for the chosen onefor the chosen one8 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
when i was born my own personal carnage began
shocked into a reality i would never liken to
while others suck their putrid cigar air
swim poluted rivers, spawning in a gambling miasma
magnificent horses, their great bulk standing on fingernails
would run mile after single mile
at the end of their short lives
convelesce at the gates of a glue factory
or to be shot
or the lucky ones who were loved for more than a fat purse
would eat sweet grass in some peaceful field
i wish i was born one thousand years ago
to ride through the castle gate
dressed in velvet
scarlet as a setting sun
guarding my chastity
for the chosen one
I Hear the Fallen SingingI Hear the Fallen SingingI Hear the Fallen Singing4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
It is a song of silence,
Quiet as a whisper,
But louder than the loudest crackle
Of thunder or the mightiest roar of a
No words are needed to describe
What time can no longer reach
Nor light, nor sound, nor voice
Can envelop and surround
Six feet under they lie
Yet up above they lie in wait
Eternal sentinels of earthly vices
Their absence louder than cathedral choirs
Their presence stronger than a breaking wave
Crashing upon a sandy shore.
Oh, how far they have fallen!
Their unearthly screams piercing even the
Most impenetrable defenses
And yet, how high they have flown
Untouchable and insurmountable!
:Onion Myth: EDIT VERSIONThe Onion. . .:Onion Myth: EDIT VERSION6 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
A long time ago, there lived poor couple that owned a farm. Although quite lacking in wordly goods, having each other was enough for them. One day, while they were both farming in their field, something rather peculiar appeared. The rather peculiar thing appeared to be a demon of sorts. Suddenly, in a split moment, the raging demon grabbed his wife and before her husband could blink, they both vanished. He stared in shock at the spot.
The man became extremely depressed. Suddenly, another rather peculiar thing appeared from the horizon, came up to him and said, What troubles you?
Who and what are you? he replied.
For now, I have no name, so you may call me the creator, he said. After explaining everything, which didnt take very long, the creator offered to help the man.
The creator held up a large sack and said, Use this and gather as many items for your journey as you can. So, the man went around hi
chewing the impossibleDraw me laughter,chewing the impossible6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
describe a color to me,
spread a rumor with me about the taste
of water, rhyme a word with orange,
love me more than i love you,
pronounce caramel correctly,
make love in three different languages.
Unfold yourself like a newspaper
and flutter into the world, barking mad,
inky and smelling
of the comic section.
Eat love. Eat in general. Tie your little brothers shoes.
Conquer grief loudly
with crayons or kisses
Two scoops instead of one.
Finish that song, sleep in.
In Progress: Help WantedIn Progress: Help Wanted8 years ago in Humor More Like This
My scientist friend tells me that if there was a giant room filled with monkeys banging away on typewriters for all time, one of them would eventually write a novel. I don't bother asking her if typos are allowed or not, because this conversation has nothing to do with novels—she is explaining LIFE to me. A typewriter has twenty-six letters, ten numbers and all that punctuation, but this really isn't much to choose from. She tells me, the building blocks of LIFE are pretty simple, too. I remember 8th grade science. I don't think there's anything simple about endoplasmic reticulum, and I bet the spelling is the least complicated bit about it.
We're chatting while we watch something on Discovery Channel about how they found "what appear to be fossilized bacteria" on some Martian rock or some-such, and I'm trying to figure out what's so cool about bacteria. She thinks this is proof of her typing monkeys, and I think it sounds like time to change the subject.
"Scrabble?" I suggest.
ScrutinyAnd when I am formulated, sprawling on a pin,Scrutiny5 years ago in Open More Like This
When I am pinned and wriggling on the wall,
Then how should I begin
~ T.S. Eliot, "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock
I am going through the keyless gate
to watch and wait,
to wander here and there among the proud,
among the white and old whose wisdom rots, repressed, untold:
the soporific royals wreathed in leaves of gold.
And to them I shall read aloud from the Book,
read of the sins their lips have took
and upon me they shall look and patiently reflect
I am lost in my own depth, I will say
in a slight, impartial way
(for I lack violets and an antic princes love)
and they, floating through their channels deep
dare to drown me in my sleep and in their orisons remember
So shall I be a queen bone and ash,
of crawling worms and sullied, melting flesh.
Kissed by death, I shall burn upon a pyre
knowing only distance and desire and, rising from the fire,
I shall step with soft, unfettered feet
I will search out your shapeI will search out your shape--I will search out your shape5 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
your parted mouth, the red esophagus,
a tongue limp with hunger
like the heavy sound of a bell.
I will find the dust of my skin
in the ancient impressions of
fingers on your body.
and In the cool stone of your nails
I will rest and grow to be the moss
that only you can see,
the downy hairs penetrating
the back of your long neck
are tall trees in the Sahara.
We will sleep in one room
and share exhalations.
Your eyes will be the windows.
and we will keep our secrets
pressed between our bodies
until they are wet and run together
like slick fish--
and finally, when it is dark,
we will lay to bed our cares,
our thirst, when the dust on the
floorboards retreats like a soft gray wave--
we will scatter our clothes and offer them
to the Spring moon, and peel off our skins
as carefully and easily as flower petals--
and then my kiss will swim in your blood,
freely and without despair.
The Umbrella LettersDear Mr. and Mrs. Umbrella,The Umbrella Letters6 years ago in Socio-political More Like This
I'm writing out of concern for your son Charlie. Since he first started in my class I have noticed odd tendencies in his behaviour. I know Charlie is a special boy, but the way these tendencies develop is beginning to worry me. He seems to be having troubles communicating with others. He rarely plays with the other children and does not respond when I speak to him. His writing is beginning to stray from the alphabet. Last week he even refused to partake in morning prostration! I took him to see the school nurse but he remained silent for the entire time and did not subject himself to examination. I therefore ask you to bring Charlie to a doctor in order to find out what is causing these problems.
Miss Edna Umber, Umbrellium Primary School
Dear Mr. and Mrs. Umbrella,
After the examination of your son, we have been able to establish that he is not suffering from any apparent physical illness or dysfunction. There appears to be nothing wrong wit
Destroy This PoemDestroy This PoemDestroy This Poem6 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
To the person grading this poem
To the kind, patient woman hovering over this with a pen
Waiting to say kind, patient words in response, do me a favor:
Dont Patronize me.
I did not slave over this with hammer and anvil
Shaping it into a masterpiece.
I didnt paint it onto the ceiling of some church,
Going blind from the pain and the stress.
I didnt even turn this in on time.
And while Im writing this in my fifth-period economy class,
You can bet Im not concerned with iambs and troches and Italian terza rima.
No, Im concerned with how much water is left in my water bottle.
This isnt a masterpiece.
Who are we kidding?
Youre not going to hurt it, and you most certainly arent going to hurt me.
Dont patronize me.
I want you to destroy my work.
I want you to rip it to shreds with sadistic dominatrix glee.
Tear it apart from margin to margin;
Laugh openly at its crippled, struggling body.