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Post by Rhiflect on Jan 8, 2008 21:04:57 GMT
buhu is a great word Haha, thanks.
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Post by bridgetbegins on Jan 9, 2008 1:30:13 GMT
I write silly things, sometimes:
Sometime just south of the day when You write lyrics on my back with a sharpie pen And we take topless pictures of me Lying on my bed, artistic shadows
Pretending to define the curve of Pubescent hips, I will wake, earlier than you And press a kiss to your cowlick As you snuffle into your pillow
At my desk, I will hastily pen a note In purple pen—I have to go to work Have a good day sweetie, I’ll see you soon But falter over the ending
And I close my eyes, momentarily Debate the difference between Leaving you with Aesthetically Yours or Kisses, me
But in the end, there is some foreign Force that crumples the note and I Sneak back into bed and begins with Operation tickle force and
You wake up snorting and twisting In the way you do when you’re Not focusing on laughing and I say
You know, I think I love you, maybe
And you say You know, I think, maybe, I love you too
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Post by Xteenuh on Jan 9, 2008 1:46:56 GMT
Oh my, I need to actually read this thread more often...
Wow Josh, Home Sweet Home is actually awesome. That first line really grabbed me and then I was entralled til the end, amazing!
Rhianne! WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU CANNOT WRITE?! I absolutely loved that, especially the last two lines.
Annddd Katie, that was so very very wonderful.
Wahhh ya'll are good!
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Post by Rhiflect on Jan 9, 2008 16:54:56 GMT
Thanks Katie I really like yours, especially the part about the note and the sharpie pen lyrics. It conjurs up a gorgeous picture. Ha, sigghh. I wrote something else last night. I dunno, it sounds more morbid than it's meant to be and I don't think it's as good as the last time. But ok. My Friend Bought Me A Sink Plunger For Christmas (For £3.50)Plunge down Plunge deep You've got to save yourself Obviously no-one around here can be bothered There's fingers plucking at my heart Digging in perfectly manicured nails Tearing strips off, bit by bit Waiting for them to crust over and me to harden up. But I can't I'm a soft shell Maybe I just need nail varnish Paint a sheen of strength over me now and again and again and again. *** Yeah, i'm really not sure about it. Cmnts?
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Post by atarilover1 on Jan 9, 2008 17:55:12 GMT
I wrote this on the train today its very short
"i drank rohypno and its making me numb shadow on the sidewalk i'm all alone"
i might extend it and make it into a song featuring my form tutor telling people to always check there drinks as the outro
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Post by Rhiflect on Jan 19, 2008 10:31:22 GMT
And again. Learning WW1 In History + Teenage Angst = Poetry My mind is a war zome My body a simple no-man's land No one treads there A barren wasteland of hope and fear If you will It's a non-negotiable situation The peaceless treaty Has been signed There's thoughts I don't think of For fear of rioting and General disrupt I am a land mine Waiting for the right person to tread on me I'll be here a while * * * Saturday morning routineTurn up Gwen Stefani on the radio Not because I like the song of anything But because it makes me feel good Smother my legs in Aloe Vera moisturiser Not because I like the smell or anything But because my legs will look like snakes if I don't Drench my hair in straightening spray Not because it works or anything But because if I drown it, it just might Put everything in the same bag as last week Not because I need to or anything But because I don't have any other nice ones Walk in to town Not because there's no transport or anything But because I enjoy the travelling solitude Smile at the old lady in the street Not because i know her or anything But because I want her to know that not all youngsters are scum. * * * ?
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Post by sarah on Jan 19, 2008 11:01:35 GMT
i wrote a poem about John Wayne Gacy but it's kind of shit
ohwell, here it is anyway:
Crawl-Space
So energy can't be destroyed, Kinetic, sound, forced to be stored. And then from me, Back and forth. You reached beneath these boards.
The stench! Oh God! So soft and fresh, From new, unwilling bones. It reaches down, It reached and reached, And reached beneath these boards.
My make-up trailed across the floors, It's nothing, a mask, whiteblueandred. But it's from me, It comes and goes, It reached beneath these boards.
And so! The end! You're thirty-three, Your flesh will be the last. So one last time, I'll reach and reach, And wretch beneath these boards.
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Post by Rhiflect on Jan 19, 2008 16:18:32 GMT
I don't know who that guy is, Sarah, but I love the poem.
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Post by sarah on Jan 19, 2008 16:36:39 GMT
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Post by Rhiflect on Jan 19, 2008 16:46:18 GMT
Now it makes loads more sense..it's great!
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Post by sarah on Jan 19, 2008 17:03:20 GMT
i probably should've put that in the original post, ohwell
and thankyou!
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Post by allison on Jan 19, 2008 21:26:03 GMT
oh yeah sufjan steves has a song about him.
i always thought it had something to do with john wayne cause i never listened closely to the lyrics.
nice poem, too.
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Post by bridgetbegins on Jan 19, 2008 21:42:43 GMT
We're up to about 45 poems in the chapbook. I can't decide whether I'm taking it seriously (these are quite literally my diary...) or just see it as an enormous joke (people in love are so silly... I can't believe I wrote half of this stuff.) But I keep typing poems and feel as if they need to be in it... Here are two more.
tentatively titled "satisfied" At some point after the first kiss and the first night I spend wrapped in your arms
it dwells on me, a feeling so foreign that it takes me weeks upon weeks to remember the neurons it previously triggered
and when it finally hits me it near bowls me over— it is the same feeling of empty stomach, empty fingers, empty lungs
when you are not here, it is like patting at your pocket for the lighter that you tossed because
smoking is bad, they say, and I could almost feel carcinomas forming, ugly and black in the midst of soft, fleshy lung each and every time I
lit up and took a drag of whatever one might find in clove cigarettes, the hands were filled and the stomach soothed and
the brain eased and the presence of you, it does the same—the heart slows and an overwhelming wave of
happiness crescendos in the back of my mind and it is all I can do to keep from grinning, grinning like the stupid idiot that I so hopelessly am
and all that comes to mind is you and your crooked smile and the Orion’s belt of freckles that live behind your knee
as long as I’m with you the craving is quenched
and... well, I'm open for a title on this one. you will play the vertebrae in my spine like the girl in white tights at her first recital
the raspberries wet and loud that you make against my stomach disturb the cat and she glares
when you wake your joints pop and crack satisfyingly you protest, I am old!
sleeping, sometimes, breaths are paired with indrawn whistles and snuffles of contentment
hush, you say come back to bed you’re thinking so hard I can’t sleep!
you whistle when you are not thinking about being quiet, nameless tunes without words
the sounds you make over the wires your voice, it is disconnected and metallic and sounds like tears and
it hits me like assorted heavy, hard projectiles you are two countries and eight hours away from me
for the first time in ever when I reach out you will not be there
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Post by Rhiflect on Jan 22, 2008 17:03:06 GMT
I love that, reading it makes me feel very relaxed. I love your style of writing.
Where Do I Come From? I'm Just A Sexy Thing
His job is shame But he can't show it His movements mean nothing But they can't know it Too far away to notice his veneer He doesn't mean it A man being paid for his plasticity They haven't seen it Take of today's costume Revealing his lifes cover His job is shame Thank God it's over.
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Post by thestars on Jan 22, 2008 17:37:18 GMT
My Friend Bought Me A Sink Plunger For Christmas (For £3.50)
That poem is class. Really. The bit about manicured nails and all. Also Bridgetbegins's poems. They're all so well written and flow so well. Wow, everybody's poems are amazing, infact, real inspiring. T xx
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Post by bridgetbegins on Jan 23, 2008 2:45:51 GMT
Many thanks Rhianne and thestars (I'm sorry, I know not your name). For anyone that's interested: the forty poems that are currently going into the chapbook, in wondrous/relatively chronological pdf form. www.megaupload.com/?d=JGPK50ZR
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Post by stationtostation on Feb 19, 2008 23:33:56 GMT
Again would anyone be kind enough to move this into the art/lit folder?
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Post by bridgetbegins on Feb 22, 2008 23:25:01 GMT
New words have finally been typed.
Sitting restless, tall in his Heavy sensible coat and Brooding air –
He says Fear the wind it Reaps the listless
Dark and deep into Coffee almost milk-white Assuredly too sweet it will
Near melt on the tongue Mothering waitress in Tight wrinkled poly-blend
Bangs matting against A forehead losing its battle Against oil and age and youth
Voice rasps, scrapes over Subtle syllables, gruff specials The passersby sweep in gust of winds
Pulling scarves, they are Powerless to do anything but follow Hats tipped back to spare
Precious inches of eye sight One sweeps in—a rush of Cold hot stinging eyes, dripping nose
Jangling door to disturb The oppressive silence, quiet buzzing of The unaffected, the non-afflicted
Sweep out, they are silently Wordlessly replaced—the broom Keeps sweeping harsh scuffs
Swinging arcs against the Tiled floor—replacing filth With more filth, a cycle never ending
Young flesh carelessly carefully Exposes soft sharp shoulders Deep restless innocence in
Headbands and tight pants Pink inherited from mother’s dresser Becomes old flesh covered in
Sensible hues of rose and rosemary Scarves, pant suits, practicality The mortgage dictates
We live on rice and beans and Instant coffee grinds to be reused And this is the last of this
For a while at least You must stop doing that, really Cut that habit, dear, it’ll
Cost us thousands in the long run We’d just be so much better off If you’d just— It's weird. I don't know if I like it...
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Post by Rhiflect on Feb 23, 2008 14:24:45 GMT
Well i love it! I love they way you write, it's so powerful yet subtle. eggsalts for you. x
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Post by thornyking on Feb 24, 2008 0:18:56 GMT
You all are exceptional! Feed me your writing skills! Or not. I'll suffice with exalts because I appreciate what I read.
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