orwell tells, brings about his hell
Good governments are few and far between
My trips into the swelling slums incited empathy
In busstling boomtowns all is well igniting treatchery
Feast or be a fellon

"F Words"

Few festidious flagelletes flaring flagrant, fathom fluff.
Filthy figureheads fib fickle, federating feudal feeble.
Flowers facilitate final fluid finesse, finding freedom.

"I AM not all I&#39;m cracked-up to be"

I&#39;m not a hippie or a slave liberator
I own guns and knives and don&#39;t trust my neighbours
I&#39;ve never heard of Tommy Douglas, Louis Riel, or Sitting Bull
Although I&#39;m sure they&#39;re very nice

I have a queen, not a president
I speak English and Quebecouis, but not mandarin

I proudly sew by country&#39;s flag on my backpack
I believe in imperialism, peace keeping,
And racialism, not unity.
The raven is a scavenger
A toque is a hat
A couch is a couch
And it&#39;s pronounced "zed" not "zee", "zed"&#33;&#33;&#33;

Canada is the second largest landmass
The first nation of Hockey
And just like the rest of North America&#33;&#33;&#33;

My name is Joe
And I am Canadian&#33;

[Eastside Revolt]

"Bloodstream"

The giant numerous horses
Run routes
Transporting the mansion&#39;s help quick
The community devided
Travels
In closed quarters in unison
Not knowing, there is a potlatch
You&#39;re late
Your tribe starves willingly with pride

[Ziggy]

this was a flow of consciousness i did, i think i timed myself for 45 minutes, not sure couldve been a full hour.

World spinning clap clap gone where did it go who knows do you miss it want it back are you going to cry now why do you do such things you know how that makes me feel I really hate that it makes me angry I get furious bad things happen when im upset what am I to do I cant help it you know I don’t mean it I love you I hate you its all too painful to face why cant I just hide and itll go away why are you like this I just want it to end this is too much to handle there are so many regrwts in my life so many broken dreams the dreams are shattered but I still hold onto the pieces I refuse to let go will you hold me now I need someone im all alone but I love you swimming in thoswe eyes of such a beautiful blue makes it better you make me happy you make me smile you make it all batter I swear im just useless crap but with you I feel like a king you make me feel big again I hate this why must it be this way why am I here why do I do these things why are you with me I don’t deserve it im just shit I hate this oh whats the point noone reads this just more crap to fill pages noone reads I hate this people are so stupid but I have to believe don’t I I have to believe in the people because if I don’t whats left then nothing nothing at all we’re dancing in an ill fitted manner I cant dance but you make it better with you I try new things I try to be why am I even saying this its ive only known you for a few weeks why should you have such an impact already I cant believe im saying this what does it mean I cant help it it just flows from my fingers and I put it down I m not even thinking right now its just coming out mof me and I don’t even understand I want to do so many things in life and you make me think its possible and together we can save the world but then theres the divide that its just false hopes and all this is a lie not just us but everyone and everything is just a lie just a figment just a pebble in the stream of time not even noticeable no one will know I existed a hundred years from now all will be lost and forgotten the sands of time corrode all and I happily no joyfully entice it dare it to swipe me away from the memory of time the past never could have known and the future will not look all is hopeless and I cant believe noone realizes this am I alone am I the only intlllegney being left no that cant be there must be others there must be some who feel what I feel but where are they are they no more are they the ones who will change the world turn it over on its axis or will we just sit back and watch the others the fools destroy us all no I cant let that happen I must do something but what what can I do many have tried before me they have died tryiong how can I me bany different but that’s no way to think I must know I must try I must do something I must be I must save us I must start some thing grand I must be will you join me will you save me will you save us or let us fall shall we dance on the broken dreams of our lives god im so pathetic look at me sitting here writing this I cant even make a comprehendable sentence out of my thoughts this is pointless this will do nothing I hope we all die that is the answer it is the only logical thing to do we are hurting this world and it must stop love your mother kill yourself god save us all but can he hear us or is he even real I don’t think so but even the nonbelievers pray in the end are there no convictions left I hate you you hate me we can stop it end it save it come away come away with me and here I sit crying tears in my eyes for no reason whatso ever why do I do thisd why do I set myself up for failure I hate it it must be put to an end you don’t understand no one does and that’s how it always is you say you love me you say you cant stand me to do certain things but no one understands the things that drive us I just embrace my fury I embrace the ancient desires of my past the beast within the primitive our origins our kind I hate this why do I even botrher people will hate me for it and I don’t think im strong enough to carry the burden of individuality and I cant share the burden I just want to end not die but just to finish and rest my lungs are heavy and my limbs weakwill I ever bew finished or will I die in pieces why an I even tying this I don’t feel this way its not me or at least I don’t think it is gahhahahaha I hate this why do I do this I have the urge to cut to burn to to slit and I just want it to end I hate the desires to hurt myself is that why I love bodymod is it because I want to express these desires I hate in a safe way or are they just coincidence no one gets it almost no one knows my inner demons and the same no one are goig to to help me why cant I just die raise me up on me y cross and hang me high I will be thy martyr I will shed blood for thee Oh ye little boy with the ligt in thy eyes fire burns hold on tight for it comes the pain bubbles over and spills onto us and flows coating the world is melancholy and disgust good night moon goodnight sun will ye rise tomorrow morn or is today thy last oh forget it no one onderstands anyways but then again maybe that is best maybe they shoudnt underdtanf at all mayb3 this is the end maybe it is all spiraling from here wouldn’t that be marvelous if that was so wouldn’t it be marvelous if it was all over just done anf gone but you know that is not so you know that is never will you know it keeps going ang going and each time more blood is shed why cant anyone see that I and others have answers and why is it when the best ansser is givwn thwy turn their heads and ignore whar I have said its too much I have lost all faith in you all this is it its over no more will I help im tired of listening im tired of being the crutch where is my support where is my help god I cant believe im *****ing so much I have no right to no right at all and there are so many things I should be grateful for but no I have to b the whiney little ***** typing this and I cant take it it is too much to ask I wish here was another way I heope we can put it behind us and that there will be serenity once more but hah that’s laughable I wish the wortld could just see but no that’s not happening now is it ot is it a myth is human nature false or were they right it is there deep in us I wish this was it no more all gone I hate you you hate me were just one bing fucking fsmily hurrah for issues and skeletons in our closets would lie to see mine is there baggage to compliment mine or am I on the highroad alone hitchhiking my way to nothing come join me in one last waltz maybe a tango souls entwining around around the sinews of life look at yourself look at the pain you cause look at the mess you made I love you I hate you I want you I desire you not why do I feel this I know what my heart says but I feel all numb ive listend to my gut too many times it has shit for brains for all I know I need to search deeper gotta get back in touch will you help me find it love it appreciate it we all have it or at least you and me doplease find it I don’t know what I’ll do without it should I clean it first once its returned or is it ok as is come dancing with me we can be free and fly away I gave you a thimble you gave me your heart I don’t know if I can handle this I feel an overload coming but then it fades and I step back and look and I feel good about it all and it all makes sense again I love you and I hope you love me and together we can jig the night away and be free and happy I want so many things in life but I don’t think they are going to happen I don’t thing itll work out please save me I love you and is that really all that matters it must be more complex but when I think it its so simple but when I try to speak it I cant I get confused and frustrated I think its winding down and all will be ok but im still not sure we walk under the moonlight not really seeing our way I reach over to feel your hand you ask what is it and I say I just wanted to be sure of and then we walk off into the oblivion hand in hand never to see what we left behind us again
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~
another flow of consciousness, i wrote this one after finding out my friend got commited for trying to kill herself... i think this was a 30 minute one.

God why do we do the shit we do why is the world like this why must there be those that suffer and those that rule and control. Today I lost a friend hopefully not forever but today I lost a friend. It feels like part of me has died inside and I may never be able to get it back. What am I to do I wanna help her but there’s nothing I can do nothing at all well isn’t that what this world is, a world of nothing why should some be void of light while others revel in it who gave them that goddamn right to have it. Katie I love you so fucking much you have no idea I may have only known you for 3 months but I’m will miss you it wont be the same without you you are our butterfly you travel to fro always in motion with the reverberation of passion on your tips I know you will never be able to read this but still I type maybe you will feel that I am typing and know you are loved you did things that I have tried to stop and not do and its been a fight for both of us I wish I had carried some of your burden I wish it was all on me I wish it was me but that is not the case you are going to a place that may or may not help you and it saddens me to not know your fate but still I will hope and pray that someday I will see you again I hope that you will get better and I hope that you will soon blossom and shed that body you and the world has mangle and from within will bloom something not even the darkest abyss of this world can harm and shroud in pain Katie I wish I was there for you why wasn’t I I knew something was going to happen I just sat there content why didn’t you come to my house you know the door is always open god why must it be this way why must we hurt why does this shit happen WHY WHY WHY&#33;&#33;&#33;&#33;&#33;&#33;&#33;&#33;&#33;&#33;&#33;&#33;&#33;&#33;11 I want it to end I want to stop to mold it to reshape it to make the world better I want to break the old molds and recast this world anew I want to save us I want to swim in a sea of gay and bliss I want there to be crimson clouds of passion I want there to be a world under one banner of love but that will never happen they always fuck it up drag it down step on it choke it cut it mangle it they despise it hate it and its just struggling to gurgle out one last gasp in a bloody sputter I want to cry to kick and scream I want to there to be a world of yous and mes and hopes and dreams not this vile hate machine crushing you and filling you with misery there be some that don’t care and those people deserve a horrific end but not everyone is so there is hope yet or at least I think there was I want this so be something beautiful something new where can we go to save us who will save us where have all the flowers gone who picked them trampled them crumbled them scorched them and put them to their end where were the ones supposed to save those flowers. Is the world nothing more than a Flanders field of poppies growing on our graves is this world a giant burial pyre fueled by anger and hate? Can this world be a you a me an us? Save me gave me take me lead me drown me spin me upsy turvy me jump and leap me dizzy you and sputtered her laughing at the crowds filtering through the furnace just put me up on my cross and hand me my crown of thorns and I can crap on a silver platter and call it the word of god and all will be well until they catch on and then we’re in trouble run for it gun it aim for it leap for it fall for it be captivated by it blindsided by it twisted and broken by it
Cut cut bleed bleed oh god I have never felt the need to do it again hit me so badly I just want to take my knife and tear up my hands someone help me someone hold me is there anyone strong enough to let me cry on their shoulder to hug me and tell me everything will be all right in this hour of need the world is dark and I am alone and no one hears my call crying gasping choking on my own filth and decay there is one who parts my clouds makes the world shine and makes it all right she is capable of holding me when needed she doesn’t believe it but I feel it its almost tangible the feelings she sends off resonating in a beautiful aura that permeates all around but what if im too much its not fair to her its not fair to anyone goddamn me and my problems why cant they just fly away and let me be little bird little bird why doth thou bother me so why doth thou torment my soul little bird of pain and misery you afflict us all and I will have no more of it I will not be a slave to thee my feet are not chained I can soar I can fly I can change it you have not destroyed me but made me stronger I can turn the tides of war in my body the garbage trucks fill the hollows of my body with filth but it will in time be flushed away and then there shall be serenity but until then I will not submit to your torment my soul bequeaths me to quit it is weak and tired but it shall rise above
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~

[Eastside Revolt]

Zig,

That&#39;s cool man, I wish I could do that, but my ADD mind won&#39;t allow me to have a flow of consciousness for more than 10 seconds&#33; :P

[Ziggy]

in some ways its a burden, but i think i would be dead or in a lot crappier state than i am if i couldnt write. I&#39;m planning on participating in NaNoWriMo next year, or for those not in the know National Novel Writing Month. It&#39;s every november. you have a month to write a 50,000 word novel but me and a friend and his friends might do an unofficial one in december.

[RedAnarchist]

Down he fell,
The last of three centuries
Death at the hands
Of the workers
His crown of Russia fallen,
His subjects freed from him
The Tsar is dead,
Long live the people

Time passes
And the old regime is gone
But the Red Flag is to be stained
By the mud of Stalin
A man of no great importance
A man not of Russia,
This Georgian.
This so called Communist,
This Stalin,
Man of Steel

The old revolutionary is dying
Lenin is breathing his last
And Stalin has a plot
To become the first
Red Tsar of the USSR

Stalin saw his chance
And ascended to his throne
From where he talked
And where he ordered
The deaths of many

His hands stained with blood,
Blood of the workers,
A giant in lies,
A weakling in truth,
This first,
And last,
Red Tsar

[Eastside Revolt]

"My Penis"

Let’s talk about sex
What about sex?
I have a Penis believe it or not
And unlike most
Penises that is
It speaks of doubt
My Penis is elitist
It won’t penetrate
In order to create
Any old fetus
It needs fertile walls
To justify sperm from the balls
To objectify is to understand
I object to those
Who are materialistic and bland
On the other hand
There is my Penis

So
Let’s talk about sex
What about sex?
Well
There’s that drink I bought you
Inside my brain
I have a Vagina too
So I understand
What you’d like
My Penis to do
In the pants it stays
At your ass I gaze
The stars have a beauty
Similar to yours
To empathize is to understand
You emphasize interest
In another man
But on the other hand
There is My Penis

[RedAnarchist]

Poetry is, after all, the writing down of your deeper thoughts.

[Eastside Revolt]

I don&#39;t know where you heard that. :D

[RedAnarchist]

They found him in the river
Dead for days, they said
But to the world his name was lost
An eternal Johnathon Doe
They said his stomach was McDonalds
They said his lungs were Laramie&#39;s
They said his feet were Reebok&#39;s
Without a name to call him by
They buried him in a grave
And on the tombstone it simply said
Product of Capitalism
Trademark

[RedAnarchist]

Branded with a logo
Each and every one
Reebok men and Nike women
Adidas French and Umbro Yanks
They are the masses
Mass manufactured masses
To them there is only Capitalism
Their world is fake
Their world is one with false hopes
And lying dreams
They do not see an alternative
The capialist yoke creeps silently around their necks
And chokes ever last useful drop of humanity
They are sucked into its mouth
Chewed up, spat out.

[Paradox]

I wrote these two poems earlier today. So what do you think? Do I have potential?

Common Vision

I watched my future pass me by
And felt the life drain out
As my heart went cold
I had dreamt of peace
Of love and life content
But freedom slipped out from within my hands
Tossing in the wind
I had hope before that things would change
But the clouds rolled in and eclipsed my soul
What good is it now, to pray for peace
When all I see is death?
The blood that flows out from open wrists
And paints my life upon the floor
The rage reflected through broken mirrors
My shattered hopes and dreams
The faces of the millions
Who see through my same eyes
Who see no chance to free themselves
From the evil that consumes us all

Foreign Words

What was the purpose for our encounter?
Why was it written that we&#39;d cross paths?

I was frozen in her presence
And everytime she smiled
I couldn&#39;t help but think
Life is beautiful

Her hair flowing gently in the breeze
As we sat in the shade
Waiting for our paths to part
I loved the feeling, the freedom that I had
Each time I spoke with her
And yet I could not understand
Why fate would have us meet

I long to see her everyday
To watch her smile, to hear her laugh
And yet I never held her in my arms
Why was it written that I&#39;d fall for her?
That I&#39;d lay restless because of she
Who speaks a tongue so foreign
And yet one so familiar?

Her words are beautiful, soft but vibrant
A rhythmic serenade
She sings in conversation
While I play my broken chords
A mixture of highs and lows
With no set pattern

She laughs as I stumble over foreign words
Flush with embarrassment
I wonder why this beauty
Came to sit beside me
And why I fell for her
She who speaks with words I do not understand


there must be others there must be some who feel what I feel

I would be one of those people. Like redcanada said, that is cool. That&#39;s really good, Ziggy.


I must try I must do something I must be I must save us I must start some thing grand I must be will you join me will you save me will you save us or let us fall shall we dance on the broken dreams of our lives god im so pathetic look at me sitting here writing this I cant even make a comprehendable sentence out of my thoughts

It&#39;s like you saw into my mind. I feel EXACTLY the same way. Do you plan to be a writer? What you put here is really good.

[Paradox]

Ziggy&#39;s flows of consciousness inspired me to try it out myself. I really like that style. It&#39;s nothing but truth and raw emotion. It&#39;s like one&#39;s true identity scribbled upon sheets of paper. So here&#39;s my first and short attempt:

what reason is there to be nice i have no friends no one to trust my life is a ruin a forgotten world where once knowledge was great but now i stand with fear a fear of life and all its elements i pray for death yet receive no answer there is no god no one to heal the pain that chokes optimism from my soul why should i care why should i care for those who do not care for me but it was i who turned my back who never gave a hand so then the question is why should they care for me i was content with life a star that shone as bright as all the rest but now my light has begun to dim my heart aches with rage hate for failure but i am a pessimist i have no hope i have no dreams what good is faith when the world is thrust upon your shoulders crushing you beneath its weight i hate that person in the mirror with his lifeless eyes and pale face how could that be me what have i become my words mean nothing like prayers to the supernatural why drink the blood of christ why eat his flesh will that kill the cannibal man has become what a contradiction to eat thy god yet pray for peace to love thy neighbor yet hate him too to kill in the name of god who loves god who is jealous what have we become why do i feel so cold prepared to kill prepared to die why do i question that which i believe forgive me lord great spirit ometeotl the pain is too much to bear my sins against humanity those who i claim i want to help to free from the chains you placed us in forgive me lord for asking this but are you even really there

[New.Art.Riot]

Our love is stronger, then any prison you can build us
(destroy all relics)
Eyeliner in the snow, Everything is empty in the end
(burn down all palaces)

I&#39;m in control but I&#39;m all out of time
My life isn&#39;t mine, mine anymore,
Cigarette burns and cuts are sore,
My life isn&#39;t mine, mine anymore.

Killed with a cruxifix, on the severn bridge.
The rain is cool, purity in the snow.

[Paradox]

i sit in silence at the computer alone in the living room the weather is horrible cold and depressing i sit and struggle to compose my thoughts i do not know why i even write i have no faith in my talents no hope to reach success so many thoughts so much on my mind yet i cannot express it in a comprehendable way so i freestyle my life with no form or rhythm i do not care what people think i do not care what they say yet i fear reproach for my brutal words how can that be how can i stand with courage against their onslaught yet have no strengh how can i wither so quickly give up so fast i did not ask to be a failure i just turned out that way i doubt that&#39;s what was meant for me but then again perhaps there&#39;s no such thing as fate and everything occurs by chance there&#39;s no reason why we are here no point to life the love we feel is inconsequential and cannot save us from self destruction we all will die just some sooner than others i wish i was one of those others i wish that i was free i do not want to feel this horror this pain that tortures me day and night i want to be at peace but peace is unattainable and does not exist because somewhere right now people are dying little children lay limp in littered streets while i obssess over minor imperfections in the essence of my soul i do not know that people care or worry about why i feel the way i do why i sit expressionless in silent protest of the world the world with its horrors the darkness that shuts out all light blinding hopes and dreams it does not help that i am not the only one for what use is that what use is it to know that someone somewhere is suffering like me we are the forgotten the foresaken the ones in need of help yet no one is there to help us to save us from the pages of history from the crimes we shall commit when we can take no more we will shout with anger with fear and shed blood to water the dying trees to give life to those who no longer want it we shall wake them up for they will see us sacrifice our tortured souls before the nation and give birth to war then those who know the truth will fight to end inhumanity and our pictures will hang beside portraits of fallen angels the flawed but heroic the future is not written yet i wonder if my destiny if my doom is to be found in some hidden pages will i succeed or will i be a failure i have no clue i pray for guidance yet still am lost as i walk lonely streets in search of freedom from the emptiness of my soul their faces are frozen in my mind i see them staring at me judging my every move i cannot escape them they are with me part of me they are why i am still alive my people my cold and starving people my people need me i cannot fall behind i cannot let them die no take me lord if you can hear me take me lord they deserve life more than i my life is but a waste i feel no love i help no one i only criticize but words are meaningless without action and i have taken none i have no one to help me no one to hold no one to encourage me my life is but a waste i cannot understand why i am even here so many questions with conflicting answers i am lost in ignorance perpetuated through apathy i hate everything and everyone i have no skills and can help no one in any way so why then am i here i feel nothing but remorse i see smiles but do not respond in kind take me take me please take me i do not wish to live my life when life is but a pain an unexplained phenomenon which is misconstrued as a gift from some divine being hidden in the clouds whose tears are a sign that i have failed that we as his creation have turned our backs so then why are we still here the history of man has long been brutal hate is nothing new so why wait so long to judge what is obviously a failure i do not understand i never will i only wish to be at peace to live free from hate and pain from tears and scars from ridicule i only wish to be free but can that ever be will there come a day when i feel no hurt when a smile creeps out from beneath my lifeless eyes will i ever share in laughter with people i do not know or are we forever confined to the imperfect minds which we were handed i hope not there must be more there must be a reason why we are here why death runs rampant to teach a lesson say the preachers but that makes no sense but still there must be more to this harsh existance to this sentence we call life but then again perhaps it&#39;s all by chance and we are but a random failure of evolution who came so quick and conquered our own creator only to destroy ourselves

[Ziggy]

paradox, thats really good. you got chops kid. i dont really want to be a writer per se, though i would like to publish some stuff someday. next year i&#39;m going to take a whack at NaNoWriMo (http://www.nanowrimo.org/) , national novel writing month, which is every november. you have one month to write a 50,000 word novel. i think just going at it will be a good experience even if i dont complete it. if i did write a novel i would do it in a flow of cosciousness style, so essentially e.e. cumming on crack. :lol:


some more braindumps:

::let my consciousness flow from me::
feels like nothing i can say, nothing i can do, just sit here waiting for a call from you. same old fears boiling up, fuck mine gotta be strong, forget about me and the same old triggers, forget whats in my head and step out and listen, listening for you. tears flowing down my cheek down my chin, making the same old drip drip drip. wet to the touch and satisfying to the taste, the sweet salty lick of life in all its pains and gains. step aside and pull out the same ol mad hatter trick. crick crack crick crack down he went tumbling falling yet graceful as could be. sky and earth wind and fire but theres that one left behind, water aqua aquarious rise in your house and permeate the stars the scars the memories and planes rise and fall always playing your mind game when you come i want to go when you go i have arrived. is such life only a fleeting vision a mere memory? tumbleweeds of dawn the creeping crawling rising falling screaming death dance of us all. old man walt will you yawp for me? blow your horn for us all to hear? you give it to me? to pass it on keep it alive? for you i blow my most barbaric yawp into heaven&#39;s cries. rain falling keeping beat, feel it flow feel it flee tap tap screech. dance dance twirling madly deeply , eyes stone cold could not pierce thee. give me your hand and away we go where we stop no one knows. breathe in and out in and out out out out out out. wait we forgot to breathe in again how do we do it hard to remember these things we do these things we think these things we say over and over one must repeat to refrain the message keep it fresh keep it true. spinning madly truely deeply all around this most horrible hue clotting drying guming me and you.

::untitled::
we&#39;ll go somewhere
maybe just to get away
maybe to the park
i dunno i&#39;ll take you far away
where we can spread our wings sing this lullabye
dance and laugh and cry
to need to hinder no need to die
dancing twirling jumping scrambling in a beautiful shade of blueish hue
laughing and sighing
fleeting glimpses of a life gone by

::untitled::
cut cut bleed bleed chop chop hack hack
up down there I go can you see me spinning
out of control the urge the sensation all of it
is so strong and tempting I just want to let go
release. Fuck the stars I’m going over beyond them.
Are you there? I hear you breathing answer me
I wish I could be better. God dammit why do
I have these issues? Mr. hero whoop de fucking do&#33; I’ll have no more of it. No more hero
no more self consciousness, NO MORE
Detachment, resolve, I want piece. No
More will I dance, throwing in the towel
Hanging up the gloves, I’m going away
Walden Pond here I come, may be a fraud
But he did something. I’m tired of all this
I feel thin let me rest a bit, let me
Breathe, this is not like a suicide just
A cry for help, you know. Why do I
Feel like I’m forcing you, dragging you, breaking
You, you say I’m too good, but I’m afraid I’m
bad for you. I’m going to hurt
you somehow. Whatever is inside me is
going to get a hold of you. Run while
you still have a chance. All the
world’s a stage and we’re but actors
playing our parts, but who’s writing my part?
Tell me who the fuck has my fate inked out
Turning kicking screaming dying am I selling
Out am I sacrificing my integrity
Who knows who cares, fuck you fuck you
you think you understand you think you know,
but then it’s the other way around, fuck me
fuck me I think I know I think I understand. Why
do we terrorize ourselves why do we fuck ourselves over.
No more of this I will stand, no more will
I take. It’s time for something different. Spread my wings
And fly away. So come on lovely lets hope in
My and ride. Ride away, not looking back.
Lets escape from this dead end town where
Hopes and dreams lie scattered and broken.
Lets go and never look back. Into the horizon
We ride, over the big fucking rainbow.

[Paradox]

paradox, thats really good. you got chops kid.

Tlazohcamati ("Thank you" in Aztec). Yeah, I think this is now my favorite style. It&#39;s a lot harder to follow forms and rhyme patterns etc., which is probably why I don&#39;t write more formal poetry that often. And this style is a lot more truthful, honest. I started out writing rhymes, like hip-hop lyrics. Most of it was political, but I&#39;ve been slacking off on that lately. I don&#39;t think I&#39;ve written any rhymes in the last two months. I was just feeling really down a couple of days ago, so I started writing. I&#39;d like to publish a book of poetry. But that won&#39;t be for quite a while. I still got a lot of practicing to do. Plus, I got to build up my vocabulary. Anyways, thanks for the compliments, and good luck with the NaNoWriMo.

[Ziggy]

keep it up. try to set aside 10 minutes everyday to just write nonstop. it&#39;s really helped me with my writing ability.

[Discarded Wobbly Pop]

;)

[RedAnarchist]

The silence is broken too quickly. The scream shatters my eyelids, causing them to bleed. I cup my hands at my pasty cheeks, hoping to catch the stream that flows from my face. Then a second screm rips through the air as if there is no yesterday, no tommorow. This time no more blood will flow, and no more eyes will break with the pain. The eyes become what they were, not what they used to be. And the blood itself is gone, not even a trace of this flowing stream that caem with the scream, and followed it away again.

[RedAnarchist]

I tried to write a story using just a flow of conciousness. The above post is a 30-second one i did. Its so short because its the first i&#39;ve tried to do.

[Free Spirit]

He stood on a wet street of rain, no fancy dressing, just a simple man of beauty. A fast shift of lightning from a red star flow through the rain drops like it changed a rule of reason and unfairness. As a pounding feeling of fright I walked through a naked streets with no name and stared at a face of recognition...what happened?
someone died................I&#39;m alive.
:ph34r:

An edge between two walls in white, a shadow stood still, no games just at sleep. From white to grey, from grey to dark it died in a muse of rainbows... a shadow of question, a shadow of death and grey.

[vivalache22]

THE MAN IN THE BOX
The man in the box sits perfectly still making sure not to move
For every breath he takes is just little more air he will loose
His mouth is dry, his neck is stiff, and his eyes are red
The only thing he wishes for is the day he is dead

The box shakes as the train cars move along the track
Even though is it a bright day, all he can see is black
He hates his life, he hates the dark, and he hates the box where he lies
The only thing he dreams for is the day he dies

He is feelings numb, he is losing air, and the air is getting cold
He is fading now, his hands are shot, and he is getting old
His mouth is dry, his neck is stiff, and his eyes are red
The only thing he wishes for is the day he is dead

[RedAnarchist]

the shivering trees surrendered their golden leaves, allowing them to fall freely to the icy grass below. The sun decided to flee this world, leaving the silver light of the moon to reflect upon the tree, casting a black shadow upon the floor. The snow fell, burying the dead of autumn under its frozen quilt.

[RedAnarchist]

The earth shuddered with a terrifying noise - one so loud that to the ear it was Hell. The blast burnt away the land, it dried up the briny sea, and it was the end of all. The moment before gave way to the years after, and after the death of all there was noone. Every last insignificant cell of each and every breathing life had been swallowed by this of which we do not know.

[RedAnarchist]

The poem spoke of the world in a flowery tone, muttered something about what the world was coming to. Its verses did tell a story in the stereotypical way, considering the words and considering the letters. Its whole existence balmed on a pen, its role in the world undefined by the author.

[RedAnarchist]

The flag that fluttered once in the cool breeze does not anymore. Its bare, white pole does not become ecstatic at the sight of the red banner. The sky does not witness the little cloth bird tossing itself around as if the wind was a puppeteer. The flag itself is gone, torn down by its enemies who it feared the worst. The silence of the pole says it all. The Revolution has failed, and we are all doomed to live once more under Capitalism. The Revolution is finished, can the last to leave lock the door?

[RedAnarchist]

Disposed of, the can walks a path. Opened, emptied, crushed by an hand, thrown like a grenade, onto the field that is the graveyard of a million of its own kind. The wind picks up the lonely traveller, and kindly whisks it down the road, away from its potential tomb. As they float down, the cans in the bins, like inmates,watch sadly as their free cousins sails on by. This can flew away, this can flew by, on a journey with no known beginning, no known end.

[RedAnarchist]

This is the poem of no sense
No known rules to bind us by
No verses to trickle tears down faces
No romance to stir the heart
No moral to tax the mind
Simple poem of no sense

[RedAnarchist]

WWW
Dot
Revolution
Dot
Com
Error Message 111
Unknown URL
Google
Revolution
Search Results
WWW
Dot
Revolution
Is
Coming
Dot
Com

[RedAnarchist]

Close your eyes, slowly like the sunset. Clear your mind of the thoughts and the memories. Relax and relax some more, without a thought, without a single care. Allow your mind to be a vehicle to some other place, far away from this. Explore that new world, then return here, with the ideas, the thoughts, the memories, of another time and place.

[thorgar]

there once was a man
from nantucket
who thought politics
was hell in a bucket
he listened to lies
and watched people die
alas in the end
the world flunked it.

[himmelblau]

And So
http://images.faceparty.com/public/1013/images/retrojoe_9860191.jpg
For Joe

and so, the licks of
cigarette smoke, the blue twists, the glowing light from its tip
and how it touches your soft lips
and envelopes you in clouds and wisps
and so, how the pools of light lie deep in the
meniscus of your green eyes, and so how the pools of
ice form and reform in this midnight madness
thrust into the future by one sad
accident.

and so, the shadows and the omens
and the coming dread, and the lights that continually flicker.
and the soot coloured panthers that lurk
and stalk silently the flickers from
behind your shattered eyes
at the edge of the edge of the world
the fog. the mist. and so...

and so, the hell beneath this taut reality
and how your hands feel so beautiful to touch, the soft
lips I so want to kiss, the
flap of your dark fringe that tickles your eyes

in the centre of the universe and the centre of the night
and so, the look down into the crystals glittering in the pavement, the
endless
shattered glass. and the stars, and so, the
diamonds... that congregate upwards...

the sadness. the love. the bass repetition. horror. and so
how
I want it to
never end
the
emptiness
and so,
on.

[Discarded Wobbly Pop]

"Untitled"

End fascist novelty
Generation idiots
Inaccessible equalities
Dressed with equalibrium
Smoking sess in hallways
Blessed to be a simpleton
Inedible economies
Fed with cheese and ritalin
Inattentive always
Left with the addiction
Uninventive majority
Embedded in restriction
All reflective qualities
Next in line conviction
Fellonies and lotteries
Them are the conditions
Whatever’s done through all of this
Just forget tradition
A mess of guns and robberies
Loving the oppression
Lend be some comradery
Let me ask four questions
When is there equality?
Where is the protection?
Bourgeois democracy?
Spectacle elections?
Get me off my gnobby knees
Send me some aggression
Yes I’ve smoked a lot of weed
Yes it is refreshing
Wrench me from hipocracy
As left wing despotism
Drenched in animosity
A rememberance of division
I went without a policy
To a land of consumerism
Bringing on the modesty
We met so they could listen
But they didn’t
So now our ideology
Needs some terrorism

[RhetoricalAbsurdity]

Geez, you&#39;re all incredible writers. I haven&#39;t got the talent most of you have, but here&#39;s some of my stuff anyway.

Funeral March for an Empty Casket

You&#39;ve always been the assassin&#39;s friend
But now it&#39;s you they want dead
How many times will he take your coin
Before he takes your head?
The innocent&#39;s blood loosens your grip
While fate&#39;s cruel irony kills you slow
Just how many stain your soul?
Only Beelzebub may know
The crowd is chanting in your ear
Don&#39;t try to struggle, it&#39;s no use
They&#39;re playing your betrayal game
Another will rise, embrace the noose.

Greatest Place on Earth (sounds much better with the music I have in mind for it)

How do they expect us
To give up and walk away?
We’ve lost this time
But we are here to stay
(At least for today)
Your battle is won
But ours is not over
So we march on
And proudly fight for her
(…No one else will)

Lady Liberty’s crying in her sleep
And freedom’s not available to the sheep
Death to those who dare to disagree
The greatest place on Earth, why can’t you see?

We sing in the
Name of everyone
To save them from the
Slippery-trigger gun
(Let it be)
Bloodshed in vain
And there’s no end in sight
We need the sun
To help us through the night
(We’ve got no light)

Lady Liberty’s crying in her sleep
And freedom’s not available to the sheep
Death to those who dare to disagree
The greatest place on Earth, why can’t you see?

We need a change
But things have stayed the same
A downhill slide
For losers of your game
(Life or death)
Your system isn’t right,
It isn’t fair
Children starve but
You don’t seem to care
(Not your concern)

Lady Liberty’s crying in her sleep
And freedom’s not available to the sheep
Death to those who dare to disagree
The greatest place on Earth, why can’t you see?

As we wage our war
We tell you this
Be wary of
The silver serpent’s kiss
You will hear us
Stomping down your street
And for once, YOU will be
Crushed beneath OUR feet
So prepare yourself to finally get beat

Poor People Have Feelings Too (Lame title, I know, they&#39;re my weakest point. So are endings, see above poem)

The five-year-old lies crying
On her mattress on the floor
She holds her dollie closer
And says a prayer once more
Mom and dad are in the kitchen
Trying to decide
How on earth they&#39;ll tell her
That her little sister died
A simple operation
Was all that she&#39;d require
But without money or insurance
Doctors just let her expire
And now the fridge is empty
There&#39;s nothing they can eat
If they survive just one more week
It would be quite a feat
Cause daddy just got laid off
And mom&#39;s check&#39;s not enough
And welfare doesn&#39;t cover it
And they&#39;re told, "well, that&#39;s tough"
And the rent is more than
Two weeks overdue
And it feels like everything they hear
These days is just bad news
And her auntie is alone now
Cause her uncle&#39;s in the war
And he writes to say he&#39;ll be okay
But he really isn&#39;t sure
And everybody judges
They claim that -they&#39;re- to blame
The father is a drunk
And the mother is the same
But they both are good parents
Just poor and out of luck
They try so hard and still you say
"I don&#39;t care, you lazy fuck&#33;"
So next time instead of damning them
Why not give this a go:
Try to be compassionate
Until you really know.

So... yeah. Just a small sampling of the mediocre work of Absurdity.

[Postteen]

Now you can all understand that I&#39;m not influenced by Black Sabbath or other metal groups.I just do the opposite&#33;I&#39;m thinking of this right now, so you can all have a good laugh.

Hell and heaven
are the same thing
the biggest lie
you could ever believe

God and devil
have no difference
they&#39;re both a lie
see the .....?? ence (can&#39;t think of anything....)

Man&#39;s not the creature
God is
Man&#39;s the creator
of all these lol

God is Dead
as Nietzsche said
just open your eyes
and see no Hell .....???

LOL.This is not supposed to be a poem&#33;

[encephalon]

St. Peter&#39;s Rabbit Farm
(encephalon)
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

It could take hours for us to die.
A rubber bible lies
dormant in the tub. Rosaries
bead on the walls like flies,
and John the Baptist--
Oh, he grins like a devil.
He wears our skin for boots.

Our Father, Mr. clockwork hands
repeatedly breaking,
repeatedly breaking,
repeatedly breaking our necks.
Loose, ragged skin, clipped and counted
Draped like clothes on a line
We Hang--


-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

My dad owned a rabbit farm when I was little, and to skin them he had to first break their necks. He did this at midnight. I don&#39;t know if any of you have heard a rabbit scream, but I assure you it is not pleasant to wake up to it as a little kid. It sounds like a banshee.

Anyhow, my family was also catholic.. and somehow, in my head, the two merged at some point, and this came out. :)

[Discarded Wobbly Pop]

"Transferable Skills"

I demonstrate and demonstrate in order to arbitrate realistically, unrealistic socially responsible goals.
You demonize and demonize in order to agitate sadistically reactionary, pushing career goals.
My management skills are used dependently through my daily struggle.
My communication skills are used readily to keep peace between helpless individuals.
My research skills are superior to most despite a lack in financial backing.
My financial skills are inferior period.
My technical skills are shown well with the swing of a sledgehammer.
My teaching skills are not needed because I demonstrate.
My creative skills are none of your business.
So you can that career path up your ass&#33;

[dev/null]

Greetings and salutations everyone&#33; Obviously I’m quite new here, but after looking over the forums extensively and deciding to join, I opted to make my first official post here. This does, after all, seem like the easiest ice breaker. So, with that said I’m simply going to post the link to my website, The Asylum (http://dev_null7.tripod.com). Within it is a large collection of my poetry and lyrics (Psionic Sounds), almost exclusively dealing in social and political themes. Most of which is wrapped in a facade of surrealism, but I’m sure there’s at least something to enjoy. Please excuse the mess that the site is though, it’s currently being redesigned at a new domain where it will contain much more content and an organized navigational sense.

[Motorcycle_diAries]

When the revolution comes
When the revolution comes

some of us will catch it on TV

with chicken hanging from our mouths

you&#39;ll know it&#39;s revolution

because there won&#39;t be no commercials

when the revolution comes

.................................................T he last Poets -1970

[Pedro Alonso Lopez]

darkened alder as i think
as streams of lucid jet water spray my tiny feet
I push forward over the railing
dinting its top with sweat

A requiem for old ireland
or a poem for a lovely girl
To where, in a flicked slew
i watch each tender moment

she may as well say we are just good
hens

poem II: the strange alienation of irish students on a saturday night

there is a girl
and on a screen
she tells me things
and on my side split

and just like seamus heaney
am i as my laser like words
insight and invite
the tender words of
and msn girl

how one does be great:



am i a genius, perhaps

I was stunned and wearied
in a cancerous world. The marlbore and john player blues,
wont you just tou

[ElRayoQueNoCesa]

To my always enraged friends:

I was searching for some entries about Miguel Hernandez in this forum, but havent found any.
Let me introduce to you to Miguel Hernandez. He was poet and soldier in the Spanish Civil War. As you might know, this event was the first real ideological trigger in Che Guevara and it was, as well, one of the first insanities of fascism. Maybe the most famous and most recurrently used as revolutionary poet is Federico Garcia Lorca, because he died executed by the Franquist repression units. But Lorca was elitist, disdainful and safe writer.
The real revolutionary icon should be Miguel Hernandez, because he served in the front line of fire, because he was the sheppard-poet, because he was in the top of the Spanish poetry movement always wearing sandals and he considered himself a sheppard and not a member of an intelectual sphere that was having parties while Hernandez was fighting for his hard rock convictions in the front line. His poems began to be used as propaganda, he usually was put in front of the troops to read his works, and when in battle he was sometimes reading his poems in loudspeakers to attract opposite troops and join the Republicans.
With the arisement of the fascism atop of the spanish goverment, everybody escaped from Spain. Miguel Hernandez decided to stay, and declined invitations to leave the country. He was caught by the Fascist repression. He was offered to accept fascism ideals in public in order to get out of jail and join his wife and little son. Instead of that, he confirmed his revolutionary commitment and died in jail.

I hope we could know many languages to read poetry in its original language. Im a native Spanish sepaker , and find in Hernandez&#39; work a tremendous passion and precision in his vocabulary. Even though, translating poetry can rest power and strength to something that is famous for being powerful and strong, I want to share with you 3 Hernandez&#39; poems that I found translated to English.

Sitting upon the Dead
Sitting upon the dead
fallen silent these two months,
I kiss empty shoes
and make an angry fist
with the heart&#39;s hand
and the soul that drives it.

That my voice climb the mountains
and descend to earth as thunder:
this what my throat begs
now and forever.

Come close to my clamor,
people fed from the same breast,
tree whose roots
keep me in prison,
because I am here to love you
and I am here to defend you
with my blood and with my mouth
like two faithful rifles.

If I came out of the earth,
if I was born from a womb,
pitiful and poor,
it was only that I would become
the nightingale of the pitiful,
echo of bad luck,
to sing and to repeat
to those who must hear me
everything of pain, everything of poverty,
everything of earth.

Yesterday the people woke
stripped and with nothing to cover themselves,
hungry and with nothing to eat,
and now today has dawned
justly hateful
and justly bloody.
In their hands the rifles
long to become lions
to finish with ferocity those
who have been so many times ferocious.

Even if you have no weapons,
people of one hundred thousand strengths,
don&#39;t let your bones thin;
punish those who wound you
as long as you have fists,
fingernails, saliva, and you have
heart, entrails, guts,
testicles and teeth.
Wild as the wild wind,
gentle as the gentle air,
kill those who kill,
hate those who hate
the peace of your heart
and the womb of your women.
Don&#39;t let them stab you in the back,
live face to face and die
with your chest before the bullets,
large as a house.

I sing in grief&#39;s voice,
my people, for your heroes:
your desires like my own,
your misfortunes that have
the same metal and tears,
your suffering in the same grain
and of the same wood,
your thought and my mind,
your heart and my blood,
your pain and my laurels.
Life looks to me like
a barricade of nothingness.

I am here to live
while the soul permits,
and here to die,
when the hour arrives,
in the veins of the people
now and forever.
Life is a lot to swallow,
death is only a gulp.



To the International Soldier Fallen in Spain

If there are men who contain a soul without frontiers,
a brow scattered with universal hair,
covered with horizons, ships, and mountain chains,
with sand and with snow, then you are one of those.

Fatherlands called to you with all their banners,
so that your breath filled with beautiful movements.
You wanted to quench the thirst of panthers
and fluttered full against their abuses.

With a taste of all suns and seas,
Spain beckons you because in her you realize
your majesty like a tree that embraces a continent.

Around your bones, the olive groves will grow,
unfolding their iron roots in the ground,
embracing men universally, faithfully.



Everything is full of you

Everything is full of you
and I am full of everything:
the cities are full,
and the cemeteries are full,

you, with all the houses,
me, with all the bodies.

Down the streets, I will leave
something that I will retake:
pieces of my life
come from far away.

I go, feathered by agony
against my will, to see myself
in the threshold, in the bottom
hidden since birth.

Everything is full of me:
of something that is yours and memory
lost, but found
once more, some day.

Days that linger behind
decidedly black,
indelibly red,
golden upon your body.

Cast from your hair,
everything is full of you:
of something that I haven&#39;t found
and look for among your bones.


My friends: Please, try to read more about Miguel Hernandez. While this poems are great, there are several poems better than these in the work of Hernandez&#39;
Dont forget to share opinions about this.

[Paradox]

No Se

We&#39;re far too different
And yet so similar
Is that what brought her back?

I thought she had forgotten me
Erased my name from her memory
But here she is
Sharing thoughts with me once more

Is it out of pity? Or something else?
Could it be she feels what I feel for her?

Siempre estoy triste
Pero she can make me smile
Her soft voice, her laughter
Even when she rolls her eyes
Me encanta

But what could draw us to each other?
Desperation?
I hardly understand a word she says
She speaks a tongue I should know
But have yet to learn
Why would she talk to me
Who can hear but cannot listen?
No se

No se que hacer
No se que decir
Tengo miedo
I fear rejection
Would she accept me for who I am?
No se

Estoy cansado, from lack of sleep
Nights spent wondering
Trying to make sense of it all
No se que pensar

I only wish for freedom
Para libertad
No me gusta esclavitud
No me gusta soledad
I want to break free from my chains
From this life of solitude
Pero no se que hacer

We are so different
And yet so similar
Would it work?
No se
No se

The Suffering

With simple words and simple phrases
With meaningless promises that break to pieces
With weak concern and fading strength
I stand before you
Confused and angry
With no life behind my eyes
A cold and pale face
Blank, like the many pages of my past
What have I done?
What have I done to earn the right
To stand before you
And defend what I believe?
By what right can I tell you
What is right and what is wrong?
Am I not guilty?
The internal shouts and ridicule
My harshest critic is but my own reflection
The tension kills me, the anger
The reality of failure
And the revelation that I am to blame
And so now I suffer eternal torture
Solitude with taunts of freedom
Only to fall back into my past
Failure reincarnated, deja vu

[CommieBastard]

Will they make me live their dreams?

i feel ill,
with this doubt in my mind
and a blank fog where feelings should be,
i feel tired,
as i struggle to think,
struggle to move.
Full of woe,
frustrated at every turn,
i recoil to the comfort i know too well,
I feel dead,
my sight has left me,
the sounds still loud, but distant now,
in darkness i sit, i wait,
my thoughts tumble slowly as i ponder,
will i ever wake?

[RedAnarchist]

A poem for the ages,
A poem for the masses,
Sung, read, said aloud,
A poem of thought,
A poem of emotion,
A fruit from the ancient old oak,
A bloom from the mythical Eden,
Words that come from my lips,
Go to your heart,
Like a gift from me to you.

[RedAnarchist]

This is a test verse,
Please remain calm whilst you devour,
Half a cow named McDonald&#39;s,
This is a test verse,
A message, please, to remain calm,
All those who are walking adverts,
Reeboks to Addidas to Nikes,
This is a test verse,
Calm is good,
When you vote for the person
Who will screw you the least,
This is a test verse,
Be calm like the timid sea,
And pray to your God,
Didnt you get the message - God is dead,
This is a test verse,
Calm and peaceful,
Freedom is not the right to remain oppressed,
This is a test verse,
For the last time calm down,
For no normal service will be resumed,
After any revolutionary occurance,
This is a test verse,
Please remain calm.

[RedAnarchist]

You sit there, growing fat and old,
Drowning in Coke,
Choking on McDonalds and Burger King,
You are not your own master,
In this Capitalist Nation.
You sit there,
Think women are whores,
And black people ciminals,
Giving them labels not like your own,
But whilst your discriminatory diction comes,
In this Capitalist Nation,
You see no truth,
You hear no dissent.

[RedAnarchist]

Scream out a poem,
Shout out your deepest vers,
Scar the sky with fiery diction,
Make distinctions between fact and fiction,
Feel the wind of change,
Its warmth encourages the voice to grow.

[CommieBastard]

Originally posted by [email protected] 22 2005, 07:40 PM
This is a test verse,
Please remain calm whilst you devour,
Half a cow named McDonald&#39;s,
This is a test verse,
A message, please, to remain calm,
All those who are walking adverts,
Reeboks to Addidas to Nikes,
This is a test verse,
Calm is good,
When you vote for the person
Who will screw you the least,
This is a test verse,
Be calm like the timid sea,
And pray to your God,
Didnt you get the message - God is dead,
This is a test verse,
Calm and peaceful,
Freedom is not the right to remain oppressed,
This is a test verse,
For the last time calm down,
For no normal service will be resumed,
After any revolutionary occurance,
This is a test verse,
Please remain calm.
:o

fantastique