The Poem Thread.
| Good [+1]Toggle ReplyLink» da_instagatah replied on Sun Mar 9, 2003 @ 9:19am |
 Coolness: 144170 | Find a poem or write one about how you're feeling.
Yeah, it's cheesy, I know. |
| Good [+1]Toggle ReplyLink» da_instagatah replied on Sun Mar 9, 2003 @ 9:20am |
| Coolness: 144170 | unresponsive
betrayal your cold eyes a stone heart stillness no more longing despondency undefined phlegmatic the path on the journey has been shut the song, the song it plays louder and louder to remind me of what? something like two day fling to make me suffer the hard glares of hate what was once is lost but it's too hard to forget too hard to leave alone I you no more cold glares a bewildered state unresponsive |
| Good [+1]Toggle ReplyLink» clown replied on Sun Mar 9, 2003 @ 3:01pm |
 Coolness: 221705 | lonely heart,
more then ever. Apart, from the one it love, looking for a new start, with some other dove, spreading its wings, stealing my things. leaving one, without fun. a lonesome heart, is all that's left in the dark, without a spark. ______________________ hahaha.. i suck at this stuff.. :p |
| Good [+1]Toggle ReplyLink» soyfunk replied on Sun Mar 9, 2003 @ 3:50pm |
 Coolness: 126710 | there's no flow to this but here goes...
i travel my path in hopes of ascension free reign to desires hinder my progression lack of guideline; mind is left in a void flashing lights, constant senseless noise sounds of machines leave a constant ring in my ear try to hear through it, nothing is simply clear born into the cycle of day and night built up on mass symetry; based upon a grid in tight weaves i tangle from daybreak i dangle these lights deceive visions abscent without leave |
| Good [+1]Toggle ReplyLink» da_instagatah replied on Sun Mar 9, 2003 @ 4:07pm |
| Coolness: 144170 | Watch me now
As I fall Just descend Into the pain That I feel Because I am scarred such a fool... Why is it so That I feel like Every time I see him It kills me inside I think I'm mad Just out of my mind For wanting them so much And receiving nothing For my pain fool I am Always will be Nothing I can do To fix this agony Just kill me dear You have already Anyway, I know it's true Tis only a fantasy I hold close to me Because I chide myself daily For this silly whim But it has been shattered, Oh yes, it has, I am falling, falling, into my descent, That is my lost hope And I wish upon a star That you'd care just a bit And I wish in my heart That you'd like me And I wish, just wish, That we could talk And I wish inside That I could stop Being such a stupid, Insane, Fool. |
| Good [+1]Toggle ReplyLink» AngryChinchilla replied on Sun Mar 9, 2003 @ 4:21pm |
 Coolness: 56000 | My Hollywood
My world of milli- and micrograms cut squares of powder and package them up ive got ur fix in my pokcet ur lives in my wallet and its 500 a gram for my Hollywood and ill expand ur horizons with a bag of gumdrops micrograms distributed one on one and ill spread ur rent on this mirror and cut ur bills with this razor and watch u take it all up ur nose and ill take ur money sell u pleasure and pain and watch all uve slaved for slide up ur veins and ill cook u ur Hollywood for the right price and one day for this habit ull sell me ur life |
| Good [+1]Toggle ReplyLink» nothingnopenope replied on Sun Mar 9, 2003 @ 5:03pm |
 Coolness: 201165 |  |
| Good [+1]Toggle ReplyLink» flatlinedive replied on Sun Mar 9, 2003 @ 5:04pm |
 Coolness: 63845 | hot tears cascade
wrenched from the depths of the souless ripped from an icy heart they run like warm blood from an open wound turning the minds' eye inwards onto old memories drowning in the dark depths of a vast ocean of old pain of bitterness that tastes sweet throat and lungs raw shredded by the choked back wails of anguish painful pounding of a heart awakened exposed, waiting in the vain hope that it will all subside once more battered, bruised wanting. |
| Good [+1]Toggle ReplyLink» mdc replied on Sun Mar 9, 2003 @ 5:06pm |
| Coolness: 148755 | Scotty is funny!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! |
| Good [+1]Toggle ReplyLink» Miss_Amanda replied on Sun Mar 9, 2003 @ 6:22pm |
 Coolness: 160485 | omg Scotty I almost peed myself |
| Good [+1]Toggle ReplyLink» PoiSoNeD_CaNdY replied on Sun Mar 9, 2003 @ 6:46pm |
 Coolness: 91630 | haha hilarious |
| Good [+1]Toggle ReplyLink» AngryChinchilla replied on Mon Mar 10, 2003 @ 3:31pm |
| Coolness: 56000 | Organically Grown.
Organically grown in accordance with the California Food Act of 1990. No perservitives. No artifical colors or flavors. No pesticides. Perishable. Keep refridgerated. Refridgerate after opening. Open only if you're sure how. How sweet. Sweet N' Low. Low rider. Rider on the storm. Storm troopers. Personable. Able-bodied. Deeds done dirt cheap. Cheap. Skate. Skateboard. Bored stiff. Stiff staff. Staff infection. Shuneshine. Shine on. On a hot tin roof. Roof over your head. Head games. Games people play. Play house. House boy. Boyfriend. Friendly. Leon Russel. Russel Stover. Very funny. Funny farm. Farm. Fresh. Freshjive. Jive talkin'. Talkin' bout my gerneration. Ken-L-Ration dog food. Food service. Vice cop. Co-out. Out of control. Control freak. Freak out. Outside. Sideways. Way off. Off the lip. Lip service. Service bureau. Bureau of alcohol, tobacco, and firearms. Arm and Hammer. Hammer of the Gods. Godhead. Head of lettuce. Let us pray. Praying mantis. Tis the season to be jolly. Jolly Roger. Germ farewell. Well I'll be damned. Organically Grown. |
| Good [+1]Toggle ReplyLink» flatlinedive replied on Mon Mar 10, 2003 @ 8:04pm |
| Coolness: 63845 | you cannot harm me
you cannot harm one who has dreamed a dream like mine. sometimes i go about in pity for myself and all the while a great wind carries me accross the sky. it is not true, it is not true we come to live here we come here only to sleep, we come here only to dream. -Ojibwa |
| Good [+1]Toggle ReplyLink» PaT_ replied on Mon Mar 10, 2003 @ 9:02pm |
| Coolness: 116235 | -Untitled-
I thought that I could tie you down And make you love just one But how could I do something No one else has done? I know you'll never love me I'm trying not to cry For I must find the strength To kiss your lips goodbye So when you ask for me again You'll find I won't be there I want a love to call my own Not one I have to share So I will hide my broken heart Beneath a laughing face And though you'll think I never cared No one else can take your place -unknown author- -Angry Chair- I SIT UPON THE ANGRY CHAIR WITH MISERY AS MY FOOTSTOOL STARRING INTO THE SHADOWING FLAMES AS MY DREAMS BURN BEFORE MY EYES. THE CONSTANT RINGING OF REALITY ECHOES IN MY BLEEDING EARS. I SWALLOW ALL OF MY PRIDE LIKE TINY SHARDS OF GLASS. SO IS THE PAIN OF A BROKEN HEART AND THAT OF A SHATTERED SPIRIT. I ADMIRE HAPPINESS FROM A DISTANCE AS IF IT WERE A FINE CUT EMERALD ALWAYS SLIGHTLY OUT OF REACH. TEARS OF MADNESS AND DEFEAT STREAM DOWN THE SIDES OF MY BLANK AND FEELINGLESS FACE LIKE WATERFALLS OF TORMENT AND INSANITY. I RETURN TO MY LONESOME WORLD AND EMBRACE COLD AND DARKNESS WHICH OVER TIME I'VE GROWN TO EXCEPT. LIFE ONCE AGAIN HAS TAUNTED ME WITH ILLUSIONS OF LOVE AND LAUGHTER TO REMIND ME OF THE PAIN THAT I CAN NEVER ESCAPE. MY SOUL LAYS DOWN TO DIE WELCOMING DEATH WITH OPEN ARMS. YET I KNOW 'TWIL NEVER BE FOR THE GAME WOULD END AND SO THE PAIN WHICH I CAN NEVER ESCAPE. LIFE'S CRUEL GAME OF LOVE AND SORROW MUST BE PLAYED BY EVERYONE, BUT THERE ARE NO WINNERS FOR HAPPINESS IS BUT A MYTH. THOSE WHO BELIEVE THEY ARE HAPPY ARE DELUSIONARY; CHOOSING TO IGNORE REALITY. THOSE WHO ARE NOT HAPPY ENVY THOSE WHO THINK THEY ARE WISHING AWAY ALL THE PAIN WHICH I CAN NEVER ESCAPE. I SIT UPON MY ANGRY CHAIR IN HOLLOW SILENCE... DREAMING THAT SOMEDAY I CAN BE DELUSIONARY AND ESCAPE THE PAIN OF REALITY, BUT ALAS THE BURNING AMBERS OF THAT LAST AN FINAL DREAM WILL FLICKER AND DIE WITH MY LOVE FOR YOU. SO IT IS GOODBYE MY LOVE. WHEN YOU LISTEN TO THE FALLING RAIN THINK OF ALL THE DELUSIONARY DREAMS OF HAPPINESS WE ONCE DID SHARE, AND OF THE TIMES I HELD YOU CLOSE. THE MEMORIES OF MY GENTLE CARESS AND SOFTEST KISS WILL SEEP INTO YOUR MIND. MAY THESE SAME TEARS ROLL DOWN YOUR FACE AS YOU REMEMBER THIS BROKEN MAN AND HIS LOVE YOU LEFT BEHIND. -unknown author- |
| Good [+1]Toggle ReplyLink» PaT_ replied on Mon Mar 10, 2003 @ 9:32pm |
| Coolness: 116235 | Allen Ginsberg (1926-1997)
Howl I I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness, starving hysterical naked, dragging themselves through the negro streets at dawn looking for an angry fix, angelheaded hipsters burning for the ancient heavenly connection to the starry dynamo in the machinery of night, who poverty and tatters and hollow-eyed and high sat up smoking in the supernatural darkness of cold-water flats floating across the tops of cities contemplating jazz, who bared their brains to Heaven under the El and saw Mohammedan angels staggering on tenement roofs illuminated, who passed through universities with radiant eyes hallucinating Arkansas and Blake-light tragedy among the scholars of war, who were expelled from the academies for crazy & publishing obscene odes on the windows of the skull, who cowered in unshaven rooms in underwear, burning their money in wastebaskets and listening to the Terror through the wall, who got busted in their pubic beards returning through Laredo with a belt of marijuana for New York, who ate fire in paint hotels or drank turpentine in Paradise Alley, death, or purgatoried their torsos night after night with dreams, with drugs, with waking nightmares, alcohol and cock and endless balls, incomparable blind streets of shuddering cloud and lightning in the mind leaping towards poles of Canada & Paterson, illuminating all the motionless world of Time between, Peyote solidities of halls, backyard green tree cemetery dawns, wine drunkenness over the rooftops, storefront boroughs of teahead joyride neon blinking traffic light, sun and moon and tree vibrations in the roaring winter dusks of Brooklyn, ashcan rantings and kind king light of mind, who chained themselves to subways for the endless ride from Battery to holy Bronx on benzedrine until the noise of wheels and children brought them down shuddering mouth-wracked and battered bleak of brain all drained of brilliance in the drear light of Zoo, who sank all night in submarine light of Bickford's floated out and sat through the stale beer afternoon in desolate Fugazzi's, listening to the crack of doom on the hydrogen jukebox, who talked continuously seventy hours from park to pad to bar to Bellevue to museum to the Brooklyn Bridge, a lost batallion of platonic conversationalists jumping down the stoops off fire escapes off windowsills off Empire State out of the moon yacketayakking screaming vomiting whispering facts and memories and anecdotes and eyeball kicks and shocks of hospitals and jails and wars, whose intellects disgorged in total recall for seven days and nights with brilliant eyes, meat for the Synagogue cast on the pavement, who vanished into nowhere Zen New Jersey leaving a trail of ambiguous picture postcards of Atlantic City Hall, suffering Eastern sweats and Tangerian bone-grindings and migraines of China under junk-withdrawal in Newark's bleak furnished room, who wandered around and around at midnight in the railway yard wondering where to go, and went, leaving no broken hearts, who lit cigarettes in boxcars boxcars boxcars racketing through snow toward lonesome farms in grandfather night, who studied Plotinus Poe St John of the Cross telepathy and bop kabbalah because the universe instinctively vibrated at their feet in Kansas, who loned it through the streets of Idaho seeking visionary indian angels who were visionary indian angels, who thought they were only mad when Baltimore gleamed in supernatural ecstasy, who jumped in limousines with the Chinaman of Oklahoma on the impulse of winter midnight streetlight smalltown rain, who lounged hungry and lonesome through Houston seeking jazz or sex or soup, and followed the brilliant Spaniard to converse about America and Eternity, a hopeless task, and so took ship to Africa, who disappeared into the volcanoes of Mexico leaving nothing behind but the shadow of dungarees and the larva and ash of poetry scattered in fireplace Chicago, who reappeared on the West Coast investigating the FBI in beards and shorts with big pacifist eyes sexy in their dark skin passing out incomprehensible leaflets, who burned cigarette holes in their arms protesting the narcotic tobacco haze of Capitalism, who distributed Supercommunist pamphlets in Union Square weeping and undressing while the sirens of Los Alamos wailed them down, and wailed down Wall, and the Staten Island ferry also wailed, who broke down crying in white gymnasiums naked and trembling before the machinery of other skeletons, who bit detectives in the neck and shrieked with delight in policecars for committing no crime but their own wild cooking pederasty and intoxication, who howled on their knees in the subway and were dragged off the roof waving genitals and manuscripts, who let themselves be fucked in the ass by saintly motorcyclists, and screamed with joy, who blew and were blown by those human seraphim, the sailors, caresses of Atlantic and Caribbean love, who balled in the morning in the evenings in rosegardens and the grass of public parks and cemeteries scattering their semen freely to whomever come who may, who hiccuped endlessly trying to giggle but wound up with a sob behind a partition in a Turkish Bath when the blond & naked angel came to pierce them with a sword, who lost their loveboys to the three old shrews of fate the one eyed shrew of the heterosexual dollar the one eyed shrew that winks out of the womb and the one eyed shrew that does nothing but sit on her ass and snip the intellectual golden threads of the craftsman's loom, who copulated ecstatic and insatiate and fell off the bed, and continued along the floor and down the hall and ended fainting on the wall with a vision of ultimate cunt and come eluding the last gyzym of consciousness, who sweetened the snatches of a million girls trembling in the sunset, and were red eyed in the morning but were prepared to sweeten the snatch of the sunrise, flashing buttocks under barns and naked in the lake, who went out whoring through Colorado in myriad stolen night-cars, N.C., secret hero of these poems, cocksman and Adonis of Denver-joy to the memory of his innumerable lays of girls in empty lots & diner backyards, moviehouses' rickety rows, on mountaintops in caves or with gaunt waitresses in familiar roadside lonely petticaot upliftings & especially secret gas- station solipsisms of johns, & hometown alleys too, who faded out in vast sordid movies, were shifted in dreams, woke on a sudden Manhattan, and picked themselves up out of basements hungover with heartless Tokay and horrors of Third Avenue iron dreams & stumbled to unemployment offices, who walked all night with their shoes full of blood on the snowbank docks waiting for a door in the East River to open full of steamheat and opium, who created great suicidal dramas on the appartment cliff-banks of the Hudson under the wartime blue floodlight of the moon & their heads shall be crowned with laurel in oblivion, who ate the lamb stew of the imagination or digested the crab at the muddy bottom of the rivers of the Bowery, who wept at the romance of the streets with their pushcarts full of onions and bad music, who sat in boxes breathing in the darkness under the bridge, and rose up to build harpsichords in their lofts, who coughed on the sixth floor of Harlem crowned with flame under the tubercular sky surrounded by orange crates of theology, who scribbled all night rocking and rolling over lofty incantations which in the yellow morning were stanzas of gibberish, who cooked rotten animals lung heart feet tail borsht & tortillas dreaming of the pure vegetable kingdom, who plunged themselves under meat trucks looking for an egg, who threw their watches off the roof to cast their ballot for an Eternity outside of Time, & alarm clocks fell on their heads every day for the next decade, who cut their wrists three times successfully unsuccessfully, gave up and were forced to open antique stores where they thought they were growing old and cried, who were burned alive in their innocent flannel suits on Madison Avenue amid blasts of leaden verse & the tanked-up clatter of the iron regiments of fashion & the nitroglycerine shrieks of the fairies of advertising & the mustard gas of sinister intelligent editors, or were run down by the drunken taxicabs of Absolute Reality, who jumped off the Brooklyn Bridge this actually happened and walked away unknown and forgotten into the ghostly daze of Chinatown soup alleyways & firetrucks, not even one free beer, who sang out of their windows in despair, fell out of the subway window, jumped in the filthy Passaic, leaped on negroes, cried all over the street, danced on broken wineglasses barefoot smashed phonograph records of nostalgic European 1930s German jazz finished the whiskey and threw up groaning into the bloody toilet, moans in their ears and the blast of colossal steamwhistles, who barreled down the highways of the past journeying to each other's hotrod-Golgotha jail-solitude watch Birmingham jazz incarnation, who drove crosscountry seventytwo hours to find out if I had a vision or you had a vision or he had a vision to find out Eternity, who journeyed to Denver, who died in Denver, who came back to Denver & waited in vain, who watched over Denver & brooded & loned in Denver and finally went away to find out the Time, & now Denver is lonesome for her heroes, who fell on their knees in hopeless cathedrals praying for each other's salvation and light and breasts, until the soul illuminated its hair for a second, who crashed through their minds in jail waiting for impossible criminals with golden heads and the charm of reality in their hearts who sang sweet blues to Alcatraz, who retired to Mexico to cultivate a habit, or Rocky Mount to tender Buddha or Tangiers to boys or Southern Pacific to the black locomotive or Harvard to Narcissus to Woodlawn to the daisychain or grave, who demanded sanity trials accusing the radio of hypnotism & were left with their insanity & their hands & a hung jury, who threw potato salad at CCNY lecturerson Dadaism and subsequently presented themselves on the granite steps of the madhouse with the shaven heads and harlequin speech of suicide, demanding instantaneous lobotomy, and who were given instead the concrete void of insulin Metrazol electricity hydrotherapy psychotherapy occupational therapy pingpong & amnesia, who in humorless protest overturned only one symbolic pingpong table, resting briefly in catatonia, returning years later truly bald except for a wig of blood, and tears and fingers, to the visible madman doom of the wards of the madtowns of the East, Pilgrim State's Rockland's and Greystone's foetid halls, bickering with the echoes of the soul, rocking and rolling in the midnight solitude-bench dolmen-realms of love, dream of life a nightmare, bodies turned to stone as heavy as the moon, with mother finally *****, and the last fantastic book flung out of the tenement window, and the last door closed at 4 A.M. and the last telephone slammed at the wall in reply and the last furnished room emptied down to the last piece of mental furniture, a yellow paper rose twisted on a wire hanger on the closet, and even that imaginary, nothing but a hopeful little bit of hallucination - ah, Carl, while you are not safe I am not safe, and now you're really in the total animal soup of time - and who therefore ran through the icy streets obsessed with a sudden flash of the alchemy of the use of the ellipse the catalog the meter & the vibrating plane, who dreamt and made incarnate gaps in Time & Space through images juxtaposed, and trapped the archangel of the soulbetween 2 visual images and joined the elemental verbs and set the noun and dash of consciousness together jumping with sensation of Pater Omnipotens Aeterna Deus to recreate the syntax and measure of poor human prose and stand before you speechless and intelligent and shaking with shame, rejected yet confessing out the soul to conform to the rhythm of thought in his naked and endless head, the madman bum and angel beat in Time, unknown, yet putting down here what might be left to say in time come after death, and rose incarnate in the ghostly clothes of jazz in the goldhorn shadow of the band and blew the suffering of America's naked mind for love into an eli eli lamma lamma sabacthani saxophone cry that shivered the cities down to the last radio with the absolute heart of the poem butchered out of their own bodies good to eat a thousand years. II What sphinx of cement and aluminium bashed open their skulls and ate up their brains and imagination? Moloch! Solitude! Filth! Ugliness! Ashcans and unobtainable dollars! Children screaming under the stairways! Boys sobbingin armies! Old men weeping in the parks! Moloch! Moloch! Nightmare of Moloch! Moloch the loveless! Mental Moloch! Moloch the heavy judger of men! Moloch the incomprehensible prison! Moloch the crossbone soulless jailhouse and Congress of sorrows! Moloch whose buildings are judgement! Moloch the vast stone of war! Moloch the stunned governments! Moloch whose mind is pure machinery! Moloch whose blood is running money! Moloch whose fingers are ten armies! Moloch whose breast is a cannibal dynamo! Moloch whose ear is a smoking tomb! Moloch whose eyes are a thousand blind windows! Moloch whose skyscrapers stand in the long streets like endless Jehovas! Moloch whose factories dream and choke in the fog! Moloch whose smokestacks and antennae crown the cities! Moloch whose love is endless oil and stone! Moloch whose soul is electricity and banks! Moloch whose poverty is the specter of genius! Moloch whose fate is a cloud of sexless hydrogen! Moloch whose name is the Mind! Moloch in whom I sit lonely! Moloch in whom I dream angels! Crazy in Moloch! Cocksucker in Moloch! Lacklove and manless in Moloch! Moloch who entered my soul early! Moloch in whom I am a consciousness without a body! Moloch who frightened me out of my natural ecstasy! Moloch whom I abandon! Wake up in Moloch! Light streaming out of the sky! Moloch! Moloch! Robot apartments! invisable suburbs! skeleton treasuries! blind capitals! demonic industries! spectral nations! invincible madhouses! granite cocks! monstrous bombs! They broke their backs lifting Moloch to Heaven! Pavements, trees, radios, tons! lifting the city to Heaven which exists and is everywhere about us! Visions! omens! hallucinations! miracles! ecstacies! gone down the American river! Dreams! adorations! illuminations! religions! the whole boatload of sensitive bullshit! Breakthroughs! over the river! flips and crucifixions! gone down the flood! Highs! Epiphanies! Despairs! Ten years' animal screams and suicides! Minds! New loves! Mad generation! down on the rocks of Time! Real holy laughter in the river! They saw it all! the wild eyes! The holy yells! They bade farewell! They jumped off the roof! to solitude! waving carrying flowers! Down to the river! into the street! |
| Good [+1]Toggle ReplyLink» Screwhead replied on Mon Mar 10, 2003 @ 10:43pm |
 Coolness: 685530 | I love life and life loves me.
I'm as happy as can be. A happier man nowhere exists. I think I'll go and slit my wrists. |
| Good [+1]Toggle ReplyLink» mdc replied on Mon Mar 10, 2003 @ 10:52pm |
| Coolness: 148755 | fred is funny... unless he's serious.. then he's scary |
| Good [+1]Toggle ReplyLink» Screwhead replied on Mon Mar 10, 2003 @ 11:00pm |
| Coolness: 685530 | If only that WASN'T my state of mind for the past 9 months things would be great. |
| Good [+1]Toggle ReplyLink» mdc replied on Mon Mar 10, 2003 @ 11:01pm |
| Coolness: 148755 | my suggestion... go on vacation with a couple of people...
thats what i did.. and im a new man i know exactly how youre feeling, and that vacation made me get a new view on reality |
| Good [+1]Toggle ReplyLink» Screwhead replied on Mon Mar 10, 2003 @ 11:04pm |
| Coolness: 685530 | I have no job and no money.And if I did, I'd be taking the cheaper aproach to a vacation and takeing a vacation from myself with as many narcotics as I could pump into myself without dying.
Pretty much what I'm doing these days anyways. |
The Poem Thread.
[ Top Of Page ] |
Post A Reply |
You must be logged in to post a reply.
[ Top Of Page ] |
