Three word inspiration.
Okay, since I have a sudden need to post this poem, I'm going to start it myself =/ Oop
Desert.
An embrace, cold as the ice of my heart, of the weed and crack and crystal beauty.
An emptiness, the steel, hard machinery of death, holds me like clockwork.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick,
tick...
The droning of my last breath, my last vision of his skeleton hand and smoke-black hood.
A halo found so fallen it hits the bottom rim of his robe
like a resisting goodbye in the night.
I am the sully of your conquests, your victory, my wound-keeper.
Whisper, two, three, little secrets of youth in your ear and pray, due to that fill of trivial gossip that you may hand me a heart to play with.
These were not my promises for darkness,
I signed a dotted line to which obsession, lust would meet the forefront of my mind like an exotic dancer wooing the innocence of ballet.
I can't whisper, swallow more orange juice, or place more cards on the Spider Solitaire if not for expressing this before slumber.
So much I have been dying to confess, desert child
was it chocolate moose or strawberry tart you pressed against metal to pretty, pink tongue?
Have I lost those nights where things meant more than just a silence?
Have I lost the man, who was bright like the spaceship I drew for year three picture-day?
My friend, a whistle in the wind, the morning touch of water, the appreciation of the first green leaf after winter,
my friend, where are you? We're calling you home, from your Peruvian vacation that lasted so long, yet so short. A haircut on the epiphany of time.
I miss thee.
I miss the sparkle of a joy-kissed child rather than the longing and rope that has been hung to a heart that perhaps, in his young ignorance and innocence, he never knew he had.
-
Next person: (if there ever is one :P)
Sorry,
Destination,
Keyboard.
x
Desert.
An embrace, cold as the ice of my heart, of the weed and crack and crystal beauty.
An emptiness, the steel, hard machinery of death, holds me like clockwork.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick,
tick...
The droning of my last breath, my last vision of his skeleton hand and smoke-black hood.
A halo found so fallen it hits the bottom rim of his robe
like a resisting goodbye in the night.
I am the sully of your conquests, your victory, my wound-keeper.
Whisper, two, three, little secrets of youth in your ear and pray, due to that fill of trivial gossip that you may hand me a heart to play with.
These were not my promises for darkness,
I signed a dotted line to which obsession, lust would meet the forefront of my mind like an exotic dancer wooing the innocence of ballet.
I can't whisper, swallow more orange juice, or place more cards on the Spider Solitaire if not for expressing this before slumber.
So much I have been dying to confess, desert child
was it chocolate moose or strawberry tart you pressed against metal to pretty, pink tongue?
Have I lost those nights where things meant more than just a silence?
Have I lost the man, who was bright like the spaceship I drew for year three picture-day?
My friend, a whistle in the wind, the morning touch of water, the appreciation of the first green leaf after winter,
my friend, where are you? We're calling you home, from your Peruvian vacation that lasted so long, yet so short. A haircut on the epiphany of time.
I miss thee.
I miss the sparkle of a joy-kissed child rather than the longing and rope that has been hung to a heart that perhaps, in his young ignorance and innocence, he never knew he had.
-
Next person: (if there ever is one :P)
Sorry,
Destination,
Keyboard.
x
Red, Blue, Green
Whatever the colour of your blood
I'll cut you up and leave you dying,
Rigor Mortis in the sanctuary mud.
Red, Blue, Green
These three colours,
Forever I've seen.
Next three words: Sheen, Platitude, Cheese.
(Good luck with that!)
Whatever the colour of your blood
I'll cut you up and leave you dying,
Rigor Mortis in the sanctuary mud.
Red, Blue, Green
These three colours,
Forever I've seen.
Next three words: Sheen, Platitude, Cheese.
(Good luck with that!)
Sheen, Platitude, Cheese.
The yellow triangle that sits in its greasy pit
upon my chopping board,
its sheen playing against the light reflecting from the knife
at side to chip away pieces over steaming pasta with pesto and thyme.
Cheese.
I am wonderful.
Now that's platitude for DUP.
Furry tails have happy endings,
or is that just mould?
-David, couldn't help but love that challenge.-
New words: Twin, Agateophobic,Playstation.
The yellow triangle that sits in its greasy pit
upon my chopping board,
its sheen playing against the light reflecting from the knife
at side to chip away pieces over steaming pasta with pesto and thyme.
Cheese.
I am wonderful.
Now that's platitude for DUP.
Furry tails have happy endings,
or is that just mould?
-David, couldn't help but love that challenge.-
New words: Twin, Agateophobic,Playstation.
"Twin, Agateophobic,Playstation"
--------------
Angela's daughter
(Psychometrer Eiji still running on her playstation)
looked up:
"Yes mom, Dr. Newsum thinks you're agateophobic.
But really, you have nothing to fear.
Here, help me remove this knife."
----------
Next three:
love, love, love
[font=Courier New][size=2]
well, duh, sorrry. somehow the twin changed to mom without me noticing
here:
Angela's evil twin
(Psychometrer Eiji still running on her playstation)
looked up:
"Yes Angela, Dr. Newsum thinks you're agateophobic.
But really, you have nothing to fear.
Here, help me remove this knife."
next 3:
China, doll, fingertips
well, duh, sorrry. somehow the twin changed to mom without me noticing
here:
Angela's evil twin
(Psychometrer Eiji still running on her playstation)
looked up:
"Yes Angela, Dr. Newsum thinks you're agateophobic.
But really, you have nothing to fear.
Here, help me remove this knife."
next 3:
China, doll, fingertips
Anonymous
<< post removed >>
That's nice, dear =] Thank you for your input....
No, actually, it's not okay. Holdit, you may be crude everywhere else; even here but at least include the subject matter. It's irritating, crude, there's no poetic thought there. That's not creative or clever that's just three words to evoke attention. It's like a five year old jumping up and down saying 'Notice me! Notice me!' We'll notice you for talent not just three crude words. So no, not thank you for your input, it was pointless and silly. Yes, silly that's the word. Oh and it's not nice it's vulgar with no reason to it.
L.A.
No, actually, it's not okay. Holdit, you may be crude everywhere else; even here but at least include the subject matter. It's irritating, crude, there's no poetic thought there. That's not creative or clever that's just three words to evoke attention. It's like a five year old jumping up and down saying 'Notice me! Notice me!' We'll notice you for talent not just three crude words. So no, not thank you for your input, it was pointless and silly. Yes, silly that's the word. Oh and it's not nice it's vulgar with no reason to it.
L.A.
Oh I do like how you handled that last 'incident'.
Looks like the whole things got tangled in the loom as Jade makes the poem with the three words before Ray presents them! (Psychic or what!).
A face like pure china
A paragon of a doll
So pretty in the chair by the fire
Mistress of the house and hearth
Loved by all and a wildkin at heart
With your fingertips in my eyes.
Next three words: Byzantium, cyborg, restoration. (Glad I'm not the ne who has to follow this, but if I was I wouldn't be me!)
Looks like the whole things got tangled in the loom as Jade makes the poem with the three words before Ray presents them! (Psychic or what!).
A face like pure china
A paragon of a doll
So pretty in the chair by the fire
Mistress of the house and hearth
Loved by all and a wildkin at heart
With your fingertips in my eyes.
Next three words: Byzantium, cyborg, restoration. (Glad I'm not the ne who has to follow this, but if I was I wouldn't be me!)
