Poetry Thead

[Deviate]

I just figured it'd be a nice place to submit some of the stuff you've done outside the Fiction Project.

Drop your poetry here, read, comment, etc.

-st.

[nycwriters]

.

[zenbabe]

As the currents of life carry me away
I look at all that passes
All the waste
All the despair
All the lonliness
The waves carry me away
I go deeper
Deeper into your soul
Drowning in your eyes and thoughts
The waves
They take me back
Back away from you
I try to talk to them
But they dont hear me
"Fall I say"
"Fall, fall, down into your own earth"
"And let me fall into mine!"
But they don't hear me
Their anger overpowers me
And I am covered once again.

[noxxville]

Please forgive me...I wrote this when I was 12 and it is the only thing that I can contribute to this thread....

persistence prevailing,
the spider begins to feed.
its prey was fast,
and it cleverly sped by.
but when it wasn't watching,
the spider caught the fly.

[Deviate]

this looks a little different without the right spacing...

she lives in dreams
of lonely men
who hide their eyes
from the light
palming green
pausing for a brush of flesh

girls with closed eyes
convert
contort
over a wall of mirror
against a pole

she wears blue
fish skin
like false water
it clings to her breasts
breath
heavy with alcohol
bought by strangers
sucked dry
on the rocks

her arm is around my back
neon ripping at her hair
tearing at her smile

gillter on her eyes
flashes from the chasing lights
reflects upon her mirrored eyes
hiding the fractured glass
that traps her
deep inside

poised over coffee
over years
she had talked about tomorrow
and now
drifting faintly above the din
she speaks in slurs
about the private party
three
hundred
dollars
at her apartment

a bark
from a heavy man
and she says she has to go

i feel her skin
almost frictionless
against my cheek
and with a quick kiss
she tells me she misses me and
"i'll call"

if she rememebers my number
if she remembers me.

-st.

[masterofNone]

to pigeon holes
and collection bowls
and things that bump and bite

to asphalt tiles
and necrophiles
and beasties left and right

i hate you too
you sordid zoo
and do so
quite precisely

you raped my father
and killed my mother
and did it
all so nicely

i love you ma
i miss dad too
i really couldn't be
more blue

it's society that
knocked you off
and gave you both
the screw



written in 10th grade... makes my appreciation of AgentSmith more understandable now don't it?

[beckstra]

first, two comments...then two of mine...

noxxville - that was awesome. you sure were a smart twelve year old

dv8 - hon, that was awesome. the imagry alone...yowza

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Fiesta
intrigued by she sound of castonettes
echoing through the city streets
excited children run to windows
peek through closed drapes
the cobblestone streets are lined with fire and flowers
ignoring the spectacle of color is impossible
the air is alive and bustling with ritual
rustling with vigor
eyes are alight with each glimpse of magic
tension is enigmatic yet enthralling
alighting curiosity
wonder
people flock to the streets
driven to be alive
men tip their hats and women move their hips
music plays
voices laugh
smiles glow
the sun is forgotten
the night hums into existence
sings people into movement
people dance like fireworks against the night sky
the children whisper and giggle to one another

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Aurora Borealis
like the tie-dyed cotton mumu
resting softly on her shoulders
the dark soft-colored fabric
flowing down around her ankles
the sky is dark and rich with
sky-lit fantasy for miles
and all I can seem to do is stop and stare

the stars like paper beads
against the color-washed thin cotton
hang above the ground in fashion
as do the beads around her neck
the moon is barely hidden
just behind the gentle colors
like her tiny frame is hidden 'neath the gown

and I am overtaken
by the dancing in the sky
as are the people gathered 'round her
watching every step she takes
I am caught up in the life of night
it holds my captive mind
and her sandals clatter further down the street

[amanda]

Awesome work, all of you. This is the latest one I could come up with- it was originally posted in Paper, but it's the only one I have to show for the time being.

Two Dimensions

Waspmade, handmade, machine.
Sails boats, wings air
flutters to the celebrated ground below.

A reed in Egypt becomes
a read elsewhere.

Priests script of enlightened paths unfolding.
Nations and fingers, races and hearts bleed
Souls burn, as do books
yet volumes speak to minds crumpling.

Drying tears, fibers tear.

Map me, and I will distort the world.
Treaty me, and I will shape it.
News me, and I will reveal it.
Money me, and I will make it spin.

This is how
tea is caged for a diving expedition,
trails aren't lost,
and the honeymooned remember fragility.

[Deviate]

i just threw this together after reading the entirety of the thread. so many images floating in my head.

it is night
and i am dancing
light against the darkened sky

hiding from society
behind tenement walls
cowering tall on a bed
or fire escape balcony

wearing a cotton mumu
and a necklace of stars

i have a sister
window dressing
tapping over freedom

i am a spider waiting to eat

i am a child waiting for a name

i am trapped in lights flashing

i am drowning
and am saved
by the sound of my own voice
and a map
unfolded from
Sailors and Egyptians alike

it is night
and i hear a party
in the cobblestone streets
and float from my perch
to join.

-st.

[Deviate]

"the definition of
desperation,"

i thought as i
plunged myself
elbow-deep
into the trash bin,

"must be something
quite similar
to this."

-st.

[noxxville]

I like that one Dev. Very Nice

[moel]

.

[nycwriters]

Nice Noel.

[Frieda]

i love it noel! thanks!

[sbraiden]

AUDIO VERSION:
http://artists.mp3s.com/artist_song/1753/1753161.html

(mp3-formatted audio to accomodate both highspeed and dial-up modems)

Spoken Word - Free Verse. From the "Keeper" anthology.

apprehension ...


things done, and undone
a thought half formed
a word half spoken
i can't seem to move
beyond this place where i'm fixed

afraid if i do
that i'll miss something real
what i have been waiting here for
and i know it
the taste of regret
is an everborn memory apart
from any other sense
i possess

apprehension
a subtle friend in dark nights
when i'd rather not have to decide
for fear i'd be wrong

i'd be wrong once again,
and again i'd regret my free will

as long as i'm able to choose,
i'm able to choose wrong
and that haunts me beyond
any one thing i could
possibly put into words

only that
there is a distant and lingering consequence
that comes to mind
in a vengeful and darkening place
that is thick with a taste
acrid like bile
salty like adrenaline rushed to my veins and it's taste on my tongue
coarsing to pummel me forward and out of harm's way once again

so i sit here
in this half-cracked cacoon
hid from the world
only to the extent that
there is no possibility of
anyone walking by windows on third floors
yet exposed to the passing of birds
and the flapping of wings matched in time to
the beat of my heart
the guiltiest pounding incessant inside of my head

blue and white shadows
are flickering here on the wall
in some half-painted moon cast up
by glimmers from a silent tv

i see ocre and squash
lined on window sills off to the east
hear cats knocking can lids and
hissing at footfall below

a baby is crying
and i wonder
does she know
of the difference between happy and not?
or is face and noise only
means to meet need?

and why have i complicated
everything
so very, very far beyond just that?


-- sue braiden.