Poetry #too.

Very nice! Better than anything I can write.

Feel free to post any kind of poetic art you have, this thread is for the abstract stuff.

Ceci ici rien.

"Ceci n'est pas une pipe" said Duchamp.
    And why would it be, after all?
       What should count is the belief.
          That strong and unbreakable.
             That one fighting.
I take his word for granted.

I think it's a screwdriver.

---

That rumored feeling

 

Harold shouted “booyah”

Hearing he has just about under a month to live.

“I’ll die very soon

very quick

don’t you worry.”

At my sadness he laughed making me desperate,

Making me doubt he is sane.

In the end, it’s how sane they expect us to be.

 

Right now everything’s clear

For I know what simple death relies on

I’m close myself to the last breath that will mean

the first of everything

and the first of nothing.

(Harold’s gone a long time now

Heard he died with a smile on a face.

Didn’t attend to the funeral.)

 

Was during the night when I collapsed,

In my most secluded and secret form

Dreaming that I dream myself dreaming…myself.

So, for a moment, I wondered if it is really something of a death

Or if, actually, none is going to fall in the shadows.

Frightening was only to see alter-ego after alter-ego

                                                fading

                                                and waving goodbye

                                    (though I remember them hating me)

 

They gave me a Mars candy bar over there,

Saying it is delicious.

Well it sure isn’t.

“Do you need water with that?”  

 

I’ve always liked the death

Made it even an entity, a spirit jewel

Found it comfortable and rewarding.

Guess I expected too much of a gratitude

When my turn arrived to face the real and not imaginary,

Ruining everything…

 

Okay, Harold, you may be right

See you there…

Edited by Ricochet - August 08 2006 at 09:53

Wow Rico, I'm impressed.

Are you sure you're not the ghost of Borges?

Conundrum

Can't stop doing sarcastic jokes about fat people;
Many people know me by that.

Once came such a woman to me
Just after seeing my comedy act on the network.

Said: "Dear Sir, I think you are fatist."
Said: "Pardon, but I think you're fattest."


Clenching and counting

Fear the day of tommorow just like I fear the day of yesterday;finding time is never easy
I watched myself going maid, then I said "What a Shame".
The sole thing of mother sometimes asking me "Are you mad?"
                                                                      "Are you going mad?"
                                                                          "Are you thinking of going mad?"
                                                                  has become quite rhetorical.
I just answer "Yes";though definately that's never the truth.

What does it take to love and to be loved, as oppose to being take for a fool,
Or as The Weak who'll do anything
                                     (Silly boy!)
                                     anytime
                                      (my dear one...)
                                     anyhow
                                      (AH!)
What does it take to feel the sunburn, not the pain of the sunburn?
You know, Paradise's just around the corner;
It's a replica of you, just better and happier.
Unfortunately, you can't do anything about it.

Sundays are for Brahms and for the lazy moments you spend with your girl
Between white sheets on which wine was spilled.
And you touch, making her laugh.
To think she loves you is insane
She just wants the touch
       and the tongue-tied kiss.

It's late, clock's waving the dark second
Still I want to stay motionlessly awake
As to observe myself going mad
Though definately that's never the truth.

Him has a fake beard,
Eve also.

Edited by Rust - August 11 2006 at 03:16

Heresy

 

God is Marlene in the flesh lately.

Thing is that Marlene’s blind

              that Marlene’s incapable of walking

              that Marlene can only hear with her right ear

                        (by that, bad news are always for the left ear)

              and that Marlene’s non compos mentis

So I can proudly say God is far, far, far

Less perfect than I am.

 

Now during the trial’s final phase

Moments from the flame collapsing on me

I denied the words spoken above.

”Too bad the straw’s already lit!” laughed Belzebut.

 

I don’t believe God’s dead;

Marlene did a metempsychosis stunt during her last sob

So that I feel her inside me right now.

Thus…

 

End of mystery

 

Instead of leaving the unfinished perfection,

Kafka did the complementary finale.

Sadist!

 

Around 8 PM…

 

… storm finally arrived above us

but with its awful part, killing thirteen people

in under a minute

                            (various ways)

Rico, I'm impressed, you really have alot of tone and your feeling is pinpointed very well in your word choice. I really do like your stuff.