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i had this idea... write a poem here.

wesmdow

wesmdow

Bluelighter
Joined
Dec 13, 2004
Messages
4,016
Write Your Poem here! (new pormpt!)

heres how this thread works:

whenever i feel like it, i will come up with and post, the title of a poem you write.

lets see what wonderful/gahstly words flow from our fingertips.
write away!

im going to keep mine up chronicled here in this post. i think itd be cool if everyone who participated did that so that the thread might stay a bit shorter/more manageable?

poem 1

i heard this quote at a poetry reading today, and i thought it was lame, yet thought provoking.

write a poem entitled:

"i made it"

poem 2

i had a huge fight with my girlfriends mom today because i left some icecream (just ONE TINY BIT!!!!) on the counter over night. this leads me to my next poem title.

write a poem entitled:

"filthy pig"

poem 3

some of the (not so great) events in my recent life have come from the possesive nature of some of the people i am close to; so self absorbed and materialistic. i wont go into my personal life here ( you could prolly read about it in SLR if you were interested ;)), but this DOES tie into my next title.

write a poem called:

"you are mine"

poem 4

these prompts are all personally relevant to my life (if it wasnt alread obvious8) ), and this next one was inspired by a revelation i had--an epiphony-- in realizing that i dont have to please everyone, especially if they arent even worth the effort of pleasing.

write a poem entitled:

"it's over"

poem 5
i heard a lyric in an eagles song--life in the fast lane--that i liked a whole lot. "lines on the mirror/lines on her face..."
that got me thinking about how much lines shape our world.

write a poem entitled:

"lines"


poem 6
one of my favorite poets is charles bukowski, and ive been reading his work lately... i like how 'raw' and real his poems are. as a (sort of semi 8)) tribute to him, the next poem's title is just a suggestion: the one ive chosen for my poem. id like poem 6 to be gritty and gross, to shine a spotlight on the stomach-turning, vile, rot of everyday life.

write a poem entitled:

"rotten meat"

poem 7
its been a while eh? i just got through being dumped. this seriously blows.

write a poem entitled:

"severed"

i made it

mine.

i made it writhe in charred depths of ideation--

squirm upwards, crawl belly-down through the filth of creation.

i made it blossom with pillowy thoughts, clever narration.

flamboyant and loud with such bold animation

i made it noticed and i made it seen,

but really, is it no more than mere masterbation?

sometimes, i feel frustrated with the whole "creative" situation...
Click to expand...


filthy pig

repugnant and vile
you lounge, and fuck while
i walk barefoot,
for miles
uphill in the cold--
barely a glimpse of her smile
...all worthwhile...

...but youre disgusting
lolling about as though you were free
ive made it quite clear you belong to me,
this is how things are going to be
you have no choice, really, but to agree...

you and yours are filthy pigs
nothing better yet anything worse
you are trash, garbage, waste.
i gaze through the facade of style, intelligence, class...
i see you for what you are

dirty fucking filthy pig.

my daughter deserves better.
Click to expand...

you are mine

possession.
to own.
mine.

__________can i do that?

can i own you?
own that?
this?
them?
those?

then what?

what is mine?

am i mine?

can i give myself away?

am i yours?

sigh... possesion.

freedom... whats the difference?

but you are mine
Click to expand...
^im not quite happy with that one so any critiques wouldbe nice. thanks.
over
its over...(?)

never again//lesson learned....
(or will we be fooled again?)

a saying here in texas:
you can fool me once.. shame on me
you can fool me twice... err...
shit!

rumors of imminent catastophe
fuel the fire--feed the fearful frenzy.

smirking as the smoke and cinders sizzle away
the minds of the people,
obsessed with fire; destruction.

this wont/cant continue.
it//something, is over.

done.
Click to expand...

---lines___

lines----
lines---
lines--

kissing each corner\
caressing every seam/

..but

...twisted\bent/battered\torked
to render the bubbling brook of
nature
an icey geometric reality.

lines on the plate.

lines on my face.

drawn on the street.

dug in the sand.

lines.

the check out at walmart:
..."line starts back there, buddy"
Click to expand...

rotting meat:

a dead kitten.

its skull is crushed
and her guts
have been squished
out her asshole.

a maggot oozes its way
through her left eye socket
as i step out of my car
into a puddle of the kitten's piss
and blood and shit.

that must be what i get
for masturbating so much?

winter:
the kind of weather
that bites your nose
and ears and fingers.
bitter cold.

shed been sleeping
in a parking lot.
under a warm tire,
no doubt.

i wonder if the guy
in the white suburban
even heard...
did he hear her
scream?

and now
my shoes smell
of rotting meat,
and theres blood
moistening my socks.
Click to expand...
 
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i made it

out of wood and twine

i made it

little broken wires

i made it

you never stopped crying but
i couldn't stop
and i kept on going
i couldn't stop

things seem to hurt less now since

i made it

your voice cries silent now

i made it

...

Your Silence Is So Perfect.





(I love this thread idea wesmdow!)
 
if this is breaking any forum rules, my most sincere apolagies. delete and ban!
Click to expand...

Yeah look, I’ve been itching to use my new mod powers, so I’m afraid I’m going to have to ban you! ;)

give a title to a group of people, just a title, and see what wonderful/gahstly words flow from their fingertips.
Click to expand...

Seriously though… brilliant idea! This is the kind of thing that can breathe a lot of life into this forum. If there are enough replies, maybe you can choose your favourite, and then that person gets to start a new thread with a new theme (or title) for everyone to write something about, then that person chooses their favourite, and so on... Just an idea, tell me to can it if you don’t like it! Or maybe you’d like to give us a new title to work with once a month or something? That could work.

Here's my attempt:


I made it
(or, what the street saxophonist said to the unsung reveller)

Here I’m a maker
of trailing sad notes

like the hot night we have
tonight is a

taker
of the tempted into blaze,

though you and I know temptation, how
the wind will blow it out

like disputed memory
of touch

gone
to water.

It’s your turn to look at
oblivions,

go undetected,
hide yourself in numbers.

Every atomic second
rewards,

so wish it,
have somewhere to be,

launch a new career for
the evening, go

naked to the waist
(do I mean up or down?)

Though even after you’ve
swum in the stars, still

you go coughing
up the dead thoughts

like a phone
with a voicemail backlog.

Now sunken paralytic
swearing your lungs out,

my trailing sad notes
miss their target,

and you claw at the world
as if I made it.
 
At precisely the proper time at a quarter past the hour,
He picked up his axe and flossed his teeth,
He passed the old trailer and through the yard past the flowers,
Entered the back door ten minutes to the half hour,
His feet made no noise on the soft carpet,
And his axe dragged smoothly through the air,
At the half hour after watching the pair,
He brought the blunt edge down on their heads,
And simmered in contentment before he decided to let
So neatly their bodies into pieces.
The pieces were collected all in one bucket by the forty-five,
And the floor bleached so neatly, nothing had ever been alive,
The blood curled around the meat in the bucket,
And bled quietly in sorrow to the bed,
Of the red pickup truck as they were driven,
To the daugther's house and then given,
To her with a note.
At the turning of the hour on his way to the station he fit
underneath his tongue a float
of relief to the air, "I made it."
 
I made it.
I made it what i could.
It was such delicous food.
It went down so well.
It made you feel even more swell.
These people they don't see.
Too occupied with their own dreams.
Dreams so wild they make me fiend.
Back to a different place and time.
Drinking tequila without the lime.
Feeling nothing, not pain.
Still all in all not quite sane.

- I could of went longer but not necessarly better
 
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I MADE IT​

Closing my eyes reveals a face cold and dark
Started back then, open smile, open heart
Torn apart, crimson stains on my cheeks, bleak
Still emotionless, weak, stunned but still manage to speak
Release relentless agression just to question their obsessions
Walked the same path, no shame, this is my confession
Justify your handheld pride inside you are mistaken
Imagine hatred overtaken all of love, leaving you shaken
Love will bleed, coloring sleeves, as I have found
Rose from nothing, I made it, look at me now

____________________________________________________________

Hear the beat with that bump? I made it

See this fatass blunt filled up with skunk? I made it

See the crack dealer on the corner? I made it possible for them to meet the coroner

See what I was and what I'm now? I made it​


Not my best work but you have those kinda days :P
 
i made it

i made it all come crashing down
with words and promises broken
empty bottle on the ground
downed like an oponent
it felt so good at first
till i lost you and worse
i cant get you back
i made it too hard
now ive pushed you too far
with the holes i punched in your wall
and the stupid drunken calls
i made it end
with that empty bottle on the floor
i made it end
when i called you a dirty whore
i made it end
its all gone but i still want more
 
I made it, but it wasn't for you.
Had another flip trick in mind;
your acolytes are calling while they're falling
for some new hip dangling ultra-pleasant child.

I made it, but it wasn't for me.
Seven layered armistice for travelling behind;
my stalactites beseeching while they're reaching
for the mighty nascent salamander wild.

I made it but it wasn't for them.
Seven feathered bat-wing branded molecules resigned;
their empathic fights receding while they're bleeding
over mutual careless trembling units, undulating kind.

I made it, but it wasn't for us.
Tranquil, even trophies balance harp-strings intertwined.
our Sunday nights extending while they're tending
to fresh tumbles, deftly emptiness reclined.

(I made it, but now I feel dirty)
 
LvMkngFlwrChld said:
i made it all come crashing down
with words and promises broken
empty bottle on the ground
downed like an oponent
it felt so good at first
till i lost you and worse
i cant get you back
i made it too hard
now ive pushed you too far
with the holes i punched in your wall
and the stupid drunken calls
i made it end
with that empty bottle on the floor
i made it end
when i called you a dirty whore
i made it end
its all gone but i still want more
Click to expand...

i think this is a good piece of work. i like your interpretation of "i made it," as being negative.

..and i personally identify with the poem, as i think many of us will.
 
I made it

For you I captured a star
I made it shine forever;

For you I took your dreams
I made them come true.

I drew rainbows across the skies for you.

For you were my love
My only love
A love that will never

End.
 
Really love these lines:

empty bottle on the ground
downed like an oponent
Click to expand...

Great efforts all round though. Feel free to set us a new challenge whenever you're ready, wesmdow. Newcomers to the thread could then take their pick between the two, or choose to do both if they're really keen. But I think we'll leave it in your hands in terms of where to go from here, since you came up with the idea!
 
"I made it"
I wrote a poem
Expressed as word pollution
I made it
As part of a filthy pig revolution
Crashing and banging
Slamming together
Falling apart
Changing like the weather
Words and phrases
These things that express us
We are going nowhere
We are taking you with us
Folded and faded
Hardly even there
So out of order and confusing
It began to give quite a scare
Finally in an instant
Everything fell all together
Not because it was random
But because it was tailored
I wrote a poem
Expressed as word pollution
I made it
As part of a filthy pig revolution
 
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This has taken me a while, but here's my crack at the filthy pig. I'm not sure I want to keep the filthy pig reference in it, but for the sake of the thread I will for now. It's very much a work in progress. But once again, wesmdow, you squeezed my creative juices. ;)


Children of the city

City is a filthy pig forever in shit, overgrown with aim high stoppered by success, eyecandy hanging within reach, this disappointment. We are children so we can slip out of its spell. We, we unzip our teeth for shouting, we work the signs; this is what children do. There’s not enough of nothing; we are looking for zero – you think it’s a good idea? It’s a treasure hunt. We go looking for zero in the random urban spread, shantytowns, inner-city ghettoes, overcrowded housing projects. We play hide and seek in the planet of slums. There is no quenching zero, only clichés destined to repeat: squalor, crimewave, insecure. Here are the thousand wrecks and the people claiming their spaces, hurrying into the heaven, the wormhole, that is spiraling out of sight.

Radio says an invisible army, radio says trust the dollar, radio says the butchers that we are. We are children so, being chased, we don’t buy a gun. We turn and face the ghosts, whether they are lifelike or unlifelike. We are no longer capable of reading. We’re so close we can’t decipher, we are no longer legible, we are dancing in the glory of not knowing what we’re doing. This closeness will drown, this clicking of sore tongues will drown us. We dream of an insistent hush, of walking face to face beneath cities of gold. We wake, always, to the siren slicing the traffic. Each morning we are blessed with animal intelligence.

We are just at the beginning of the future. Foiled voices tell us that 50 years from now, two-thirds of the children will live in cities. In the dimmer hours, when the sun doesn’t scorch the road, two billion slum children, their feeble legs dancing on the grave of the petroleum economy. The reptilians say the city will be a frontier space, the blue sanctuary it knew itself to be. We’re children because we have to be. The newest, the most, the latest. All the ways technology loop de loops spun on our tongues. We’ve got to become very creative, invent new games for streets of searing dust. Our dreams arrive shaped like a room, where at last we sleep beyond the buzz. We dream ourselves sleeping safe. We dream the spacious dream, someone who calls herself the mother, and the unhurried invitation of her body.
 
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The sound seemed to echo off the walls into a five piece dinning set. I wasn't quite sure what to do to appease this blasphemous voice, and as of yet I wasn't even quite sure from which direction it was approaching me from. The noise seemed to grow louder and louder and then softer again, until all the static faded out and I could hear what it was saying. It reverberated inside my head in numerous rhythmical variations...'what a wonderful jig'.....'what a fantastic gig'....'you felt the fig'........until I finally recieved the transmission in its orginally encoded entirety....."You filthy pig!" I wasn't quite sure at what time this transmission was recived, because its reverberations and echoes seemed to insinuate multiple positions in time related to myself, but as it happened I wasn't quite sure how to respond. At first I was rather taken aback and was startled by this blatant and rude offensive. However, as soon as I realized the comparable state of my attacker, a human just as I, a wave of hilarity engulfed the situation and I collapsed to the floor laughing, enjoying and parousing the various possibilities of human behavior.

Faintly and distantly, though, I began to hear the sound of falling water. Some inkling of remote and detatched intelligence seemed to urge that I pay attention to this sound. I decided it would be best to follow suit and gradually, as I did, this flowing and sprinlking of water grew ever louder. The delightful sound of water soothing the moss on a clump of moist streamside rocks. The forest has always been a nice place to relax in, especially with a bed of cool moss and a canopy of emerald leaves filtering the sun through in such convenient locations. But alas, the gargle grew louder unpendingly and rose to a monstrous noise before I felt my head against something rather hard. I found myself staring at my distorted and ever changing reflection in the running faucet. Ah yes. The bathtub. The soap and washcloth was still in my raised hand propped against the porcelain rim of the tub. The water was up to my neck and it was high time I turn the faucet off. That was the original purpose of why I came here of course, to take a bath (or was it to turn off the faucet?)
 
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You are mine

You are mine. You are mine like:

1. The glower of a spotlight (is)
a finger pointed down.

2. My keys in my hand (and)
the purpose of hands.

3. An open palm can mean
confidential information.

4. Our buildings are titans
selling everything in the world (lusts).

(and) 5. blood is the body’s river.

The true thing:
no one gives a damn about your music

(because) you are mine;
"that's just what I use the word to mean."

The one who could hurt me most;
(yes) it must be the brain,

(but what am I?)

I am telling the truth.
I’m bound to lose.
 
It's over

and
I say nothing

(smoking gun)

or at least nothing from
the list (of things
never to be said again),

each a workaround (e.g.):

“Leave me alone to smoke
my cigarette!”

It’s ok,
we (don’t) have to be sexy
(any more).

Friends, correct?

Page 198 of 198:
I was (I am!) chasing down Smith St –

you
(had) a hand in this,

I thought,

so do I (in this),

this payment,

Badge of Honour,

well-thumbed anthology of
ways (to get fixed).

It’s over and I’m
mixing up tenses (still);

I chose (I’ve chosen)
the colour blue to
remember you –

liquid maps.

You told me (too),
“Never turn your back
on the ocean”,

but what if
the ocean is you...?
 
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Lines

drawn on the mirror,
just waiting for some action,
pure and white like night.
 
I dream of you when I'm sleeping,
I think of you when I'm awake,
To look at your beautiful smile,
and see your pretty face.
My life is now complete
with you forever by my side,
This love runs so deep,
my feelings I just can’t hide.
I have known since forever
that we were meant to be,
that we are now as one,
yes, it’s just you and me.

Written for my wife eight years ago...
 
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