English Club Chatter

3-10-06
theyellowpoet

“sunshine farmhouse keepsake”

On the back road I drive
An old battered farmhouse
Grows out of the dirt
Beauty swallowed-up time
Paint chipped weathered door
Used to stand there
Brown rough rusted roof
Farmer-man tried to patch
Window spider web broken
This picture perfect token
Surrounded in memories
---dandelion sunshine sparkles
Jammed in all those weeds
Keep this dwelling in my palm
Safe from any bulldozing death
Forever watching so keenly
Planted in my soul-keepsake

Just saw The Libertine. I recommend it, but don't hate me if you don't like it. It's not for everyone.

When you learn to give up your background
Or give up the things that rule your life
You can achieve more than just yourself
We all have our chains and bondage on us
Suppresion can lead us into the future
If we decide when to be dominated
There is power hidden in our limited oppression
man, woman, black, white, other, non-applicable
top, bottom, gay, straight, slave, master
We all remain the same piece of meat and flesh
Each seeking it's own dream, fantasy, desire
Hopefully hoping for the hope of humanity
Yet somehow I imagine that we're focused on ourselves
Eating during stress, or writing and reading
But I say STOP, stress isn't worth it
When you wake up alive praise the random chemical
and biologic and electrical processses and reactions
that have resulted in you being alive today
You are alive today, and regardless of our interactions
you've given me something to live for
I can only hope that those of you who know you have
something to share that drives me closer
Toward being a non-smoking, barely drinking homo sapien
Remain in my life long enough that I can care about living
If not then my message lives on concious or sub concious
as one of peace, understanding and adrift
from the material, superficial, and ultimatly meaningless
aspects of today's american, human requirement
of existence
When it all comes to an end, I can only hope
that my life has been filled with other dreamers
Those that recognize that this planet is doomed beyond
salvation, the thing we all strive for,
And are my companions to the very end
Those that have and are striving for
the betterment of mankind, whether just as my instructor
or just my friend, or in the rare instanece
of both, we understand that absurdity
is prevalent in all human exitence, and death is not to be feared
We are all just naked monkeys, whose concentration
should be, on the future of those we teach and are teached by
Our own views should be flexible to those coming
We don't, I mean DO NOT, have the answers
Those that follow after us know the truth
We can only show them how to harness that knowledge
And subsequently make changes in the political settings
Of today's future, but we have to recognize
the biggest change we can make is not in the setting
that we find ourselves in, we need to be ready to aknowledge
each other in a way that is not merely statistical
We need to aknlowledge eacjh other as individuals
who have something to say, regardless of our
Backgrounds, degrees, work or world history
We need to work within and around our boundaries
To forward the ones that will make the difference
"I just want to make a difference"
that's my most hated statement,
No one ever states what kind of difference,
We're just meant to expect that it's positive
Make a difference, but if it's a different
difference than mine, it better be worth it
Because I won't stand for a new ki8nd of thinking
That isn't different enough from the old
But if you are willing to see the differences
Travel with me, if we're on the same level
There shouldn't be a problem,and just supposing
That you would be willing to gove up everything
Everything that's made you comfortable until now
If you give it up, and take a chance
I can't promise I'm permanent, but I can
Promise that your life will be full,
Of experiences you never imagined
Of travels and trips
Of me and you
Of meanignless experiences
We'll talk about
In retrospect
We should've already started
The doomed and hopeless
Living with
The doomed and hopeless
But that conjugation leads to hope
And we wouldn't be doomed
As long as we accepted life,
Contionuing our journey
Down the river,
NOT across the tracks.

-------------------------------------------

If this is depressing, I blame it on the A Perfect Circle album eMotive that I have been listening to tonight.

Later Y'all
nic

Man, I have really got to reread my stuff when I'm just spur of the moment typing whatever comes to mind. I wrote some weird stuff last night. Anyway, upon rereading I just want to clarify something. Those first few lines are more of that "people would be better off if we weren't so distracted by things that don't improve our stations in life" stuff I'm always babbling about. Also, the oppresion I'm talking about, is self-imposed. Some people (myself included) would do good to restrain theirselves sometimes (in my opinion).

very interesting nic. yet. depressing. *sigh*

I'd like to see The Libertine, Jim. I just saw The New World. I thought it was wonderful, gorgeous and moving. The two people I saw it with were less enthusiastic, though. One found it a little dull. See what you think. It's at the dollar theater, so what's to lose? Steve Martin's Shopgirl is there now too.

What did everyone think of the Oscars? Was Crash the best film of the year? Was Philip Seymour Hoffman the best actor? Reese Witherspoon the best actress? Ang Lee the best director?

3-13-06
“Trailing Cowboy Story”

Don’t let me stop you from living your life
I could be nothing but a stipulation
Tumbleweed prairie blonde hair
Impede you on your road to idealism
Some things just get worse in time
No such thing as undamaged love
We weren’t yellow sunshine perennial
Your Cowboy riding sunset ways
Unimportant girl wants to be rescued
Peregrinate my trails forever
Desert dreams scattered with your goodbye

3-13-06
“Washstand”

drip down into me
yellow seed plant
caught underneath my skin
a tickled moment
drawstring drawn-out
naval popping squish
lethal bloody leak
satin dried up heave
carving my name
stained vital memories
faith cracked words
clean my hands

Snow White

There is a piece of darkness
That wraps itself in pretty everyday
A careful balance between real and ideal
Realistic in thought and perception
Ideal in preference for aesthetics
A beautiful thing to behold
Yet impossible to address
It bruises like an apple
At the merest mention
Of it's beautiful imperfections
An adorable mind and a dark heart
Imply something creepy
Something unknown
Something exciting
But the observer who sees this
Is just a worm
Who would poison that apple

Nic-
lovely, tragic-ly.
(reading it over and over...)
Jesi

“The way he is”

Stupid ing bitch find it--
These words are the way he is
Dead dumb little wishes
Used to dream of amendments
Wishing for some sort of resurrection
Coming like rain drops in her direction
Not living in fear of slipping
Of this verbal assault on her esteem
Everyday eggshell walking life
Trying to carve out her name
Turning corners the long way home
Dollhouse sort-of existence
Promises herself she’ll fly-away
(Feminist voices begging ‘don’t stay’)
Thinks of writing her novel to detach
All that has scarred on her face
But daddy’s coming down the hall
Enraged red-faced skeleton man
Intrinsic yellow-girl fighting downfall
She’s stronger than anyone considers
Naiveté numb everyone knows
Nothing but a narrative untold
Sonshine on the-yellow-poet
Her rhyme hostile verbal brutality
Rescued herself today with words
Knee bending prayer salvation

3-14-06
"Rescue me disaster"

Rescue me disaster
crying at midnight
church parking lot
thier road summit
mind on yesterdays
headlight cutting hopes
knew he wouldnt come
find a run-away-love
been gone to long
memorizing poetry
preserving snapshots
first date reverie
holding his hand
rain storm kisses
Big-dipper dreams
Wandering far off
calling his name
not sleeping tonight
little heart-ache fight
has give-love-up eyes
numb yellow doll
needs her old-friend

wedding plans, (i.e. why feminists shouldn't read bridal magazines)
sarah stevens

you budget your integrity
something old, new,
borrowed, blue
and in exchange
for the pretty lacy trust in you
monstrous gray servitude
covered under a cupcake canopy
of forever i do
spindly pollinating weeds cannot
hide the sour wedding dress
residue of another wasted potential
that metal finger cage
restricting circulation
would rather stick my hands in the earth
so deep it hurts
love worth more than health insurance
the hated patriarchy of the thing
incomprehensible--you are not this
fragile-hearted epitome of femininity
platinum friction must be eroding
the authenticity
docile at least for this one day
needs a legal contract
to conduct
god-sanctioned fornication
but this public affirmation
of your twenty something beauty
hardly a substitute for identity
and there’s a tangible reality in
at least waiting

yep, i was playing with the idea of abstinence there...not literally, of course:).

love poem
sarah stevens

spent three years peddling
form and structure
loving dark wet nothing,
hot rush of falsified diction
ADHERE TO THE RHETORICAL SITUATION!
happiness an imagination compilation
of little white lies—
until the second hand grape taste
of wisdom’s cock and tongue
granting meaning a wistful relevance,
aorta ink scribbles
something about an evolving thesis
tripping up my thoughts
words that always come cluttered with history
memory stuck to sweaty skin,
riding the stanza out
OH, GOD, OH, GOD, OH! OH! OH!
the relativity of labels
once-upon-a-time overwhelming us
say it again in this forest
of cat hair half an inch thick
and now, i would rather exchange
love’s furry counterparts
than a pen and paper
typeset delusion of success

sara
like the first poem , everything that i can't say... did you pick up a bridal mag today?
((on my list of scary things---1. tornados 2. metrosexuals 3. bridal magazines) ---hahaha.))
like the secound too... just dont know what to say... i'm quite..uh uh oh oh oh oh speachless. ;)

Jim, whats the libertine about? haven't even seen previews for it...

jesi

prince charming
sarah stevens

listen to that frog croak
about simplistic beauty
verse relativity
the definition of nice
an adjunct phrase
he'd rather mutilate
whatever's in between
parentheses
but he has a charming
wit oozing out
his green/gray skin
my favorite amphibian
will not let me kiss him
would rather sit in objectivity
catching dickinson's buzzing fly
drunk on fairy tales and reasons why

how fun is that poem!>

yeah, it was inspired by snow white...i hardly captured nic's flippant charm, but i tried:)

about snow white--hmm going to do some re-reading. splendid still though. lovely poetry round this time. jesi

3-14-06
‘Wasted existence’

Call me back boy
Brown haired toy
Paper-doll dancing
Sweet-mean-nothings
Pulling belly strings
Baby sweet-words
Wasted existence
Drinking away life
Infested smoke lies
Playing smiles my way
Cheesy pick-up lines
Honey brown eyes
Spoiled with demise
Tickling my poetry
Thinking it’s about you
Deposit the germ
Simple little scheme
Growing like child
Consider pretty words
In your direction
Punk-out of sight
Scared of reality
Stay in cut-out form
Lifestyle of recluse
Ignore something extra
Seeping in slowly
That’s how I capture
Sweet novel navel boy
Watch me paint
Charismatic art substance
You wanna bite
Sugar caught kisses
Little string-puppet smirk
Presume ‘girl’ will stopover
Lay head to shoulder
Something of a fantasist
In resistance to feminist
Yellow wrapped lexis
You’re unfastened sleep
Forgetting to slurp
Tripping unsolved prose
Blonde affection suspense

The Libertine is about 17th century British poet John Wilmot, The Earl of Rochester. He is a bawdy wit and a rake of the highest order. In other words, during the reign of Charles II, the quintessential artistic representation of the character of that monarchy. He is played by Johnny Depp, and the king is portrayed by John Malkovich. It's a dark and sensuous (sensual?)film that took forever to come out. Samantha Morton plays Depp's love interest. I don't think it's for everyone, but most English majors should probably see it anyways.

Sarah, definitely one of my favorites you've done, though I don't quite understand the reference to dickinson. The wedding plans one was fun too, overall I'm enjoying the new material.

Jesi, doesn't the line in your poem about someone thinking your poetry is about them allow anyone to make that particular poem about them? All they have to do is think the poem is about them, and because the poem is about someone who thinks the poem is about them, then the poem becomes about them, right?

i'm nooooot telling....

3-15-06
‘malposition’

come closer girl
I want to keep you safe
the evil he could place
on your mind
so easily altered
by patriarchal ways
paints a pretty picture
but you should hear
what he said yesterday
while you walked away
sashaying your hips
your cute face
he don’t wanna hurt you
just wants to leave you
go-back friendship girl
think your numb-from
toppling down towers
crunching lies in the trash
says-he-loves you eyes
white horse dreamboats
look at you with disdain
and your cut-up
inside-outside-backside
leave him at the lot
so your not mislaid

3-15-06
“nothing but numb”

Struck down straddling words
Keeping emotion between her legs
Rising around town
Drown in baptismal water
Salty-eyed fears falling
To be alone and fat
So put on that war-paint-face
Red lip-stick slick
All the other girls are jealous
Of her jezebel blue eye shadow
But she aint got nothing but numb
Trapped in the heave of let down
Idolize her sacred moments
Cuz’ they think she disconnects
Without cares or parts taken
But one day she’ll turn around
And realize she’s lost every piece
Fighting against what she doesn’t want
Tragically commuting to her worst fear

The prince was charmed
to be kissed--not to kiss.
She then, can destroy his charm
in her palpatating desire
for change.
She sobers up in a fairy tale
and blames the charmed.
All he knows, objectively speaking, is that
a toad can die of a certain Slant of light.

My ears abhor the dissonance
that ceaselessly comes a prattling
from the teeming wetland.
By my side, you
might hear a sound symphonic
and smile.
Oh, God.

Nic, I really liked your long piece at the beginning of this thing, sorry don't know how to better refer to it. I didn't find it depressing, on the contrary I found it hopeful I guess, amidst the inevitable darkness. But, thats just my silly interpretation of your words. (insert apology if you feel it necessary)

I'm really caught on something Woolf said in A Room of One's Own. From my understanding, she is saying that part of what made Shakespeare and Jane Austen great writers was that they "consumed all impediments" and the reader did not really see them personally in their writing, while Charlotte Bronte for example, allows her work to be interrupted by her own anger and is therefore, never able to express her full genius. I just wondered if anybody had anything to say about this or had a better understanding of what she's saying; I'd appreciate it as it's driving me crazy trying to form my own opinion on the matter and it's hard enough remembering my opinions without remembering my reasons for them.

ok, upon further reading and thought (always good)... I came across the sentence "She may be beginning to use writing as an art, not as a method of self-expression." Which is precisely the problem. I agree that the more one imprints themselves on something, the harder it is to identify the driving force behind it (easily seen in some of my junk on here). However, I do see art as a form of self-expression, or, if it is not self-expression, then what is it? Representation? Well, the artist is representing his/her own perception. Pure aesthetic pleasure? Again, an individual perception. Maybe I'm blinded by my annoying need for a purpose for everything or maybe I'm too self-centered to see how one's art has nothing to do with themselves. Ok, that's enough babbling for all I'm sure...

3-16-06
‘cover-girl’

Vehement trivial escape
Waist-side experience
Obesity rolling over
On her mountain peak
Can’t see her beauty
Mirror make-up mirage
Feels good to cover up
Red foul bumps
Competition cosmetician
Words keeping rationality
Perception misconceptions
Fatal fleshy attraction
Wonder lust reduction
Could-be-better sighs
Seven years bad luck
Looking at the past
If only she could see
Her true inner-beauty
Got a supermodel friend
Painted on jeans
Every morning ritual
Vain little dimples
Lip-gloss whore stories
Ugly little heart
Spouting off such evil
Pudgy pink cheeks
Feels good to extenuate
Exterior flawless skin
But if you look inside
A dead empty capsule
Flaking away soul
Numb since she was 12
Wish she could see
Some inner beauty
Cover-girl conformist
Theologizing movements
Metamorphic memorandums
Black out real world ways
Art-project palette
Masked plaster facade
Outer-inner face

jesi, "nothing but numb" is something else...best communication i've heard yet for anti-makeup rejection of cover-girl culture...interesting though how you disconnect yourself from her insecurity...why do that?

deathland*
sarah stevens

She and I, “little lesbian
animal rights activists,
go fuck a horse.”
have a diabolical plan
to buy the puppies with
our employee discounts
rescue them from this
capitalist wet dream
amish farmers—
the underground mafia
of puppy mill operators
drop off a crate of them
every other week
and we—the bitter
recipients of this deadly
pyramid scheme
are instructed to explain
blood-tinged excrement
festering sores, and
improper eyeballs as
normal, fine, okay
stress every puppy goes
through their little lives
without a human heart beat
and the manager, nineteen
with a wedding ring and
tattoos of all her babies’
named after whatever
she was drinking
not her fault half
the trailer park buys
a puppy after tax season
or a neglected hamster
chewed his own leg off
cried to watch him bleed
the feral cats are dying
scratching at each others
empty dreams, listen
they’re in the employee
break room smoking and
the words are laughter
she and I, too—we’re
going to write an expose
not that we say it
in this litter box of denial
in this puppy coffin
of price quotes

*This poem is not based on any actual people or events. Any similarities are purely coincidental.

Streams of blazing sunset
Melt ripples of dark chocolate
There is no conqueror here
Tiny sculpted opals invite searing sparks
Diamonds caress smoldering embers
There is no miner here
Softness spun of tender cotton
Vulnerable freedom dragon flies
There is no farmer here
Sweets’ warmth burning
Honey robbed of the bee stings
There is no sustenance here
Thirst for the sugar
Squeeze the hardened rinds
There is only thriving here

whoever you are, silly, i like the idea of thriving where there is nothing...

women and fiction
sarah stevens

women and fiction
influenced thinking—
held myself apart
said harsh words
in the face of bitterness
the lusty heat
heartbeat of oppressive semen
that’s how it creeps in
broken condom or not
secreting and fermenting
the cracks between US
little insignificant divisions
must stipulate about
an okay amount
of beauty modification
love you pretty sentiment
that WE’ER all beautiful
but hate the white dress
virgin sacrifice march
down an aisle—unfair
that I should judge
in doing so separate
widen the divide
insecurities manifested
on OUR backs, knees,
praying to an open zipper
or a pathological god-figure
lies WE tell ourselves
painted over pimples, wrinkles
hidden in all the words
WE never write down
instead perpetuate
I’m better than you
(or vise versa)
but WE all know
one more bra burned
won’t mean a thing
until the cosmetic competition
seething catty mastication
of OUR identities ebbs away,
leaving only OUR mutual
indignation that’s OUR god-given
right as the bearers of vaginas
the writers of OUR own fiction
holding more truth
than fact

WE'RE* sorry:)

-1

Sometimes I feel like
I'm living in a minus world
Some kind of negative land
A never-ending repetition
Of underwater life
Chasing after flashy money
That will buy me a new life
And at the end of everyday
Some kind of pipe dream
Through that dark tunnel
Only to drop into the sea anew
Treading water over whirlpools
That threaten to suck me down
Passed by
By the oblivious
Chased by life sucking creatures
That flee if I turn to face them
And the only way I can avoid
Death and danger
Is to sink to the sea floor
I'm running out of time
I can't escape this world
And when my time is up
Death

Your life sucking creatures flee? Lucky you. Mine just point and laugh.

I was out shooting baskets after dinner
waiting for some piece of action to drive up my street
the new girl across the street came out
and sat in the grass
she looked exciting from across the street
in her hippy clothes
nice butt
I let the ball carom hard off the rim
and chased it down the drive
she had it by the time I got there
nice body nice girl
just a bit off in the face
we smoked a joint out back of her house
her dad was a pilot they moved from california
her mom was dead she had no siblings
she killed herself a few months later
we never became friends

yes, a little long and television has shortened our atten

Little cat woman, age robbed her senses
I love her like a nana, I’m her purple girl
Age comes to rob her life
Family I’ve never seen comes to pray
They bar me from the room, so I cry outside the door
Shrunken withered black man
I’m the first little white girl who ever cared
I try in vain to put greens in his wasted frame
He just whispers, “Go away now honey, don’t bother me”
I look at him one last time, then into his daughter’s eyes
Flowing even more than mine
Tall beautiful woman, AID’s robbed her senses
Sold herself for one more high one too many times
Kind long fingers, how did they ever get covered in this
I wonder as I bathe the gorgeous waste
She wants to pat my arm and hug me and pet my hair
And all I can think is I hope I don’t get her sick on me
Now a little girl with no business here
Is hysterical in my arms, I’m the only one to hear
The preacher says some words
And her babies are taken off the ventilators
Barbiturate in the blood of all three, so the chart says
So who is to blame, God, Satan, her or me
Little old man with only poetry and his wife
All he hopes is that she is alright
And that I bring a poem for him now and then
The stepkids take his wife across town
His daughter takes him somewhere West
She leaves behind his book of poems and his typewriter
So you say to me what a noble way to earn your daily bread
But all I know is the cost is too high, and I am still hungry
It has cost me pain in every muscle, feel so old at twenty-three
It has cost me tears so that I have none left to spend
It has cost me every cent of compassion
A life-savings of my humanity
I just wonder what it’s all been for, and if I’ve ever made it better

Ah, yes... If any of the people or events above even remotely remind you of someone or somethingy you've ever heard of since the beginning of time it's purely coincedental

A late note on John Wilmot, Earl of Rochester, subject of the movie, "The Libertine," that Jim mentioned. He was a remarkable poet, but some of his poems might make even Sarah blush! What's fascinating, though, is that what Rochester is doing is making explicit and often rather nasty sex a serious subject of poetry. He's a smart pornographer, or a pornographic artist, or something. You figure it out, if you're interested.

Check out http://www.druidic.isles.net/roc-bio.htm.

Have a great break!

HH

It was an embolism that went straight to her heart
and at twenty-six she died.
It was something else that went straight to my heart
and at seventeen I died
but just sort of.
Some ten years before she died
they took her from us.
Bad timing for a good thing
while Songbird played
too loud
we didn't hear the car or the door or the footsteps
we only saw the door burst open!
And a passioned plea at her softball game
left me only a tree to punch (not recommended).
Though several of her friends
lobbed in some homerun balls that summer
as teammates will do with suddenly single
boys
it was fun with a cost
and it took a long time to pay that backward.
Time has a habit of goosing memories at the oddest moments. Sad.

Always Questions

The male copulation mentality--
to service and protect--
When did this become love and/or lust?
When did Miss guided become misguided?
And the female need for seed
for aid and for food--
When did this become weakness or even marriage?
When did the nature of nurture become unnatural?
What unreasonable force of reason,
what miscarriage of just this instinct,
shackled an impulse
and made it into some gavel pounding pronouncement of evil and
surrounded it with whore lore?
Religion, you bullying coward
pointing fingers from behind
your ancient fence of interpretation
of words copied from words writ
from words spoken like some campfire game
generation after regeneration
until we mystify the blood red fruit
and make weapon the phallus
criminalizing the innocent
for their guilty pleasure
natural hormone driven moments of passion
even if it is just by one's self. Silly, isn't it?

I knew a man who placed the faces of ten year old girls on the bodies of grown naked whores,
I knew a man whose mother of his child fucked his fiends and family,
I knew a man who got head from a girl he didn't know was fifteen,
I knew a man who loved to kill based on the hat one was wearing,
I knew a man who drank his life away from memories he couldn't forget,
I knew a man who who molested his younger brother and wasn't even aware of it,
I knew a man who acted like his child didn't even exist except on holidays,
I knew a man who'd sell his pride for material possesions,
I knew a man who only got laid by the women he met at church,
I knew a man who hated men based on their dissimalarities,
I knew a man who couldn't spell and believed everything he read,
I knew a man who didn't believe in everything proven,
I knew a man who didn't know men,
I knew a man who didn't know women,
I knew a man who didn't know,
Knew a man that could've been me,
Knew a man who could have been selfless,
Knew a man who could have cared,
A man who could have known,
A man who could have been,

I knew a man,
A man?

One quick question stranger.

Ridiculous,
What is meaning?
What is intent?
Why are you special?
Where are your ideas?
Who are you?
Who am I?
Who am I to you?
Who is anyone?
Why does he matter?
Why do you matter?
Why does anything?
What is humor?
What is a coping mechanism?
What is?
What isn't?
What is isn't?
What's a sign or symbol or sound?
Why is it different from grunting?
Why do we agree on meaning?
Why do we disagree on belief?
Why do we think defense is a weapon?
Why do we have weapons that can destroy all life?
Why do we have weapons?
Why do we harm?
What is harm?
What is warm?
Why do I think hell froze over?
Why is it a cold place?
Why is it a place where we just want a little warm?
Why is it?
What is it?
What is life?
Where is it?
When do we give in?
When do we share what we have?
When do we accpet that all we have is ouselves?
Why do we think we own objects?
Why do we think we own ideas?
Why do we think we own ourselves?
Why don't we realize that we only own our counsciousness?
What is ownership if it's only something physical?
What stops a physical object from being manipulated by another?
Why don't we recognize that another's influence disproves ownership?
Why don't we give up ownership of all that is not simply ourselves?
Why don't we share our explicit companionship?
Why don't we accept that things that are comfortable are not necessarily safe?
Why don't we think that safety is an illusion?
Why don't we give up those that make us complacent?
Why don't we share private moments with those that challenge us?
Why don't we accept that we might be just a muse?
Why do we think every piece of art is about us?
Why don't we recognize when it is?
Why don't we recognize that every opportunity should be taken?
Why are we willing to ignore that for hope?
Why don't we translate hope into need?
Why don't we seize what we need?
Why don't we see need as want?
Why don't we take what we want?
Why do we take what we want when it harms?
When will we take what we want when it benefits?
Why is benefit one-sided?
Why don't we recognize the harm that results from benefit?
Why can't we accept that?
Why can't we move on to something with the potential to be better?
Why do we accept mediocrity out of fear of failure?
Why do we think moving from mediocrity to better is too risky?
Why don't we take a risk and struggle?
Why don't see each other's struggle?
Wouldn't that make us know who is worth fighting for?
Woulldn't we fight and struggle for the thing that will make us happiest?
When will we give up safety and averageness for struggle and contentment?
Why don't we increase the tension?
Why don't we give up the alternative obligations?
Why don't we throw away all that holds us back?
Why are we insecure enough that we continue where we are?
Why don't we lie together totally exposed?
Why don't we breath into one another from an inch apart?
When we lie that close and we don't touch isn't that sexier than contact?
Wouldn't actual physical contact ruin it?
Wouldn't that lack of touch increase tension?
Wouldn't that tension build to a point that makes us want to burst?
Wouldn't that burst crush our individualities together?
Wouldn't they mix?
Would we becum liquid?
Wouldn't we trickle over the edge?
wouldn't that waterfall refract all the light there's ever been?
Wouldn't we lose that sense of loneliness?
Wouldn't we stop,feeling like we're alone; when we are with.the one(s) "love"?
Wouldn't we stop overusing punctuation incorrectly?
Wouldn't we conjugate correctly?
Wouldn't we?

Lots of errors, but at least one isn't.

A Boy Lacking

Tuesday morning
Seven thirty
Therapy at eight
Burger King
Breakfast sandwich
Corner table
Eating alone
Not alone now
Adjacent table
Two women
Talkative boy
One word sentences
Jeep and Santa
Handicapped
Lonely future
Sympathy
No more hashbrowns
Time to go
Large coffee
Therapy at eight

Geez, guys, I forget to check this thing for a few days and come back and it's like...damn...loved "Always Questions" made me think about human evolution differently, and rethink things I was sure about. (Probaby why it's never safe to be sure about anything.) Also, Nic, I've read and re-read "A Boy Lacking" five times now and while I love the poem, I don't think he's lacking anything...he feels handicaped and lonely, but he's neither as the reader relates to him...

yeah sara i know what you mean. everyone goes crazy when you leave. i just read for like an hour i swear. ...

alright, hear goes... a little different from what is ussually written--and yet, the same. I enjoyed catching up with everyone today... keep em coming... we are poetry machines. Jesi

3-19-06
"Sponge-girl"

Take it like a sponge
sit back attitude
I'm so confused
Hurt you how?
Girls like to fight
She's just drunk
brush it off
Nobody to tell
nobody to talk to
she slapped me

left to talk
to a man she loves
left boredom
to consume laughter
don't hate me
because of my abnormality
dont be lame
play girl games

struck down girl
i'm leaving this world
Hate what you can't understand
keep anything you can

Jesus will set us free
keep the friendship between
Because you wont ever hear
the evil i thought tonight
i give it away, for another yellow day

3-18-06
"crusifiction"

brown fly-away eyes
keeping you in demise
you know not what you do
even though you have been taught
all your life to read
you cant comprehend anything

and now your caught
by a words relativity
keeping you locked up love
savior fighting over your way
sacrement of reconciliation
tugs at your airy heart

and i sit and watch
all those little poem stories
hurts me so much i could cry
all that hurt you carry
I could be your simon
But i just paint you prettily

3-18-06
"Right Hand"

Arms so casually painted
Baptized in sweet oily bases
Mustard seed dropped from the sky
On my mind ere-of-charisma
Stick turned snake promises
Yellow cracking words I trust
Dropping to my knees i pray
Brown eyes standing by me
Understated psalm disciple
Isaiah, finds the answer!
Revelation of the right hand

3-20-06
"Watch"

Sunshine pools sparkle
Yellow souls drip
Little moments keep
Safe inside Jesus
Smitten for that smile
Wonderment reach
Draw-in-breath
Stand at my window
He tells me to wait
Magnet boy draws
Words faith cracked
Hold that hand still
---just watch this

3-20-06
"Something"

He leans over and looks in and breaks me apart, try to open, i find myself reveling in those moments, they are keeping me now, and i know i must wait, because he is just leaning...

do you need something?
smile sunshine girl...

Does He know that i truly think he is something of a wonder-moment, that if he would only reach out that would be it--and i dont know what it is but he does soothe those fears away, with all those revelation like words, spinning me around, turning me towards the sky, he does something of the right thing, something of the right hand, and i want to see more...

(such a selfish girl, in her little world digging at this boy, that doesnt know what story he is starting to write for her, does he know the novel i wish to write, does he know where i want to go...does he know...something.)

yeah yeah yeah nic. i know. sugar poems. barf.

Hey Jesi, here are two love poems I like. I don't think they are particularly sugary either, so I don't barf when I read these ones.

---------------------------------

Stick Boy and Match Girl in Love

Stick Boy liked Match Girl,
he liked her a lot.
He liked her cute figure,
he thought she was hot.

But could a flame ever burn
for a match and a stick?
It did quite literally;
he burned up pretty quick.

-------------------------------------

The Girl with Many Eyes

One day in the park
I had quite a surprise.
I met a girl
who had many eyes.

She was really quite pretty
(and also quite shocking!)
and I noticed she had a mouth,
so we ended up talking.

We talked about flowers,
and her poetry classes,
and the problems she'd have
if she ever wore glasses.

It's great to know a girl
who has so many eyes,
but you really get wet
whom she breaks down and cries.

---------------------------------------

Both of those are by Tim Burton. He has a poetry book than can be read in like half an hour to an hour front to back, but it is pretty entertaining.

The young test their angels in so many ways
never thinking of how they are blessed
And the angels tally their charge's days
with a warmth that wells in the breast
There comes a time when we can almost touch
our souls with an angel's light
And if we can simply not think too much
will spiral as one in a magical flight
I awoke a day light in an angel's embrace
but my soul like a vampire fled
And I felt myself moving no closer to grace
than as if I had wet the bed
For imps appear in times like these
and seldom need be called
While angels await for us to please
for spirits need be culled

yes nic. very entertaining. very. though not sweetly sugary. I like my sugar better. :P

Behind my house there was a murder
A young boy around the age of seven,
his body came up sprawled under a maple
The peculiar thing about
no one really knew who the kid was.
At the time in Fenton County there were no missing children reports.
Nobody knew who the kid was-
not one written label on his clothes or anything.
The police then brought in the FBI
and then before Fenton knew it
we were famous for being on unsolved mysteries.
It was 1983 when it all happened.
Some say it was just a lost kid.
Others think that he was dropped there on purpose.
Some rumors even flew around
that the old lady that used to live in my house now had captured the boy
and done away with him.
She was nice.
She used to make me cookies when I lived with her.
Her name was Alice.
She had a kind of white hair with silver streaks.
She didn’t like many kids except for me.
I started calling her Aunt Alice
because at the age of seven I would tote myself daily over to her house
and beg for a story.
She had the best stories.
She would tell them to me on her rocker in front of the house
if it was nice
and in the sitting room if it was cold.
Always though her cheeks glowed as she told the stories,
and always she started with
“Now this is a true story Mathew.”
My name is not Mathew.
She calls me Mathew and I don’t know why.
Everyday I tell her my name is Jeffery,
everyday she tells me that my name is not Jeffrey
if I look so much like Mathew.
Except when I ask who Mathew is she won’t ever tell me.
She won’t tell me who Mathew is.
When I was thirteen years old
I asked after five years of not asking everyday.
I asked Alice “Who is Mathew.”
She never told me who Mathew is.
When Alice was young she used to play in the woods
out in the back with her friends.
She says
she used to have long blonde hair past her shoulders.
I can see it when she talks of it,
saying she wore it in two braids that lay flat across her back.
Her friend and Alice would play in the woods
until the sun went down.
She never tells me any names.
I think that Alice talks about the same person
but I am not sure.
She talks about a lot I can’t remember.
I know everything now.
My name is Jeffery now.
Her name is Alice.
Mathew is sprawled under the tree.
Alice told me to put him there.
Tomorrow I am going to put me there,
like Alice says.
Alice isn’t old anymore.
She wears her hair in blonde plaited braids down her back.
She likes to play with Mathew.
Alice told me to put Jeffrey there.
I am not Jeffrey I am Mathew.
She is Alice.
We saw you yesterday.
Standing on your porch Mr. Vasetee,
you like the maple like we liked it.
Alice liked the maple.
I liked the maple.
Mr. Vasetee, he likes the Maple.
He told me a story the other day.
We sit out on his porch and talk.
He has these lines in his face, wrinkles.
Every wrinkle tells me my story.
He liked the Maple.
We all sit sprawled under it sometimes.
Alice says we belong together.
Alice says my name is Jeffrey.
My name is Mathew.
Mr. Vasetee didn’t want to be under the tree with us and Jeffrey.
He fought us.
I got him.
And I’ll get you.

Alas beware the perils of banter
That sing the songs of sirens
For the goat-god laughs as the mortals lash
My body unto the mast

I am at once of wisdom wrought
And forged of foolish flesh
In this grand parade slinks a man's charade
That so boldly marches past

While the beast within tempts my will to sin
Must I damp this dear desire
For in civil mode might I not implode
From the baggage I've amassed

From the center post I engage the host
While the scales swing side to side
And that cackling bray oer the mad foray
Shall beseech me to the last

Where the laws exist I'll of course desist
But where Nature names her norm
As the pipes begin to devour the din
I might behave to such aghast

Assault a world I cannot combat
I dance instead in its essence
Should wanderlust win I'll begin again
Until love can bind me fast

Each battle I've won. But this just begun
Might vanquish that valorous vein
Alas such a test I dare not take in jest
For thy beauty to me unsurpassed.

Little boy blue at a masquerade ball
Blows his own horn and gets put in the hall
Little boy walks but perhaps should yet crawl
Down a dark corridor blinded and small
Little boy lost never hearing the call
Looks til he's found no reason at all
Little boy grows but rarely stands tall
He twists and turns but there's always a wall
Little boy lonely in the eye of a squall
Too cool to be warmed by an old woman's shawl
Little boy dreams of having it all
Doesn't understand it can't be bought at the mall
Little boy high just awaiting the fall
Has the self worth of a discarded doll
Little boy gone is bouncing off the wall
Throwing wild fists in a drunken brawl
Little boy lover always feeling so small
Fails to comprehend someone caring at all
Little boy blue at a masquerade ball
Blows and blows but the walls will not fall
Little boy listen to the soundless call
No reason is no reason to build that wall

Diving spiral into the void
That is every soul
Feigning interest
Imagining we are interesting
The horror is amusing in this light

See the sky and dissipate
Means nothing more than twilight particles
Gyrate into shades of amethyst
Touching air it all turns grey
Grey knives severed the bind

How does it go back together again
It will never be the same or different
Drift into the wave break that is existence
A thousand shimmering insignificant pieces
Like every living cell

Solitude forces visibility of the void
Companions are essential in upholding the lie
The one we tell when we say we are real
Fear the dark shrink from the light
Breathing is a lavender shade of death

Long long ago
In a far off place
There was a girl
She was a good girl
She thought everyone was good
The girl was very wrong

One day the girl left home
And when she returned in the evening
The door was locked
So she went somewhere else
She thought it was pretty
The girl was very wrong

Sometime later a prince found her
He took her to his castle
And locked her in the dungeon
He tortured her in unspeakable ways

Three years went by
The prince got bored and told the girl
She was free
Only now she was a ghost of a girl
A thing that looked like a good girl

The waif remembered nice somewhere
And looked for it in all the people
That passed by
But when the girl touched them
She did not recieve their nice
But gave them a little more death

The girl remembered a good girl
She knew once upon a time
One day she thought she saw her
In a river
The girl was very wrong

She knelt to kiss her
She was so happy to see her
And was never seen again
And they all lived happily ever after

Loving the spring break poems, guys, especially "crisifiction", Jesi. Also enjoying Jim's ballads (quirky, sad, but altogether somehow beautiful?) And I'll be at B&N sumtime looking for Tim Burton's poems...

yellow rose
sarah stevens

use to watch flowers die
liking their gradual decay
the petal drop, pulse stop
of perfect olivine limbs
but, oh, my little rose
golden luster decreasing
until your yellow as gray
as my crooked beating
your flowery crucifixion
not what god intended
that i should love you
next to my reflection
curling my yellow hair
round your thorny spine
a doppelganger romance
me and you—wish...
but they’ll fade too

An Example of Me

I am just an example of me
A short portion of myself
A Demonstration of Nicholas
call me...
Demo Nic

---------------------------------

Just a weird little story...

As a child I played with my only and best friend all the time. It was so much fun. We would work on homework together at school, so that we could go to his house after school and play. I stayed there everynight. Sometimes we would pretend we were brave warriors and his dad was the evil, drunk, fire-breathing dragon. We could never let him hear us or he'd burn us with the flames from his mouth and bruise us with his massive clawed hands. My friends' mom was in danger from the dragon too, but she wasn't a damsel in distress. She was some kind of evil slavemaster that the dragon tortured. The slavemaster passed that torture on to us. As we got older I saw it get worse and worse more dangerous. The dragon had ruined our castle for all time. When we were getting to be just older than ten, my friend stopped hanging out with me as much. I still stayed there every night, but he ignored me. When he was fifteen, he finally defeated the dragon. They were at the top of the stairs and the dragon swung his great big claw down on him, and he shoved into the dragon with all his might, and the dragon fell from the cliff and was no more. With the slavemaster freed and no one in the kingdom upset with the death of the dragon, life moved on. But in that moment when the dragon died, I did too. Because I realized, my friend wasn't ignoring me, I wasn't there to be ignored. I can't even die. I was his partner, his help to defeat the dragon, and now that he had, he didn't need me anymore. So now I'm alone, because after all, how does an imaginary friend imagine one for himself?

An Example of Me

I am just an example of me
A short portion of myself
A Demonstration of Nicholas
call me...
Demo Nic

---------------------------------

Just a weird little story...

As a child I played with my only and best friend all the time. It was so much fun. We would work on homework together at school, so that we could go to his house after school and play. I stayed there everynight. Sometimes we would pretend we were brave warriors and his dad was the evil, drunk, fire-breathing dragon. We could never let him hear us or he'd burn us with the flames from his mouth and bruise us with his massive clawed hands. My friends' mom was in danger from the dragon too, but she wasn't a damsel in distress. She was some kind of evil slavemaster that the dragon tortured. The slavemaster passed that torture on to us. As we got older I saw it get worse and worse more dangerous. The dragon had ruined our castle for all time. When we were getting to be just older than ten, my friend stopped hanging out with me as much. I still stayed there every night, but he ignored me. When he was fifteen, he finally defeated the dragon. They were at the top of the stairs and the dragon swung his great big claw down on him, and he shoved into the dragon with all his might, and the dragon fell from the cliff and was no more. With the slavemaster freed and no one in the kingdom upset with the death of the dragon, life moved on. But in that moment when the dragon died, I did too. Because I realized, my friend wasn't ignoring me, I wasn't there to be ignored. I can't even die. I was his partner, his help to defeat the dragon, and now that he had, he didn't need me anymore. So now I'm alone, because after all, how does an imaginary friend imagine one for himself?

I don't know why that posted twice...

3-23-06
"Goodbye-letter"

Dear exhaustion,
you left messages scattered
oops-forgot to call back
boy you ain't got time anyway
sure, I like what you're about
backwards-hat love, red dodge ball fan
but--you're littered around town with friends
compared to my empty weekends
what could you want
with this good-girl world?
rebel scowl drowned out
---with a smile that will melt you away
maybe later, when you've got your purpose
driven ambition instead of wasted existence
harsh, i know but.
i'm not living for this life
got somewhere else i'm gunna' go
perhaps this will wake you up
it was nice
---to play
but I'm not a girl of games
true reason can't escape this season
yeah, and here comes the burn
we can stay friends.
---'the most beautiful eyes'

3-24-06
'allergies'

(started to write this)
don't smoke, don't drink
but she's deep in the thick
atmosphere of nowhere
traveling around nightlife
can't hear nothing but
drums of a heart way past gone
cuz' everyone is around
but no one is near
words could drown
in the swim and splash
---but somehow everything's alright
(but got interrupted)
end up warding them off with a giant uhh..
yeah,(hand out) it's Jesi.
---they KEEP COMING!
do I look lonely?
because I don't feel it
Is there a sign on my head?
'hey drunks over here'
I guess it could be worse.
I could be them,
And instead of waking up
Smelling like beer and cigarettes
I could wake up IN my beer and cigarettes
and nothing could be more annoying
than getting asked 4 times over
'you smoke pot?'
---no
'you drink?'
---no
'you smoke?...'
---no
---NEVER..
'What are you doing here?'
And the music gets a little louder
So I can ignore the fools
(that don't hear the poetry
music so soothing.)
coming from my mouth the answer not good enough
moths to flames, they don't get me
does anybody?
got no reason for the things I don't do.
wish I did, have something against.
(sometimes I lie)
---say it is because my aunts an alcoholic
(that shuts up everyone)
---or my dads sick and dying, and I got the genetic gene too.
(Then there's a huge pity party)
---or I'm a DD lifer
(this one works the best)
but it is none of those reasons
and I thought about other ways to go around the question
---or I'm an alcoholic
(this scares people, I guess I don't LOOK like one?)
---I'm only 16
(Jail bait would make people run)
---I'm an undercover cop
(no really I am)
I just don't like to lie
And it's funny when their face scrunches up
and they don't believe me
---that's better I suppose than believing
And asking why 4 different ways
then asking if I think less of them now?
do I judge this slurping man if front of me?
---no but I become highly annoyed if he is persistent
In wanting to know why,
or to buy me my first beer
somehow these days 'no'
isn't good enough, isn't clear enough?
And this one standing in front of me
can't stand up straight
spilled half a cup on the floor already
'and you're so pretty. just sitting here alone?'
(yep. I like it that way)
'well I just saws you over here--writing, my friend he's a writer' *blank stare*
----really? got something published?
'no, but he writes, you ever read Jack Kerouac?'
---no
'that's a good thing'
'do you want a drink?'
---no thanks
'why not?"
----*think fast* I'm allergic.
'never read 'on the road' by Jack Kerouac?'
---no
'huh'
---ever read 'the awakening' by Kate Chopin?

unlike the comedy from yesterday...

3-23-06
"again."
 
your not here, now what do I do with that, when your not taking a break in my eyes, or drinking up the last of what I have to say, I like your company, you're a tender little muse, provoking me somewhere else, can I stay here safely..?
 
I looked around, I waited, and still I'll wait, because I see something more in you, something that is hard to find in others, pushed him away, didn't call him back. conveniently forgot his number, and I haven't written a poem about anyone else---
 
why do you play so nicely with my songs and with my poetry, my words, words, words, that I love so heavenly redeeming, like a small rain drop falling down on the tip of your eyelash, holding you in place, because such a moment is not found oftentimes,
 
but you are not here, wandering around somewhere else in my minds resolution to rescue some sort of memory of you walking up to me, asking me about something, something, something, one day words, words that will be so understated.
 
wish you were here, brown-eyes drawing me up with a right handed story capturing all those little cliché pauses, a wink and a breath drawn in so soothingly, your dancing on my imagination, amusing everything I thought could never be
 
 again.

3-23-06
'friendship'
 
Doesn't make sense to you.
This yellow swallowing girl
Reason so deep
Carving out names/types
Sneaking in sunshine.
 
(Changes unexpectedly
Leave awkwardly
Snare purposefully
Creeping sort of girls
That we remember)
 
Little-different worlds
Tongues of different stories
Water-baptized prose
There is beauty in tragedy
Seven times seven
I will stay around
'everlasting habitations'
This true richness of friendship

spring break
sarah stevens

back from seven increments
of sunlit soap operas--the hazy
mid-afternoon complacency
of other people's inability to talk
(dr phil will solve it) falling asleep
after another give-a-way on Oprah
how are poor people gunna pay
the income tax on those damn hondas?
the tv a sound barrier; they can't hear me
"be happy for once"--this from mom, sitting
hunched over her bible (daily devotions+Oprah)
and later, "would you please not stare at me?"
brown eyes heavy with the politics of poetry
somehow making a place for me
in your sting of busy broken tail pipe days
ungrateful..."don't you have work to do?"
like the spell of desparate afternoons
is broken,
but, anyway, you look lovely today

WMD

Spread the meaningless message
Inane comments that undermine
Make subversive noise
Instead of white noise
Manipulate the background
With Weapons of Masked Disruption

---------------------------------

F_ _ _ the World

Stand and Face the world
Demand an end to
Murder and Greed
Wars and Money
Haves and Have-a-littles

Fight and Free the world
From the circles of men
The Rulers
Governments and gods
The Damned leading the “saved”

--------------------------------

“Flowers” (don’t grow to their full potential if you never transplant them into bigger pots)
-or “Some Guy Tries To Sound Like He Knows What’s Up”

If you truly want something new
Be prepared to be uncomfortable to get there
Or does something as simple
As contentment mean that much?
Nothing is consistent or perfect
You and I, like any other creatures
Have only those rare moments
That truly mean something
Not that we should dwell on them
Or try to capture them forever
Like a photograph freezing a staged moment
There are points in life when we long
For an old moment, and the personalities
Or locations, or events that went with them
There are also points when it’s best
To never return to a place or time
So as not to spoil it forever
Complacency is not true joy
Those things which stop stimulating us
Have their place in time and life
Though even a photo album must go back on shelf.

--------------------------------------------

Sorry about the two titles on the last one.