Poetry #too.

Seriously looking for feedback on this one.

Anthony and Cleopatra, Across the Void

Eyes now blind no stranger view
And throw their light in haunting arcs
Which sails catch, burning through the dark
And we catch too, catch we two

Through the dark, I glimpse your reddened lips and sublime form,
Kneel down to kiss your feet and leave a mark of my love there,
I'd love to feel you by my side, when comes the saffron dawn,
Stand tall to kiss your lips and run my fingers through your hair

I love you, as you face me, your back towards the sea,
Frightened, as, behind you, the waters too swiftly rise,
I grip your hand with longing, pull your body close to me
To shelter from the rising waves and drown within your eyes

Dark and swirling waters leave,
And take love to the promised land
A downcast pair on vibrant sands
Relinquish hands and quietly grieve

A One Time Offer

She gave up so easily.
Sure, she phoned me four times,
two times yesterday and two times today,
but when I finally picked up the phone
her voice was very weak and shy.
Sure, she told me about the unbelievable deal
(a razor and three blades for only 3.50€)
but when I interrupted her scripted speech
and said that I'm not in the least interested
she thanked me politely,
said goodbye
and hanged up the phone.

If I had known
she was not one of those despicable leeches
that mumble on and on about their cheap products
I might even have bought the damn thing.
Dear razor girl, if you're reading this,
what would it take to buy your heart?
Is 3.50€ still enough?

I here present the resutlt s rrof y m my m nwnew texhiichingwwu of wirint porther : the lileanr on the keyei oboero d randowndlny ly whtil le writn tni ei nng the porm a. . . mtetherd.:

Extensive Hair Frontier, Part 1 - 1½

GRRRRRRR... staticstiiscsiitists ta ta. ta. ta ta.
last niathi a gerate bigi beaste danceinge on the lawna udner the

                       nbEEED

ansd the woamns of my i dremos
             was etehin e ne nn nennnenvn nveenv nennenr nnve therer ara
                             insta llias tajeiong
  ofdif the greate haeat kisd atut oma atjiecjj maauaua uaau uotaeo
 jaj oa autotmiasa ia at ucuatua uau uau atuta io auttomoanici ...c. .ca

                      OVCOMCPIUthe riaze dk feres ligire rsile iaona en..
   erealiging in lifrerlid ig lni
                                  bacak ar ato to  jtiehe cave ieat iej
     A gagi ni. ngain .a ain .n .. n . . . .

  eiatiat  hti s i hi iai ajej aij
                                               I  HAORORPO er e
         THIS  wil liaje be the te iojeo endnd nrenndn eendn neenndn.d . .. . . .
( erier eads jij thhis line eornely andn
                         discajiard the throe reatst .. . . . ? ? ? ?)
          no no nromaom mormor
         no m oo emo irhe m
               no maorm omomroemo oero aem oamor a
a                                    anon morm omroemo momoem omoa
                                                     u sesl lmnealnlaess
 li nes .. .:


          erMPERTUTU TUTTTYIYPPRPYSRPKTT ! !  ! ! !!



 (enrend)

Since I seem to be the only one
who keeps this thread
alive
and since this is probably the 5th
best thread here
right after "I'm Mandrakeroot",
"Question game",
"Off at Tangents" and
"The Quiet Game"
(which was the best of them all)
I guess it's my responsibility
to post something here
even though I really haven't got anything
to say.
So here
I go:

Parrots
are sometimes funny
when they repeat things like
"You can say that again"
and what happens if you really do
say that again
(that is, you say: "You can say that again"
again)
they say that again, that is, they say:
"You can say that again"
again,
and if you once again say that again
the whole thing goes on
for ever and ever
until one of you goes and
dies.
And that's the end
of it.

there were fruits, in the following order:

first there was an orange.
then there was a pear.
then there was an apple.
and the there was a watermelon, there.
then I stopped watching the fruit parade
and wrote
this poem.

Who knows what men are?
Just men?
Are lilies just lilies?
Are lilies flowers?
Are men animals?
Who knows what men are?

What does a coffee cup feel like?
Who knows.

I've never seen Leningrad,
but sometimes when I listen to Shostakovich
I drink four cups of coffee per symphony (if it's the 7th)
or two or three cups (if it's the 5th).
They're the only symphonies I ever listen to.
I've never seen Leningrad.

A dress is not a long shirt.

Due to various requests I have started writing poems again. Thank you for all the fan letters you have sent me during these silent months, each and every one of them holds a special place in my heart, although some of them, I have to say, were really poorly written. Anyway, - but, before I go on, I must mention this: I am not what some of you think I am. I am not, really, a wombat. This is why, dear Shirleen and dear Anthony, I am unable to fulfill your fantasies in the way you suggested. I hope we can still be friends. But anyway, now, the poem:

These Three Things:

You look like a plastic table lamp when you look like that, baby;
There are seagulls right behind your back.
This moment, oh how I wish it was a drunken snail.

Light something by the piano so I can hear you.
I know the certains are probably drawn
but every day we must take the risk.

No balcony can hold weight like a very large swimming pool,
but these bugs have so many legs in total that they almost make me wish

Pieces of April being swept away

Edited by weetabix - April 02 2009 at 21:25

I've got an alabaster soul, hope the sun won't rain too hard on me,

Can't shake the mold, unfortunate son finds breaks in life aren't free,

Only the hard way to lead, that other path is justified as illusion,

Greed confused as need, painful flashes bask in their intrusion,

I am just too weak minded to play in the games of hope

Every day that passes by,  realizing I've pulled a bit less rope

Cannot stop this motion
Mental wall erosion
Clawing without fail
Face is worn and pale
No gain on earth is free
I am going to bury me
NOW

Dreams.....

They are just images in your mind, you know? That doesn't make them real. Dreaming about something has almost no affect on reality. But, what is real? That is an amazing question. One that has no definite answer if you
Think about it...
(Worlds change)
Thi k ab ut it...
(And as worlds change)
T in  ab ut i
(So do souls)
    n   b  t
(Change)
THINK

Think, don't act, don't act upon the screams you hear, at night while you're alone with fear

Sulk within your current queries, half ass plans and crackpot theories

Sort out the world within your brain, escape alive from chapel stain

Collective conscious information running wild without due repletion

Rationalize the present tense
Understand you're making sense
Unearth what is beyond the seal
And perhaps one day you'll learn to heal

TRUTH

What is the truth? Some universal law set in celestial stone? I think not. TRUTH is simply LIE. A lie that most people believe. Enter religion. The ultimate set of lies manifested and interpreted by the masses as divine fact. Seeming so pure and natural, sure. But, they all ask you to do the one thing you shouldn't...

BELIEVE

Stop believing these false destinies they preach, protect yourself from this stereotypical mental mutilation, diluted cremation of logical thoughts and of goals you have sought. Precious pragmatic polish rolling away at the speed of your hopes augmented by ropes, same as the ones from when you were young and chasing the dreams on what always would seem like the linings of clouds hidden in shrouds from the utopia off in the foreground, never to be found, because utopias aren't here, no more than your fear, born from pure desire, guess what? truth's for hire, ask all the clergymen who said they would be your friend, but LIE to get your gold, there's no such thing as a soul. Stop believing in any of this, this DREAM gone amiss, do what you feel, nothing is real...

REAL

What is real? Is anything real? or is it all a DREAM? Can TRUTH exist in a sea of LIES? What will I find behind death's door? Maybe just maybe. If I can THINK this through. I can solve the puzzle and find what is true. No... I forgot. I am...

Worthless
Dreamless
Mindless
Hopeless

In this

Swirling
Burning
Dying
Chasm

So, I've come full circle in the delusion of existing
Yet, nothing is better than a perceptive clearing

Depressed, empty handed with no answers
I'll have to bank on necromancers
To resurrect me from my shallow grave
A corpse is left of all the effort I gave
They'll raise me up
And feed me their TRUTH
But, it is no use.
I'd take eternal death over this dream...

                                   

                                   Stepney by night fall   By Weetabix