12-29-2009, 11:05 AM
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#21 |
Join Date: May 2005
Location: Israel
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Walls Written by: Jammydude44 We'd spent our time together, with cement-covered hands and trowels and mixers building our wall, brick by brick. We had taken down the scaffolding poles and planks- the wall was finished; they held no use. Into summer, when the sun caresses the sky into a warming smile, our wall stood proudly amongst others. They were just pretenders compared to ours, we thought. Predictably, the thunderstorms came, blustering and pounding upon the solid stature. Exploding in the sky, cannoning, destroying what we'd crafted together. The aftermath left us open mouthed. Neither of us moved to fix it. I saw you stare, as I did, at the large pile of rubble on the ground. It remained like that for many months; passers-by flashing a rue smile at our obvious, poor workmanship. I spoke first- let's rebuild. So having learned from past mistakes we built this wall with better bricks, and many storms have blown and gone but our wall stands, now tall and strong.
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12-29-2009, 11:05 AM
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#22 |
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Join Date: May 2005
Location: Israel
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Poem on the Back of Your Wallet Photograph Written by: *Truly Ninja* I am sure you would appreciate That you hold my place in books. After all, I always attempted to woo You with the written word. What I won't admit is this: Every time you tumble from the pages Onto my bedsheets, I softly pinch the Corner and I lift you to my lips. Your cautious smile overtook me Once, and I did it without thinking. I've always done it since--Tradition Mingled with dying desire.
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12-29-2009, 11:06 AM
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#23 |
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Join Date: May 2005
Location: Israel
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On California Written by: pixiesfanyo tether awkward glances above a satisfied reprise. i cut my futures out of paper. placed them into a river bed. cast line into my prospects. but my father keeps taking my hand, his breath heavy with cheap beer and saturated fats. his fingers over mine guiding that feeble line i clutch with blushed palms. switch to a crowded dinner table. i itch in uncontrollable lonesome. packaging letters in my mind. the conversations around me reek of politics and pop culture but, i’m just counting days until i see yr chicory frame. would you write me back and tell me what it is like to be in love? because stale liquors and broken tabs only seem to go so far. i have my knees curled to my chest with ease on the dock. my hands ripe with labor feeling faded in yet another summer’s endless choke. my eyes heavy with stray change i sit making paper crowns from torn fates with my feet dipped in an endless pond of my own construction. wondering if my reel has been spent like a boy, if i let that catch back to sea. and with baited hooks i trace every moon line hoping to forget myself in the amusement of tasks. but every evening my rod lays in reflection. laid in empty harbors my own lace of self entrapment unravels and i stare doe-eyed into my desolation.
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12-29-2009, 11:06 AM
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#24 |
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Join Date: May 2005
Location: Israel
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The Little Things Controlled by the Breeze Written by: Trig Function The smoke swayed with the bend of the waves I felt stranger in the warmth of the days. Hard to breathe, can't believe I saw my eyes floating in the crest of the reeds. But maybe, if i began to see the little things controlled be the breeze I'd know, willows can swirl next to the hazy tides of the world. And in deep, far beneath I watched my body fall away with the sea. Beat down, tossed around I didn't feel pain until I'd already drowned.
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12-29-2009, 11:06 AM
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#25 |
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Join Date: May 2005
Location: Israel
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The Chiffarobe Written by: Chak He was haunted with an overbearing commitment to make me feel worthless. A joker amongst kings, their collars studded with beryl and corundum. He felt empowered, fueled with synthetic freedom, but everything he touched turned immediately to stone. More gray then the mourning of the Sun, but if its light warms my skin perhaps I can retain a shred of hope. I have yet to see this compromise that holds me captive to uncertainty. And I already held more guilt than I could handle, struck with the chord of fragrant restraint. His anger felt the mark of scrutiny, townspeople fretted in obligatory hunger for the truth. But loyalty proves more powerful than honesty. A pinprick mapping the base of my spine sends signals for my hair to stand on end. I was in awe. His shadow proved more enchanting than my father’s unrequited respect. He was the faith in which I granted my cautious attention. Wanted in a world I did not belong. He made me feel like the most translucent of diamonds, felt patterns within my soul and reflected them through starlight. I felt breathless, invincible. Immersed in the compliance of my naivety, which I overcame with error in my ways. And I became a traitor that day. Regret thudded hard against my ribcage. Bruised. And I looked past my father to truth, where my answer predictably fell short. I condemned him to a life that was undeserved, cast him into the shadow of shame. My failure is refracted within the barrel of a gun, used to destroy acceptance among people I could never know. Strangers, not quite friends, in which I trusted more than blood.
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12-29-2009, 11:06 AM
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#26 |
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Join Date: May 2005
Location: Israel
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Gehenna Written by: The Hurt Within I stood. A luminary. Against a viscous tide of shallow breaths smut rolls wonder from a tableau - attentive eyes cater a silent pyre in crest-fallen skies, while cantering souls lead past a simoniac gifting Ayin Ha'ra to spurious followers. I knelt. In twilight. Upon schema-conduits of barren soles, Khamsin winds scour laden plains - committed minds cater a boundless pyre in downcast hearts, while cantering souls present a sacrifice - with extremis apt - to the edge of Hell's throat. I leapt. A martyr. Towards the uncharted depths of Earth's crux Gehenna's limbs entwine my body - destined fingers cater an infinite pyre with expectant reach, while cantering souls lift future offerings above the smouldering sands, ready to let go.
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12-29-2009, 11:07 AM
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#27 |
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Join Date: May 2005
Location: Israel
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Peripherals Written by: Bassbeat77 I'd been found in a flood once before, but I came out herringbone dry. With a flatter line than the Arctic horizon, and a deeper soul than the faultline dividing, I had felt like I could walk amongst the sea snails forever. Then Summer came as an infernal wave, tipping and toe-ing and taking it's time, blowing it's whistle to speed things along. Spreading kisses like dried cement, and too self-righteous for it's own good. It lifted me out of my algal residency, where salt and salty sentiments were what I brought into my lungs. Where longitude and latitude were the only blueprints that I needed to build castles out of sand bars and not-so-hidden treasure. Until finally I choked. And since then every Summer has made me wish that maybe my hindsight wasn't 20/20.
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12-29-2009, 11:07 AM
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#28 |
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Join Date: May 2005
Location: Israel
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The End Written by: less than that out of sight on my mind duct taped over Check Engine light. all the street signs in this town say the same thing "Get Out" not now, not now. foolhardy fugue to visit you feels like I have to sneeze when I don't want to. back to the daily grinding my teeth. chew a new hole through my tongue. blood on the windshield; where did it come from? the sun gets all spun around as I try to take the guardrail down. triple A, my mom, the police, they'll all come and make the scene. but for now I'm part of a peculiar peace no broken glass or bones what do you know? what do you know? what do you know? wonder if what's wrong with us is contagious. sit and listen to the radiator's rattlesnake hiss then check to see how bad it is. front of the car like the end result of a trick cigar. its contorted metal gets me all pseudocidal. something green drips into the street. I stare for a while at the DieHard battery then call you to say I'm not coming. I know an omen when I see one. glad it however hapless happened the best bad idea I ever had. the calm collapse of the anticlimax.
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12-29-2009, 11:07 AM
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#29 |
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Join Date: May 2005
Location: Israel
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and I drift away Written by: Alk 3 addict From this height, the ocean looked as a sheet, slightly ruffled. Reminding me that I hadn't had a restful night in ages. It is this hot air balloon, the color of a wilted rose, that carries me out over the abyss, they never said that adventure had to be carried out in style. Then I cut it from the clouds, a portrait of beauty and salvation, and wrapped myself in a dirty blanket. I figured that I would, at least for tonight, let life take me where it would. I shut my eyes, and drift towards the sounds of a west-bound breeze, like a voiceless choir and a faceless future. Dreams lost all shape, and became scribbles upon clouds, basking inches above my head. It was the fingerless man playing violin in front of a crowd of three thousand, the blind man finding freedom through surrender, the rubble of a city being juxtaposed into a makeshift miracle, the golden ring placed on the finger of a skeletal bride, yet I just could not grasp the plot of this story. Suddenly like the impact of a bullet it struck me, as my eyes jerked open just in time to watch the air around me ignite. I'm sure that from the shore I looked like a star, burning brightly, the most beautiful thing I could have ever imagined. A jet-stream of blue and white flame, and it is the end.
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12-29-2009, 11:07 AM
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#30 |
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Join Date: May 2005
Location: Israel
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I Written by: #1 synth I, capitalized, full I, looking like a snowfall as I come crying, Gazing at your feet, I need a savior, someone strong, someone invisible, I, groveling inside a neighborhood, licking my lips inside a city, I, silent inside a man holding a megaphone outside of planned parenthood, I, sinew, cells, and fate, I, immaculate-- impossible to-- "Amazing the lightning is dont you think?" I pour down as the thunder after wonderment, Listen to me then, echoeing off the mountains, off the churches and fountains, I smell like the day before a breakup, rich with mildew, cold and dirty. My clothing is getting so heavy with mold that I'm finding it harder to fly. I, underneath a state, an ocean, a lover panting hard (a dream), I, underneath a bow, a bow, and a bow of a ship as it roars Across the fairgrounds in tight circles, I, the words needed to accurately describe-- I and a miraculous sunset, holding hands into the inevitable. I, the opposite... of what? Life is to being forgotten. Sunrise is to death and everything else is to a kiss. I, that kiss, I, under your foot, yep, there we are. I, the smile of knowing where we are, at the corner of 20th and stark, Indefinite, lost in a thunderstorm.
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12-29-2009, 11:07 AM
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#31 |
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Join Date: May 2005
Location: Israel
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Awaiting Exile (Parting with This Auburn Sky) - Writing of the Week Written by: Z_cup_boy This silver blade speaks each dissonant phrase In place of where we would intertwine as lovers Limbs breathing the same leaves Kissing the lips tinted of the reddest wine Each tip serving as a spear Each incision as a counting finger for time The depth of all daylight mirrors a tainted slab of flesh Pest ridden, discriminated against the cleanest carcass I could kill Death did I intend? I think not, for I have yet to cleans these hands As I await exile, I have never felt so damned Excreting the salt in my wound; I am an infant Immersed into the beauty of this day after dusk The darkness after twilight As I await exile To part with this auburn sky
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12-29-2009, 11:08 AM
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#32 |
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Join Date: May 2005
Location: Israel
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24 14 4+4+6 2 1 sonnet 1 2 6+4+4 14 24 Written by: Gurgle!Argh! i tore through the fabric concealing this clock. oh hands i forgot, oh quick marching step, sixth harshad times met, a moment at rest, that moment most blessed when hands interlock. i pulled at its hands and hoped they might give, that time does not live, but is bound to our pull, that the beat may be null, that hands may be wrought, thus 'gainst time i fought, to dissonance omit. but iron once wrought will be wrought no more and fabric once torn will always be scarred. times unsleeping pull, it always pulls on, with a force which endures, unmoved by our lore. so i'll count out each moment across these fanned hands, til hands may be one, now thru time's accord.
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12-29-2009, 11:08 AM
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#33 |
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Join Date: May 2005
Location: Israel
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Perilous Machine Written by: we have sound I can't hear a word you are saying above the noise of this perilous machine winging its way cross country. What a travesty. Agencies to the alliance, we engage in diplomacy with "Let's stop and ****!" and "Not yet baby, I'm ballin' this jack another hundred" but we stop and **** anyway, just to kill time. But the loud pedal aches and the country is barren so soon enough, we're back on the road again. Not a piss stop, and not maritime baby this is a real motor, and what a noise. Straight and true, no swaying here, just a gaping cavernous wonderful powerful grill, eating up the miles. I watch the white lines flash past for a while, grab a beer from the back and you give me that look - but it's hot and I'm thirsty and what I say goes. I juggle the can and wheel like an acrobat, lob the empty, watch the scenery. Mountains. Heat haze like an angels halo around a cross high up on the rocks. Trust the Spanish. If a girl fell from those rocks and split her head, I reckon you'd see soul.
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12-29-2009, 11:08 AM
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#34 |
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Join Date: May 2005
Location: Israel
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Foxy Foxy & Rory Have Their First Kiss Written by: Something_Vague He'll pack up and pack out, he's an artist who spells his name "Are test." He's a prince who spells his name "Prints." Coughed up like folded paper, he'll pay her with origami swans, stories about Tokyo streets and transparent women who died in their sleep and loved in his arms. Rory's first kiss was in the third grade. Ever since then he's been building walls with his "ABC" blocks and the only thing big enough to look over is his own sky high ego. All the while my grin is so admirable the teeth from my tiger cut falsies, are stained pearly, pearly red. And the blemish on my laugh is a gaping horizon, swallowing every plane and bird that he throws in the air. Rory is thinking about the last time he honestly loved someone. I know it from the crystal glimmer in his silly stare. That over-due whimper between the bite and bone. Pay her with folded paper. Foxy Foxy legs, and Foxy Foxy limbs, Foxy Foxy climbs and Foxy Foxy lives. Foxy Foxy teeths, and Foxy Foxy mouths Foxy Foxy eats and Foxy Foxy ****s out.
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12-29-2009, 11:08 AM
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#35 |
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Join Date: May 2005
Location: Israel
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Untitled Written by: NGD1313 I’ve bled the stone of prosperity in a lonely alleyway And stained my hands red, painting a peaceful town. Killed a Tokyo Rose because her sallow lips were bringing me down. I stumbled down the courtyard calling my God’s name, And kissed the Virgin Mary Because her hallowed hips couldn’t bear my pain. Drank Christ's blood for 40 days And christened myself a God-damned saint.
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12-29-2009, 11:08 AM
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#36 |
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Join Date: May 2005
Location: Israel
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Gallows Humor Written by: less than that Shut up. Let me finish. I hadn't had dinner yet; Sucked down cigarettes instead to the filters, warmth ate its way down to my fingers: Replacement addictions. Shut up, I said. My hate's so hard. Rocks in my pockets, stones in the souls of my shoes. I heard the good news- still I let my laugh crack, cackle through the gallows. Silence -- Impassible. and your words come to me as wounded birds sex smile. bedroom eyes. kissing my hands. I know where I stand. Quicksand. wounded birds stupid and beautiful Shut up, I said Shut up shut up shut up.
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12-29-2009, 11:08 AM
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#37 |
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Join Date: May 2005
Location: Israel
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The Circle Re-Connects Written by: BigFatSandwich At first it all seemed heaven-sent, But you haven't seen heaven since He took your hand and mislead you down the aisle. Blue eyed girl in the long white dress, Your head's not right and your heart's a mess, And it's been that way for such a long while. You're always looking for love where love doesn't exist In bars and beds under strangers' hips And accepting all their lies as the truth. Well, it's a false sense of security, but it's security, nonetheless... So what is she supposed to do when insecurities get the best Of her? She's only human, just like me and you, So of course she broke down when she first got the news. But I can't fault you, you did what you had to do. You decided to keep it and keep him with you. And those first few weeks were happiness And no one can deny... But he couldn't love you He didn't have the time. He's not what you need, Just a figure of a father. So you left him and then Gave birth to your daughter. And you'll raise her by yourself, you don't need him to love her But oh my god, you've become your mother. Your mother, your mother, you've become your mother, Your mother, your mother, you're just like your mother.
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12-29-2009, 11:09 AM
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#38 |
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Join Date: May 2005
Location: Israel
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Mornings. Written by: Carmel At mornings, going past the same eroded homeless man that disagrees with this idea of him; he has a bin to keep his clothes in, and he fumbles when by his bench, on the corner of the square, there are students, or some other section of society, demonstrating over this or that. And I’m passing by, on the way to higher education, higher population; And I drink out with my friends, listen when they say, “You see too much.” I laugh and then I stop. I say: “Sometimes I wish I was more blind.” I wouldn’t mind not seeing the homeless man, crying for his clothes, after the sanitation people came and took away everything he owned, when he was driven away, away from his home, by student asking for better human rights.
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12-29-2009, 11:09 AM
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#39 |
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Join Date: May 2005
Location: Israel
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Waxman and the Museum of Wicks Written by: Snowblind 911 the pretty waxmen and their flawless, aching smiles. picture perfect postures caricatured on pin-up perceptions. we place feathers under candle kings like we place the madcap over the face of a newly crowned widow and her faded red finger-painted dress. even though the children can’t fashion pieces so full of unabashed emotion we’re happy to force smiles and label them modern Picassos anyway. and then we wonder why the walls end up painted in blood. chickens have feathers. ironic? probably not.
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12-29-2009, 11:09 AM
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#40 |
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Join Date: May 2005
Location: Israel
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flutterby butterfly Written by: Arthur Curry your limbs, your skin, my water wings, and do you know words were made to sing? planetary dust makes a planetary ring. a thousand cocoons make me nervous, and you're my sunday morning service; when the choir sings they tickle me and burst open. they burst and they go, circling my soul. small explosions in me, x-rays of a firework show. now i see me in your eyes, staring at you, staring at me; stars are reachable and ripe. i think this is what it feels like to die. i mean i hope this is what it feels like to die.
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