Fan of Ezra Pound, MWH?

I Would post my own, but 1: There not really poetry, there lyrics for songs I right, and have written a few, and also, caught in the clucthess of puberty they usually have a very simular subject matter, I aint too good at phillisophical great motivational lyrics, the do vary in subject, but not a lot. But I got give it too Rust, Great job there, I'm likin the stuff a lot!

Edited by Gravity Eyelids - August 15 2006 at 22:02

darksinger wrote: Routine By Jen Williams   Going to one end back to the other Going to one end back to the other Going to one end back to the other Too many lights on Flip switch down Did I do that right? Flip switch up Flip switch down I think that is-I need to wash my hands Go to bathroom and turn on hot water Water lather rinse Water lather rinse Not enough soap Water lather rinse Water lather rinse Dry hands Dry sink Fold towel Unfold towel-looks wrong Fold towel Unfold towel-something looks wrong Fold towel Flip switch down Dammit…   -J.Williams

Along with TP and Geck0, your stuff is my favorite, Rico. You deffinetly break the cliches.

nice MWH, considered doing more than four lines? 

Eating Chinese in Bridgeton on Tuesday Nights

-Jen Williams

 

Steel wool

In your peanut chicken

Is not the kind of fiber

The doctor ordered

And the fifth cherry Pepsi

Did not kill the taste

Of bleach

Yet

 

It happened in such a manner that was unpredictable and disturbing, when my head exploded. An orgasm had occurred in my brain, a mental orgy within my nervous system. The force of a million suns socked with the chemical causing the senastion of love exploded. I fell on the ground, twitching in ecstacy. Was I going insane, or had I found god after all this relentless search? Then my head exploded, lobbing it off like a soviet missle headed towards another universe. I miracuoulsy maintained my nervous system, and I could see through the bloody mess a small infant emerged, entering our universe.

Oh well, I'm still alive.

BERN LES BERN

BERN LES BERN BERN LES BERN
LE CANADA QUEBECOIS MADEMOISELLE!
ENTRE LA CHATTE Y ENTRE LA CHATTE

LA MADEMOISELLE QUEBECOIS!

Silence, solitude and sequencing

I

As you open the book, light gets revealed under the
most fake
impression that you can actually see it
there goes
the outdoor contact and the vital knowledge
from which,
in sleep,
you live to tell the story. One decreptive and
sometimes in colors that don't fit with what
you're wearing
and sometimes one that resembles a future
long passed and a wish
long killed. Desperate soldiers immortalize the
frame and clear out any suspicions, to come
in advantage. You can't read the signs
therefore
you ask someone else to give you the grave
detail. Nobody? Where is that joy of telling
your clueless thought? Go, and with that, don't
go. Comfort is a waste, the rich taste is a
benefic slough. Die and close
win
and stop wanting humanity's close
pestilential hope. Piano strings pinched, pitched,
patched. The more you know
the better you realize.

With big letters, lies written
"Drescalusa, Menecaduca, Isar"
By the melted face man.
The author hums the indescribable.

Stop at the flashlight signal and go hysterical
over the cause of waiting
doom's syllabified connection.
Up front, the rusty train;
down below, Eleusys.
God, the fearsome flaw, broke the spell
of can-made Babel-isle, making thralls
curios and imposing new definitions and
interpretations of the word, so simple,
can
each day
by each person
in a way just for that person
meant to be. Obliged, I can't communicate with
my girl, close spouse, future victim, about the
faceless demon that appears on the bedroom walls
saying
ka-boo.
I fear you, but not like that.
Let's watch it. Then we'll see what's to be done.

Enthusiastic.

The world is made out of fixed ideas and
improvised emotion, reaching a sensible
chord only when taken too seriously by
the persons without anything to complain
about. With a short, simple poem
you get what you want or do even more. Thus
in my celebrated poem I say
I don't live among humans
at which
comes a voice, a response saying offuscated
Don't be silly, you do live among humans
at which
I defend my idea
what idea, my belief! saying
No, I don't
at which, once more
Yes, you do!
at which
No, I don't!!
the poem struck gold being only considered
too frightening for the common taste.
Not everybody gets the miraculous gift of
comprehension. Not everybody loves another
of his own, like asked.

Open door
Enter room
Close curtains
Lie down
Stop breathing
You're safe.

I just know something wrong's going to happen,
but I get asked to keep my voice down,
in face
I get rudely advised to shut my mouth
and to drive safely
across the bridge whose end melts the
horizon. The thing I fear is that
somebody, anybody
will be there, living its life in a normal way,
at the bridge's end, up in that desert-town-
strangled-paw.
That can only, and for surely, mean that
I have to socialize and to accept that one
waiting entity. Bright clear...

The marche funebre tone is universal.

Staying
I develope qualities; so a dog shows up
and clearly says, moving lips, articularing sound:
hi, got bone?
AH!