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Old 05-08-2010, 11:13 PM View Post #11 (Link)
Clarissa (Offline)
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A maze of mirrors,
distorted reflections
mutilate familiar faces.
A thousand bodies
without a source,
A waterfall of human flesh
with no beginning.

Each the same,
Each different,
an army of shadows.

As one the arms lift,
a salute to the wind.
Linger here in fascination,
dancing with the puppets,
the ghosts always just out of reach.
Laugh and a thousand mouths open
but only one voice rings out.

A smile plastered on a thousand lips
But only one is real.
__________________
One flew East, One flew West,
One flew over the Cuckoo's nest

Truth is Beauty and Beauty is Truth.
(Keats)

When you've looked and looked, and have found nothing better to do: Read it and weep
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Old 05-09-2010, 05:49 AM View Post #12 (Link)
owl (Offline)
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I dipped my feet into the lake behind my house
and they joined the koi ballerinas,
toe nails scraping scaly skirts. Like pale aliens
they twisted and moved -- first position
to third -- but I'm no mermaid.
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Old 05-09-2010, 09:49 AM View Post #13 (Link)
Spacepirate (Offline)
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OMG. Poetry is awesome around these parts. Also, join da poetry group

---

Marvellous Life

Nine o'clock is bath time, the time when
you can feel your life slip away from
the ends of the bath, raised and
supported on curling iron feet
with claws retracting, and waiting to sink
you into its tomb embrace... slip away like
the brushing of used soap,
the surface muddied and in the white spots,
only a faint reflection of something cracked,
but it looks nothing like you.

Both taps send out cold; water that
closes your mind, packing it with ice,
frozen caress all along your spine
until you shiver yet the water -still-
trembles not. Not for you, and not for today,
possibly never but you aren't so sure
as your head climbs lower into
the bath, and your chin touches ripples
that break the silence. For a moment
you can hear a dripping...

the water spilling over the sides,
or your thoughts and memories
(that it would be so easy to die here, alone)
running from your mind,
through tunnels into
a clearing of water, thinking they can swim.
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Old 05-09-2010, 10:11 AM View Post #14 (Link)
Spacepirate (Offline)
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The above poem was horrible...

The poem below is also horrible... I'm losing my poetry mojo?! Or maybe it's just this thread-box. God help us all.

---

They said I would die soon,
die when it was the end.

To which I shook my head,
and so watched as the world
burnt, froze, withered away
with cancerous hate, a long
final suffering of the trees
(that ran deep into its core)
and the birds that all flew
away, not knowing where
South was. I defied everyone
by sitting on that parkbench,
watching it break apart, one
by one, the buildings fell
around me, their rigidity
snapped like wishes/dreams
shoved under the bed. The
monster that lay there,
I finally saw empty-eyed
and crying, whittled away
until it became a fleck
in the darkness, its claws
gnawed away with fright.

It never did tell me its name,
not even when I helped
it out and onto the tip
of the world, where we
sat together, arm in arm,
looking down and watching
the world burn at our feet
as it was so old and dying,
but as time ran away (like
the rest of humanity)
it seemed to grow stronger,
and I-- more see-through.
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Old 05-09-2010, 11:10 AM View Post #15 (Link)
Jack (Offline)
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I'm not sure about this one at all, but whateverz.

----

You allowed your fingers to grasp at stone
and stick. Until evolution took hold;
they were transformed into cutting tools
and mangling tools for bisectors
and lobotomies.

But not at that time. They were used to cut.
Not just flesh like stem and vine and root,
but veins and muscle. It was then you saw
the brain, mixed with crimson on the floor,
splattered and freckled.

You tasted it but it was sickly sweet as molasses;
even when browned it was but ash on the tongue.
So you used it on the walls to create your pictures
Useless, it stuck on the wall as lumps
and slipped to the floor as tears.
__________________
music
poetry
  
						Last edited by Jack; 05-09-2010 at 02:32 PM.
					
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Old 05-09-2010, 03:41 PM View Post #16 (Link)
Simmi (Offline)
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You hold him as if he's your child,
carrying him with ease.
You grin at his hourglass figure,
how he easily sits between your
legs.
You love the tone, the range
of his voice.
He speaks so clearly, and he might as well
be skin and bone,
the way you treat him.
  
						Last edited by Simmi; 05-09-2010 at 05:54 PM.
					
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Old 05-09-2010, 04:35 PM View Post #17 (Link)
Clarissa (Offline)
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Urg. Masochistic. I don't know why I'm doing this again, sorry.

--

The wind whispers to me,
a cold finger across my cheek
as gentle as a lover
it lifts a lock of my hair
and caresses my neck until
I shiver in delight.
A snatch of a voice
a flow of promises
in my ears, my mind, my heart

Viens avec moi, mon amour, et je t'aprendrais à voler.

A leap of faith into a void
for an instant I soar and whirl
a bird on the wing.
But this isn't flying, it's falling
and I'm knifing through the air
as the cackles of the wind surround me
and crescendo to a climax of silence.

Je ne sais pas voler
et j'ai peur.
__________________
One flew East, One flew West,
One flew over the Cuckoo's nest

Truth is Beauty and Beauty is Truth.
(Keats)

When you've looked and looked, and have found nothing better to do: Read it and weep
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Old 05-09-2010, 06:23 PM View Post #18 (Link)
Simmi (Offline)
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Empty eyes gaze off into a
world of imagination,
where Life stands
on solid ground; where
Love doesn't test Patience.

I give you a soft smile,
a comforting hug, watching
as your eyes regain focus,
returning to reality.

You return a smile
that fades away before
it's truly seen.

And you don't seem to realise,
just how much you've told me.
  
						Last edited by Simmi; 05-09-2010 at 06:47 PM.
					
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Old 05-09-2010, 06:36 PM View Post #19 (Link)
Spacepirate (Offline)
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I HATE POETRY.

Although my second stanza in this one is crap.

---

The leaves fall, circular, circularity
falling in pigments, yellow, brown
and it's impossible to tell what
colour this tree used to be,
staining the sky as they drop,
one-by-one, in millions
all from the branches, cutting down
the trees themselves, freezing-point
is only a couple degrees colder than
their hate, hate as the winds
brush past, unannounced and
uncaring, so rude, yet they fall
still. Until ice grows in little rings,
halos that edge their sides,
wearing down their leaves,
their tannins, little pools of blood,
boiled black in anger, tar.

No amount of glue will make them go back,
so you decide to glue the ice of winter
with the heat of summer, the heart
and the core moulding to provide
streams, crying since it failed, your tears
only adding to a pond that's rapidly
filling up whilst the leaf-less tree laughs.
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Old 05-09-2010, 06:57 PM View Post #20 (Link)
Clarissa (Offline)
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More French. So sorry

---

She croons to the bundle
of squirming flesh
soft skin brushing soft skin.
Eyes gaze into eyes
heavy with old knowledge
both a sea of untouchable
unreadable thoughts
and a black pupil floats
like a ship braving the storms.
A small, downy head
nestles in the crook of the wasted arm
miniature lungs sigh
and the breath traces the lines
of the map that criss-crosses
the skin of the singer.
The whispers in the deep voice
that swells and surrounds the tiny shape
and it sleeps, protected in its cocoon
of gentle highs and resounding lows.
She pours out all her love
and it cascades into song
like a waterfall of tears.

Ne t’inquiet pas mon coeur
Rien de mal ne va se passer
Tant que je suis la
Je te protégerai
Contre le monde,
La peur
Le noir
__________________
One flew East, One flew West,
One flew over the Cuckoo's nest

Truth is Beauty and Beauty is Truth.
(Keats)

When you've looked and looked, and have found nothing better to do: Read it and weep
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