smegal

Figured I'd try to give a little, rather than just leeching bandwith, so here's two recent poems:

The Conversation

Drama is your drug of choice
Thinking is mine
I remember our conversation
My mind drifting
Tracing shapes
Painting a chapel on your ceiling
With one ear open
Nodding at the appropriate time
History crumbles before me
And there’s nothing I can do
Trying to hold on is like
Trying to carry a river home in a bucket



Bystander

The end of the world is not in a book
But in my walk through
the heat
that surrounds me
Sirens split
the air
Flaming sheets
whip themselves
Like comets falling
from an orangey sky
The burned out shell of a store
Glass on the pavement
under my shoe
A grinning stuffed clown
Lying sideways,
Price tag still affixed
Acidic smoke rises
Around the block
A group
of black school kids sit
Corralled
in a corner
Hands
Zip-tied behind them
Their eyes
Sullen
Their faces
hang like wallpaper

amonkie

I really like the first one! I had never thought of using those images before - they work really well. Thanks for sharing! I look forward to seeing more...

__________________
Calling from deep in the heart, from where the eyes can't see and the ears can't hear, from where the mountain trails end and only love can go... ~~~ Three Rivers Hare Krishna

K-Wise

I like both of them but the imagery of Bystander was a slide show of pictures in my head for each line. I liked that. I'll be sure and look out for more of your work.

Asta!!

__________________
"I love music and it's my parents fault (closing statement)." - Me..quoting myself...from when I said that...On TFP..thats here...Tilted Forum Project

It ain't goodbye, it's see ya later! I'll miss you guys! - Asta!!

smegal

Thanks for the positive feedback! Here's two more:

Shades (Spenserian Sonnet)
v. intr.
To pass from one quality, color, or thing to another by very slight changes or degrees.

I used to call you brother
A tangled offering at your feet
But one thing leads to another
In a shadowy town on a shadowy street

Where even angels must entreat
Our wax wings carried fire on high
Conjoining stars erupt defeated
And drop like comets from the sky

The hour is late and I deny
We’re growing soft in death’s embrace
Appreciations’s dying eye
A bitter orb for your embrace

Addicted to what you refuse to see
You’re assuming my identity


Dreams of Butterfingers

Marionette in my head
A thick porterhouse steak
Pulls up a seat next to me
How ya doin?
I reach through
With my fork
Creamy sky
Frames the inevitable
Broiled sunset
I swing from red vines
And cannonball into a sea of orange juice
I take a bite from the strawberry alarm clock
I’ll be late

And then
Awake
In the company of seaweed
And driftwood
And bibles
I bite my hand
The thick swirling dark
Swallowed me whole
Alone,
I’m just talking
To myself

Yeah baby
Sweet Jesus, yes!
The pizza is here!
And ice cold beer
Tear open some bear claws
Oh, eat them wrapper and all!
With a foot long sandwich…
Those Butterfingers I was dreaming about
They taste just like their name

high_way

i like shades a lot but i have to ask, what is a Spenserian Sonnet? i sence that shades is about a lost one but im not sure, the mean is a little intertwined in the rest of it, but i like.

thank you.

__________________
A stranger is just a friend you havent met yet.

Impostor of the imposturous

smegal

A sonnet is a 14 line poem that is usually rhymed. A Spenserian sonnet follows a particular rhyming scheme. The first and third lines rhyme, as do the second and fourth. The tricky part is, the fourth line -also- has to rhyme withe the first line of the next stanza.

A good sonnet should tell a story, with a bit of a twist in the third stanza, and the very last two lines should sort of tell you what the whole thing is all about.

Sonnets were used by Elizabethen poets to show off their manliness, essentially. My guess is this was to compensate for wearing tighty whiteys and ridiculous boots.

The important thing about poetry, like any art, is what it means to you as a viewer, not what it means to the artist. For you, the poem may be about a lost one. For me, it's about a relationship in which person A looks up to person B, person A grows up and no longer worships person B, person B can't cope with that and changes into person A in an effort to keep the relationship going.

That's probably more information than anybody wanted.

Cheers!

smegal

This is a very cheeky poem I wrote about Christmas, a long time ago
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Christmas with the Family

Midnight at the sanitarium, Christmas time is here
An unlocked door
No guards around
Let’s spread some holiday cheer

A fragile twisted killer, taking life without a pause
A murderer on self-parole, playing Santa Claus
Into cold nights air, escape without a trace
Corroded dreams fill his mind, blood with no disgrace

It’s two o’clock in the morning, Johnny’s still awake
Waiting up for Santa, what presents will he take?
It’s three o’clock in the morning, there’s pounding on the door
Is it Johnny’s sister’s boyfriend, come to give her more?

Johnny swells with excitement, Santa Claus is here
Anticipating what he wants, blissful holiday cheer
Running down the stairs, Christmas comes too sudden
He reaches final steps to see, Mommy getting bludgeoned

Commotion from behind him, Daddy’s got a gun
All this folly must stop, end of holiday fun
Santa’s in his sights, crosshairs are aligned
Daddy’s gun commences to jam; his life is out of time

Watching wide with horrid eyes, Johnny’s spine shivers
He sees the beautiful holiday colors, the red flows in rivers
Running to his bedroom door, locking it behind him
Johnny’s in the closet, praying Santa does not find him

Heavy footsteps on the stairs, sirens in the distance
Santa screams his battle cry, “Merry Fucking Christmas!!”
Johnny’s mind is numb, he can’t take it anymore
Deliver us from evil; he hears the axe against the door

Screeching tires in the street, running up the stairs
Santa smashes through the door, ignoring the siren’s blare
Stalking toward the closet, final victim in his sights
Gunshots rain like fireworks, ending Christmas night

Lying in his pool of blood, no more Christmas dreams to sell
Oh fragile twisted killer, burn in Santa Claus hell
Johnny is much better now; he lives live with a new cause
He can hardly wait for years to come, when he can play Santa Claus