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Post by Thorngrub on Aug 10, 2006 16:46:53 GMT -5
I mailed that to my bro' today.
I wrote it today.
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Post by sisyphus on Nov 23, 2006 4:53:47 GMT -5
“Tis thus at the roaring Loom of Time I ply,
And weave for God the Garment thou seest him by.”
~ From Sartor Resartus by Thomas Carlyle, fictionally attributed to Goethe
We clutch tightly to the insides of our outsides,
afraid our skin may be ripped
from the turgid red mystery of our existence.
Yet, secretly we ache for this disaster.
Still, we know such rapture rings hollow
without the acute straining of our fingers
gripping fixedly around the questions
and passings of this strange flesh.
Somehow this pulsing electrifies-
or electricutes-
our coat of many colors.
~sisyphus
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Post by Thorngrub on Nov 24, 2006 13:04:26 GMT -5
giving
Thankful for a family
and loved ones. And thankful for
all those who love us
Conspire with a dish
and the sun will run away
with the spoon.
Make one dire wish come
true. A fertilized fate.
One cancelling army.
So go right ahead.
Establish peace. Seriously.
(Now see what I mean?)
Take a peach from her
ripened mouth and dream. Really.
Of repercussions
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Post by Thorngrub on Nov 24, 2006 13:04:45 GMT -5
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Post by wayved on Nov 26, 2006 0:17:09 GMT -5
"light"
I see streetlights
tons of houses
people giggling into the night
absorbed by light
all bitterness and hate
thrown out by the likes of me
can be absorbed
by the light
by the light
all the trains that pass us (with a lonesome sound)
all the ties that tie us up
all the talk all the bad stuff
filtered out
by the light
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Post by Thorngrub on Nov 27, 2006 9:50:21 GMT -5
dude . . . that's nice
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Post by wayved on Feb 14, 2007 0:35:47 GMT -5
Im no poet but here goes. I went to a funeral for a good friend of mine yesterday. Someone who I had nothing but respect and would say not a discouraging word unless it was to his face in jest. (and we laughed our asses off) After I had tried to console his wife and family which no one could do--no one can do that--i tried to selfishly console myself--all i heard was my damn footsteps against the pavement walking away.
FOOTSTEPS
The sky is blue above
a good grey friend in a box
to be walled up in marble
with a saying on the top
a whole life
in a cardboard box
walled up now
marble on top
you hear your friends grieving
but you are one of them too
no way to comfort anything
theres nothing you can do but love
what a beautiful day it is
the weather is just right
there is nothing you can do
there is nothing you can do
THERE IS NOTHING YOU CAN DO
the concrete
your footsteps
your footsteps
your footsteps
your footsteps
your feet are still on the ground
you take a step
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Post by sisyphus on Feb 14, 2007 0:40:15 GMT -5
i'm sorry about your loss, wayved. keeping your own feet on the ground is the best thing you can do.
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Post by wayved on Feb 14, 2007 0:48:35 GMT -5
Im not whining, just to be square. I just wish there was something I can do, not just for me but for everyone but theres not anything but to be there. Not to walk away. Damn.
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Post by wayved on Feb 14, 2007 0:58:22 GMT -5
the menace:
everything i do will
tear you away from you
hahahahaha
enemy of the menace: "oh shut up you evil tw*t hahahaha"
the two met up up on a hill
one gave the other a little pill
the menace: haha it sure is bitter
enemy of the menace: hahahahahaha
they laughed together til the evil menace fell dead
then the enemy of the menace said
HAHAHAHAHA! I AM THE NEW MENACE
(it sounds cool with the music in my head...)
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Post by sisyphus on Feb 14, 2007 1:50:09 GMT -5
my best friend's brother shot himself a few years ago. after the funeral i hung out with her and her parents and had some beers. it turned out that the best relief for them seemed to be discussing memories of their son/brother... i think sharing memories helps people hold onto their loved ones and know they aren't lost...
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Post by Thorngrub on Feb 15, 2007 11:52:06 GMT -5
I will write a poem when the rain falls.
Each droplet that strikes my skin will be a letter
of the poem's alphabet. Running rivulets
will be the poem's sentences. The drips
falling off my nose and appendages
will be its line breaks. My wet hair
will become its title.
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Post by wayved on Feb 16, 2007 19:18:39 GMT -5
excellent thorns. mad skills.
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Post by wayved on Feb 18, 2007 0:14:39 GMT -5
new germs on my food
last lake in my town drying up
I hear the sun laughing at it
gasps at the hoola hoop factory
people bitching on their breaks
the circles driving them insane
wet sidewalks outside on the walk home
nothing to salve the dark night bitter feeling
roadrunner cartoons and cake and cigarettes
new germs on your food
where did they come from
new outbreak
sleep well
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Post by wayved on Feb 20, 2007 0:34:47 GMT -5
GENERIC WAITING ROOM
a television full of advertising
in a room full of death
while you wait there in earnest
with a hand full of placebo meds
you remember the last time
you rolled down the window
of the car and it was raining
please dont let that be the last
great feeling you had
a television telling you
that the side effects are worse than the cure
these pills may cause death
but we arent sure
the the waiting room white walls with nothing to read
but time magazine from 1983
you chuckle and try to make conversation
with the other people there but they arent relating
and the electric clock counts out the time
you look at the slip your number is......
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