Poetry competition CLOSED 28th March 2013 2:16pm
WINNER
Mourningcloak
Mourningcloak
Overlooked???????
EULERS THEOREM(I hope you will look it up)
12x18 room.
Chalkboard walls.
Pen scratched paper carpet.
Numbers pretending organization.
Chalk dust diet.
Textbook forest.
4 hours sleep...
Forever to go.
I have the eyes of omega.
Coffee cup corner.
A madman whispers past equations.
Delicate silence.
Firing synopses.
Weakening synapses.
Is the world still outside this door?
2 hours sleep.
47th wind.
I've smashed the clock to pieces.
Scratching of stubble.
I must smell wonderful.
A madman whispers an epiphany.
Permanent marker on blackboard.
Brain knows we're nearing.
Lack of saliva.
A madman yelps an"AH HA!"
Florescent flickers.
NUMBERS!MORE!
Keep writing.
Visualize.
maintain.
Pi interference.
Negative matrix.
Speed formula...Off?
SON OF A BITCH!!!
I just can't figure it out.
"Gentlemen that is surely true.It is absolutely paradoxical.We cannot understand it,and we don't know what it means...But we have proven it,and therefore,know it must be true."
-Leonhard Euler
12x18 room.
Chalkboard walls.
Pen scratched paper carpet.
Numbers pretending organization.
Chalk dust diet.
Textbook forest.
4 hours sleep...
Forever to go.
I have the eyes of omega.
Coffee cup corner.
A madman whispers past equations.
Delicate silence.
Firing synopses.
Weakening synapses.
Is the world still outside this door?
2 hours sleep.
47th wind.
I've smashed the clock to pieces.
Scratching of stubble.
I must smell wonderful.
A madman whispers an epiphany.
Permanent marker on blackboard.
Brain knows we're nearing.
Lack of saliva.
A madman yelps an"AH HA!"
Florescent flickers.
NUMBERS!MORE!
Keep writing.
Visualize.
maintain.
Pi interference.
Negative matrix.
Speed formula...Off?
SON OF A BITCH!!!
I just can't figure it out.
"Gentlemen that is surely true.It is absolutely paradoxical.We cannot understand it,and we don't know what it means...But we have proven it,and therefore,know it must be true."
-Leonhard Euler
- Gothic Alchemy -
Part I – Transmutation
He had been a nobleman, in an era now long ago,
And he dwelt in the manor of his ancestral lineage.
Love he sought, but not a maid could he persuade,
For they feared: his family’s reputation for sorcery.
On a black night, when the winds did loudly blow,
The nobleman made a pact with Hell in all his rage.
To end his loneliness, unafraid he embraced shade,
The philosopher’s stone so yielded, to his mastery.
And of him they saw never more, yet he died not…
Transmuted by arcane power into a different form.
He had found whatever it was he had thus sought,
Whilst outside, the wind grew into a mighty storm!
A noble lady haunted the place in the hours after…
Waiting, for a sign that her lonely vigil was to end.
Whilst an owl flew high in the tallest tower’s rafter,
As lightning struck a distant tree, and did so rend!
The noble lady tended the hearth, a smile playing…
Upon her lips, which had finished to gods praying.
Part II – Celebration
She came to the door of the manor out of the rain,
A woman: seeking but a place to pass the evening.
Never knowing what lay within, yet also uncaring…
Hopeful: that she might prevail upon old hospitality.
The woman knocked loudly, then knocked again…
And a noble lady answered in a gown shimmering,
With eyes that left the visitor in awe and so staring.
The two maids locked gazes in a mutual serenity…
Which neither could fathom; the visitor then spoke,
Asking to come in for a time to warm by the flame.
The hearth was blazing, its’ fires just newly awoke,
Whilst the two women sat by it, hearts the same…
Connecting on levels neither could truly understand.
The noble lady knew some power was so working,
Binding them together, like the rain unto all the land.
The visitor felt it too, easing all of her lonely hurting!
Two lonely souls, two ladies who walked the night,
Then kissed, and discovered therein, sweet delight.
Part III – Liberation
“Oh tell me visitor whomever you may be, of more!”
Asked the noble lady: yearning, to know her name.
But the visitor asked her also, to speak of things…
And they whispered together, beyond dark twilight.
The noble lady told her secret, and of ancient lore,
For the love she was feeling, robbed her of shame:
“I was a nobleman, but with power that hotly stings,
My flesh was remade in the early time of this night.”
Thus her confession caused the visitor’s wide smile!
For the visitor was really a man seeking to escape,
From life as a squire: for a knight so cruel and vile…
And in the woman before him, he saw a better fate.
The power of the Philosopher’s Stone worked well,
And Heaven broke the pact with Hell through love.
The noble lady’s heart was glad, and did thus swell,
With passion for the squire, as winds roared above.
Two lost and lonely souls were now thus complete,
Their alchemy in the shadows: forbidden and sweet.
Part I – Transmutation
He had been a nobleman, in an era now long ago,
And he dwelt in the manor of his ancestral lineage.
Love he sought, but not a maid could he persuade,
For they feared: his family’s reputation for sorcery.
On a black night, when the winds did loudly blow,
The nobleman made a pact with Hell in all his rage.
To end his loneliness, unafraid he embraced shade,
The philosopher’s stone so yielded, to his mastery.
And of him they saw never more, yet he died not…
Transmuted by arcane power into a different form.
He had found whatever it was he had thus sought,
Whilst outside, the wind grew into a mighty storm!
A noble lady haunted the place in the hours after…
Waiting, for a sign that her lonely vigil was to end.
Whilst an owl flew high in the tallest tower’s rafter,
As lightning struck a distant tree, and did so rend!
The noble lady tended the hearth, a smile playing…
Upon her lips, which had finished to gods praying.
Part II – Celebration
She came to the door of the manor out of the rain,
A woman: seeking but a place to pass the evening.
Never knowing what lay within, yet also uncaring…
Hopeful: that she might prevail upon old hospitality.
The woman knocked loudly, then knocked again…
And a noble lady answered in a gown shimmering,
With eyes that left the visitor in awe and so staring.
The two maids locked gazes in a mutual serenity…
Which neither could fathom; the visitor then spoke,
Asking to come in for a time to warm by the flame.
The hearth was blazing, its’ fires just newly awoke,
Whilst the two women sat by it, hearts the same…
Connecting on levels neither could truly understand.
The noble lady knew some power was so working,
Binding them together, like the rain unto all the land.
The visitor felt it too, easing all of her lonely hurting!
Two lonely souls, two ladies who walked the night,
Then kissed, and discovered therein, sweet delight.
Part III – Liberation
“Oh tell me visitor whomever you may be, of more!”
Asked the noble lady: yearning, to know her name.
But the visitor asked her also, to speak of things…
And they whispered together, beyond dark twilight.
The noble lady told her secret, and of ancient lore,
For the love she was feeling, robbed her of shame:
“I was a nobleman, but with power that hotly stings,
My flesh was remade in the early time of this night.”
Thus her confession caused the visitor’s wide smile!
For the visitor was really a man seeking to escape,
From life as a squire: for a knight so cruel and vile…
And in the woman before him, he saw a better fate.
The power of the Philosopher’s Stone worked well,
And Heaven broke the pact with Hell through love.
The noble lady’s heart was glad, and did thus swell,
With passion for the squire, as winds roared above.
Two lost and lonely souls were now thus complete,
Their alchemy in the shadows: forbidden and sweet.
Anonymous
Goddess In Blue Jeans
[b]When the masters painted a goddess
She wore flowing togas in scenes
How the times they have changed
For the Goddess I know
Is often seen wearing blue jeans
She wears a peasant shirt
Her left shoulder she leaves bare
Where on her smooth white skin the tattoo of a peacock perches there
This radiant bird does represent
Freedom from oppression and a new birth
An impression of her true self-worth
She teaches and inspires me
Opens my eyes so that I can truly see
The wisdom of revealing my true self
That which for so long lay hidden on a shelf
Like the Goddess of old
Her beauty is rare
With eyes kind and knowing
Sensual lips so alluring,
And a body so appealing I can't help but to stare
Although never lovers
Except in my dreams
I am satisfied being
A trusted friend to the Goddess in Blue Jeans[/b]
[b]When the masters painted a goddess
She wore flowing togas in scenes
How the times they have changed
For the Goddess I know
Is often seen wearing blue jeans
She wears a peasant shirt
Her left shoulder she leaves bare
Where on her smooth white skin the tattoo of a peacock perches there
This radiant bird does represent
Freedom from oppression and a new birth
An impression of her true self-worth
She teaches and inspires me
Opens my eyes so that I can truly see
The wisdom of revealing my true self
That which for so long lay hidden on a shelf
Like the Goddess of old
Her beauty is rare
With eyes kind and knowing
Sensual lips so alluring,
And a body so appealing I can't help but to stare
Although never lovers
Except in my dreams
I am satisfied being
A trusted friend to the Goddess in Blue Jeans[/b]
Crazy Love
Am I crazy to fall madly in love with you
and to yearn for your caress, and your elusive kiss
Our nightly tryst of passionate whispers
fill our hearts with desires so intense
As our passion-filled bodies yearn for more,
join me in my dreams and share my crazy love.
My dreams of you were obscured by my selfish desires
for I was lured by the grandeur of a carefree city life
Then one day you showed up in the flesh
our bodies were fusioned by our tight embrace
As we felt the burning sensations thru our lips
your silent quest to find me, has come to an end.
Here I am my love, hearken to my plea
I love you then and now, but your heart can’t see.
My childhood glances as I caught your sweet smile,
revealed more than what my young heart could say.
Every time I smiled you knew, there was something more.
Am I crazy for loving you my Adelaide
You are smart and lovely, elegant and compassionate
you were the girl of my dreams, and never been forgotten
I beseech you to look at the bright side
and never to forget why we love each other so.
Watch the birds flying freely across the sun drenched sky
You will find me in their midst as I join their flight
Come fly with me our souls entwined,
and retrace our paths where it all began
Feel our crazy love, once innocent and pure.
Note:
Following are comments for this poem originally published in Viewshound.com, now a defunct UK online publication:
Aida Hulen · Top Commenter · University of Maryland, College Park
104 Likes so far...you need to frame this one Engr.VV.
Michelle Dragoo · Subscribed · Top Commenter · Supervisor, Anatomic Pathology at Edward Hospital
love, love , love this.
Sofia Velasco- Belbis · University of Manila
Very well expressed for the gold! Vic, way to go...a very passionate poet!
Fred Medina · MLQU
Indeed a very inspiring piece of poetry. One can feel that this is written from the heart -- it emotes nostalgic memories, passion and undying love. This composition certainly deserves the highest of accolades. The writer is extremely brilliant!
Eugenia Briones Laus · University of the East
Ciao Bff! beautiful poem, full of love and very touching,,, i'm getting crazy as well, while I'm reading it...so proud of u really! a gold prize for u then..love yah.
Fernando Ceballos Lachica · Subscribed · Top Commenter · Works at Triond
Very touching and truly awesome! A Gold Prize for this poem.
Jan Bird · Top Commenter · College of Ripon & York St John
Wow, Vic! Well done! That's very powerful!
I've never seen 85 "likes" on a poem before, I've not seen that for many articles. It's incredibly popular!
David B Katague · Subscribed · Top Commenter · University of the Philippines Diliman
best poem so far. Keep it up Vic, Gold for you!
Jessica Willoughby · Top Commenter · Hard to Define at Developmental Skills Center
Vic, that was beautiful! So descriptive and full of passion, and the love for this dear Adelaide. It leaves you wanting to know more, to continue their story! Very nice job! Thanks so much for sending it to me to read Vic!
Aida Hulen · Top Commenter · University of Maryland, College Park
I love this poem. Truly touching and written from the heart. Gold, definitely! I am proud of the Poet that you have become.
Reply · 2 · Like
· November 25 at 8:37am
It was given a bad review here in DUP by Gail and I wish she just commented on this particular poem because some of the people who commented above are published and known writers on their own rights.
I feel it was overlooked because of that initial comment.
Am I crazy to fall madly in love with you
and to yearn for your caress, and your elusive kiss
Our nightly tryst of passionate whispers
fill our hearts with desires so intense
As our passion-filled bodies yearn for more,
join me in my dreams and share my crazy love.
My dreams of you were obscured by my selfish desires
for I was lured by the grandeur of a carefree city life
Then one day you showed up in the flesh
our bodies were fusioned by our tight embrace
As we felt the burning sensations thru our lips
your silent quest to find me, has come to an end.
Here I am my love, hearken to my plea
I love you then and now, but your heart can’t see.
My childhood glances as I caught your sweet smile,
revealed more than what my young heart could say.
Every time I smiled you knew, there was something more.
Am I crazy for loving you my Adelaide
You are smart and lovely, elegant and compassionate
you were the girl of my dreams, and never been forgotten
I beseech you to look at the bright side
and never to forget why we love each other so.
Watch the birds flying freely across the sun drenched sky
You will find me in their midst as I join their flight
Come fly with me our souls entwined,
and retrace our paths where it all began
Feel our crazy love, once innocent and pure.
Note:
Following are comments for this poem originally published in Viewshound.com, now a defunct UK online publication:
Aida Hulen · Top Commenter · University of Maryland, College Park
104 Likes so far...you need to frame this one Engr.VV.
Michelle Dragoo · Subscribed · Top Commenter · Supervisor, Anatomic Pathology at Edward Hospital
love, love , love this.
Sofia Velasco- Belbis · University of Manila
Very well expressed for the gold! Vic, way to go...a very passionate poet!
Fred Medina · MLQU
Indeed a very inspiring piece of poetry. One can feel that this is written from the heart -- it emotes nostalgic memories, passion and undying love. This composition certainly deserves the highest of accolades. The writer is extremely brilliant!
Eugenia Briones Laus · University of the East
Ciao Bff! beautiful poem, full of love and very touching,,, i'm getting crazy as well, while I'm reading it...so proud of u really! a gold prize for u then..love yah.
Fernando Ceballos Lachica · Subscribed · Top Commenter · Works at Triond
Very touching and truly awesome! A Gold Prize for this poem.
Jan Bird · Top Commenter · College of Ripon & York St John
Wow, Vic! Well done! That's very powerful!
I've never seen 85 "likes" on a poem before, I've not seen that for many articles. It's incredibly popular!
David B Katague · Subscribed · Top Commenter · University of the Philippines Diliman
best poem so far. Keep it up Vic, Gold for you!
Jessica Willoughby · Top Commenter · Hard to Define at Developmental Skills Center
Vic, that was beautiful! So descriptive and full of passion, and the love for this dear Adelaide. It leaves you wanting to know more, to continue their story! Very nice job! Thanks so much for sending it to me to read Vic!
Aida Hulen · Top Commenter · University of Maryland, College Park
I love this poem. Truly touching and written from the heart. Gold, definitely! I am proud of the Poet that you have become.
Reply · 2 · Like
· November 25 at 8:37am
It was given a bad review here in DUP by Gail and I wish she just commented on this particular poem because some of the people who commented above are published and known writers on their own rights.
I feel it was overlooked because of that initial comment.
Anonymous
Phantom Lunch Companion
Stories are told of amputees
Who when an arm or a leg is taken
They still sense the presence of
The now absent limb as if it were a phantom
My lunch companion
Was excised from my life
Amputated from me
Due to my moronic and insensitive behavior
My inability to control the “Y” chromosome
Now when I visit the places of our former repasts
I can feel her presence there
My phantom lunch companion
Our first lunch, Mexican I think, was fascinating
Filled, at least for me, with the nervous excitement
Of meeting someone new
Our conversation quickly turned to deeper things
I met a soul open to frank discussion of real life,
My absolutely favorite kind of friend
At the little Italian place on the corner,
Where she spoke orgasmically of their Chicken crepes
We first sat by the window and spoke of
Her passion for spreadsheets
The prettiest geek in the room,
At that table there in the corner, against the wall
We spoke of our love and concern for our children
And our painful childhood memories
And, of course, the seemingly unavoidable
Spilling of something on my shirt
At the table nearest the front
Freedom was the topic
True self-expression
The living of life on our own terms
A skill my phantom lunch companion masters so much better than I
On my weekday bus rides out of town
I can’t help but glance at "our"table in Market Square
Where on a beautiful Winter’s day
We sat and ate Greek food
While she, wearing a bright smile,
Recounted her recent adventures in New York City
Family relationships, kids, work, cupcakes, tattoos, religion
Politics, movies, clothing, sex (not certain though), piercings, French, philosophy,
And so many more were the topics we discussed
While eating at the Chinese restaurant across the street
I think we would have solved all of what’s
Wrong with this world if given a few more meals
My lunch hours, although still enjoyable,
Are spent, now, with prosthetic companions
And one note conversations
These can never feel like the real thing
Though the table and meal are the same
And yet in some mysterious way
I can still feel the presence of my Phantom Lunch Companion
La Fin
Stories are told of amputees
Who when an arm or a leg is taken
They still sense the presence of
The now absent limb as if it were a phantom
My lunch companion
Was excised from my life
Amputated from me
Due to my moronic and insensitive behavior
My inability to control the “Y” chromosome
Now when I visit the places of our former repasts
I can feel her presence there
My phantom lunch companion
Our first lunch, Mexican I think, was fascinating
Filled, at least for me, with the nervous excitement
Of meeting someone new
Our conversation quickly turned to deeper things
I met a soul open to frank discussion of real life,
My absolutely favorite kind of friend
At the little Italian place on the corner,
Where she spoke orgasmically of their Chicken crepes
We first sat by the window and spoke of
Her passion for spreadsheets
The prettiest geek in the room,
At that table there in the corner, against the wall
We spoke of our love and concern for our children
And our painful childhood memories
And, of course, the seemingly unavoidable
Spilling of something on my shirt
At the table nearest the front
Freedom was the topic
True self-expression
The living of life on our own terms
A skill my phantom lunch companion masters so much better than I
On my weekday bus rides out of town
I can’t help but glance at "our"table in Market Square
Where on a beautiful Winter’s day
We sat and ate Greek food
While she, wearing a bright smile,
Recounted her recent adventures in New York City
Family relationships, kids, work, cupcakes, tattoos, religion
Politics, movies, clothing, sex (not certain though), piercings, French, philosophy,
And so many more were the topics we discussed
While eating at the Chinese restaurant across the street
I think we would have solved all of what’s
Wrong with this world if given a few more meals
My lunch hours, although still enjoyable,
Are spent, now, with prosthetic companions
And one note conversations
These can never feel like the real thing
Though the table and meal are the same
And yet in some mysterious way
I can still feel the presence of my Phantom Lunch Companion
La Fin
Upon Such a Holy Shroud as This
This Jenny's faith is periapt
an offering shape. I write
viral breeds of veneration. Impurities
mucus up this pious temple
where absolution might sneeze out.
Yet they are still, just
paper trails, a passion path
to Heaven, pilgrimages sniffling
"Eat, Drink of me. This is of the body."
So is flaky shit. Is waste ever holy
enough for communion ?
Mine are rheums; runny revelations
scripted with a disciple's fingertip
kicking a swollen head
into some evangelical clarity
Jesus unloosed bodily functions as well
parabled for the masses. His discharge ?
A divination even before Jerusalem; that place
of hosannas, and a snot snorting mule.
My blasphemies covet crucifixion as well
in robed texts of infection, a purple
for tossing up agnostic lots
in sought for Easter hours.
And I pray crusted stones roll away
from eyes, revealing a sinner saved
in the smudged icons of a body
as I wipe my ass and blow my nose
upon such a holy shroud as this, poetry.
This Jenny's faith is periapt
an offering shape. I write
viral breeds of veneration. Impurities
mucus up this pious temple
where absolution might sneeze out.
Yet they are still, just
paper trails, a passion path
to Heaven, pilgrimages sniffling
"Eat, Drink of me. This is of the body."
So is flaky shit. Is waste ever holy
enough for communion ?
Mine are rheums; runny revelations
scripted with a disciple's fingertip
kicking a swollen head
into some evangelical clarity
Jesus unloosed bodily functions as well
parabled for the masses. His discharge ?
A divination even before Jerusalem; that place
of hosannas, and a snot snorting mule.
My blasphemies covet crucifixion as well
in robed texts of infection, a purple
for tossing up agnostic lots
in sought for Easter hours.
And I pray crusted stones roll away
from eyes, revealing a sinner saved
in the smudged icons of a body
as I wipe my ass and blow my nose
upon such a holy shroud as this, poetry.
"long game"
it was the seemingly inconsequential posture
that I struck;
rerouting invisible currents
into infection so subtle
that it bypassed the defense
of first impression.
A slight shift in weight
relaxed hands
veins inflated, unseen
ready to strike
romance as a martial art.
It was the brute language;
that hid academy
and revealed calloused experience
that told her to stay away,
but back-burner me.
The sanctity of private thought
proved not so safe
as what I intended unsaid, but delicate
worked its way under her fortification
and
stitched transparent fibers
into the fabric of her panties;
speaking discrete kisses
into the earlobe of her temple.
It was the sincerity
and balance
of vulnerability with confidence
that made her want to clamp
moist velvet-held embrace
around my funneled point of focus.
I knew when I met her
that I would sacrifice the immediacy
of social acceptance
to eventually
when, the art was just right
fuck the goddess out of her.
it was the seemingly inconsequential posture
that I struck;
rerouting invisible currents
into infection so subtle
that it bypassed the defense
of first impression.
A slight shift in weight
relaxed hands
veins inflated, unseen
ready to strike
romance as a martial art.
It was the brute language;
that hid academy
and revealed calloused experience
that told her to stay away,
but back-burner me.
The sanctity of private thought
proved not so safe
as what I intended unsaid, but delicate
worked its way under her fortification
and
stitched transparent fibers
into the fabric of her panties;
speaking discrete kisses
into the earlobe of her temple.
It was the sincerity
and balance
of vulnerability with confidence
that made her want to clamp
moist velvet-held embrace
around my funneled point of focus.
I knew when I met her
that I would sacrifice the immediacy
of social acceptance
to eventually
when, the art was just right
fuck the goddess out of her.
Anonymous
Deleted
This world is what you perceive it to be
mans manifestation of self thought
negative minds collide
creating emotional craters
would you like to see my scars?
would you like to see through my eyes?
today you walk in my shoes
this world i give to you...
mans manifestation of self thought
negative minds collide
creating emotional craters
would you like to see my scars?
would you like to see through my eyes?
today you walk in my shoes
this world i give to you...
Anonymous
There are so many great entries here..wow, what talent DUP has. Thank's everyone, picking a winner will be hard.
Mind is a jumble, deep seeded thorough thoughtlessness. The scars left upon my emotions or lack thereof.
Internal battles fought with precedence, good and evil, both are equal these thoughts, where I come from.
Pros and cons, of consequences rendered upon the literary mind, the internal battle is what I find.
The thing most sought after, through the many years of hurt. The embrace of a lover. Embrace lost in time.
Evidence of fidelity and yearning of learning and time after time and line after line of an itching and burning... from a soul constantly returning, to a body maturing.
The poetic flow that courses my veins,
that nobody knows and I try to explain,
in my poems and writings my prose slams exciting,
on the unknowing mind,
who, as I speak gets lost in time. And the grime of the winding,
and perfection of timing, as my words carve your brain,
from my words you lay slain.
Shifty and gifted, my mind deeply twisted,
And infected perception, perfected inception, the depth of my flow...nobody knows, a rhyme within a rhyme, within a rhyme is how deep I will go.
My hands render, as my mind composes.
As my body reacts to my souls emotions
And my internal and external, meet with commotion... the man child exposed, punched dead square in the nose.
And as the tears drop and my fears stop, within and without he thinks nobody knows,
No one sees his pain, though it thoroughly shows.
Like worn on his sleeve, in public he bleeds,
As he pours his heart out, on paper so stout, to bear his heavy thoughts and heavy mind, as he gets lost in time. And runs out of lines.
Wasted youth...
of...
mine...
and slow....
to...
a...
stop...
He...
Grinds...
http://deepundergroundpoetry.com/poems/97215-internal-battle/
Internal battles fought with precedence, good and evil, both are equal these thoughts, where I come from.
Pros and cons, of consequences rendered upon the literary mind, the internal battle is what I find.
The thing most sought after, through the many years of hurt. The embrace of a lover. Embrace lost in time.
Evidence of fidelity and yearning of learning and time after time and line after line of an itching and burning... from a soul constantly returning, to a body maturing.
The poetic flow that courses my veins,
that nobody knows and I try to explain,
in my poems and writings my prose slams exciting,
on the unknowing mind,
who, as I speak gets lost in time. And the grime of the winding,
and perfection of timing, as my words carve your brain,
from my words you lay slain.
Shifty and gifted, my mind deeply twisted,
And infected perception, perfected inception, the depth of my flow...nobody knows, a rhyme within a rhyme, within a rhyme is how deep I will go.
My hands render, as my mind composes.
As my body reacts to my souls emotions
And my internal and external, meet with commotion... the man child exposed, punched dead square in the nose.
And as the tears drop and my fears stop, within and without he thinks nobody knows,
No one sees his pain, though it thoroughly shows.
Like worn on his sleeve, in public he bleeds,
As he pours his heart out, on paper so stout, to bear his heavy thoughts and heavy mind, as he gets lost in time. And runs out of lines.
Wasted youth...
of...
mine...
and slow....
to...
a...
stop...
He...
Grinds...
http://deepundergroundpoetry.com/poems/97215-internal-battle/
Anonymous
"A Field of Dried Flowers"
http://25.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_ltjgj55b1X1qmu1uao1_500.jpg
Honey,
hows does one
explain
Heaven on Earth.
And sweetheart,
how does one
describe
fields of feminine-beauty.
Twirling vibrant colors,
swirling majestically
in the summer winds,
sun so warm,
so bright.
Pray tell,
when some mockingly
wear dried-chains,
strung around
bony stems,
they remain
blind to
the world
of pure
female-joy.
A sacred gift to man,
to be cherished,
unfolded delicately,
kissed tenderly,
stroked lovingly,
not worn dead
around a
skinny
little neck.
http://25.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_ltjgj55b1X1qmu1uao1_500.jpg
Honey,
hows does one
explain
Heaven on Earth.
And sweetheart,
how does one
describe
fields of feminine-beauty.
Twirling vibrant colors,
swirling majestically
in the summer winds,
sun so warm,
so bright.
Pray tell,
when some mockingly
wear dried-chains,
strung around
bony stems,
they remain
blind to
the world
of pure
female-joy.
A sacred gift to man,
to be cherished,
unfolded delicately,
kissed tenderly,
stroked lovingly,
not worn dead
around a
skinny
little neck.
White
With a single loud bang and scream, the mirror cracked and it was all over. There was nothing. Around me, there was nothing. Nothing but the thick fog and deep cold of the outside world. Today was just another day in hell. I woke up to find myself in sweats, only to look outside and see the world covered in a blanket of fog. Shuffling out of the bed, I set each of my feet upon the colder laminate flooring and steady myself upward. In my vest and boxer shorts, the chilling breeze of no origin seems to have made its way around me, reminding me that I am not welcome within this obscene and horrific world. I did not know where I was, and I did not know who I was. All that I knew was what I felt, and all that I felt was hatred, anger and misery, without even seeing anything. Around me, in this room, is nothing. A clean white room, with simple, but empty drawers. Behind me was the bed I was just sleeping upon, but oddly was already made and stonecold. I didnt hear anything and I didnt know anything for sure, but this world didnt like me. I made my way to the bedroom door and as I reached out for the handle, the echo of a child's laughter came from outside the house. I felt compelled to investigate, and so I did. Grabbing the handle of the door, I swung it open, ran as fast as I could across the landing, down the stairs and out the main front door ahead of me, as if I was running from some horrific being. I made it out of the front door, but as soon as my foot hit the outside pavement, all I could hear was screaming. I covered my ears as tightly as I could, but within a blink, the house I was sleeping in disappeared, into the fog. The screaming stopped abruptly. Slight moans and groans came from within the fog slightly ahead of me. I began to approach the noises, very cautiously. I didnt know what to make of them, until I stepped a little closer. There, on the floor, was a woman in a scorched and still lit white dress. Her skin was badly burnt and was still burning. Her skin was slightly flaking as the seconds passed. The fumes from the combustion stank of overscented charcoal and basic liquid smoke. She didnt scream, nor did she move erratically. With slight twitchs and the moan of pain occasionally, the woman was obviously in intense agony, but had been unable to express it. Within her hand was a small mirror. Her head turned to face me quickly as I spotted the mirror. The hand holding it raised up toward me, as if she wanted me to take it. A slight few seconds passed, with me frozen on the spot. Then, with a quick decision, I decided to take it. As soon as I touched the mirror, the woman's body and her suit evaporated into thick gray-white dust, with a very loud and disturbing scream.
The mirror was now mine, but incredibly, I felt worse. As if this world hated me all the more and that there were horrifying creatures behind me. I didnt have the guts to turn around, but then I realised I had a mirror. Slowly I brought it upwards toward my face, then turning the mirror side towards me. The person in the mirror was me. It had to be. Then the image began to burn.. my face in the reflection was lightly on fire and my skin began to flake off. With a single loud bang and scream, the mirror cracked and it was all over. There was nothing. Around me, there was nothing. Nothing but the thick fog and deep cold of the outside world. Today was just another day in hell.
With a single loud bang and scream, the mirror cracked and it was all over. There was nothing. Around me, there was nothing. Nothing but the thick fog and deep cold of the outside world. Today was just another day in hell. I woke up to find myself in sweats, only to look outside and see the world covered in a blanket of fog. Shuffling out of the bed, I set each of my feet upon the colder laminate flooring and steady myself upward. In my vest and boxer shorts, the chilling breeze of no origin seems to have made its way around me, reminding me that I am not welcome within this obscene and horrific world. I did not know where I was, and I did not know who I was. All that I knew was what I felt, and all that I felt was hatred, anger and misery, without even seeing anything. Around me, in this room, is nothing. A clean white room, with simple, but empty drawers. Behind me was the bed I was just sleeping upon, but oddly was already made and stonecold. I didnt hear anything and I didnt know anything for sure, but this world didnt like me. I made my way to the bedroom door and as I reached out for the handle, the echo of a child's laughter came from outside the house. I felt compelled to investigate, and so I did. Grabbing the handle of the door, I swung it open, ran as fast as I could across the landing, down the stairs and out the main front door ahead of me, as if I was running from some horrific being. I made it out of the front door, but as soon as my foot hit the outside pavement, all I could hear was screaming. I covered my ears as tightly as I could, but within a blink, the house I was sleeping in disappeared, into the fog. The screaming stopped abruptly. Slight moans and groans came from within the fog slightly ahead of me. I began to approach the noises, very cautiously. I didnt know what to make of them, until I stepped a little closer. There, on the floor, was a woman in a scorched and still lit white dress. Her skin was badly burnt and was still burning. Her skin was slightly flaking as the seconds passed. The fumes from the combustion stank of overscented charcoal and basic liquid smoke. She didnt scream, nor did she move erratically. With slight twitchs and the moan of pain occasionally, the woman was obviously in intense agony, but had been unable to express it. Within her hand was a small mirror. Her head turned to face me quickly as I spotted the mirror. The hand holding it raised up toward me, as if she wanted me to take it. A slight few seconds passed, with me frozen on the spot. Then, with a quick decision, I decided to take it. As soon as I touched the mirror, the woman's body and her suit evaporated into thick gray-white dust, with a very loud and disturbing scream.
The mirror was now mine, but incredibly, I felt worse. As if this world hated me all the more and that there were horrifying creatures behind me. I didnt have the guts to turn around, but then I realised I had a mirror. Slowly I brought it upwards toward my face, then turning the mirror side towards me. The person in the mirror was me. It had to be. Then the image began to burn.. my face in the reflection was lightly on fire and my skin began to flake off. With a single loud bang and scream, the mirror cracked and it was all over. There was nothing. Around me, there was nothing. Nothing but the thick fog and deep cold of the outside world. Today was just another day in hell.
Coke and Gummies
Both my parents were alcoholics and junkies
They both died when I was in my twenties
Blood-soaked carpets and pockets with no money
Christmas with no electricity
Looking back it's a sort of funny
It's sort of hard bein' a fluffy bunny
In smoke-filled rooms of whores and rummies
Shooting up shit 'til veins turn to putty
Living off meals of Coke and gummies
Then as a teen, when skin's to acne
And the mind's turning more abstractly
I must confess, it made me angry
To stew in a world so unworldly
Of rape and murder and prices on pussies
Can turn a wunderkind to dummy
And make you act a little crazy
From boy to man traveled humbly
I must admit, it's never left me
A crystal logic's bent perversely
Stupidity can taste like honey
Rainy days preferred to sunny
Scare away all those who love me
Fuck the forest, I see a tree
As a man, it's very petty
Choose life and be happy
Walk the earth, even if soggy
Breathe the air, even if foggy
Cherish spirit, mind and body
Stop making all the joy so dreary
For these failings, I'm so very sorry
-DyMc
Both my parents were alcoholics and junkies
They both died when I was in my twenties
Blood-soaked carpets and pockets with no money
Christmas with no electricity
Looking back it's a sort of funny
It's sort of hard bein' a fluffy bunny
In smoke-filled rooms of whores and rummies
Shooting up shit 'til veins turn to putty
Living off meals of Coke and gummies
Then as a teen, when skin's to acne
And the mind's turning more abstractly
I must confess, it made me angry
To stew in a world so unworldly
Of rape and murder and prices on pussies
Can turn a wunderkind to dummy
And make you act a little crazy
From boy to man traveled humbly
I must admit, it's never left me
A crystal logic's bent perversely
Stupidity can taste like honey
Rainy days preferred to sunny
Scare away all those who love me
Fuck the forest, I see a tree
As a man, it's very petty
Choose life and be happy
Walk the earth, even if soggy
Breathe the air, even if foggy
Cherish spirit, mind and body
Stop making all the joy so dreary
For these failings, I'm so very sorry
-DyMc
