The Book of Forum, number 1
The Forum According to Curran
Creation- or the First
In the beginning, there was nothing.
Then, there was more nothing.
Then there was someone's dog, but it went away really fast with our slipper.
And there then was still nothing.
Then there was a great blank stare.
The Great Blank Stare loomed over the blank, gray-green world and decided that something had to come. It took him three days. Well, we SAY it took three days, but who is to say what time is to the Great Blank Stare. To it, there was no day, par se. So let's just say it took a certain amount of time of random thoughts going in and out of its orange head for the decision to be made. Having decided, it then set to work creating the realm of Forum, and the many nations and inhabitants to populate it.
First were the Forums, many in number and layered like the frosting on a bundt cake. The Deviants realm, with its wild growth and cycle of life and death. The fiery and dangerous lands of Complaints, where only the stou
TrenchesShe's aphasic. She doesn'tTrenches11 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
cough mustard gas
from rice paper lungs.
Her armies have learned
it's habit to fight,
lose a black mud trench
and retake it
five hours later.
For one million casualties,
one hundred yards were gained.
is ten thousand men down,
and she crawls
over their bodies,
fingers and toes
with dirt, blood,
and blue flesh.
Sometimes I'm so hungry
that I feel full,
sick and clenched.
my empty hands feel
like they're holding something
if I am nowhere am I everywherif I am nowhere am I everywher13 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I am talking to her saying our roads
will be all that's left; that our avenues
will turn to altars, set in onyx.
look what we remember of Rome,
all pavements and temples
arranged like vertebrae in dirt
that goes on living, full with prayer;
and as I say this, it occurs to me that in a Mexican bar
in Florence I might disappear
to the streets and run, eyeless
through an eyeless crowd,
(take me, Florence! I am a son among these heartbroken stones,
take me from the marble block lift me out!)
to laugh hysterically; she is pulling me,
her warmth comes breathlessly from the air;
we are foreigners,
we are rain. (I am inventing this,
all of this happened elsewhere, another night)
her face turns to laugh illuminated
and everything else wobbling is blue
and forgotten; lifeboats drawn away
from our bodies that are continents
moving full with rice and squash and sins
named in small homes before saints and fire;
listen. I was not there by the long bar
when everyone turned and pulled us
into the st
StorytimeStorytime13 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Scalding bathes for Lolita
shake her body up.
And arsenic drinks,
the coroner thinks,
were responsible for the scars.
Now little mother spanish
and stoic papa cry.
Mourning and lamenting,
sister Nola dies -
of suicide, they say.
Two children in a day.
Another wake, funeral cake,
now everyone\'s asking why.
A week goes by
and Lorelai, their sitter in arrears,
\"When those children called
I wished that they would die!
So I bathed the youngest quiet,
after tepid poisoned tea,
and strung her sister,
up on the willow tree.\"
umbrellasI.umbrellas11 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
A boy putters in the hotel
by a single thread of duty--
it is wound
twice around the doorknob,
pulls taut at his wrist.
Recede through the keyhole,
and his keepers are weary,
sprawled like dead
leaves on bedspreads,
A small girl wails, maybe three,
her teethy pitch escalating
In the rented night,
her last cry strangles,
undone by hands
A forty-foot red curtain separates us
from the amphibious stage.
At the cirque du soleil
(i squint to see the sun),
clowns chase leaks
with patchy umbrellas.
This is a present, a moment
like a birthday. But
i do not know my father's age--
in rows of rivets, well-provided
and well-dressed, we spring
Chuckling at clowns,
They all wear flower-
i am nothing
i will invest
in an umbrella
to grow up.
good weather for fishing.good weather for fishing10 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
He thinks it is good weather for fishing.
The second woman
with old hair and powder made from crushed seashells
sips swamp water from the mouth of the man with a flat Crow nose
and he culls her hair with hands, not his alone,
turning her neck into a cornstalk leaning,
whispering "Bia, Bia".
He tells the other one, in stockings rolled to her ankles,
that the Whip-poor-will was out last night halving babies
from moonstones, into the dirt they come from.
And yes, he saw the fox swallowing
up the road with scatterpaws,
a fishing rod tucked behind his terracotta fur.
A tick to tell time by; that water must be teaming.
The second woman hangs her body in the air
long enough to say "I never trust a man whose mama
didn't teach him the piano."
And what kind of fool, with the pockmark face,
lopes in a room beneath the kitchen floor
building trains no man can sit in,
building engines to run on
SelectivityWhy a word? This is no particular thing.Selectivity11 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
It can't be defined in an objective way.
The unstated dangles by half-open mouths,
a yawn like a cat stretching blithely at noon
as silence leans back on an unbalanced stool --
let it fall. The moment suggests it should be so.
If I see that your eyes project pictures behind
the irises, protean circles and spires
of curious leadings in lines of blank swaths
of colour, then I should say nothing.
now find my lips quaver with verbiage amiss
and I fail to a sentence, or rather, this kiss.
Don't trust Linux zealots 1.01Don't trust Linux zealots 1.0111 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Windows User has entered chatroom: help
Windows User: Hey, can I get some help? I keep getting an error message when I try to run Photoshop CS.
Linux User: Switch to Linux.
Windows User: Isn't it a bit extreme to change my operating system because of the error in Photoshop? All I want to know is how to fix the error.
Linux User: Look, I'm going to give it to you straight. Microsoft are terrible when it comes to security. For your own sake, switch to Linux so you don't get infected by viruses or trojans.
Windows User: But I never open any unwanted email attachments, and besides I have a virus scanner which I update daily plus a firewall. Do I really need to use Linux?
Linux User: Microsoft want to take over the entire software market, and the internet. If they succeed, it will make life hell for all of us who use open-source software instead of Micro$oft's proprietary software.
Windows User: What is open-source and proprietary soft
Don't Know Love, Can SwingI Don't Know Love, But I Can SwingDon't Know Love, Can Swing10 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Well-versed in the syncopations
of love's first calls and fully read-up
on the sonnets available from the muse,
this park swing finds me an avid follower
of a new way. I don't know love anymore,
but I do know swinging in the park. And I find it
hard to fathom that there is any depth
left in the subject that cannot be
plumbed by kicking the ground hard
and having your heart lurch into your
mouth indecently. Love is,
after all, only an abstract way to trip
yourself repeatedly and blame it on someone.
And heartbreak is every scraped knee, gravel
and blood embedded obscenely in each other.
I'd rather wager my fortune on a swing
tied with ropes too long, than a man
tied with words and promises
to me, tied with words and promises -
No, I'd rather fight gravity, lose
and fight again, than love a man
and love a man and come down,
hit the ground and love a man again.
The Living Trees1.The Living Trees10 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
When all the knots aren't
tied, none of my violences
matter. I am only a gust of wind
and the man won't take his coat off
for me. You will always be the sun -
too hot and insistent, and they'll
all disrobe before they know you've spoiled
me for a fight. And I'll just blow, and blow.
When all the knots
aren't tied, do you know who you've gone
and married in your dreams?
Deep under a pool, the living trees.
Deep under the chill lake, three
new ways to love. We dive
like ducks in dreams, we dive
like ducks that don't come up.
What dryad nymphs are these?
Deep under water, they call.
Three ways, three trees, three
new kinds of fall.
Like I pack
and pens. Three new
kinds of sex. I've tucked
them all into each
other so one's as
handy as another when
the time comes. I'm packing
a Bible, too, I always do,
because your people shall
be my people and your God
shall be my God and ruth
is something I must wrap
in swaddling clothing, tuck
into my breast
Meeting EveMeeting Eve11 years ago in Science Fiction More Like This
The alarm rang, its harsh shriek shattering Lucy's uneasy slumbers. Opening her eyes she glanced across at the numbers on the dial. Ten to nine. She read the clock face again. Still ten to nine. With an exhaled profanity she threw back the covers and jumped from the bed. Bare feet hitting cold stone. She glanced wildly around the room for any moderately clean garments and sighting a pair of semi-laddered tights and a black work dress draped rather forlornly over the door handle, she scrabbled to put them on. Glancing over to the clock again Lucy uttered another curse. She was going to be late. She'd have to tell them there was a bomb drill in her building. She wondered briefly if anyone would bother to check up. Probably not.
Once dressed, Lucy made her way into the kitchen, no longer feeling the need for urgency. If she was going to be late she might as well make the most of it.
The apartment was small but adequate; one bedroom, one kitchen and living area, a small bathroom with a sho
_+_ equals Queer?_+_ equals Queer?10 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Quietness seeps in my bones, pulling at my thoughts.
Remorse sets in like arthritis, remembering what others forgot
"Give me liberty, or give me death!" Yet, restrictions grow ever near.
Girl + Girl = okay, but Guy + Guy = Queer?
Love comes in many forms, but limited to a few
The rainbow is out numbered by the red, white, and blue
Religious matters, over run our great democracy
But, all the while it doesn't matter, for my eyes they still can see
Stop the violence against homosexuals, help a fellow man
Yet, when we get the chance, we beat down the other man?
Acting like we are the victims, yet we discriminate just like them
We may see life through different eyes, but we are all still God's men
Sinners? Yes! Wrong in God's eyes. But we still bleed like you!
And, when we love, we love just as hard too!
Women + Man = Marriage, we don't mean to invade on your space
We just want to have civil rights, we don't ask for God's grace.
Presidents, politicans, Pope's, and religious activists
GunslingingGunslinging12 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
says the author at our building door,
"that there are no fires in Brooklyn."
But he is blind at 8:00,
and too easily persuaded by the dole of feminists
skinned by gabbling coins,
as good a donation as a hunger artist could hope for.
His only subjects of choice are
and the sexual affections of male ballet dancers;
but he has never broached them in the same conversation.
This is why. This is why,
when we hear him talking about fire,
we are all thrown from the memory
of our standard/gather-round/assumed positions,
and why we all
to find vacant plots on the cement around him,
and whip out our lighters and dear cigarettes:
agile, self-mangling gunslingers,
we have been prepared for this pleasant novelty
Devotion Far AwayI don't know who it is youDevotion Far Away10 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
think walks down these nights
with you. Couldn't be
me, I live too far out in
the desert and there are five
goal posts between here and
where you'd think to land. I know
four women, though, look like
your hips and I have loved them
darkly. If I could line them
up along a merry river, we'd stop
with birds and stones. If they would
drink, another win to sing across
the gorge. As it is, I tune bare feet
to the earth now, after you, after
your ways. I drink drum beats
through the soles of my feet, my heart
hears Jesus walking back in.
The end time's coming, I know. My loves,
let's be wearing each others'
clothes when they come counting.
elephantasmaelephantasma11 years ago in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
this is forgetting:
moon-drenched ivory, and grey flesh
made hollow with lead.