Poetry Corner

[loseyourname]

for anileve (I copied this from the other poetry thread):


The creak of the gothic door is distant
as she sighs "I can't remember"
in her little white t-shirt,
"Heartbreaker" written blood-like across her breast.
Black spandex clings like an adoring mouth to her flooded-nile thighs.
The sway of her hips rolls tectonic shockwaves through
the creaking balls of my wrists,
memories jolting nerve-endings in electron ecstasy
as her fingernail slowly scratches my forearm.
Her skin is darker now, the color of a
champagne car left out in the sun too long.
Siren hair dances down her face
like music-box ballerinas - visually, she is
the princess that she always thought she'd be.
The light of the morning sun lays baffled in her corneas,
floating to the back of my mind.
We spin together into headlong oblivion,
one more time . . . one last time.
All the while my bones ache and my muscles shed blue tears,
watching her tiny bare feet grip the hardwood,
unadorned and white like the teenage girl I remember
breathing in-sync with when we used to fall asleep together.

[anileve]

Originally posted by loseyourname for anileve (I copied this from the other poetry thread):

Ok, you are surely not returning from the doghouse.

Originally posted by loseyourname "Heartbreaker" written blood-like across her breast.[/B]

Yep that would be me... If the victim count is short, I substitute blood for ketchup.

Originally posted by loseyourname her flooded-nile thighs.The sway of her hips rolls tectonic shockwaves [/B]

Yeah I've been know to cast some shockwaves through the dance floor, after I devour 2 buckets of fried chicken. And my flooded-nile thighs are as wide as the Nile river.

[loseyourname]

I didn't say it was about you, silly. Don't give yourself too much credit too quickly. I just finished talking with the girl it's about.

[anileve]

Well silly I never implied that you have. I simply outlined the similarities between that of the character in your poem and myself. As for my doghouse comment, it can be misinterpreted quite easily by the third party. And don't flatter yourself in assuming that I don't see things underneath the apparent layer. HA!

[fstkhnan]

I used to write poems when I was 6......yerp vor musaneres gukayin....hahahaha......I still have some of them, but in haleb damn moving, it doesnt matter from where to where, it's just sad!

[Anonymouse]

Identity

Identity comes to me
as a mystery in the form of history
In the alphabets of the wizards that
whirl winds against me,
you, we, and all my irate eyes see two, three
times the wisdom wise mens minds be
in an ancient avenue of artistic ambiguity which
government decree defines culture cant be free
from political matrimony under the misery of two,
three, power hungry
tyrannical would bes, making humanities
bend on its knees silencing their psychies
churning out somber zombies
destroying I's, you's and we's with
archaic axes that have condemned cultures, identities,
and families
through choleric campaigns
by venomous vipers,
mystic snipers, violent vultures carrying
Warlympic's torches
left scratches on times walls by torpid tortures
of battles of cultures to nameless futures
fueled by fuming creatures hating cultures
as they mauled with their political structures
through my identity already on crutches
spread with furious fireballs of falsity
I survive despite cultural debris like
those before me,
like the sun and sum of 2+3 in the skies above me
it has survived through
times fiery eyes of fury
of calculated chaos and political envy
as I count, millenias, centuries, years, months and dates
and cultural fears of mens fates
the writings of tensions through ten-speed pens of minds extensions
of tender earthmen who through their kinsmen have weaved amen
through the power of pain fed to treasure trees of truths bearing
fruits of I's, you's, we's with no rules

[Anonymouse]

Knowledge

As my fingers slip from the wise mans pages
of the wisdom that is before me from ancient ages
I climb latters of knowledge of fears with each step screams increase
so that I read word for word and decipher curse from verse
and turn it into thought to
converse then turn it into truth
to disperse to use eyes and mind to conspire
to gain to use my skill to sooth
my thirst to learn all I can know to
proceed in the wayward world through
fighting stupidity's stiched swords
to reach forward toward
the point of fjord for receiving that esoteric reward
where knowledge is lord
breakthrough to feel free like the bird
traveling the words worlds
climbing to the moon to
feel the shine of the suns light through
my skin to feel to see the eclipse that the suns
rays threwwhere the mind slips
and faith begins to be true

[ckBejug]

I'm sitting lazily in a porcupine tumbler of dankness and it's getting to be dark. So much to be done, there's just too much to do and I won't do any of it. I only want to do one thing and it looks like that isn't happening, so I'm lazy, I admit it, and I'll just sit here for however long.

Toes intwined on the carpet, catching the last rays of the sun, a visual embrace of fading sunlight, and it's nice. But there is much to do and it's hard to ignore the need. It's much easier when you're dancing.

I spring up and wrap myself in a white robe and I swirl around the space... I begin a dance of sorts, impromptu, plush terry cloth and wisps of white softness floating everywhere, I am everywhere.

I am nowhere. There is nothing to be heard and the movements have ceased and all I am is biodegradable, really. How easy it is to be alone when you know you aren't. I need to bake, I need to collapse, I need to dole out charity, something or other. No, I don't need to do....it's only this need I have, it's only a need.

If anyone knows what it's for they aren't sharing and it's a perpetual cat-and-mouse but you can't do much about it when you have nothing to give. I strip off the robe as it's heavy and I'm too transparent for its weight. If only someone could see me now...a wilted rainbow of fluffy white and static.

There is much to be done and I have nothing to do. I decide to plod along, away from the dankness, into the arms of his. And he makes me laugh (I know he'd laugh too, smile even, if only he could...) and strange how thoughts can fill you with meaning. I am distant.

I fling myself about in circles, I am going somewhere and I have been here before and that's the way it should be. I pay no attention to boundaries, I fling about as I please and it always meets the same path. Is this a bad thing?

I don't want to try anything, I will turn my nose up contemptuously and I will look the other way, I will slide down my stairway of concern and it will disappear. I do just that, and I find myself sitting, lazily again, somewhat lighter, in a new space and it is twilight out, and I'm not sure if this will be okay.

[anileve]

You guys are great! Anon, in "Knowledge" you have expressed with your words what I could not, my feeling exactly.

CkBejug, I loved your poem, it's melancholic yet very "elegant", great job.

[Emil]

Will there be a time when I can look forward to everyday?
Knowing there will be a voice and a face I can see everday.
Will I always feel so much pain, never to feel happiness?
So, today I sit and I pray.
That one day she will be there, for me to say "I love you, I hope you will stay and never push me away."
Looking into her eyes, lying in bed.
Saying "I'll be with you, even after I am dead."
Knowing I have found the person who will keep me whole.
I know without her my soul would be dead.
I want to give her life, passion, joy, romance.
All I need is one chance, one shot to meet these desires.
To show her I can reach those spires.

*Edit* I changed the 8th line.