TGM: Orb wrote:
^
I was ambivalent about that. On the one hand, I like messing around with words, and it reinforces the collective (and it fits the metric side very nicely), the together, aspect, on the other, it could be seen as redundant if you don't look at it the same way I do.
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Well I've used similar ideas in poems, including this rather awful one:
Me you/Mind you (together as one)----Me you (?)----
I need you to interlock your thoughts
your body, your skin, your lips,
with me.
Will you accept me?
I want you to interlock your mind,
your life, your presence, your past,
with me.
Will you accept me?
----Mind you----
You are constantly being pushed to the front of my mind...
A wall surrounds you, stops you leaving.
(If you wanted to do so)
It soothes you, it protects you...
It values your presence and love for its owner.
He is thankful and grateful.
He loves you.
----Me you (two)----
Everything used to be misty and clouded,
and now,
it's clearer and more decisive than ever.
No longer lost,
no longer clinging to the precipice,
my hands are searching for your hands.
Will you lift me up?
Fay Lee Err... go now!
You were never loved by me.
You only ever brought me harm,
...making me choose depression...
over living...
On the brink, I felt for land,
I found rubble, but I struggled,
I almost...
(Fell)t this is the right thing,
falling, ever deeper.
Struggling on, down and up.
----Me you (three/free)----
I found up!
Beyond that rubble, there was hope,
...gripping the land, I lifted up...
And you were that hope.
You are still that hope.
Your smile greeted me at the top,
grabbing my hands (as asked).
I had been lifted.
Spiritually.
Literally.
I was safe now.
Fay Lee Err's brother had also left me.
Fee Err.
Gone, hoping to be forgotten.
Without your hands, I'd be dead...
Geck0 - 17 March 2006.
And this slightly better one:
(May) Flyby Tours - Borodinosaur a.k.a. Sorry I borrowed a few of your ideas pH
It doesn't matter if I live... or die...
Why?
I... fall into the maelstrom,
thunder cracking on my back
down to earth I (may) fall, but
the (may) fly, flies itself to sleep,
making my time with him a calamity.
Of course, time dissuades me,
from ever being what I want to be.
The (may) fly isn't a (may) bee,
time forces him into many mannerisms,
a ponderer, a wanderer, an organiser -
of the Anti-Anteater Association.
But at least he tries...
Unlike me.
I used to be a positive soul,
waiting out time for miracles,
but the materials required?
Well they were out of Stock,
Aitken and Waterman songs.
I should be so lucky...
Always popular, but never brilliant.
I specifically asked for pot...ash,
so I could grow some Amaryllis -
I got some dead stoners ground up bones.
Incinerated?, insinuated more like.
It's typical, mysunderstandyng.
I've been disqualified from the ratrace.
Snow bites my top lip, as I fall ever deeper,
time may start to pass backwards soon...
The thrill of the hunt - my piercing spear,
too elaborate to fly straight, it hits...
me in the face, time continuum.
No wonder the Woolly Mammoths died,
they hadn't bargained on my spear - useless!
I... want... to... spend time with the enemy,
working out their lies and deceipt.
To see why they have all the luck.
If I open this door, will I live?
Or will I die? If I don't open it...
Well, what of it?
Stalemate - a life of content.
I can do that, yes.
But I open the door anyhow...
to find, another door.
I hear field guns, is it 1812?
Have I travelled backwards in time?
I feel younger, but I look old.
Fitter and lithe, but with a stick...
I poke myself.
Then I see the (may) fly, he's awoken,
as bashful as ever - buzzing around my head,
dogfighting like Manfred versus Albert.
He settles on my right earlobe.
"Maybe I'll (may)be your life... away?"
He says.
In the confines of this...
What is this place?
I hear Tchaikovsky's 1812 Overture
...the door opens.
Welcome to Paranoia, please enter.
Geck0 - 1 February 2006.