If I Were A LineIf I were a lineIf I Were A Line7 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
I think Id be curled,
billowed and swirled,
and slowly unfurled.
Id sweep over a page,
if I were a line,
with the wind in my hair,
and my heart laid bare.
Thats what Id be,
if I were a line.
If I were a spot
Id be round and fat
(now how about that?)
like an old, well-fed cat.
Id have drizzled and dropped,
if I were a spot,
pittering and pattering
with a slight hint of smattering.
Thats what Id be,
if I were a spot.
If I were a colour
Id be a rich red,
like a painted deathbed
or a sword to the head.
Id lunge for macabre,
if I were a colour,
made oh-so dramatic,
my thoughts all sporadic.
Thats what Id be,
if I were a colour.
But I am a human,
so pale and flawed,
and easily bored,
(wishing I was adored).
I twist and bend
(these hinges, you see?);
my shape is no other
than the one I can be;
My colour, it changes
because I am a human:
a human thats me.
The PastThe past is behindThe Past7 years ago in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
But I still feel the ripples
Disrupting my flow.
LifeIve seen the world with these two eyes.Life8 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
A movie played inside my mind.
Ive traveled the seas in half the time
Without ever leaving home.
Ive spread my wings but didnt fly
Ive touched heaven, but I didnt die
Had the chance to ask God why
Without ever receiving an answer.
Ive count the stars and made to ten
Lost track and had to start again.
People laughed, but thats how we make friends
Without ever knowing their name.
Ive loved completely and watched them leave
I tell the storysome dont believe
Let them go or did you flee?
Without seeing what tomorrow brings.
Ive cried like I would never smile
Walked in darkness for half a mile
Saw the sun in the distance for a small while
Without ever feeling its rays.
Ive walked the beachestasted the breeze
There was a time that Ive felt free.
Touched my soul and let life be
Without any regrets to hold.
Ive laughed until I could not breathe
Gasped for air a
Haikai no RengaThe Tools of Poetry #1: Haikai no RengaHaikai no Renga7 years ago in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
Written by Dick Whyte, Phylis Johnson and Reginald Webber
Summary: This text details the mechanics and philosophy of the Japanese poetic form known as Haikai no Renga. A group of people comprised of both professional poets and so-called 'non-poets' (preferably) gather. One of them comprises a starting line, a dyad consisting of a paradox, or contradictory statement. One might be I am blue, but I am not blue, while another might be I am sad, and yet I am happy. In Western terms this might be considered a piece of philosophical nonsense, an absurdity. Each starting line reiterates 'I am being and yet I am not being'. This phrase is an impossibility surely? Classical Western philosophy often asserts this view. As Aristotle writes after Parmenides, That which is not could [not] in any way exist [or
Sex.Love is lustingSex.8 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Love is trusting
Love is thrusting.
if you do-
is a vex;
for the worse.
Pulling the pieces
Through nephews and nieces.
Like the word unheard.
and with luck -
But those who care
Those who live
But what is life
A goddamn vex.
Haiku: Finding the Right WordsIt is hard to speakHaiku: Finding the Right Words7 years ago in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
when seventeen syllables
is all you have left.
I dance in clown shoes.I dance in clown shoes.11 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
You compose your conversations.
Fitfully gesturing with whatever you hold,
ending arguments with a flourish.
Make a point, now whirl, quickly.
Make it impossible to counter with your unpunctuation.
You duck and weave, spin, sidestep, pirouette:
One, two, one, two, faster, harder, stronger.
You leave me confused and two steps back,
just far enough behind to appear lost and unsure.
And if I catch up, if I make a point,
you spin again, a trail of words falling like pixie dust
as you make your escape.
And as you storm out, you slam the period behind you,
Ending your sentence with a door.
And I must follow you, my thuds down the stairs preceding my statement,
trying to catch up before the page break.
Now I capitalize a W, and follow with an a, i, t.
And you pause, spin, speak, gesture, spin, continue.
A waltz to counter my four-four.
You don't dance your words-
you speak a dance.
You speak a dance Baryshnikov couldn't follow.
You rapidly reverse the rhythm,
changing tempo in a blur of sound
IcarusWho are you, and what am I?Icarus8 years ago in Spoken Word More Like This
Remember me? I touched the sky
I flew too hard and burned too fast
Dreams like mine, they just don't last
I touched the sun on feathered limbs
I satisfied my wildest whims
But I burnt out, and I fell down
My body wasn't ever found
But don't remember me for how I failed
I embody all the dreams that've sailed
So who are you, and what am I?
Remember me? I wasn't afraid to fly.
Death is a GentlemanDo I have a reason to fear Death?Death is a Gentleman6 years ago in Spoken Word More Like This
He is kind and he's quiet,
He listens as well;
He'll drive you to Heaven,
He'll cart you to Hell.
His vest is embroidered
With little white curls
He puts flowers in His pockets
Which He gives to the girls.
He likes to eat chocolate,
(Or so I've heard)
And He keeps in a cage
a little pet bird.
His skeletal horses
Always look proper;
His wine is uncorked
and untouched by the stopper.
His shoes are so polished
You can see yourself in them,
His laces are always tied
Just below His pant hem.
His bones are quite sturdy
And never look brittle;
In fact, I have heard
He quite likes to whittle.
He makes little horses
And little toy men
Which He gives to young patrons
And smaller children.
He tells jokes on occasion,
But He's always polite;
His laugh is infectious
and His chatter is light.
He sweet-talks the ladies
and jokes with the men;
He makes your time worth it,
He won't see you again.
His hat is quite tall
and His suit's always pressed;
And He'll try for yo
DepressedDepressed8 years ago in Spoken Word More Like This
Once again all alone
I suppose I must deserve it
I'm clingy and annoying
Obnoxious and dense
Rash and silly
Lazy and obsessive
Sometimes I hate myself
I want to draw people in
But only push them away
I cry so much lately
Because everything hurts
Maybe I'm not meant to be happy
I force my smile
I fake my laugh
Does anyone notice?
Does anyone care?
It's not "Like Me" to be so
Depressed? Upset? Angry?
What is 'like me'?
Someone tell me
Because I don't know myself anymore
Once again, as before
I'm all alone
Meaning of lifeThe meaning of lifeMeaning of life6 years ago in Spoken Word More Like This
Life is beauty
Beauty can be a thing you like.
I like fish.
Thus Meaning of life is fish.
On ParabolaOn Parabola10 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
With subatomic subtlety settling on his brow,
he said 'Time's a broken arrow
that points from then to now.'
Once a grain, I entreated him
to stop this flow of sand,
'You're immersed in the irreversible
until, entropical, I land.'
In that glass all is hours,
the busted bucket and the spade,
and each collapsing castle
that our spilt ice cream made.
Since his hands are tide
we can all be shore,
when the sediment slides
there is no more.
Barefoot Today I ran barefoot. It's the only way to run. You don't know freedom until you've run without shoes. Without soles weighing you down. Or laces tying you back. Run without inhibitions.Barefoot6 years ago in Spoken Word More Like This
Today I ran down hills and across busy streets. Feet pounding against hot asphalt. Running through cool, damp, grass. Balancing on curbs. And jogging along walls .
Today I ran down crowded sidewalks, shoes in hand, not returning glances. Silent questions hang heavy in the air. They watch me as I make my way down the street. I zig-zag past trash bins and over recycle bins. The hurdles of city life.
Today I cut across lawns. Made my way through parking lots. Past schools, silent, empty for the summer. Ran past yards with inflatable pools and grills waiting to be lit. Through hopscotches drawn in chalk. Pink dust clinging to my feet.
Today I ran barefoot. Ignoring snide remarks and odd stares. I just ran. Leaving ever
A Legacy of WisdomYou have scribed your words,A Legacy of Wisdom6 years ago in Open More Like This
wealthy wreaths of wisdom,
on paper never torn or worn.
You have etched your passions
on my brow.
You have left this wallowed world
victorious; eyes resplendent
with the wisdom you wrote and wrought.
Your passions shall echo in my ears
And should I stray into some
sullen storm, or get caught in
the torrents of the monsoon, Ill know
that Lears been there before, and
Ill not swoon.
And if Hades doors open up
before my stranded soul, and scorch
it with the heat of hell, Ill recall that
I am not the first Dantes been down
there as well.
And if on my death-bed I mourn
the life I wasted on wine and stale
chocolate bars, Ill recall Wildes words and
hope that, though long in the gutter, I did
glimpse the stars.
SorryI hate it that theSorry7 years ago in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
closer I get to you the
more I hurt inside
AnarchyScream the anthem of the anarchist!Anarchy12 years ago in Open More Like This
What is it? Exactly.
I won't tell you; make it up.
Go away. Blow it up.
Burn it down. Deface the town.
But don't give in,
Never -- no.
That's the song we all love so.
Freedom past extremity.
Far away, in my backyard
I own the world; I am a bard.
I wear a beard and shave my head;
All the normals want me dead.
I won't give up; I ramble rave.
You'll never make me behave.
My brother, loser, freak, meek geek
You know-- the beatnick, hippy, punk--
The rock bands my parents debunk--
We treasure what we cannot have:
No allegiance to any flag.
wings are better than...said the bird to thewings are better than...6 years ago in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
fly, "the world is as transpar-
ent as your fucked wings."
said the fly to the
bird, "your heart is as hollow
as your brittle bones."
NonexistenceI pray to a God I have never seen,Nonexistence7 years ago in Open More Like This
who lives in a world that has never been,
to save my heart that has never felt,
from eternity's failures, eternity's guilt.
My feet step on grounds no men stepped before,
my lips taste the poison, bitter and sore,
yet it does not kill me,
does that mean,
that I am immortal,
or that I've never been?
I pray to a God that may not exist,
while the iron shackle tears up my wrist,
to tell me the difference of being and not,
to show me the memories that I forgot.
My mind flies to places nobody has reached,
to learn that the stars are nothing but bleached,
spots on the dark, they're not even light,
I think that's 'cause real light brings nothing but fright:
It's bound to discover
all crimes, neatly covered.
I pray to a God because maybe he is,
unlike me and the world,
in them I miss
something to reach.
Description of a PoemThoughts on paper,Description of a Poem8 years ago in Spoken Word More Like This
Emotions in ink.
Verse that shows
What the artist may think.
Not just words
That rhyme or not.
It's a writer's emotion,
Their deepest thought.
To write great poetry
So deep and true,
It must come from emotions
Deep inside of you.
What you feel is what you write.
It helps to let it all out.
It's the perfect outlet
For those who don't scream and shout.
Do not be afraid
To let the world know.
Say what you think,
And let your emotions go.
deathdeath11 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
at the station
one exhausted passenger
the train on the track whistles
you have to obey
get on it
and ride away
one exhausted passenger
the trip ended where it began
Turner's HillOn Turners Hill in snow lit sky,Turner's Hill8 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
the very dead of night, and cold,
the joy of life is measured by
a brace of wind and stinging snow
the bane of hand and eye.
Scudding clouds do not deter
the laughs, the shoves, the dares,
a dangerous game is playing here,
unknown by those who run and slide
a fate awaits the years.
Dot Com Derrek struck it rich,
Stilwell died of cancer,
Alex never found his niche,
William died a soldiers death,
Jack became a dancer.
Sled on dear boys! and show no lack
of boldness off the mark!
One by one, straight down the track,
the hill is life and night is death,
there is no going back.
out of Gardenwhat seaout of Garden7 years ago in Open More Like This
how it is welling your eyes a wet mess
where urchins of the ocean will spill to howl their elegy
where mermaids will turn widows
once brine has swallowed whole their sailor babes
stewarding the land instead
is why i never set sail with you
but to lay in gardens, oh
a bed sheet rotten by the ultraviolet
and our laps full of stars
what black soil will pervert your knees there
where moonlight will mirror out from your teeth
to run fanatic toward cosmic space
after bathing in the space among us
where walking air pushes every dust
one of sun-dried butterflies
one of beaten rug with broom
one of honey bees minus harvest
one from sands of human crust
when traced is an orb monster, Jupiter
around your left breast, so that nipple
a blood storm just under the skin
and asking where you sowed the marigolds
is only to hear you choke the words time and water
in the same sentence
to hear you say there will be no rain for a week
while an ocean is
Pixie Dust and Fairy TalesLife is not always rainbows,Pixie Dust and Fairy Tales6 years ago in Spoken Word More Like This
With pots of gold to be found,
Life is often madness,
In which we can only drown
Life is not perfect,
It forces us often to our knees,
Life is like candy,
It is sometimes bittersweet
Life is not always wonderful,
So many things can go wrong,
But it can be so, so beautiful,
With a joyous, radiant song
Life can leave us angry,
Leave us bitter, leave us worn,
And with so many paths to choose,
Sometimes we feel torn
Life has no magic pixie dust,
To make all things right,
And so we lose ourselves in fairy tales,
To ward away our fright
Life should be about living,
But sometimes it's passion is denied,
And in the end all we remember,
Is the many times we've cried
Life is not pixie dust and fairy tales,
As so many would believe,
Life, in all it's glory,
Continually makes us bleed
jlp November 2, 2009
Perspectives of a Hallucino...Comfort. The softness of the basement couch. Misery loves company.Perspectives of a Hallucino...7 years ago in Open More Like This
Trickling through my fingers. Whispering across my face, her disappearing
lips trace across my cheeks. The smell is sweet, but she is rough against
my throat. Her smell isn't so much intoxicating as it is suffocating, yet
the smoke paralyses my senses and touches my soul. Her street name is
undeserving of her effect on me. Forever, she shall be known to me as
Mary-Jane. I will never know her beauty.