The wall will be Reaganized
With a thimble and the rat-ta-tat-tat
Of my machine gun finger.
I'll kill it nice and slow
Just the way I like to do
And it will lay in a quiet ruin
As silent as it was standing.
I think I'll keep a piece for myself
And lock it in a shoebox
In the corner of my closet
Beneath the clutter.
Somehow, I'll find it again
Wondering why I kept a ratty shoebox
In the corner of my closet.
Then I'll shrug my shoulders,
Take a peak inside and I'll say:
"So that was my life".
and we were walking together, you and I, during father's day with the grass so sweet
and there was joy in the sun so shining and the wind so blowing
and there was a cross a cross I remember by the cemetery's spread doors
and I remember that we didn't bury him he could never be buried but we scattered him next to her
and there was a sunny day instead of the rainy day I remember when she was buried
and it was like there was something happy going on even though there wasn't, but was there was there love in those hills
the only hilly place in chicago is the one where people meet, secretly, after life, and whisper between themseves
until the moss - covers up - their names -
my mouth is full of winsome lies -
and eyes are full of death besides
but luckily the soul is wise -
it sees beyond my blindness and
forced failure makes a better guise,
so as i come again alive,
it feels like life's a decent plan
I can call up a breeze, but no more.
I can make water freeze, but no more.
I can call up a fire, hot as Lucifer's breath,
I can heal a man, from within a inch of their death,
But no more.
I can sharpen swords,
and strengthen shields,
I can lengthen sight for miles,
stop pain a man feels,
I can multiply food,
and nullify poison,
I can do all this,
With the path I have chosen.
Killing a man is within my power,
For that I know for sure,
But I could only ever weaken a man,
After that, I can do no more.
who stole the skies out from over my eyes?
those havens of songless tears respite,
unprovoked, like darkness away from light.
have not the stars still glittering intentions
to play past the moon's unyielding reflections
and lift weighted gazes toward countless directions?
who stole the skies, leaving such a sad guise?
no moniker as such before held less hope;
hues nameless, shades shapeless, all colors eloped.
forgotten in dawn, wry regards now embellish
these destitute scenes no dear soul would care relish.
all memories of morning replaced by sights hellish!
you stole the skies, claimed the spread as your prize,
wore the shine-speckled patterns softly 'round your shoulders
as dusk's summer-bronze crossed your skin with its smolder.
the banter of long-lost twinkles lit your gaze.
by nights, gleaned your beauty; by rights, thieved my days,
ripped 'way all of reason, denied ev'ry praise.
(Author's Note: I make use of part of DFW's "Incantations of Burned Children" in part of this. Where it seems appropriate. It is small and probably better than the rest of the poem. The other inspiration is, fwiw, Ratatat.)
cherry
patterns, fractals, broken leaves,
skies of dreams whispering sweet nothings in my ear
there are things you give and things you have asked
relaxed, I made myself relaxed
there was about-to-be-drunk in those glasses and I knew
the virginal surprise of pleasure expanding softly
and I learned how to float above myself idly
and watch the whole rest unfold from a point overhead,
and whatever was lost never thenceforth mattered
we played a song until it shattered
we played were played a song until
the slow expanding made a hole
there was blood on my soul
there should not be blood: I lost control
I spilled the blood we spilled
and the point overhead hovered unfilled
everything is a big blank nothing
but we are all right now
my mouth is full of winsome lies -
and eyes are full of death besides
but luckily the soul is wise -
it sees beyond my blindness and
forced failure makes a better guise,
so as i come again alive,
it feels like life's a decent plan
An homage to a little poem you may remember from grade school:
Phyrexian Rebirth
Clickity clickity clickity CLANK!
Phyrexian Rebirth was built like a tank!
Its hide was a horror of recycled bone
It tended to make its opponents go home
It might have two dozen of each legs and arms
It's sure to make planeswalkers come to great harms
It lurches and crunches and lumbers and creaks
You might give up Magic for multiple weeks!
But what's that? An island that's sitting unused?
It seems I forgot my opponent splashed blues.
Clickity clickity clickity SPEW!
It just got unsummoned. Hey buddy, eff you!
Walking down halls never seen before
twisting turning
whispers echo screaming from the walls
Darkness reaching Grasping pulling free
Doors creak open behind i look they slam them shut
am i here is it real i begin to run no excape
the hallway ends how many miles did i come
is this where i started from
a solitary table a glass a bottle a shapened blade
the demons voices cackle
the angel takes his place
a voice so sweet telling no real truth
you shall not be missed but will be loved for dying
i fill the glass darkness approaching
the blade much to slender for its heavy weight
i close my eyes crimson fills the skies
hands grabing voices screaming
much to bright for an unending night
a hand a voice so soft and warm
my mother how? i realize all to late
the demons lies and the angels eyes
lead me too far from my familys lives
With what words could I thus translate
The noise that keeps me pensive?
What lips could recognize such tones
And sing along intently?
How vast the chasm where within
The echoes of invention
Discover dreams most devious
And lose them just as quickly!
Inopportune was the moment she left me;
you see because I had been drinking,
and the way her backside looked flinging
open the door then pausing, then
Running out the house away from me,
from my sweaty character flaws,
my oily temper and odorous self pity,
well, you can't blame a girl for that.
She was on fire and I was so much ash,
lifeless, head in hands, groveling to her please stay, please stay, please...
though it might have been a wordless whimper
Inopportune because as she left
all I could see was her,
so that when she was gone I was blind
and until she comes back I don't mind.
How do I look? This is the question asked of me by the beautifully blind woman sharing my candle-soaked bedchamber. To answer her in truth and total honesty would make me a miracle worker - such is the picture I would paint, that it would make her blindness a blessing. I throw her off of me and abandon the bed, striding to the cracked and jagged mirror adorning the roadside inns bedroom wall. How do I look? A skeleton peers back at me with a knowing smile and bones of fossilized flesh and chiseled stone. I appear horrendously malnourished - I am more pale than the walking dead, velvet-ringed blue eyes that, though alive, blink twice as sad. My lank hair withholds the greasy sheen of a torched forest just after a brush fire - miserable brown, stained with deaths ash despite being reasonably young of age, and long-since due for a trimming, too. Disheveled does not quite describe it. How do I look? Windblown would be a compliment at this point. I look half the savage, and Christ save me, I swear I've the appearance of someone who is perpetually falling down a hill. My clothes grant me some respite, thankfully, being neither entirely too posh nor leaving me garbed in rags. Let's call them modest, if not mismatched in various shades of dreary black. I'd love to lay claim that I possess the swagger of so many girls dreamt-up seductive vampire, but really I win them wielding nothing but a silver tongue hiding somewhere within a decidedly unimpressive everyman. How do I look? I cannot summon up any more words to describe the atrocity, not without driving myself to suicide. I turn back to the sightless whore, abandoning the blue-eyed monster in the broken glass, and find my mood deteriorated and my lust deflated. Her question peels back layers of sanity and secretes clutches of eggs beneath. She awaits my answer, her supple nakedness hidden from me in the sheets. I remain fiercely envious of every princely thing beneath the sky, and so naturally I lie to her.
When I'm sleeping,
calmly sleeping,
curled up sleeping on my bed,
I don't need
my phone to ring
while it sits next to my head,
and when you call,
to get me out,
to have me help you write your work,
I find it boring,
ever boring,
and distasteful, I must say:
let me sleep and rest,
and we can go our separate ways.
And perhaps when next I'm social,
I won't scoff at what you speak:
though, given what you've said before,
the odds of that are starkly bleak.
Private Mod Note
():
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
my mouth is full of winsome lies -
and eyes are full of death besides
but luckily the soul is wise -
it sees beyond my blindness and
forced failure makes a better guise,
so as i come again alive,
it feels like life's a decent plan
Am I a man?
Or a myth?
A woman?
Or maybe a child, fallen from a cliff?
My constant views of desperate shadows,
my bile bubbling dark green through my lips.
I have no recourse from my minds wretched gallows,
by sickening sorrow and pills, my soul will slip.
I like cats
their furry whiskers
their mouth and fun
their lovable tricks
the way they walk
and swish their hips
tail in the air
a haughty bliss
I'd scatter catnip
around my steps
and gather them up
to watch cats dance
the meme is present
the love is safe
the cats should own us
the cats are great
I've heard cats snorted
to calm the fix
but I'd just pet
unless ... the kiss
Private Mod Note
():
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
my mouth is full of winsome lies -
and eyes are full of death besides
but luckily the soul is wise -
it sees beyond my blindness and
forced failure makes a better guise,
so as i come again alive,
it feels like life's a decent plan
Look at him/living on a whim/can a man survive/on nothing but gold trim?
Look at her/treated worse than dirt/surely it must hurt/having the one you love/keep it short and curt?
Look at them/treating love like a hidden gem/ingesting drugs like locks of hem!
Look at him/problems solved with gin/it matters not how far you’ll go/on a road paved of gold and sin!
Look at him/how long can you love?/How Long can you Live?/How long/Until it all gives?
Look at life/rife with pain/another day/another friend slain/so why, my friend/in the devil’s bad have you lain?
Why my friend/do you drown the pain?
Why my friend/do you ignore the rain?
Why my friend/do you leave the stain?
Why do you pursue only gain? Whilst her love falls through the drain?
Why do you empty the coffers? And yet refuse her offers?
She’ll love you, freely and fully!
She’ll love you, in heart and brain!
But you say no.
So then? Do you enjoy the long nights? The bitter fights/to no end?
Do you live to die?
Why do you not give/but steal?
Why my friend; will the wound not heal?
Nesta vila tudo passa, até a uva passa.
Nesta vila tudo muda, até a surda-muda.
Nesta vila todo santo mundo mata, até a casa-mata.
Reminiscing the warm, cloudy days of the past
It all seemed so happy, as if a spell was cast
The memory was still fresh, yet rich in detail
Swift patterns of flapping wing, delicate and frail
This gentle hummingbird, whilst sapping the orchids' nectar
Flew into my window to examine thoroughly its vector
A faint excuse to sip some sweet water
My humblest offer.
As I secretly stared the bird, immobile
Hoping not to make any rude movement, or tremble
I pleaded it to hum far away, where a flower awaits
To carry a message of two lovers and their fates
The winged guy did obey, in such a grace
a elegant reverence, and left the place .
Thoughts as the blaring causes my eyes to open,
hit the clock,
lost some rocks,
Some mash for breakfast
that my mom put on toast,
the bus is here, I suppose I'll leave.
Blur till lunchtime, I think I'm finally awake,
forced into boredom, depression, and awkward life, supposedly for futures sake.
Perhaps if they knew my bag could be the genesis of future Columbine,
they'd think to slow their role,
right now I'd fancy a daydream about Adventure Time,
perhaps I'll show them tomorrow.
Private Mod Note
():
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
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With a thimble and the rat-ta-tat-tat
Of my machine gun finger.
I'll kill it nice and slow
Just the way I like to do
And it will lay in a quiet ruin
As silent as it was standing.
I think I'll keep a piece for myself
And lock it in a shoebox
In the corner of my closet
Beneath the clutter.
Somehow, I'll find it again
Wondering why I kept a ratty shoebox
In the corner of my closet.
Then I'll shrug my shoulders,
Take a peak inside and I'll say:
"So that was my life".
His love's more fear than love,
His eyes show passion and pain.
He's loving cause he's hurting.
He's loving to feel sane.
He hasn't felt the same,
Since the first one walked away.
She walked off on rainbows,
His world's now filled with gray.
And so he loves me desperately.
He kisses me in haste,
He touches me softly, yet frantic,
Hoping this isn't a waste.
I know he's craving colour.
He wants his colour back.
She gingerly stole it from his heart,
And its slowly turning black.
And while I love this man,
I don't know what he sees.
Does he love me for me?
Or the fantasy he needs?
Pretty much sums up why I like green so much
On the internet, everywhere is Soviet Russia[/QUOTE]
and we were walking together, you and I, during father's day with the grass so sweet
and there was joy in the sun so shining and the wind so blowing
and there was a cross a cross I remember by the cemetery's spread doors
and I remember that we didn't bury him he could never be buried but we scattered him next to her
and there was a sunny day instead of the rainy day I remember when she was buried
and it was like there was something happy going on even though there wasn't, but was there was there love in those hills
the only hilly place in chicago is the one where people meet, secretly, after life, and whisper between themseves
until the moss - covers up - their names -
and eyes are full of death besides
but luckily the soul is wise -
it sees beyond my blindness and
forced failure makes a better guise,
so as i come again alive,
it feels like life's a decent plan
No More
I can call up a breeze, but no more.
I can make water freeze, but no more.
I can call up a fire, hot as Lucifer's breath,
I can heal a man, from within a inch of their death,
But no more.
I can sharpen swords,
and strengthen shields,
I can lengthen sight for miles,
stop pain a man feels,
I can multiply food,
and nullify poison,
I can do all this,
With the path I have chosen.
Killing a man is within my power,
For that I know for sure,
But I could only ever weaken a man,
After that, I can do no more.
Pretty much sums up why I like green so much
On the internet, everywhere is Soviet Russia[/QUOTE]
Vise grip,
codeine drip,
The truth remains,
forced to strip.
Beauty hides behind
the truth remaining,
Outta time,
intellect decline.
who stole the skies out from over my eyes?
those havens of songless tears respite,
unprovoked, like darkness away from light.
have not the stars still glittering intentions
to play past the moon's unyielding reflections
and lift weighted gazes toward countless directions?
who stole the skies, leaving such a sad guise?
no moniker as such before held less hope;
hues nameless, shades shapeless, all colors eloped.
forgotten in dawn, wry regards now embellish
these destitute scenes no dear soul would care relish.
all memories of morning replaced by sights hellish!
you stole the skies, claimed the spread as your prize,
wore the shine-speckled patterns softly 'round your shoulders
as dusk's summer-bronze crossed your skin with its smolder.
the banter of long-lost twinkles lit your gaze.
by nights, gleaned your beauty; by rights, thieved my days,
ripped 'way all of reason, denied ev'ry praise.
cherry
patterns, fractals, broken leaves,
skies of dreams whispering sweet nothings in my ear
there are things you give and things you have asked
relaxed, I made myself relaxed
there was about-to-be-drunk in those glasses and I knew
the virginal surprise of pleasure expanding softly
and I learned how to float above myself idly
and watch the whole rest unfold from a point overhead,
and whatever was lost never thenceforth mattered
we played a song until it shattered
we played were played a song until
the slow expanding made a hole
there was blood on my soul
there should not be blood: I lost control
I spilled the blood we spilled
and the point overhead hovered unfilled
everything is a big blank nothing
but we are all right now
(aren't we all right now)
and eyes are full of death besides
but luckily the soul is wise -
it sees beyond my blindness and
forced failure makes a better guise,
so as i come again alive,
it feels like life's a decent plan
I gave up everything I had
No other man would dare
I couldn't even care
I was just a tender boy
My questions were all dead
I chose obedience instead
It shouldn't hurt you, dear
But you are choking in fear
and I can't help but fear
I couldn't put that into words
My tongue got cut off
I'd rather die than not listening to the one I love most.
special thanks to sentimentgx4 for the sig
Pourquoi?
It's days like this that make me wish it was just a test.
That I could rest assured;
you'd be in heaven, rejoicing with the rest.
But dreams don't come true,
I don't know why.
I'll rember you til the day I die.
Your memory will live on through friends and family.
Maybe I'll see you again,
we'll just have to wait and see.
R.I.P Leeroy 7/02/2011
Phyrexian Rebirth
Clickity clickity clickity CLANK!
Phyrexian Rebirth was built like a tank!
Its hide was a horror of recycled bone
It tended to make its opponents go home
It might have two dozen of each legs and arms
It's sure to make planeswalkers come to great harms
It lurches and crunches and lumbers and creaks
You might give up Magic for multiple weeks!
But what's that? An island that's sitting unused?
It seems I forgot my opponent splashed blues.
Clickity clickity clickity SPEW!
It just got unsummoned. Hey buddy, eff you!
twisting turning
whispers echo screaming from the walls
Darkness reaching Grasping pulling free
Doors creak open behind i look they slam them shut
am i here is it real i begin to run no excape
the hallway ends how many miles did i come
is this where i started from
a solitary table a glass a bottle a shapened blade
the demons voices cackle
the angel takes his place
a voice so sweet telling no real truth
you shall not be missed but will be loved for dying
i fill the glass darkness approaching
the blade much to slender for its heavy weight
i close my eyes crimson fills the skies
hands grabing voices screaming
much to bright for an unending night
a hand a voice so soft and warm
my mother how? i realize all to late
the demons lies and the angels eyes
lead me too far from my familys lives
The noise that keeps me pensive?
What lips could recognize such tones
And sing along intently?
How vast the chasm where within
The echoes of invention
Discover dreams most devious
And lose them just as quickly!
Inopportune was the moment she left me;
you see because I had been drinking,
and the way her backside looked flinging
open the door then pausing, then
Running out the house away from me,
from my sweaty character flaws,
my oily temper and odorous self pity,
well, you can't blame a girl for that.
She was on fire and I was so much ash,
lifeless, head in hands, groveling to her
please stay, please stay, please...
though it might have been a wordless whimper
Inopportune because as she left
all I could see was her,
so that when she was gone I was blind
and until she comes back I don't mind.
How do I look? This is the question asked of me by the beautifully blind woman sharing my candle-soaked bedchamber. To answer her in truth and total honesty would make me a miracle worker - such is the picture I would paint, that it would make her blindness a blessing. I throw her off of me and abandon the bed, striding to the cracked and jagged mirror adorning the roadside inns bedroom wall. How do I look? A skeleton peers back at me with a knowing smile and bones of fossilized flesh and chiseled stone. I appear horrendously malnourished - I am more pale than the walking dead, velvet-ringed blue eyes that, though alive, blink twice as sad. My lank hair withholds the greasy sheen of a torched forest just after a brush fire - miserable brown, stained with deaths ash despite being reasonably young of age, and long-since due for a trimming, too. Disheveled does not quite describe it. How do I look? Windblown would be a compliment at this point. I look half the savage, and Christ save me, I swear I've the appearance of someone who is perpetually falling down a hill. My clothes grant me some respite, thankfully, being neither entirely too posh nor leaving me garbed in rags. Let's call them modest, if not mismatched in various shades of dreary black. I'd love to lay claim that I possess the swagger of so many girls dreamt-up seductive vampire, but really I win them wielding nothing but a silver tongue hiding somewhere within a decidedly unimpressive everyman. How do I look? I cannot summon up any more words to describe the atrocity, not without driving myself to suicide. I turn back to the sightless whore, abandoning the blue-eyed monster in the broken glass, and find my mood deteriorated and my lust deflated. Her question peels back layers of sanity and secretes clutches of eggs beneath. She awaits my answer, her supple nakedness hidden from me in the sheets. I remain fiercely envious of every princely thing beneath the sky, and so naturally I lie to her.
-
When I'm sleeping,
calmly sleeping,
curled up sleeping on my bed,
I don't need
my phone to ring
while it sits next to my head,
and when you call,
to get me out,
to have me help you write your work,
I find it boring,
ever boring,
and distasteful, I must say:
let me sleep and rest,
and we can go our separate ways.
And perhaps when next I'm social,
I won't scoff at what you speak:
though, given what you've said before,
the odds of that are starkly bleak.
and eyes are full of death besides
but luckily the soul is wise -
it sees beyond my blindness and
forced failure makes a better guise,
so as i come again alive,
it feels like life's a decent plan
Saved poems:
"It is a divine blessing from god..." by tezzeret12
Am I a man?
Or a myth?
A woman?
Or maybe a child, fallen from a cliff?
My constant views of desperate shadows,
my bile bubbling dark green through my lips.
I have no recourse from my minds wretched gallows,
by sickening sorrow and pills, my soul will slip.
edit: Typo.
I like cats
their furry whiskers
their mouth and fun
their lovable tricks
the way they walk
and swish their hips
tail in the air
a haughty bliss
I'd scatter catnip
around my steps
and gather them up
to watch cats dance
the meme is present
the love is safe
the cats should own us
the cats are great
I've heard cats snorted
to calm the fix
but I'd just pet
unless ... the kiss
and eyes are full of death besides
but luckily the soul is wise -
it sees beyond my blindness and
forced failure makes a better guise,
so as i come again alive,
it feels like life's a decent plan
Look at her/treated worse than dirt/surely it must hurt/having the one you love/keep it short and curt?
Look at them/treating love like a hidden gem/ingesting drugs like locks of hem!
Look at him/problems solved with gin/it matters not how far you’ll go/on a road paved of gold and sin!
Look at him/how long can you love?/How Long can you Live?/How long/Until it all gives?
Look at life/rife with pain/another day/another friend slain/so why, my friend/in the devil’s bad have you lain?
Why my friend/do you drown the pain?
Why my friend/do you ignore the rain?
Why my friend/do you leave the stain?
Why do you pursue only gain? Whilst her love falls through the drain?
Why do you empty the coffers? And yet refuse her offers?
She’ll love you, freely and fully!
She’ll love you, in heart and brain!
But you say no.
So then? Do you enjoy the long nights? The bitter fights/to no end?
Do you live to die?
Why do you not give/but steal?
Why my friend; will the wound not heal?
Join the Poetry Running Contest!
Nesta vila tudo passa, até a uva passa.
Nesta vila tudo muda, até a surda-muda.
Nesta vila todo santo mundo mata, até a casa-mata.
Reminiscing the warm, cloudy days of the past
It all seemed so happy, as if a spell was cast
The memory was still fresh, yet rich in detail
Swift patterns of flapping wing, delicate and frail
This gentle hummingbird, whilst sapping the orchids' nectar
Flew into my window to examine thoroughly its vector
A faint excuse to sip some sweet water
My humblest offer.
As I secretly stared the bird, immobile
Hoping not to make any rude movement, or tremble
I pleaded it to hum far away, where a flower awaits
To carry a message of two lovers and their fates
The winged guy did obey, in such a grace
a elegant reverence, and left the place .
Zummmm.....
special thanks to sentimentgx4 for the sig
Pourquoi?
**** school, **** lawnmowers, **** chicken, **** rules.
Thoughts as the blaring causes my eyes to open,
hit the clock,
lost some rocks,
Some mash for breakfast
that my mom put on toast,
the bus is here, I suppose I'll leave.
Blur till lunchtime, I think I'm finally awake,
forced into boredom, depression, and awkward life, supposedly for futures sake.
Perhaps if they knew my bag could be the genesis of future Columbine,
they'd think to slow their role,
right now I'd fancy a daydream about Adventure Time,
perhaps I'll show them tomorrow.