Entry tags:
Poem: Mishmash
My mortal membranes muddy misguided matter.
Mortality makes me marvelously mischievous.
Maybe more madness means much melancholy.
May my masochistic melodies make me modern?
Mortality makes me marvelously mischievous.
Maybe more madness means much melancholy.
May my masochistic melodies make me modern?
Poem: My Never Ending Story!
So, life absolutely sucks. I quit my job today after working only five days. It was just a bad fit for me.
I pulled out an old poem of mine to post here. It's how I feel right now.
My Never Ending Story
I hate my life and want to die
trapped in a mind that's full of fog
I'm falling back into the night
and sinking in the nothing's bog
My shoulders bear far too much weight
and sickness rests within
Riddled with; emotion, Hate
my heart full to the brim.
Blood slugs its way throughout my veins
as if a poisonous venom
Just to move, my body strains
against the dark and then some.
I hate my life and want to die
trapped in a mind that's full of fog
I'm falling back into the night
and sinking in the nothing's bog
Yeah. That about covers it. What do you think of the poem?
I pulled out an old poem of mine to post here. It's how I feel right now.
My Never Ending Story
I hate my life and want to die
trapped in a mind that's full of fog
I'm falling back into the night
and sinking in the nothing's bog
My shoulders bear far too much weight
and sickness rests within
Riddled with; emotion, Hate
my heart full to the brim.
Blood slugs its way throughout my veins
as if a poisonous venom
Just to move, my body strains
against the dark and then some.
I hate my life and want to die
trapped in a mind that's full of fog
I'm falling back into the night
and sinking in the nothing's bog
Yeah. That about covers it. What do you think of the poem?
Poem: Search the Sky Within
how can I trust this love that I have found?
I am left in wonderment to seek
the passing days that fall upon the ground.
The sun and moon and stars are swirled; I'm sick.
I feel as if I bleed--with thorns I'm crowned
and naked left to wander blind and stark
in diamond sparkled blackness I am drowned.
The wheel in my heart which turns every stroke
of truth in all its splendor yet unwound,
but breeze and wind uncover dust-- a speck
and I am lost, embraced without a sound.
Please take me by the hand and guide the streak
of lightning rush that pulses veins when struck.
Entry tags:
Nectar
A star is plucked from the sky:
Black hole,
as a child sings to the moon,
The space is filled
And dazzles the night.
Drifting in and out of consciousness,
The lotus nectar spills.
A world of hallucination
And free sex.
A pussy cat licks her parts
On a bed of feathered down.
Vast, the Universe;
Inconceivable.
Entwined in carnal enterprise,
Love does not exist.
Coming down,
Reality breaks the rising sun.
The mind reels out of touch.
Looking up, we live in an orb,
Spinning, spinning in space
Along with my eyes.
Sweet intoxication.
Do you hear its music?
Black hole,
as a child sings to the moon,
The space is filled
And dazzles the night.
Drifting in and out of consciousness,
The lotus nectar spills.
A world of hallucination
And free sex.
A pussy cat licks her parts
On a bed of feathered down.
Vast, the Universe;
Inconceivable.
Entwined in carnal enterprise,
Love does not exist.
Coming down,
Reality breaks the rising sun.
The mind reels out of touch.
Looking up, we live in an orb,
Spinning, spinning in space
Along with my eyes.
Sweet intoxication.
Do you hear its music?
Entry tags:
Smoke
Blue curls snakelike dance
traipsing in the windy rush
from a cigarette.
Encircled by the halo,
she awaits impending death.
traipsing in the windy rush
from a cigarette.
Encircled by the halo,
she awaits impending death.
Just a regular teenage girl
Just a regular teenage girl: written Dec 28, 2003
Colourful and carefree scarves
you'd never guess that this girl carves.
Tights so thick with socks pulled over
Disguise the wounds the nothing drove her.
Cotton dressings with care applied
Beneath her sleeves, the cuts to hide.
Watches worn over wrists
tattered skin from many slits.
Buttoned shirts cover her breasts,
so no one will see where the darkness rests.
The knife is cold, its blade is hot
Feelings forced, come to naught.
Colourful and carefree scarves
you'd never guess that this girl carves.
Tights so thick with socks pulled over
Disguise the wounds the nothing drove her.
Cotton dressings with care applied
Beneath her sleeves, the cuts to hide.
Watches worn over wrists
tattered skin from many slits.
Buttoned shirts cover her breasts,
so no one will see where the darkness rests.
The knife is cold, its blade is hot
Feelings forced, come to naught.
Entry tags:
a poem: Panic!
Please read and review
Originally written for a contest in which I had to take the titles of five of another poet's poems and work them into a poem, myself.. This is the result.
Titles: Wounds, Uncaged, the Axe, Erosion, Killing time.
Panic
It's killing time
in the battle
of my mind.
Spiritual warfare.
Pulled astray,
I swing back
another fray.
The mess that's left
from battle wounds,
Open my chest;
See the battlefields
upon which
my axe, I wield.
"Save me from myself!"
I cry aloud, enraged.
"I want freedom!"
Now I am left uncaged.
"I'm not sure I can handle this
what would happen if I fall or miss?"
I feel the rumble
of explosions
as the field undergoes
erosion.
Thus my hand still grips the axe,
in readiness for
another attack.
Originally written for a contest in which I had to take the titles of five of another poet's poems and work them into a poem, myself.. This is the result.
Titles: Wounds, Uncaged, the Axe, Erosion, Killing time.
Panic
It's killing time
in the battle
of my mind.
Spiritual warfare.
Pulled astray,
I swing back
another fray.
The mess that's left
from battle wounds,
Open my chest;
See the battlefields
upon which
my axe, I wield.
"Save me from myself!"
I cry aloud, enraged.
"I want freedom!"
Now I am left uncaged.
"I'm not sure I can handle this
what would happen if I fall or miss?"
I feel the rumble
of explosions
as the field undergoes
erosion.
Thus my hand still grips the axe,
in readiness for
another attack.
Untitled
Dust specks float and dance.
I'm carried on the wind,
one of them.
The Lion roars in anger
at the misuse of matter.
Genetic alterations
reach out to touch the stars,
so far away.
Salt paints my face.
Tang of iron,
in the dark
behind my lips.
Thrown against a wall,
I fall
and shed my skin.
I'm carried on the wind,
one of them.
The Lion roars in anger
at the misuse of matter.
Genetic alterations
reach out to touch the stars,
so far away.
Salt paints my face.
Tang of iron,
in the dark
behind my lips.
Thrown against a wall,
I fall
and shed my skin.
Entry tags:
Scream another Scream
Illustration is "The Dragon" by Edward Gorey
Poem based on Poe's "Dream within a Dream"
Entry tags:
What are we and why? Inspired by Leonard Cohen
Leonard speaks of suicide
and the beauty of a rose;
of shrieking hunter's endless lies
and questions our strongholds.
Locking oneself into suffering,
oh, how he speaks to me.
How I've closed with sealing wax
those pleasures that were free.
He sings of lust as if an age
to which an era's born.
Half of it is future
and half of it forlorn.
Crying out in nightmare
Identity is lost.
Like the lamb is slaughtered,
innocence pays the cost.
Searching for the answers
between the starlit skies.
His poetry, it questions;
what are we and why?
and the beauty of a rose;
of shrieking hunter's endless lies
and questions our strongholds.
Locking oneself into suffering,
oh, how he speaks to me.
How I've closed with sealing wax
those pleasures that were free.
He sings of lust as if an age
to which an era's born.
Half of it is future
and half of it forlorn.
Crying out in nightmare
Identity is lost.
Like the lamb is slaughtered,
innocence pays the cost.
Searching for the answers
between the starlit skies.
His poetry, it questions;
what are we and why?
Entry tags:
Walking Home
I stagger blindly with sleep filled eyes,
as my mediocrity is exposed
to all.
I'm cold in this dewy pasture.
My socks; wet through my shoes
and my breath is smoke.
Home lies uphill, a steep climb.
Hope is lost.
I do not feel.
The dandelions are closed up
hiding their petals from the frost.
I wish I was a dandelion.
The pain in my bones
deadens my steps.
I am walking clay.
written June 16, 2005