Poet Tree

Discussion in 'Lounge' started by pseudonymous, Nov 11, 2011.

  1. pseudonymous

    pseudonymous Obtuse Kineticist

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    Just a place for any poets in the community to share their work....


    11/11/11

    standing hapless in between closure and moving on
    the awkward silence casting a big strained sigh
    the moment i realized i might of stayed too long
    everyone embarrassed for motives undefined

    got used to the weight of dragging that key around
    a door a barrier to hide behind rather than a plateau
    going through the same motions will destroy my grace
    letting go i shall forget more than most will ever know

    i could sit looking over that past topography for a stretch
    life far more influencial than eventual possibilities at hand
    certainty lies ahead of uncertainty lying about past deeds
    prospects numerous drift on the wind like grains of sand

    glancing down at belongings meant to prove i belonged
    no one is going to claim the body the baggage or the memory
    our fair value is as transient as each generation's obsessions
    nothing as sad as the man pretending life off of past glory

    there is lightness to my step as i lean forward to find my pace
    a smile the last thing i remembered as i closed my tired eyes
    letting go of one's nature becomes the most natural thing
    somewhere something is bound to happen as i take to the skies

    ~ DC Vision
     
  2. IowaGuy

    IowaGuy Hunter-Gatherer

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    Hi Pseudo, fun thread! To change the pace a bit from your contemplative poem, here is one I wrote during a backpacking trip in the Rockies:


    Summer Snow
    Iowa Guy

    Snowfall on my tent, this midsummer's eve
    So late into June, who would believe?​

    Winter, so stubborn, with her heavy hand
    As spring fades away in Rocky Mountain Land.​

    Tomorrow brings summer, with sunshiney days
    Where wildflowers and wildlife come out to play.​

    Winter, go home now, your time is through
    Come again hunting season, I'll be waiting for you.​
     
  3. pseudonymous

    pseudonymous Obtuse Kineticist

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    Reminds me of an overnight snowstorm on July 8th, 1993 I think in that notch in Montana that meets Idaho & Wyoming. My response was a lot more colorful given I got rid of all of my winter clothes...
     
  4. DrumR

    DrumR Well-Known Member

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    10aug11 revdate 1dec11
    A bit dark for me, but I had a most severe headache at the time...
    -----

    I have heard of your boasts and your passion,
    as you sing in the new 'gangs-ta' fashion
    your songs instill fear but you're treated better than else wheres.

    Try to live that sweet life in Somalia,
    with the strife and starvation upon ya,
    which because of our laws we cannot simulate here.

    It's much worse than the laws of the jungle,
    for it's civilization all in a bungle,
    with tribe against tribe and no one sheds a tear.

    All the food in the world won't help them,
    they are too busy shooting and yelping,
    for the name of the game is to kill, rape and to instill fear.

    Short of full-scale armed intervention,
    with strict martial rule no exception,
    a peace sought dear is not to be seen for years.
     
    Last edited: Dec 21, 2011
  5. pseudonymous

    pseudonymous Obtuse Kineticist

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    Drunk Dry Three Times

    the first layer of me
    was shed like a skin of emotions
    words that cut and raged
    like a wild fire
    at me and from me
    all defensive and all repetition
    until it burned away
    all semblances of me
    and I knew I felt nothing

    the second layer of me
    was shed like a skin
    of inflated words
    and definitions upon definitions
    lip service
    in place of experience
    shown the light of day
    by the experiencial fact
    that I did not know anything

    the third layer of me
    was shed like the skin
    of the snake that lived
    in the tree of knowledge
    of good and evil
    all of my skins
    falling to the ground
    like pages of books
    I have lived and read them all
    and come away
    knowing I am nothing

    the fourth layer of me
    is an empty cup
    drunk dry three times

    ~ DC Vision
     
  6. Gatekeeper

    Gatekeeper Shades of Reason

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    Shadows By: GK


    How many know a shadow
    She's playful as I recall
    How many see her magic
    on an animated wall?

    A candle burning brightly
    extends its ghostly eye
    She'll dance upon the ceiling
    above the room so high

    But in the morning sunrise
    the shadow is at her best
    She'll follow you forever
    and never need to rest

    But in the dark of night
    she puts her needs to bed
    She'll belong again tomorrow
    or again when light is shed
     
  7. Gatekeeper

    Gatekeeper Shades of Reason

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    Farewell By: GK


    The bottle beside my bed
    taunts my anguish.
    The gun pressed firmly against my temple
    longs to reunite.


    The race is not yet over,
    but it could be with a twitch of my finger.
    Then, I could join my brother
    and together we could face the other side


    Is it fair for any to go alone?
    The great unknown
    intrigues my curiosity.
    Does he need me by his side?


    In a fit of drunken rage I pull the trigger,
    the gun know pointed at the bottle beside my bed.
    Mother runs in screaming!
    She see's me on my knees howling at the absent moon!


    I look in her eyes.
    I break down crying.
    Terrified and shaking
    she says to me,


    "Jamie I loved him too".



    R.I.P Rick - You are loved and dearly missed
     
  8. pseudonymous

    pseudonymous Obtuse Kineticist

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    2012

    time has accelerated so much in my lifetime
    i wonder if clocks are truly keeping up with the pace
    is there some poor sap in a windowless room in charge
    i wonder if there is someone manning the breaks

    one day we were figuring out how to tame electricity
    next we were discovering we were composed of the stuff
    soon we will be riding the lightning to other worlds
    and i am treading water within these stacatto rhthyms

    the times have the feel of approaching a stress point
    perhaps a big bang that will punctuate worried words
    we are passengers on the same fog engulfed platform
    waiting on a punctual train that may have already passed

    most likely i will be at peace on that december day
    death and enlightenment are immune to calendars
    like a man sitting in a rocking chair on a rocketship
    the journey is a mixed bag of exhaustion and acceleration

    ~ DC Vision (aka pseudonymous)
     
  9. pseudonymous

    pseudonymous Obtuse Kineticist

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    Drunk Dry Three Times

    the first layer of me
    was shed like a skin of emotions
    words that cut and raged
    like a wild fire
    at me and from me
    all defensive and all repetition
    until it burned away
    all semblances of me
    and I knew I felt nothing

    the second layer of me
    was shed like a skin
    of inflated words
    and definitions upon definitions
    lip service
    in place of experience
    shown the light of day
    by the experiencial fact
    that I did not know anything

    the third layer of me
    was shed like the skin
    of the snake that lived
    in the tree of knowledge
    of good and evil
    all of my skins
    falling to the ground
    like pages of books
    I have lived and read them all
    and come away
    knowing I am nothing

    the fourth layer of me
    is an empty cup
    drunk dry three times

    ~ Pseudonymous
     
  10. salishan

    salishan freesoul

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    my body wakes moist
    our crotches gravitate , sweat-
    heavy , devouring

     
  11. salishan

    salishan freesoul

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    it's sometimes like we are each searching in the
    interior caverns of our mind , desperately
    to find a cylindrical rock passage where we
    meet each other face to face

    we keep talking , keep
    feeling our way , hoping to find a place in
    each other's nether worlds where
    we don't have to talk anymore , where
    our eyes can meet &
    not be skewed away by their
    fretfully recognized disjunction

     
  12. salishan

    salishan freesoul

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    u stand , my naked
    skin goose-pimples all over
    squawking quail take flight

     
  13. salishan

    salishan freesoul

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    spring gallery walk disappointments


    1

    i do wish that gallery art were a little skankier
    it is neurotically clean
    ( is it the white gallery walls , forcing art to be scrubbed & tidy & ever-so-slightly antiseptic ? )

    whatever art's disease is
    i'd kind of like to catch it
    that germ in art which induces a healthy dose of chaos


    2

    art
    small mouth
    wide nipples
    tight twat
    small beasts ( flat chest ) , narrow hips ( boy-ass )
    no T&A magic in art ( but
    something else ? )


    3

    i like to look at penises
    find not a lot of penises in contemp art
    not even Freudian metaphorical ones

    testicles ?
    i like to suck a testicle till
    the hormones make it roll

    where in art do you feel
    the hormones
    start to roll ?
     
  14. salishan

    salishan freesoul

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    without thought , i reach
    between my legs , a neutered
    joy , sandpiper tracks

     
  15. salishan

    salishan freesoul

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    washed clothes stacked on bed

    striding down the watershed trail
    i stop
    "oh Ma!" heaves from my chest

    far-off bald eagle slowly wings by

     
  16. pseudonymous

    pseudonymous Obtuse Kineticist

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    A Stop Along The Way

    I’ve come home
    having beaten
    horizons into hindsight
    to lay foot and payload
    upon the soil
    of a people
    long buried
    like their hopes
    of ever being
    burden free

    I am blood tied
    to the topography
    of this melancholy
    should I join these houses
    and their inhabitants
    in peeling paint
    and graying hair
    and loss of vital signs
    then all the miles
    that I have behind me
    would come to nothing

    would you have me
    still standing still
    treading water in the dream
    like the background
    and the blood
    that makes its way through you
    trapped in the gravity
    of whatever keeps you asleep

    I know the road
    that led me away
    is the same road
    that brought me back
    and I know the road
    there is no going home
    to or from
    a stop along the way
    sometimes history corrects itself
    by not repeating itself

    ~ Pseudonymous
     
  17. radarmark

    radarmark Quaker-in-the-Making

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    Very good, Pseudonymous. Thanks for sharing!
     
  18. pseudonymous

    pseudonymous Obtuse Kineticist

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    you are welcome - would love to see more poetry from other community members...betting there are some wonderful voices here
     
  19. Dream

    Dream Well-Known Member

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    I made a terrible poem of it
    In case you did not know of it
    eating fish with no fork full mitt
    I told my waiter to please sit

    before his eyes produced fine wine
    or management could hear my line
    I told him much of my design
    to tap the til and drink til nine

    that I had heard an angel shout
    at me to start a paper route
    and did you know he kicked me out
    not caring what it was about
     
  20. pseudonymous

    pseudonymous Obtuse Kineticist

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    American Straitjacket

    when I took my last road trip
    in exploration of my terrain
    I offered up my cynicism
    albeit with some measure
    of reluctance

    but now I call you out
    to prove me wrong
    because I am always
    one asshole-at-large
    away from peace
    if there is usefulness
    in my discovery
    let it be my currency

    within the boundary
    of a mass delusion
    where everyone is driven
    to make a buck
    and spend a buck
    consumed
    in the consumption

    in your suv’s
    with those jesus fish
    and american flags
    and flavor of the month
    colored ribbon stickers
    you’d run me off the road
    in your holy march
    of narcissism

    pray for my soul
    because I cannot
    manifest enough
    self righteousness
    to master this treadmill

    I need ammunition
    to blast my way free
    from this cartoon repetition
    predictable scenery
    that blurs just behind
    the main characters
    in american straitjackets
    smiling until they pop one day
    into glorious headlines

    ~ Pseudonymous
     

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