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Ambient Hurricanes View Drop Down
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Direct Link To This Post Topic: Poetry #too.
    Posted: March 21 2013 at 22:44
Ah, I see what you mean now.  My poem was actually a limerick, which is a comedic poetic form with three rhyming lines with eight or nine syllables and two other rhyming lines with five or six.
I love dogs, I've always loved dogs
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Direct Link To This Post Posted: March 21 2013 at 00:12
Originally posted by Ambient Hurricanes Ambient Hurricanes wrote:

1 A dissatisfied Indian llama
2 Went traveling to seek Nirvana
3 But old Curt Kobain
4 He messed up his brain
5 And now he just sits in the sauna
This one has five lines. Every verse in "99 bottles of beer" has five lines also:

1 99 bottles of beer on the wall
2 99 bottles of beer
3 Take one down
4 And pass it around
5 98 bottles of beer on the wall
Lines 3-4 of your poem have a rhythm somewhat similar to:

"Take one down
And pass it around"
Both follow the same line-length format:

1 longer
2 longer
3 shorter
4 shorter
5 longer

====================================================

Anyway, that's just something my brain rendered. I made quite a few arguments on this forum in the past that may sound to another ear as off-the-wall.


Edited by Dayvenkirq - March 21 2013 at 00:14
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Direct Link To This Post Posted: March 21 2013 at 00:04
^How, exactly? 
I love dogs, I've always loved dogs
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Direct Link To This Post Posted: March 20 2013 at 23:14
^ Sounds like that 99 bottles of beer on the wall poem.
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Direct Link To This Post Posted: March 20 2013 at 22:59
A dissatisfied Indian llama
Went traveling to seek Nirvana
But old Curt Kobain
He messed up his brain
And now he just sits in the sauna
I love dogs, I've always loved dogs
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Direct Link To This Post Posted: March 20 2013 at 19:30
Only a short distance away from the power plant
He is a rocket and she is a dynamo
I am rolling out of the drive way
I am smiling as my friend says

Don’t take my dog for a walk
He walks all by himself
He is a very smart dog
I own a Bible

Freedom in their heels
He shops around for a new catch
He knows nothing of the familiar sites
He can not remember the day

Fish swim like dust
I am a rainbow
Don’t patronize me
I own an Xbox

Fields of flowers
Fields of gray
Nothing can
Ruin my day
I am a fish
Covered in goo
I am Siamese twin
Using up all your shampoo

Don’t talk to the flowers
They’ll get you nowhere
I am the demon
Dragon
Burning down the whole town
And it goes on…
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Direct Link To This Post Posted: March 17 2013 at 00:27
Something I just thought up:

Hold me
Hold me for a while till I'm dead and gone
Tell me
Tell me who killed me and I'll tell you all my secrets
Kiss me
Kiss me till my lips have dried up and cracked like glass
Scare me
I'm dying
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Direct Link To This Post Posted: March 15 2013 at 02:51
Originally posted by Man With Hat Man With Hat wrote:



Sometimes I think
about a bowel movement
and the intricacies involved
with finding the door to a
room filled with receptacles
for my refuse.

Other times I think
about the air that surrounds me
full of particulate matter
infiltrating my lungs,
my heart, my spleen, my colon,
my brain, my inner ear canal,
my vas deferens, and my superior vena cava,
slipping post-socialist doctrines to
my capillaries in an ultimate
form of subversion from
the inside.

Yet still I think,
about more things I think about
and I continually find
more hairs on the back of my neck
than on my head or my nose
(or my horse, but that
is another tome
altogether)
which doesn't seem out of place
if you consider
another galaxy spinning
on the same atomic frequency
as the nerve gas
inside the home
on Fuller Street.

At times I think
that I think
but other times
I can't think
about the times I think
or don't think
about the times
I think
or don't think
about time.

Sometimes,
I have a bowel movement.

OMGWTFBBQHJHYGILYXJRDRFSHSJDGLHB!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
"Those who are not shocked when they first come across Prog theory cannot possibly have understood it." - Niels Bohr

"If you think you understand Prog, you don't understand Prog." - Richard Feynman
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Direct Link To This Post Posted: March 15 2013 at 00:56


Sometimes I think
about a bowel movement
and the intricacies involved
with finding the door to a
room filled with receptacles
for my refuse.

Other times I think
about the air that surrounds me
full of particulate matter
infiltrating my lungs,
my heart, my spleen, my colon,
my brain, my inner ear canal,
my vas deferens, and my superior vena cava,
slipping post-socialist doctrines to
my capillaries in an ultimate
form of subversion from
the inside.

Yet still I think,
about more things I think about
and I continually find
more hairs on the back of my neck
than on my head or my nose
(or my horse, but that
is another tome
altogether)
which doesn't seem out of place
if you consider
another galaxy spinning
on the same atomic frequency
as the nerve gas
inside the home
on Fuller Street.

At times I think
that I think
but other times
I can't think
about the times I think
or don't think
about the times
I think
or don't think
about time.

Sometimes,
I have a bowel movement.
Dig me...But don't...Bury me
I'm running still, I shall until, one day, I hope that I'll arrive
Warning: Listening to jazz excessively can cause a laxative effect.
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Direct Link To This Post Posted: March 15 2013 at 00:06
John (to Lucielle): "I thought you were the screaming baby of my dreams"
Harold (to John): "You are the crux of the devil, and I am the fish in your brain!"
Lucielle (to both of them): "He is a cradle, you have died in it
You are the frog and I am the sh*t you spewed
I am a strong man
I am the fish for you to keep
I am a cradle
I am the evil sleep
And you are my lovers..."

Fish crawl ot of the ocean and smile without death
Blonde bombshells of the sexual deep
He smiles and waves
Inside the cave
He is weeping...

John (to Harold): "I have died in it.
I am brave and underwear.
I am a spaceship.
I am a sea of hair"
Harold (to Lucielle): "You are a loved one. You have crowded the sea.
You are a lover.
You have died in my grave."

Godess of the sea (to the world): "I am the brave blue ocean. Frying my pan for the death of my people.
I am screaming.
And my bones are snaping.
We thought that you were dead
We thought you were dead and gone down to the bottom
And prayed
For a lover"

The Fish: "For a lover
For a prayer and a god
For a mytar
For the brave and the gone
I am a spaceship
I am a brave son of a gun
I am your Amish lover
I am your soul
Gone and the gone"

We are here
We are dying
We are brave
We are almost gone

We have reached our Eclipse
We have reached the end
We are lost foriegn lovers
We are scared and dead and gone
This is the truth
This is a lover
This is the brave
This is the mytar
Of the world

Edited by smartpatrol - March 15 2013 at 00:06
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Direct Link To This Post Posted: March 14 2013 at 00:40
Crawling out of the womb he took his focus on the rhythms of the air and the cold brains of the delusions and the human
He rose up over the mountains of nothing and everything at once
He called out and shut up because it was too much trouble
He dreamed of the future and pushed back the past and dreamed of disrepair that is soon to be yours
Soon to be his

He screamed out for mercy when the world showed it's face and then he shut up because it was, is, and will be that way forever
He changed his mind so many times and continues to do so
He expressed himself for all his life and continues to do so
But the things he wants to express he can not express well enough
For his mind was fixed on the greatest things and the worst things, little in between
And the greatest things are unexpressable
And the worst things are impossible to fully express

So he retires for a while
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Direct Link To This Post Posted: March 05 2013 at 11:40
God, god, I say "god", ... . Smoke
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Direct Link To This Post Posted: March 05 2013 at 11:35
Originally posted by smartpatrol smartpatrol wrote:


Walmart
Walmart
Walmart
Walmart
Walmart
Walmart is the ultimate solution for these punked out kids
They have no help and have no souls
They're so f**ked up and out of control
XBOX

IS A GOD TO ME
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Direct Link To This Post Posted: March 05 2013 at 03:26
Poem #1: Close My Eyes And Ears.

Can you hear me now?
Bless all the men that keep this ground clear.

If the sun does rise, I won't open my eyes.
If the sky comes clear, it's a reminder. It's time to steer clear
Of your song about your days that may reach my ears.

Can you hear me now?
Bless all the men that keep this ground clear,
And I will feel a whole lot better.
Amen.

That's all I have to say for today,
Though if you fancy my way, I hope you will enjoy your stay
Tomorrow.


Edited by Dayvenkirq - March 05 2013 at 03:27
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Direct Link To This Post Posted: March 05 2013 at 00:31
Lonely as a midnight moon
Holy as a mother's daughter
I am the sun
I am the sun moving through space

I am your carbon copy
Use me as you wish
I am a fish and you have caught me
Put me in your dinner dish

I am alive
I am brave
I am alive
I am brave enough
To face my fears alone

I am scared
I am big and I am small
I am scared
But I'm brave and I'm proud of it

I am alone
I am brave and I'm completely alone
I am brave
I am scared and out of it

I'm a freak and I'm a child
I play with water when I get bored
I am the child
I am the idea
I am the light
I'm the things that keep you up at night
I am the gift
I am you
I am me and I am also me
I am nothing
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Direct Link To This Post Posted: March 04 2013 at 18:35
There once was a man from Nantucket

oops.  sorry, wrong thread.  Embarrassed
I can understand your anger at me, but what did the horse I rode in on ever do to you?
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Direct Link To This Post Posted: March 04 2013 at 18:32
Here are two of my poems Smile

Sore:

Painful is this sweet sore
I carry inside of me,
Whispering dreams of gore,
Bleeding away my tears.

It hurts, it hurts so much
It won't ever make me real,
It won't ever let me touch,
It hurts, it hurts to feel.

And when a little rose in bloom
Scents my hopeless soul,
My sore lights a bright gloom,
And turns Nothing into Whole.

Walk away, my crystal angel,
Take my memories with you,
So I can forget your wings
And pretend the lies are true.


Torture:

My lips phantoms kissing,
In bliss flesh decays,
To turn into a nighmare
The joy of your grace.

At me sweet swords glare,
Of rain soft skin dreams,
Blue eyes my blood drink,
War chants so tasteful.

A little shadow stares
From the bright deeps of heaven,
Erasing smiles and cries,
The rope of life unties. 

Kiss my heart and bring me
The torture I long for.
I wish nothing but to die,
For your body hurts me so.


Edited by ArturdeLara - March 04 2013 at 18:40
"Those who are not shocked when they first come across Prog theory cannot possibly have understood it." - Niels Bohr

"If you think you understand Prog, you don't understand Prog." - Richard Feynman
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Direct Link To This Post Posted: February 18 2013 at 12:34
Some free form nonsense:

The purple pancaked creatures with old faces and tiny birds were ready
They had no idea what they wanted but they couldn't crack at it with the juices flowing
Old frogs smoke weed inside smiling orange potato skins
Sucking at the flesh of a toilet frog
Aching with old pickled carcases of dead f**ks

Groceries piling up in the kart of a smoked ham dead next to Sam eating a lamb who
Well anyway
He can't see because his head is dead full of smiling poached smoked sausages
Walmart
Walmart
Walmart
Walmart
Walmart
Walmart is the ultimate solution for these punked out kids
They have no help and have no souls
They're so f**ked up and out of control

Big fished heads and rolls of glue
Stupid people need to chew
I have lice in my pubic hair
Now snort it hippy!

The old frogs cast away their shadows
They can't help but be entertained by this whole mess
It messes them up
With paper cups
Lined out across the table

Johnny talks to his mother
Through a phone call to Brooklyn
They found Johnny's caucus in a mattress store
AND SMILING WITHERED FELLOWS STARTED TO ACCUMULATE IN THE CORNER OF THE ROOM


Edited by smartpatrol - February 18 2013 at 14:08
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Direct Link To This Post Posted: February 10 2013 at 17:08
All my poetry seems really f**king pretentious to me:

And inside that boy's tired eyes he saw his room which was empty, except for all of the things in his room
All his possessions
And outside the window he saw the setting sun's beams granting the leaves on the ground a bit of light to be in
It looked like spring, but it was winter
Some would look at this scene and think how pretty
He did not
He hated it. It looked disgusting and slimy and stupid
But he couldn't escape this vision for it was real life and you can't escape real life because that's real life and you should man up and deal with it and not mope around like some stupid f**king loser who just wallows in his own imaginary filth
Well, some of it was imaginary
His whole atmosphere was a big mess
A big, dirty, humid, mess
All of this to be interpreted through his tired eyes and his hyper mind.
It seemed like everyday, but really some days were great,m it's just hard to remember them because it seems that the mind remembers negative things better
And even sleeping in didn't help, intact it worsened the whole thing, but so would waking up early, so why even wake up?
Because, your body naturally wakes it's self up, that's why
Or at least it did today
And hopefully tomorrow, and the next day, and the next day, etc.
Of course he knew it wouldn't last
Or if it did, who gives a sh*t? You still have to do it

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Direct Link To This Post Posted: January 11 2013 at 23:39
There once was an old country man
And in the dead of the night he would look around at the dust that gathered in the grass after the sun went down to greet a new set of people who would bathe it's warm beams
And he would start to sing little tunes he remembered from when he was a kid
His soft, warm gravelly voice would fade into the wind, never to be heard again

Every morning he would wake
He'd go outside once more and look at the remains of the night
And he'd smile
And he'd get his broom and sweep away the dust from his porch
Then he'd go out and work
And when he came home he'd do the same nightly ritual

But one day that old man didn't wake in the morning
And the dust of the sun would be there, unobserved
And the wind would remain untainted by old songs
And the dust on the porch would collect and stay

Edited by smartpatrol - January 11 2013 at 23:40
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