Poll: Favorite?
Poll Options
View poll results: Favorite?
Red
2 100%
Indigo
0 0%
Green
0 0%
Gray
1 50%
Voters: 2.
#1
Multiple Choice, but try not to vote for all of them. Top two go through to the finals.

***I originally forgot to make it multivote. So those who have voted can recast or leave it as so. Your previous votes will stand unless you vote again. They are as follows and will be added to the poll's tally unless overridden by new votes from these individuals in the poll or through posting in this thread. Sorry for the confusion

For the Record:
(1) Red - NattyDaddy
(1) Indigo - 剣 斧 血
(-) Green - ...
(1) Gray - iRoseAgainst
__________________________



I learned a long time ago

that being afraid - stop stunned in your tracks -

could only pave the way

if you weren't planning to step back.


Leaves shine on things you wouldn't otherwise see.

Rabbits crawl on and around your feet.

Too much magic going on and you might wonder what's real.

But the smell of the season let's you know it's probably not a dream.


Let's get a bike to the nitty gritty.

The arse of the whole thing.

No such concept as just another soul

in a world where delusion can't lead to a new whole.


Trip down the rainbow and you're at the bottom of the queue.

There's colours and shapes but nothing to hold

and you fall down and know that the next ride's already sold.

Can't resist going again so you pay twenty a pop,

never want these three months to stop,

never want the heat to drop from the top,

and never dress with more than shorts,

and never discard the barbecues till twelve nought-nought,

but in the back of your mind you know in nine months time it'll be twice as good as before...




monsoon season


these months held no evaporation of the ego -
summer's skin shook off its freckles, replaced with spite,
a dissatisfaction, a curse.
the bathroom didn't get enough air and we'd
dry ourselves off in the settled steam,
speaking no word of the mildewy smell
that crept into the otherwise tranquil moment.


there is a brief period of vertigo
wedged between the moments after rainfall
and the return of the sun's heat.

the forest breathes from all sides of town,
pulling the sky's nectar through its tree roots,
and if I listen hard enough I'll hear the rush of

my own capillaries
tuned to the central pulse.


wait,


wait,


alas... a sigh rumbles through the remnants of the clouds
as they disperse, allowing the bright eye of focus to
return to the scene - a disparate host.
her smile seems to scoff, bringing those
in her presence at a boundary past ripeness and
into the rotten...


the bright sun beams on the soggy earth,
exposing its dependence,
the rays too akin to its wallowing yellow leaves,
its vapors with faint hints of urine.
the vertigo ends;

there is no unpredictability
in this scoring heat.




Title: Complaint

I’m a complainer. Nah, it’s okay;
I’m complaining right now.
Long since I learned how to worry,
I have developed a nemesis
relationship with time.
Yeah, I know what you’re thinking –
hating on something as omnipresent
and eternal as the human concept
of a god is a useless waste of it.
But I’ve been blaming its burden
on my shoulders, despising each
tick as the screech on my tympanum.

“Yes, another second
as a loser; another second where
something could’ve changed for the better.”

but nothing
can change as long as it judges over me
like the Statue of Authority
shrugging
amongst cursing Ant-Men who use their status by crutching
on the corner and complaining.

Yes, I hate Summer.
I hate its fucking weather
because you can’t appease it.
I hate the ever-
haunting notion that
everyone’s having
more fun than me.
I hate that each fucking day
is either a quick thrill
or a long tedium.
I used to hate it because
it felt so endless.
Now I hate is
‘cause everyone tells me
I should end it and
do something with my life and
all I want’s to feel that boredom once again;
that boredom that surely only I feel,
since everyone has their schedules so filled
because everyone manages my nemesis
so much better than me.

Fuck… how does everybody do it?
Why do I feel like
I’m the sole Ant-Man
throwing sand against that
faux-pity-eyed statue
that appears to shrug directly
at me? Why do I strive
for more bouts with my nemesis,
when all I want to do is
embrace it and chain it to the leg
of a throne when I should sit
in my egotistical glory?

Still, it’s sunny outside.
Everyone seems to greet me with a smile.
I am kissed. I am hugged.
I retribute it back with the love I’ve split
for everyone and everything
that listens to me;
that does its best to help me;
that wants me around and all I seem
to do is complaining.

Please, Summer, don’t leave me.
Don’t bring me back to duty.
I want to be young once again.
I want to feel timeless.
I want to laugh with (all of) you;
cry with you;
live with you.
Fuck…
I want to gather the group
until I call us again.

Timeless
Timeless as we should be.
Timeless as things should be.



Resignation and Denouncement


The mystery unsolves us;
clouds clear for meteors,
and a love I used to know
breathes wide without fear,
vulnerable to recollection,
habitual motion, to rockets
and falling rocks soon lost
to the sun.
Greens fill the foreground,
the valleys to the south
fill with low clouds, the wind
picks up, picks me up, and I arrive
with you now, or then, morning-eyed
between rock walls and drop offs,
seams of coal that line the cliff face
in the same way the limestone showed burns
in the church where we met, St Mary
of the Mount, cathedral in the sky
over stadiums that fill the evening
with new noise and blue lights.

then somewhere between this mountain
and the next that matters to me,
between a city and a clean ridgeline
some river unwinds, a forest untangles,
the earth flattens out and we can see
a whole gas tank away. The past too, unravels
into mural, and you are there
across none of it--a beginning and an end
with no story in between, no matter
the strokes at writing it.
They are ghosts in the highlands,
skeletons in the rivers,
the weather's gotten warmer
and the dead have grown dimmer
with my memories of you between skylines
and hollows, I traverse, confused
or undecided, or confused about how
to tie this up nicely, this finished dream,
this elegance in the darkness,
a story created maybe for this moment--
years taken out of context
and understanding--to be better than in love
with someone half unreal, to become
not lonely, to not be made sense of
in the first palce or any place at all,
to welcome back this familiar void
and to become myself and no one else again.
Anatomy Anatomy
Whale Blue Review

Park that car
Drop that phone
Sleep on the floor
Dream about me
#2
bump
Quote by Arthur Curry
it's official, vintage x metal is the saving grace of this board and/or the antichrist




e-married to
theguitarist
minterman22
tateandlyle
& alaskan_ninja