Here's my stuff, and yes, the prog illusions are intentional. 

 

 

Heartless             No way!

Helpless?             Obey!

Mindless?             I'd pray!

Live life               TODAY!

 

Say you say what you make.

Christ's sake's is brown cake.

Take your cape, fictitously fake.

 

Brave the cave of impossible.

Say it's impossible, bottle the hospital.

Tangerine tropical, factory that's rottible.

Corpse on the lawn eat corn on the cob.

 

Fish was a master bass in Khatru.

Mabey we'd do if we say it was true.

Shallow the lake, broken the plastic rake.

Leafs take what was hate,

Fall on the cake with chocolate paste.

 

Childhood is to far to spell,

To bad you don't say what you tell.

Hell, I've been to Hell.

I fear the lakes within cavern shells.

It discribes dinomite inside hotels.

Bomb shells.

Dead smell.

Carcus fell.

Smells like trainwrecks wearing rearanged rooms like carpetacks

 

Holdover blue Rover,

Sweaty, leather gun holster

Silver shot infests closer,

Seaweed that's reapolstered.

Bolshevik shot in a toaster.

Toast for the Boaster.

 

Within a pattern is an answere

Wisper disaster or porcelien plaster.

Yell for the Master,

Heaven's cured cancer.

Shine on, you black wurm hole dancer.

 

Pawns are useless.

Hearts are fragile.

Love is truthless.

Sex is agile.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Where's the Clear Sky, when you need it the most?

I'll tell you he's enjoying a plate of steamed roast.

 

Where's check at the end of the week?

I'll tell you it's waiting for the creek to squeek.

Where's the time when you're busy the most?

I'll tell you he's enjoying a plate of the Clear Sky's roast.

 

When's the next crisis gonna hit home?

You'll know if you tap the phone.

 

Who's the manager of Clear Sky and Time?

He's a colourless clown and a mournfull mime.

 

 

 

 

I have tried disecting it a few times after a few reads, and I do understand it a little, though I bet by the end of the night after work I'll have the meaning. (If there even is one.)

 

; )

 

 

   

(lllll(O )

(llO(  )

  

 

Bugger. Ah well, you can see it in my dA gallery. "A Society Function for Snakes and Marmosets". It's pretty recent.

This is about a squirrel getting food before he dies.

 

Furry puffy tail, slimy snail squirrell,
Open shut a nut for that wrapped present pearl.

Swirl as you chew, average acorn but new.

Curled claws penetrate your pecan stew.

Swallow a few, follow the trail for another or two.

Big game, food's tame. It's a shame you can't share your fame.

Munch, catch a cocunut crunch. Grab a bunch for a late night lunch.

Or, on the rush take as much grunge, porcupine needle punch.

Hibernate when it's cold the most,

High pitched paint on your white fence post.

Scurry to bury your food in a hurry.

He won't worry, cars cant hurt.

Long lawn grass to gaze, before graves graze your crackling mange.

Leafless tree, means time to sleep.

Food he keeps, his storage stays steep.

I just wrote this on the spot, I'm trying to somewhat immatate the poetry during Hawkwind's Space Ritual album. I guess I could use more practice.

 

Twenty days to a year, plus the nineteen fifty's fear.

Grimly sailing, as your maker steals weapons and gear.

Sirens to call you ship to a stall,

Capture, crusade, invade,

To afraid to defend the raid.

To tall together, must surrender to the better.

Electronic letter predicting laser weather.

 

Alien tentacle, evolution's pinnacle.

Sense of humor sours a drippy dipping hole.

Sharp end pole, life stole, to prevent growing old.

Ruthless brutes, tales tell of shuttles that shoot.

They grab a hold of a race occupying gold.

Sticky mold is their weapen of choice.

Sell a seller, buy his teller, it's all fortold by Helter Skelter.

 

Space is deep,

Canible vines defy time, devouring worshipers of the shrine.

Rocks full of jagged teeth ocupied by helpless victims.

Showing symptoms of the plague,

Collapse by the end of the day.

Sticky jungles crawl on your flesh as you decay.

Infestation has no patience for desolate stations.

 

Glad you noticed probably the only two litterary devices I use and focus on. Alliteration is naturally my favorite device while reading poetry, that's why my favorite poet is Langston Hughes.

 

 

 

Sticky topic!

 

Now the threads are side by side and you (and others) may check how much you have evolved since then...

 

Wonderful rythm and it would make a great song.

 

Was there an overall message or reason for any of the things you did in your poem?

Sun is high, prop open my eyes to wake,

For today, I'll go fishing for high tide lake!

Before I go I better remember my list,

Do you remember why you made that list?

Ofcourse I do, it was because of the last fishing trips.

What did you do?

I forgot the gear. Most likely from beer.

Oh dear, Oh dear, I hope your brain cells are missed, anyway read us the list,

 

 

Ham

Clam
Spam

Juice

 

Moose

Loose cactus tooth

Presidential election booth!

 

Oops, sorry, that was the grocery list.

"Tsk. Tsk."

Here is the right one, next to my trouser pockets.

 

The List:

(For catching a fish, 

money,

and women that are slutty.)

 

Worms and leeches  - Keep em' in the back of yer' breeches to breed bread eating salt machines.

 

Hooks -  Alligator, fridgerater, masturbater, hippy hater, it doesn't matter, hooks can even chop yer' potater'!

 

Rods and Reels - Bannana peels, stelleto high heels, they often attack an attractive kill.

 

Boots and hat - Sour sewer water with symptoms of sink, these babies keep you dry in the hottest heat!

 

Beer, ciggarretts, lighter and lotto ticket cash - Hidden stash to complete every fishermans trash.

 

 

Here it is my list for today,

I'm ready to fish, with these also added to my list.

Mesquito spray, burnt ash tray, car carved of clay.

 

Oh hell! I've just remembered it's a work day.

 

Yes sir.

 

I'll have to listen to more latter KC stuff, I don't know the song your talking about.

 

 

 

 

Good to see I've corrupted you, Rust! (Pun pardoned, I hope)  You've got a great feel for rhythm and rhyme - both are qualities that tend to be viewed with caution by a lot of contemporary poets, alas. You ought to check out the sort of thing that's been inspiring my work of late if you like what I'm doing. See if you can find any work by Tristan Tzara or Richard Huelsenbeck. I'd also recommend you find some of Olchar E. Lindsann's work (he's a poet and performance artist I've been collaborating with a great deal recently) but it's not too easy to find online.

 

As for meaning and messages... sometimes they happen, sometimes not. Normally only with my short stories - I can't help but seem to make some sort of loose point when I start chucking characters and situations around. My poetry is really just for sounds and amusement. A Society Function does have a theme of sorts, i.e. food and drink, but it's really just being used as a springboard for words and ideas. Mind you, I've nothing against poetry with ideas... as long as it's good.

 

Thanks to that movement an even better one emerged, The Surreal Movement.

 

I am familliar with Richard Huelsenbeck also,  'The End Of The World' is a favorite.

 

 

 

 

In The Life Of The Blues Man

The singer stopped playing and went to bed

He slept like a rock or a man that's dead.

He tossed and turned….

He tossed and turned….

The next morning he woke broke with a pain in his neck.

Though he slept well, he ached like a wreck.

"To much pain today" he would wearily say,

"Why O' lord, O' why is my life this way?"

No sunshine….

"It's a grey sky, I gotta sing till nine,

It's rainin' all the time, I gotta survive through crime."

Clouds of rain….

Singing on stage for a cheap 25 dollars,

The blues man received tips and hollers.

"More Blues!"

"Sing it Brotha!"

The blues man gave them more weary blues

Through his slow but steady heart-breaking tunes.

Fingers hammered those flattened 7^th keys

He sang his melodies with "Oh"'s and ease.

"My wife she left me

And got a brown eyed man.

She told me he gave her

What no other man can."

His audience was kinder than his much needed pay.

They puffed their marijuana joints while they watched him play.

He played weary blues for a while then quit

As he decided that jazz would better fit.

O Jazz!

Sweet Jazz!

Liven up that room full of gloom after a song or two,

Make them dance instead of tapping their tired shoe.

His heart lightened from the jazzy tunes.

The tempo sped but not a moment to soon,

Swaying lazy from left to right,

The marijuana's haze altered his hearing and sight.

Swaying to and fro….

To and fro….

He sped up his once weary piano,

To a beat that would satisfy even a rascal fellow.

Next came in as if saying "Hello"

The mellow string cello

Nice and slow.

Followed by a guitar with a pedal.

"Wah wahhh, wa wahhh"

Sang the trumpet who talked his way to leading the play.

Those dirty drums they played like a marcher in a parade.

"Tsit, ba dump, paa, pa pah"

"Tsit, bu dap, padap paahh"

The bass pounded a maddened heart beat

He would keep creeping like a killer on the street.

Altogether those separate instruments sang

Each with their own tap, pang, clap and clang.

All the while The Blues Man raged,

To the impeccable rhythm contained on stage.

"A man that ain't got no woman,

Is like a fish ready for cookin'.

He's that car without a wheel.

He's out fishin' without a reel.

A man with a woman's like a tiger on a leash

Got no freedom cus' she's ironing your crease.

If you fishin' in a pond

You be sure that she's gone

Cus if you ain't careful

She'll cast your own rod."

It was not hard for the spectators to applaud

"More Jazz!"

To the sketchy yet catchy jazz tunes.

Everyone cheered like drunken buffoons.

All through that moonlit night

They grooved while high as a kite.

The room was full of smoke and song

As they jammed all night long.

The Blues Man changed his name to The Jazzy Jester.

It was his gesture to pester those men who were lesser.

He decided his jumpy jazz was here to stay

As it made him much more mellow today.

He would throw away his old blue attitude,

And trade it in for a new green jazz mood.

 

 

 

Matter of opinion.

Dada had more raw energy and passion than Surrealism, while Surrealism was more refined and thought out. Both are great, I don't know which one I prefer to be honest.

 

 

 

This one's called 'Let the Solar Needles Probe Your Mind'

 

Every cliche in a Hawkwind song can be found in that one!

 

 

It's kinda spooky, maybe it's all the death/pain/evil reverences and allusions.

 

 

Reminded me of "I saw a fly before I died." by Emily Dickensen, it has about nothing to do with it though, but whoever wrote it might have made a reference or two about her.

 

 

Overall it was fine though. You do have a deffinite voice in your poetry, and i think that is most important when writing it.

My versions are a clear indicator, so I shouldn't get all that thanks since it isn't to much of mine.

 

However, the thing is so damned long, I'll post something else.

 

Although the sun cannot walk the earth,

He roams the heavens and the skies.

He wants to admire all his children:

He looks on with joy in his eyes.

 

His children destroy His sacred garden:

They turn His plants into dust.

His tears cannot water these broken seeds,

And his love begins to rust.

 

Death before his eyes is creeping slowly,

Passing screams eclipse every dawn.

The children of the sun were once flowing,

But sadly the river is now gone.

 

Only an ocean remains of creation -

The children turn to evil and fight.

The Sun heaves a heavy sigh,

And refuses to share his light.

 

The Sun turns to see his garden burning;

Smoke rises over the ash-covered trees.

Cries of horror ring out in the night:

The last child is brought to his knees.

 

Here's two poems I wrote that made it into my school's literary magazine (And they're the only two damn things worth reading in there, if you ask me ):

 

 

Following a dastardly disaster in the mountains

(Of which the contents are too terrible to recount),

I began hitchhiking on the pathway to heaven

(After I found my severed thumb and hat, of course).

But tons of cars passed and not one of them asked

Why I stood in the road all alone and torn,

With my pants all worn and my warts all showing.

And eventually I came to see

That saints were not nice enough to pick me up,

So I built my own house alongside the road.

 

 

I accidentally

Sprained my ankle today,

But at least

I did it with gusto...

A labia expells thoughts

and it also speaks lies

But, do keep tuned in, I'll have some more stuff soon, for those who like mine.

Haiku #1

 

Underneath the earth

A gentle current carries

Bits of broken stones

 

Limerick #1

 

I once had a wealth of money

I hardly knew what to do

Music I bought

A curse I was frought

And now I am as poor as you

 

 

If I remember rightly, that's an example of Vogon poetry from Hitch Hiker's Guide To The Galaxy by Douglas Adams. I think it was by Vogon Jeltz?

 

Try this from the story 'Trurl's Electronic Bard' by Stanislaw Lem:

 

Mockles! Fent on a silpen tree,

Blockards three a-feening,

Mockles, what silps came to thee

In thy pantry dreaming?

 

Or

 

Oft, in that wickless chalet all begorn,

Where whilom soughed the mossy sappertort

And you were wont to bong...

 

later, the macine is challenged to write a 6 line poem about a haircut, cleverly rhymed, every word beginning with s:

 

Seduced, shaggy Samson snored.

She scissored short. Sorely shorn,

Soon shackled slave, Samson sighed,

Silently scheming,

Sightlessly seeking,

Some savage, spectacular suicide.

 

 

 

 

 

Acclaimed by his name

And master of fame

Attained by a fusion of wonders to blame

A taste of forever, it's saying we're together

Content of compasion and rashioned for more.

An assortment of colour and capture my soul,

Confusions intrusion miraculous beings, one goal.

 

To live in a peace, and taste out debris.

To conqure disease and rightious release.

And attained while given his pennyless gain,

To help out a brother in family name.

Forever in fusion in chambers of matter

And hammer out and gladly give out my hand.

 

Summon up the castle and fire out the calls.

The keeper has come to kinder our halls.

Alarm the horns, and celabration parade

And dance on promises of incredible claims.

 

Attain my knowledge of freedom above,

Claim my friendship and worship of love.

Attain the tresure of eternal pleasure,

Through mortal happiness inside a mind.

Measure an act to the lines of a page,

Thank for an act requesting no change.

 

 

 

Do not fear, it is my day off today so there will be more!!

Also inspired by Jon Anderson.

 

 

Capturing pebbles from wondering caverns

They prophecie patterns

Crusading parading, anger eliminating.

Digger escavading a temple of things.

Shadow preyer forgeting his troubles,

Rising from the rubble and digging a grave.

Shiny shade touchful tastes, and purified race,

Providing existence and shameless telling.

Your helping the helpers help helpless dieing.

Crying a baby and young just the faster.

The pasture is raptured testifiying to cured.

Cancel the hatred and follow the truth.

Bring thoughtless song that encourage to sing.

Ring leader believer, leave her, no wedding ring.

Sting stylish stations of corrupted creaters.

Fling money to send, stop the next armogeddon.

 

You inspired to write a Jon Anderson inspired poem!

 

Ment to read with a heavy, dark Brittish accent, with no singing. (Just like Lemmy. )

 

Your Space-Time Contium will alter two and then some.

Devastation of your nation will crumble for fun.

Abandon your hope if you plan to stay,

We conqure all who will be slaves.

Maggating on your carcus springs nightmares of Tarkus.
Apparent pain with flesh eating beetles only equals torture for sequels.

Understate your birth, all grim endings start peacefully.

Trash the Treaty, Boston Tea,

Incinerate to clean.

Water dripping.

A fly buzzed as I died,

I began to cry urine.

Brief agony was met with absolute luxury as the obsessed die.

Also to be read as if a drunken, deep voiced Englishman with foul grammer.

 

Do forgive my absence, for I was busy hammering out the insides of an unjustly man.

Quick forgiveness is not accepted, it is a sign of weakness, a cheapness not tollerated.

The galaxy screamed as it learned that one man has been destined to journey the space ever expanding.

Tradgedy striked quick with no mercy, it was jealous of the prideful dream.

There is no need to be afraid, your death will be quick if you do not question.

Three million years is a blink of an eye, if you fight your kind.

Non-evolved your race is young, trying to become the strongest.

Humans are only a mesquito in this universe, there are much more important things happening.

Do not be reminded that trying to evade will cause a crusade.

Your lustfull race will pay, and that will be our day.

Quickly ordered a Lion, tigers, and nightmares, nothing scares of Space Crusaders.

We lept from Venus factories to defeating Mars' strategies.

It is impossibly overwhelming to wish to defeat a race such as ours.

Amongst the stars, stretch wide and far we have faught, and conqured all that's ours.

We are relentingly merciless, and thrive on killing.

For no more than a shilling I'll cut with a sword that's chilling cold.

It is told, of our myths and stories,

And true we have conqured all for glory.

We are the Space Crusaders defending the soul of our lord that we lost.

We engrave his symbol on our armor,

For an example of our lord's honor.

We,

We have symbolized truth and vengence,

We care not for any others except those with a death wish.

 

We pitied Mars as we depleted them of thier colour, thier air.
We emptied Venus of it's deniers, and sought revenge brutally.

The air smelt of ash, and dying, moaning, the dead.

The sound of never ending torture was conquring my ears.

We erradicated Pluto of it's races, and its planet, and destroyed it to just the size of a moon.

 

Yet the Earth still remains untouched by us, in all worry we will clear the rock of its' life.

We will show the blind and barbarack what lurks in front of them and watches them like laboratory rats.

 

But I always make toast

In a bathub.

 

 

*Bows*

 

Thank you thank you.

 

I wish.

About a really pretty girl I saw today, who I really wanted to meet, but couldn't find the courage.  Hope it's not to "teen angsty" for you, but after all, I am 17.

 

As my gaze interrupted her obscurity to my face,

I spoke though sight, seeing her eyes as mine raced.

They were filled with laughter and lullibys.

Skin tight and softly light,

Speechless my thoughts were, hoping them right.

Empty my courage, I sit in a scared cage.

To afraid to wave, not knowing what to say.

I noticed she saw me stare, but I still do,

I wait for her move, but I stay without choosing to.

Wishing the moment would travel away,

Amazement is mixed with complete disaray.

I know it looks weird but it does have a deffinite meaning, every word is there for a reason. Inspired by e.e. cummings.

 

This one is called,

 

 ['s

 

 

speak talk

think

upright walk

ask

 [ want more

multi-task

money whore

steal

slave [our] own race

others races caged

higher minimum wage

television sets

vehicular transportation

inferior pets

cycle of generations

doctors killing patients

 [wars

wars over land

wars over freedom

wars over oily sand

generation layered kingdom

 ] scientific reason

 [ religious belief

 [ god

 [ thief

 [ invisible friend of a child's immagination

 [ god

chemical alteration for perfection

genetic perfection for happiness

happiness for ['s right

 ['s death is happy and perfect.

 ['s refuse

 {change

  question

  happiness

  perfection} = insanity