Author Topic: poems.  (Read 746 times)

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« on: May 03, 2006, 04:00:56 PM »
I never really title them, hence the numbers. I hope you enjoy them.

Dual meanings meaning duels

Are they brittle screws or powerful tools?

If you knew, would acquittals be due?

As soon as high noon would you be the resolver?

Or would you be quicker to draw your revovler?

Try acting diplomatic,

Let's make it prismatic

Before it gets schismatic.

But you always have to have it Socratic

If it isn't sporadic

It's anticlimactic

It's null and it's static

How do we speak the same language but suffer the barrier?

It happens so frequently but we act like we're new to it

All words lost in translation like I'm some kind of tourist


Talking to myself

If I call it a mantra, they won't think I'm crazy

If I look like I'm working, they won't say I'm lazy

I say that I'm thinking, so they don't think I'm spacing


I'm a versatile guy

If I never learn to fly

I'll take up diving

I'm unlacing shoes I'd rather be tying,

So let's go barefoot.

Everyone has their own quirks

But here's how love works

It starts out seemingly perfect

But we know how boys and girls get

It's over just as soon as it begins

One of them agrees to be friends

The other one feels not too dissimilar to a charred burn victim.


what do you do when
everything that's glorious

later turns notorious

cold war threats begin to worry us

soon people get uproarious

the masses clash and

backlash with malice
bring forth wars to settle scores

light up the skies like aurora borealis

bombs go off in our ears

then starts blurring what's clear

so we're denied the right to our eyes and our ears

to make the war a holiday in a year?

the end justifies the means, victory is near?

now tomorrow's headlines lie: pigs fly in red skies

white spies with blue eyes and black ties don red blazers for this funeral

ragged flags snagged at half mast, inverted

poor blacks on crack while their brains melt like wax, subverted

taken aback by the fact that we spat back, and they heard it

now cash backs facts in this land gone mad perverted

wake up from your coma and smell the aroma

of roses to hide the stench of defeat

the future is a foot on our face with a cleet

stand up straight so it digs in deep

and from their podium, they begin to preach

a hollow and biased, pandering speech

about communists, witches, terrorists, nazis

we call ourselves righteous, we call them ungodly


It seems I speak in parentheticals

To you, what I say is forgettable

To me, it's all regrettable.

At best when I'm pressed to express myself

I sound pathetic and unintelligible

A cryptic elipses eclipses our relationship

Turning love into a bullet wound stitched and slicked with styptic.


you are the strings of a cello

i'm nothing more than a bow

without me, you still sound so beautiful but

without you, i'm just horsehair and cat guts

i'm ticket stubs, cigarette butts,

cashed bud that leaves you resin for a present

i'd live to give you reimbursement

milk goes sour when it's not used for noursihment

just the thought of you is enough encouragement

make your mark, leave your stain

put your graffiti on my train

it's known love is fickle

and broken hearts don't tickle

everyone gets hurt a little

but when this all fizzles

my heart won't just get brittle

i'll be entirely crippled

and i walked into it knowing that

fully cognizant of the fact

that you'll devastate me

and i may never quite heal back

just please don't isolate me

i want to see our hero react

to the love of the leading lady

i'm excited for the second act

drop the curtain, take a bow, fade to black


my heart's not

where my mind's at

i want to start but

you just want your time back

what is 'different but the same?'

you say that it's a change

for the better

replacing 'give and take'

with 'bend or break'

all in a single letter

or to make it two

and let

the space between 'i' and 'u'

get confused and misconstrued, governed by the


and yet

to you it makes sense

while i sit on the fence

you speak in past tense

and make it condensed

abriding the novel we've written

to you, the book's closed

but i'm still writing foot notes

you think it's over, but i'm still writing corrections

all of these incomplete sentences

and the ones we used prepositions to end with


He isn't deaf, yet still desperate to hear the sound

Of her muddled voice, a puddle of noise in which he's willing to drown

This time it's designed in his mind

Twice primed

And coated with red paint

Immaculate to him, she dons a halo like a saint

She isn't perfect, but how could she be?

Love is made of fetters and tethers, he never asked to be free

What angel did she kill to get her harp?

Intoxicated by her sinful smell, he begins to sin to be sent to hell

He knows he loves her until it's almost perverse, but like a curse

It's no palindrome in reverse

Obsession to mask his repression but he's never learned his lesson

To him it's a session

To her, a profession.
"As a matter of fact I only work with the feeling of something magical, something seemingly significant. And to keep it magical I don't want to know the story involved, I just want the hypnotic effect of it somehow seeming significant without knowing why." - Len Lye


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Re: poems.
« Reply #1 on: May 03, 2006, 06:22:59 PM »
I don't know why, but #2 made of think of Mike Skinner from The Streets.  I can almost hear him singing those words to some wicked scazzy beat (no, I don't know what that means either).


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Re: poems.
« Reply #2 on: May 03, 2006, 11:39:57 PM »
I suppose I can see that, but now I can never read it without a British accent with my inner monologue.
"As a matter of fact I only work with the feeling of something magical, something seemingly significant. And to keep it magical I don't want to know the story involved, I just want the hypnotic effect of it somehow seeming significant without knowing why." - Len Lye


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