Mamo Posted December 7, 2003 Share Posted December 7, 2003 every morning -- i bring together all my girls. every one that's in love with me. i feed them strawberries and they drink wine until their drunk with lust and envy -- and then they fight -- to the death -- with tooth and nail and hand ax. as all the time i stand by watching. waiting to be won -- like a prize. a trophy. some ribbon in their hair. and then i get the winner. we kiss and make love before i kill her -- slaying her with my deceptive charasmatic charm. and by evening, i'm left alone. without complaints or worries or any problems to be solved. just chess and philosophy books. parks and graveyards and picnics for one. peace and solitude and the memory of some great and terrible battle. but as night finally sets in, i realize a memory isn't enough to keep me satisfied. so i go hunting again. for girls with black hair or black eyes -- the ones that look sick and crying and broken. and i seduce them -- with my deceptive charasmatic charm. but like always, i get carried away -- like a vampire who is never done feeding. so when time finally comes to sleep, i settle for the floor, as my bed is overflowing with those fragile female frames. when morning finally comes. as mornings always do. i start again. with the bread and wine and hand axes. and i make love with the winner. before i kill her. destroying her with my deceptive charasmatic charm. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Malchik Posted December 8, 2003 Share Posted December 8, 2003 The tortured soul yearns for the unattainable. I'm sure I could psychoanalyse that poem and say a lot about the writer. It is interesting that the poem describes the girls as fragile yet has them kill each other through fighting in a way that makes it clear they are not fragile. Only the most powerful is worthy of the poet's love, yet she must die in case she gains power over him. Satisfaction of desire is fleeting because that is not his real longing. Ah, but what is? Does the poet even know? Interesting. I shall ponder this question. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Mamo Posted December 9, 2003 Author Share Posted December 9, 2003 when i was younger -- a teacher handed me paper and crayons and told me to draw the sky and the clouds and the sun. when the teacher came back 5 minutes later -- and i hadn't drawn anything -- she gave me more crayons. 10 minutes later she gave me more crayons, and pointed to the window -- something to look out of -- patted me on the head and went away. i didn't draw anything that day -- it wasn't the colors though. it was the paper -- i didn't nearly have enough of it to draw something so big. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ when i was young, i threw all my crayons at the black sky in an attempt to color it beautiful. not only did it not work. but i lost all my crayons. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Mamo Posted December 9, 2003 Author Share Posted December 9, 2003 once upon a time there was a piece of coal that was very happy and although completely alone, was completely content. And so did it enjoy its solitude, it ventured far into the mountains, where it silently turned in a circle once, and fell down asleep. When it woke, it found itself sparkling like a star. Not long after, it ended up on the hand of a young bride. This small piece of coal made this young lady very happy, as it did to every other young lady the bride showed it. And being so loved, was never alone again. And though it brought so much joy into the lives of so many, it never smiled again. the end -----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------once upon a time there was a girl with 3 fingers and 7 toes, but no one pitied her because she could still count to ten. the end ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- People are always making these grand sacrifices to make a better future. And you know what i say? I say, "Never sacrifice your past for your future." My day has crumbled all around me, there are glass shards in my hair. Blood stained eyes. If there is ever an option to give up -- take it. My last few days have been very beautiful. And i will not forget. And when i looked for the rock, it was gone. So there i was, realizing that it must have floated up through the clouds while my back was turned. And that might sound odd, but you have to realize, i knew that it was a warm, soft, floaty rock to begin with.... so i was only following logic. Those who stand tall for their beliefs are heroes.Those who die for their beliefs are fools.Those who kill for their beliefs are the worst kind of demons. My every thought is fractured. And i just can't find the right words inside of me, which scares me, because i know they won't last long elsewhere. And time is ticking. And days like dominos drop like stones. And what's done can not be undone. And somewhere there is a huge desert with a large cube of ice that is quickly melting. Off in the sand is a broken wooded ladder, and within the ice, is a horse, that will soon be free from it's frozen casket. Free, but no more alive. If i created the world, there would be no word for "love". Your perspective will shift. "Need" is a very misunderstood word. And everyone should throw off their clothes and go screaming into the ocean. I'll wait on the sands. I'll watch everyones clothes. I'll wait. And when no one comes back, i'll write everyones name in the sand and throw everyones clothes in the water. And i won't leave until the sun comes up. No matter how cold it gets, i won't leave until the sun comes up. Thoughts that catch on fire. Words that come out as smoke. Ashes stain my clothes and smoke hurts my eyes. Thoughts that fall like rain. Words that come out like water. Close your mouth. You're drowning everyone. The sun may very well be the devil. I am nothing but half-thoughts. Madman. If you think you're insane, you're not. If you think you're enlightened, you're not. "You've been quiet for so long...are you toungue-tied?hurting yourself?strungupbythewrists??" ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ and you may see beauty when you look at me but it's only because you see your reflection in my eyes ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- is that death knocking on my door tonight? tap tap tap should i let her in? invite her to sit down? offer her a drink? come death, let us drink together tell me a story give me a kiss and let us pretend that i am sad to die ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ -A moment at Waldenbooks- Customer: "He can never have enough books. He reads like a madman." Me: "Yeah? Like a madman?" Customer: "Yeah. He might as well be eating them." and no one will ever quite understand exactly how happy that makes me... not even if i made every effort to explain it... which of course, i would never dream of doing.... ::nod ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- and right when i'm almost figured out... i fade into abstraction... under the bed... in the closet... in the bathroom... curled on the tile... like a puddle... with the door locked... and the shower running... half naked... half gone... half lost... half dead... hiding from the mirror... and even butterflies come from somewhere... go somewhere... do something... dieing without realizing that they're beautiful... and blood isn't red until it's shed... and it's much more sticky then you remember... thicker.. heavier.. and you realize why you are so tired all the time, having so much inside of you... and god, what you wouldn't give to be empty all over... and blurring with apprehension... a cotton candy sky... holding something that reminds you of a tear... that reminds you of something lost... something shed and left behind... and blinking between sighs... sweaty palms... you tremble... you laugh... something must be funny... something that isn't you... an illusion of release... a two syllable word that means something like "dream"... and the light just hurts your eyes... and you drown when you close them... go crazy when you cut them out... and hope isn't a thing with feathers... and everyone was wrong... no one knew... not even you... espeically you... you finally realize what "go away" means... and everything's plastic... and everyone dies... and you say yeah, but not for another 60 or 70 years... and i say maybe for you.... for me... i'm already gone... and me?... i'm laying on the floor of the bathroom... like a puddle... with the shower going and the door locked... at a very young age... i realized it was to late... ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- This is pretty much most of my collection of writing...just thought it would be fun to share. I do have more...and if people are tired of all this crap i posted tell me and i won't post anymore, but please, let me know if you like this stuff...i'll be happy to post more :D Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Diplomat Posted December 9, 2003 Share Posted December 9, 2003 i dont get it ...it did'nt even rhyme Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
dynamo Posted December 10, 2003 Share Posted December 10, 2003 Poetry doesnt have to rhyme, its about expression- well most of the time. Just because you dont understand something doesnt mean it isnt worth appriciating. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Diplomat Posted December 10, 2003 Share Posted December 10, 2003 i did'nt say i did'nt appreciate it sorry if it sounded that way Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
ShinJiOh Posted December 12, 2003 Share Posted December 12, 2003 poetry doesnt have to rhyme it is just a way to express emotion *slaps self VERY hard d@mn top english classes so analytical Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
AdamNeko Posted December 12, 2003 Share Posted December 12, 2003 One of my best poems was a parody of Edgar Allen Poe's "The Bells." Freshman year of High school my english class was given an assignment to work as a group to write a poem about something using Poe's style. I was obviously fustrated by my group so I did the only thing I could think of, Segregated myself from the group and did my own project. Strange part was that it was the best one written and even one of my best friends here in college loved it, and she was there in that class. Pretty much that's when I found my niche in poetry as a minor hobby. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Mamo Posted December 13, 2003 Author Share Posted December 13, 2003 Yeah, I've noticed in my own writing that i tend to write the best stuff when i'm not trying too....i spend less time trying to make it good and just write...usally school work for me.. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
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