January Writer's Thread

[halcyon]

on and off again writer checks his watch.

late night is arriving as scheduled, right on time
tomorrow morning is an oncoming freight train
impossible to avoid

the time between now and then is spent
listening to sullen melodies that remind him
of the days past where things were different
where things in chaos somehow made sense
because there was always that moment
before the house of cards crashed down
that he forgot what it's like to be alone

the puzzle is finally gathering it's last pieces
a mess of what was of yesterday
turns out to be something more
after so many years of waiting
the whole scene is coming together
just when he didn't think
that there wasn't a picture at all

how unfortunate it poetically is
that still some large piece goes missing
a cornerstone to be exact
it's just one piece, how important can it be?
it might not be important at all
but nonetheless it's still needed

he begins to wonder if the piece even exists

[Illuminated]

Life Moves On

Through life
And through experience
A way of words
And a way of life

Now, life moves on
No truth to hide about that
We improve
Or we move for the worse

Life moves on
And the clock is ticking
Day by day
Hour by hour and year by year

Surviving
Hoping
Caring
Living life to the fullest

There's no going back
There's no need to hide in darkness
Coming out alive
Coming out to life

Nothing better than to live
If last night was a day of pain
Then tomorrow is a day of healing
So the next day is time to stop, think, realize the truth, and move on

Because no matter what happens
No matter what goes on in life
The clock will never stop ticking
Day and night will come, and no matter what, life will move on..

© Luis Mirones

[Article One]

i sweat and you gaze, a perfect moment frozen in flannel symmetry. the calm beneath weathered skies has me drowning in humid inhalations of ancient biological excretion; tendrils of dioxide. truly the universe blinks, but being caught in the eyelash beside your fuzz provides a removed fate i could anticipate. there are moments, and there is momentum; but without either we would know not of the dance that has made us. insignificance within importance; doubt beside fear, wrapped in toenail bandages of sterilized gauze; defiance buried beneath submission; ultimate supremacy over nothing that can stimulate natural senses. if i knew now what i knew then, you would only be a distant thought in collective existence.

do not love.

to love is to sell, and to sell is to deceive. instead, embrace me and understand. when you let go of your known definitions of mortality, you will find me reaching for you. smoky clothes and stained yellow teeth, irrelevance paled by your faith in our comprehension. when all light flickers, you will see the darkness that is imminent and prominent. the last effect of the sun on the earth is an imbalace of tides, a wave to be ridden toward the absence of life.

despair.

for when the candle is burned and the white heat of your topical bruises subsides to a mere itch, you will find exasperation. the face of the unknown presents you with relief. we are in this to be outward, and fear justifies the menacing sun of our fate; rise as i lower to you, jugular presented within hope. hope within passing and no passing without existing.

no existing without you.

[Article One]

meh...its a bit....out of focus and existential.. :shrug:

[Illuminated]

Sense

Given the thoughts
Given the experience
Given by day and night
Something that cannot be understood by all

Trying to make sense of it all
Trying to give a reason to why me
Finding solutions never thought of before
And through passages

Finding someone to care about
In the most unexpected way possible
And to find myself hurting her
And hurting myself deeply

Trying to make sense of it all
There has to be a reason to such events
Perhaps a build up to something bigger
The trust that can be held for what someone is

Quality, the desired way of living
Quantity, the thoughts of being able to be more
So what is right and what is wrong
A balance that life brought about this world

Seeing darkness and a light about
Which road to take is unknown
Finding unexpect, yet wonderful things
Bringing a light to life, my life!

Seeing it come to such endings that begin a new start
Days will come and days will go
The expression through words will never go
Priceless ways of putting feelings into words

Trying to stop and think, giving a reason to it all
No one is perfect
Given the chances that this can be fixed
Hoping for the best and not the worst

Keep looking ahead
Keep living, without a grudge to see
Keep caring for what you believe in most
And not letting go of what values the most

Is there such thing as a death of loneliness?
Such a fear that I can't imagine to see
Beyond life itself
Given the hopes to have someone to love and to give

It's more than just being there, flesh
It's more of being alive and giving your all
Giving what you most dearly kept in you
Without a doubt to give what you can't give to anyone else

Loving, caring, kissing
So why is it that such desire seems to only come and go
As if it was meant to hurt, more and more
Making sense of it is hard, may take insanity to figure it out

© Luis Mirones

[Gizmo]

I was interrupted mid-jibe by another of Nixon's karate-explosion poses crost the floodlit dancefloor. She had a mind to be Lee, Wayne, any number of crashbang comic heroes; I could see those fantastic gears churning furious in her pupils wide as second-coming eclipses, and if my heart weren't in my throat I'd praise her for any smiles brought back that I thought lost. But we weren't there anymore and her timing was about five years off and aim just as bad. As it were, my sell-rap was cut midway by just a glimpse of that drunk collosus stride, my word footing gone from Estaire to Knotts, and ain't it a bitch because now would come the fireshow, beyond more avoidance. And I was doing so fucking well. St. Ben might have signed his own life away, for the nickels and pocket lint it was worth to someone. Despite her furie facade Nixon's dire death by firebomb flitted past my cerebrum in a red nano, her pink pigtails fluttering and flaglike in spiral, a garden spray of her blood tickticktick across brick on a severed spine. oh that beautiful, wicked distraction! What bases uses we return to.

ok.calm.down. breathe-in-out. she is but a girl, newborn rat writhing dumb and glistening to this empty era of effervescence and adderol, oh but how many blowing sheets to which trade wind she was...now that's a question long forgotten by any who'd care, and any caring that could be had in this lost city went out with Lent, citronella jesus candles, plastic glow in the dark rosaries. I knew sometime tonight Yangon slipped her sideways a redjack capsule for her elastic purple drink, I watched it fizz a downward spiral, shooting off its sparks in that lethal concoction of cerebral association, every bubble promising a new fever pitch nightmare. Now that's one for the Gipper (told him to wait till she flew back down before shooting her skyward again but that's me). I'd be holding her pink braids in my fist tonight as she shouted her innards to the porcelin altars in every reststop shithouse from here home. That used to be a sign of something: friendship, chutzpah, shmuckdom. Thinking its the latter for my shmuckdom knows no bounds, specifically when she slides those baby blues skyward and thanks her mother for such a fine set of knockers. Bitch makes me laugh, even now when she's writhing like some lost field hippie and cutting off my flow, and now finally St. Benny knows my tricks' up and in goes his fist to that black flak jacket... when it comes out I know it'll be metal and sawed-off and right now that's about no good.

Up goes the card table underknee in a pop-bang of white dust and amber waves, Jesus be proud. Enough of this gamble, bring my people home, whatnot. St. Benny stutters with those black depths of eyes, putputput goes his confusion over those speedbumps in his one working brain cell. He has not a second to blink again before his head turns into gourmet marmelade/coincer/confiture, if he were French (if not, Arabic or some derivative, I have never been good at this) sliding a pulpy organic grafitti over the wall behind his sad shape, in that strange design of our new violent tendencies. Bar goes pindrop quiet, that one second like looking through the end of a telescope. Then it happened, and believe me if I were expecting it I'd do anything not to.

Nixon's incredible wail; that sudden razor through the damp awe. Her gut voice shrieks a siren up and up and I can't imagine what she's seeing, the death of her and all her seed. Up and up in that tidal wave of all that she's lost her voice could shatter mountains, and my brain goes numb from that same dumb mother wave, reeking to save, to save. To hold her head, dress her wounds, go in with an eraser and put out all those parts that suddenly inverted into ghost, at this scene: me, mine, him, and those parts of his memory that now everyone could read, spelled out on the brick in some elaborate lost art of silence and gore. And in that moment I regretted this life of speeding cars, of roadkill and slanted cityscape from gutter's view, I regretted Nixon's lost frame, a second ago looking Venus now looking like some drowned cat, crying and collapsing in the flood of blue light that beat upon her shoulders and settled in her collarbones like liquid sacchrine. I saw her not giggling like girls do, that bubbling fountain of sound. Not standing behind the doors of all brick apartments, the eternal prize for some drive-in chump in plaid flannel holding daisies. Not karokeing off key for her flourescent shreiking friends, all bangles and bubblegum. Not writing hearts over her i's in a pink laquered diary, as what should be, as what probably never was. This antithesis of glacier concentration, now she was just cold and crying; a wet mess of grief and exploding landmine pains behind those tragic eyes.

And I regretted all of this as I went to collect her, hoist her like a feedbag over my aching shoulders, and drive us all home after yet another botched democracy.

[cleophite]

God, it's ABOUT FRIGGING TIME you posted something, Cort.

Nice seeing you out on Friday :)

[Synz]

the world slips away
and you begin to hate
but why should you care
when noone else wonders why

falling apart is the one true method of succumb
the easiest way to let it all out
strong but weak
i wish to all the fear that i never fail

deep within the confines of the pitted
i grow weary with the notion of a castaway's hope
who the fuck should care?
when everyones got an alterior...

lost and soon to be forgotten
dreams of a legend are only that of a fool
but a fool is happier than a legend
cause reality is the one eden



yea... i lost it...

[nyhope]

I was interrupted mid-jibe by another of Nixon's karate-explosion poses crost the floodlit dancefloor. She had a mind to be Lee, Wayne, any number of crashbang comic heroes; I could see those fantastic gears churning furious in her pupils wide as second-coming eclipses, and if my heart weren't in my throat I'd praise her for any smiles brought back that I thought lost. But we weren't there anymore and her timing was about five years off and aim just as bad. As it were, my sell-rap was cut midway by just a glimpse of that drunk collosus stride, my word footing gone from Estaire to Knotts, and ain't it a bitch because now would come the fireshow, beyond more avoidance. And I was doing so fucking well. St. Ben might have signed his own life away, for the nickels and pocket lint it was worth to someone. Despite her furie facade Nixon's dire death by firebomb flitted past my cerebrum in a red nano, her pink pigtails fluttering and flaglike in spiral, a garden spray of her blood tickticktick across brick on a severed spine. oh that beautiful, wicked distraction! What bases uses we return to.

ok.calm.down. breathe-in-out. she is but a girl, newborn rat writhing dumb and glistening to this empty era of effervescence and adderol, oh but how many blowing sheets to which trade wind she was...now that's a question long forgotten by any who'd care, and any caring that could be had in this lost city went out with Lent, citronella jesus candles, plastic glow in the dark rosaries. I knew sometime tonight Yangon slipped her sideways a redjack capsule for her elastic purple drink, I watched it fizz a downward spiral, shooting off its sparks in that lethal concoction of cerebral association, every bubble promising a new fever pitch nightmare. Now that's one for the Gipper (told him to wait till she flew back down before shooting her skyward again but that's me). I'd be holding her pink braids in my fist tonight as she shouted her innards to the porcelin altars in every reststop shithouse from here home. That used to be a sign of something: friendship, chutzpah, shmuckdom. Thinking its the latter for my shmuckdom knows no bounds, specifically when she slides those baby blues skyward and thanks her mother for such a fine set of knockers. Bitch makes me laugh, even now when she's writhing like some lost field hippie and cutting off my flow, and now finally St. Benny knows my tricks' up and in goes his fist to that black flak jacket... when it comes out I know it'll be metal and sawed-off and right now that's about no good.

Up goes the card table underknee in a pop-bang of white dust and amber waves, Jesus be proud. Enough of this gamble, bring my people home, whatnot. St. Benny stutters with those black depths of eyes, putputput goes his confusion over those speedbumps in his one working brain cell. He has not a second to blink again before his head turns into gourmet marmelade/coincer/confiture, if he were French (if not, Arabic or some derivative, I have never been good at this) sliding a pulpy organic grafitti over the wall behind his sad shape, in that strange design of our new violent tendencies. Bar goes pindrop quiet, that one second like looking through the end of a telescope. Then it happened, and believe me if I were expecting it I'd do anything not to.

Nixon's incredible wail; that sudden razor through the damp awe. Her gut voice shrieks a siren up and up and I can't imagine what she's seeing, the death of her and all her seed. Up and up in that tidal wave of all that she's lost her voice could shatter mountains, and my brain goes numb from that same dumb mother wave, reeking to save, to save. To hold her head, dress her wounds, go in with an eraser and put out all those parts that suddenly inverted into ghost, at this scene: me, mine, him, and those parts of his memory that now everyone could read, spelled out on the brick in some elaborate lost art of silence and gore. And in that moment I regretted this life of speeding cars, of roadkill and slanted cityscape from gutter's view, I regretted Nixon's lost frame, a second ago looking Venus now looking like some drowned cat, crying and collapsing in the flood of blue light that beat upon her shoulders and settled in her collarbones like liquid sacchrine. I saw her not giggling like girls do, that bubbling fountain of sound. Not standing behind the doors of all brick apartments, the eternal prize for some drive-in chump in plaid flannel holding daisies. Not karokeing off key for her flourescent shreiking friends, all bangles and bubblegum. Not writing hearts over her i's in a pink laquered diary, as what should be, as what probably never was. This antithesis of glacier concentration, now she was just cold and crying; a wet mess of grief and exploding landmine pains behind those tragic eyes.

And I regretted all of this as I went to collect her, hoist her like a feedbag over my aching shoulders, and drive us all home after yet another botched democracy.
i remain in awe of your talent. thank you for making me smile this morning.

:smooch:

[halcyon]

choking on his own words of razor realizations
his voice becomes lost as vocal chords are severed
nothing much to say for a little while anyways
other than admitting that changing colors for a moment
was the epitome of "sounded like a good idea at the time"
a "should have known better" situation destined for disaster
in frustration he would roar, if only he could

[Qubit]

Cort rocks it hard : )

[Fetterbug]

choking on his own words of razor realizations
his voice becomes lost as vocal chords are severed
nothing much to say for a little while anyways
other than admitting that changing colors for a moment
was the epitome of "sounded like a good idea at the time"
a "should have known better" situation destined for disaster
in frustration he would roar, if only he could


Always quality posts. I like this one a lot. :thumbsup:

[Gizmo]

Thank you laurens and russ. :) much appreciation

[Kif]

Thank you laurens and russ. :) much appreciation
:whoa:

:wave: Hi cort. Fancy seeing you on here

[DeAtHmOnGeR bEaR]

So She Waits

Blink
Breath
Anticipating
Sitting
Still
She sits there waiting
Fingers
Toes
Crossed, she's debating
Life
Future
And now she's hating
Uncertainty
Possibility
Her anxiety sating -
She sits there waiting...

Ring, goddammit....

[halcyon]

winter creeps through cracks in the window
seeping in and crawling along the floors
empty halls become more numb than ever
an eternal still frame of loneliness
waiting there to be captured by the eye
that sees between act one and two

from there it might be developed
even framed to grace some wall
one rarely seen except by those
who know the less traveled way to it

while coffee shop culturals and intellectuals
argue and debate and discuss and banter
the emotion that was behind it all
in the black/white crisp and edgey view
the masked truth lies in the unknown

it's the writer's less known self portrait
taken with the already accepted thought
that no one would ever know the wiser

odd how things go

[Article One]

winter creeps through cracks in the window
seeping in and crawling along the floors
empty halls become more numb than ever
an eternal still frame of loneliness
waiting there to be captured by the eye
that sees between act one and two

from there it might be developed
even framed to grace some wall
one rarely seen except by those
who know the less traveled way to it

while coffee shop culturals and intellectuals
argue and debate and discuss and banter
the emotion that was behind it all
in the black/white crisp and edgey view
the masked truth lies in the unknown

it's the writer's less known self portrait
taken with the already accepted thought
that no one would ever know the wiser

odd how things go

personally, i think this is one of your best. i like the nod to robert frost as well. :thumbsup:

[halcyon]

personally, i think this is one of your best. i like the nod to robert frost as well. :thumbsup:

Thank you, I was up late last night after taking in a few drinks here and there, after stumbling home i thought i'd open up my book and post something.

I've been writing often, just not anything that was really worthy of letting anyone else see. To be honest, even the piece above I thought wasn't anything that should see the light of day.

Cheers

[Fetterbug]

Thank you, I was up late last night after taking in a few drinks here and there, after stumbling home i thought i'd open up my book and post something.

I've been writing often, just not anything that was really worthy of letting anyone else see. To be honest, even the piece above I thought wasn't anything that should see the light of day.

Cheers

Think again! Your writing is always great to read...

[halcyon]

Think again! Your writing is always great to read...

Sometimes, others it's repetitive and not even worth the paper it was written on. Too often I feel as if I ink the same lines over and over, I like whatever I share to have some sort of freshness to it instead of revolving around the same subject matter over and over.

I dare say that I might even post some more this weekend, it just depends how hammered I get I suppose.

[halcyon]

sunflowers on a winter wind
take him back into yesterday
back to when he sat alone with her
the world faded away
as he found himself overwhelmed
by the scent and sight of her

it was there refuge was
it was there he felt safe
closing his eyes and for once
finally having peaceful dreams

sunflowers on the wind
make him become lost in memories
memories of her

if only he could be lost forever

[halcyon]

"Ruin's leftovers"

the belief was undeniable as the sweetness of her voice
she spread her arms wide as she softly spoke unto him
"come now weary soul and lay your head on me, rest"
it was there he closed his eyes for the first time in years
vulnerable with guard down in dreams he became lost
finally a moment of peace after years of perpetual grind

"trust me" she whispered as her breath tickled his ear
being alone was the safest route but if given enough time
safety becomes disregarded for the desire of something more
"be that blue eyed poet for me, i know he's in there"
like a dead warrior's spirit, she summoned the poet inside him

night and day past, rain or sun you could find him
in a dark corner over there or some diner over there
scrabbling words in a hurriedness as finally
all those things he taught himself not to feel
suddenly became okay to once again know
once again safe to write about
the world might just know his soul's reflection yet
or so he thought

turns out while his words were full hers were empty
the foundation not even left of what was built
and the all that's left over from the ruins
just someone that would rather be left alone
then trust anyone ever again

[L00p33]

So, yeah...been outdoing myself writing some poetry/lyrics for vocal demo I have been doing and looking for some feedback. I have posted a few on a few threads...but here it goes: Slaughter away...be careful though...I shatter easily. :wink:
OH...and please...post some of yours (you little inspiring poets!!) Share!! :funshine:

PHREAK
Midnight valley full of stars
red planet on your right
turn quickly now, quickly
take it, take it
drink it down.
Sip it slowly
taste it thick
rise up above the crowd
hold in, hold it in
your scream is coming out!
I bite your lip
I hold you limp
I wonder why
you deserved it more than I
you sneak, you steal,you lie,you reel, you
phreak, you deal, you lose.
I don't feel NE loss, no regret, I don't
care, take your pill and forget. You forget, you forgot, forget.
Rest in Peace, you Phreak.



I'm groov'n on....

"I hate my job
I hate my life
I’m in financial trouble
I'm his ex-wife".
I don't want your dick
I just want too dance
get out of my way
get out of my pantz
Okay...I gave you a chance!

Don't blame me if I tell you off
don't ask me where I got that, cough
in your face you horrible disgrace of
the male race go back to your boyhood
and give us a place.
See all us girls have problems
we all want to danz
we don't need your dicks to do it
we don't need you to approve it
we only want to ruin our only chance.


"I hate my job
I hate my life
I’m in financial trouble
I'm his ex-wife".
I don't want your dick
I just want too dance
get out of my way
get out of my pantz
Okay...I gave you a chance!

I'm groov'n on.....

(thanks to Paul P. for inspiration)

:woot: post away...... (poems are by me of course.... :P ) watch for my vocal house demo out soon to a store near you --or something....

[Yakko Red]

threads merged

[Shakey]

Schizo-Affective

Looking at the world through the eyes of a child.
Everything so unfamiliar, so frightening.
Then when you hear the softly whispered words, You find it stangely enlightening.
Going through the motions for far too long.
Each day is a xerox of days before.
And it's building and growing and infesting and you dont think you can take much more.
Insanity in it's purest form, I know it all too well.
But does this mean that I should be damned to misery and hell?
The largest part of my life has been taken and tossed away.
And then I realize that it was never really there anyway.

[DeAtHmOnGeR bEaR]

Hello and welcome to the Internet Forum!
I'm Pete, and I'll assist you on your way.
Here we specialize in not only communication
But also in the trends of today!

Aisle one has the posting rules,
Inside jokes are on two, three, and four...
And if you need a little orange text -
You can find it all over the floor.

Jaded posters along with trolls
Are solid in packs of three.
You'll find them all in Aisle five
Along with tubs of "sanity".

And now, our speciality items stand
Up here smilies make all the rest -
Cause tell it true, friend, we both know
Teh n00bs likes them the best.

Packets of "WTF" and "OMG"
Can be found in the very back -
Oh, and jumbo-strength "discression":
Sold out. We apologize for the lack.

Of ladies we have two or three
Souts honour, they're both lookers.
Because, most essentially of all -
Every board needs a hooker.

Thank you.

[L00p33]

Yeah!! Death Monger Bear rocks!!! That was great!!
*claps*

[Louis Riley]

this is all good stuff guys....wonderful poetry and prose...it makes me want to find some of my stuff but all I have is fantasy...I'm shit at poetry and the one semi serious piece I wrote I no longer have

[DeAtHmOnGeR bEaR]

Do eet.

Doooo eeet.

[halcyon]

this ringing at late night early morning three am wonderland
it's just him calling her to see if she's out and about the stars still
all while he's just trying to find that one that'll lead him home
home not a place or a thing or anything more than a quiet moment
between the fortress the walls the haven the refuge the safehouse the sanctuary
just that place between a pair of arms and pressed against a beating heart
such a place he could close his eyes and lose himself fade into her
in this state of sorrid and pathetic existence it'd be okay to be vulnerable

can't you see he's falling apart at the seams unraveling here and there
threads of his soul scatter about the floore as all those he cares the most for
bear witness to a man breaking down after no thought he ever would again
let him down and shatter him again and again like the puzzle he comes together
making comebacks that make lazarus look like some sissy bitch on a magazine cover

when he wakes up and finds himself in the gutter missing something he won't ever have
he'll find himself once again and he'll takes what's left and build again and again
but time after time he knows only one thing is for certain in this shithouse we call a world
all he has is himself and more than likely he's going to die with nothing else
while the rest of the world based on superficialities of whatever the fuck is candy coated
some sort of pill that everyone doesn't mind swallowing

spit bitches spit
and see the world as he does
just a lonely place
just a fucking up and lonely place not worth an ounce of trust

[IcePrincess2250]

A Sad Teenage Poem

Like a flower I [insert sad verb here].
I shrivel under the weight of the [insert powerful noun here].
My existence is futile.
What is the point of living without his sweet caress?
I am so pathetic,
But do not pity me,
For my own pity shall keep me content for a while.
I do fear that I have nothing left to do but sit.
[Insert great revelation about the meaning of life here].

[IcePrincess2250]

Two Sailors and a Mountaineer

O’ despite a course so beaten,
A ship wracked up on stone,
A weary, rain torn mountaineer,
Doth lie covered to the bone.

God rests his eyes, indifferent cruel,
At the sign of such lament,
But with all life, there comes an end,
As men for heaven sent.

The mates they call, o’er the howl,
Of most intrepid gust,
The shouts doth dim as clouds collide,
Men for their lives do lust.

The mountaineer, across the sphere,
Both beggest much the same,
For call he waits, upon the gates,
Patient to hear his name.

Two sailors leave this pitied world,
After sobbing to the seas,
For salt meets salt so many times,
And never does appease.

As they ascend, carried away,
The mountaineer tilts his head,
And eyes the both, wet and cold,
Their garments weighing lead.

Tomorrow comes, a crew arrives
To the rock-beaten sloop,
Three score men, shivering,
The hull acting as their coop.

They count themselves, all but two,
And weep for brothers lost,
But all is well, in heavens high,
For those to there were tossed.