|
|
Tuesday, May 25th, 2004
| |
4:41 am
|
crazilore
|
hey, Im New here... ive got so many poems its ridiculous.. i dont kno what the "main" theme of this community is.. so if you'd like just click my website and decide which ones you'd prefer reading =).... check out ALL my poems at www.blurty.com/users/CraziLore
i looOoove comments =) so any kind of constructive critism is totally welcome.. theres some more personal ones under "Friends" posts, due to the fact that family members look at it, but if ya want to read those as well let me know and i'll add you =) hope everyone enjoys... and remember CoMmEnTs are APPRECIATED!!!
|
|
(4 comments | comment on this)
|
| Saturday, April 3rd, 2004
| |
6:36 pm - The End of Potato Art
|
|
jsjwriting
|
Painful memories paralyzed her, wrapped her like a painful blanket late into the night. Silent tears soaked her cheeks as she remembered him. She looked at the ring and remembered his proposal. On one knee, with the velvet ring box in the middle of his palm. Just as she had envisioned.
She was still his fiance. She always would be.
She sat among the newspaper clippings, all of the articles she could find about that night. That night. That horrifying night. 'Young Medical Student Shot,' 'Future Surgeon Found Dead,' and 'Murderer of Medical Student Not Found,' lined the top of the articles in big, bold block letters.
"Why did you have to leave me?" she called out to him.
The murder weapon was found. A bloody knife under a rock. A butcher knife.
His last words to her rang in her head: "Honey, I'm sorry, I can't do it. I'm in love with someone else. I'm so sorry, I just can't go through with it."
She went into her car and turned on the motor. But this time, it wasn't for one of those therapeutic, calming drives she would take to contemplate her purpose for living. It was only for the deep thought, the time when she could suspend herself from reality. When no one could interrupt.
She closed the garage door. It wouldn't be long.
"Fuck, I used that knife to cut potatoes!" she said. "It was the only knife that would cut the perfect potato slice! And now it's gone. Damn you, David!"
Without her potato art, she was nobody. She had no purpose. She felt the resentment enrage her as she drifted off into her last sleep.
|
|
(2 comments | comment on this)
|
| Sunday, March 28th, 2004
| |
9:08 pm
|
vrgnwhore
|
Paint me Pretty
I could love you perfect
But not like this.
Forever gone, it’s myself I miss.
Living in the shadows,
Isn’t where I belong.
But it’s where I stay.
Breathing a lifetime of yesterday.
Faces reflect in crystal-like mirrors.
I can see myself, only your not so clear.
Arms wrapped around tight.
I never thought it so easy to say goodbye.
You were always the brave one,
Myself, merely the shadow.
I’m looking for something to lay on.
To drift away awhile.
It’s when I sleep, I can ever escape.
In reality, all I would have to do is leave,
Only these weakened legs don’t have the strength.
I’m not afraid I’ll miss you,
More afraid that I’ll forget.
You were always the artistic one,
I was merely the admirer.
Paint me something to keep.
My last attempt to keep you for a while.
I was never perfect,
Still my intentions were always good.
I was never beautiful,
But I tried so hard for you.
Lock me up,
Throw away the key.
And as you paint in remembrance
Paint me pretty.
current mood: aggravated
|
|
(5 comments | comment on this)
|
| Saturday, March 27th, 2004
| |
10:49 pm
|
xmargo0x
|
To broken dreams
Torn and twisted metel.
She knew that there would be trouble.
Nothing was left but bloodstained asphalt rubble.
Something so dangerous could make her feel so safe
no matter how much she wanted it her parents would never let her .
This boy was untrue
the lies he feed her seemed so great.
She had nothing to loose, how was she to know she had no clue.
He told her of a new life ,of sex and drugs,
good times and laughter.
For once in her life she had something to consume
and just chase after.
The plan was to get up and leave.
With only his unmotivated dreams to achieve.
So hard to understand,
that there was so much more to life
it was something she could never preconceive.
The time came to put their misguided plan into action.
She heard the stories of murder and this fatal attraction.
But stories afterall equal worries,
and all she had in mind were his nothing glories.
So she climbed out the window
and into the darkness of the night.
A chance at life and happiness was taken from her.
On the night when her eyesight was blinded by his headlight.
Her one human right.
For the getaway car was going to fast
and he did not know it was her body that had passed.
So remember this,
contentment and prosperity must be earned and only learned.
Lieing and cheating will get you nowhere.
dreams will come true to those who believe
and not those who decieve.
|
|
(comment on this)
|
| Sunday, March 14th, 2004
| |
3:24 pm - Eh. Random?
|
masteryak
|
It couldn't have been real, no, not this kind of feeling. She held onto herself the best she could. On the floor, on her knees, on what she thought was stable ground. Her innocence was swaying, she could feel in it her bones, in her heart, and in the warmth in her mouth. A metallic feeling filled her until she was made entirely of stone. All that had happened was already over, and not even tears could do her justice now. She closed her eyes and waited for someone, other than he, to run into the room and condemn her for what she hadn't meant to do.
|
|
(comment on this)
|
| Wednesday, March 3rd, 2004
| |
3:11 pm - Here's two.
|
monie
|
1.)Can you hear that? Thats the sound of a piano falling from a window on the seventh story of your novel, breaking and unraveling. Within the hands of the air molecules. A girl once played that piano, a boy once sat and listened and admired. He dropped a lit cigarette to the carpet. Flames engulfed her body and her brand new engagement ring. Music was his first love, music was his first.
2.)I sat on a wooden chair in an empty room. Just me, and the man with the camera. "Wouldn't it be so beautiful if the walls were leaking blue? Oh... Yes, especially if the entire room was completely white to begin with. Oh, the romance." And I would look through the aperture of his lense and see my reflection. I would wait for his reply. But he wouldn't reply. He never replied. He slightly lowered the camera and revealed one of his brown eyes. The other was covered by his thick, black hair. I knew he was studying me through the device he used to illustrate simple moments and to make them permanent. I wondered when he was going to take the photograph. His face was wan, almost to the point where it was white in its entirety. He moved his index finger to the small button and pressed it gently. A flash bright enough to blind filled the room. Just then, blue began to drip from the corners of the ceiling. It leaked and dripped onto my white dress. He placed the camera on the ground and smiled. He held out his hand for me to hold. His skin began to flicker, like that of a staticy television screen. And with his touch, my skin had done the same. The blue was now up to our ankles. We had begun dancing by then, to a song that played only by a radio in our heads. It had poor reception, and resembled our flesh. It went on this way until the blue ocean had risen to our necks. I could feel his hands moving to my waist now, and he wanted to say goodbye. He wanted to say something for once, but the blue was rising too quickly now. It enveloped his beautiful smile and soon after it swallowed his eyes. So I was right. It was romantic.
current mood: alone.
current music: thursday
|
|
(5 comments | comment on this)
|
| Tuesday, March 2nd, 2004
| |
5:32 pm - Innocence
|
|
icicle_eyes
|
The idea for this poem came to me when reading a passage from The Book of the Dead. I took some of its major components but made it into a more contemporary version that might have nothing to do with death.
I Am Pure
This here is a hail to you, Lord of the Candied Apple
I have come to you, in innocence
Brought to you, in innocence
I have not sampled the forbidden fruit,
But I know you
Know your name
“He-of-Candied-Chestnuts”
(And) “He-of-frosted-Macaroons”
I come before you
Having repelled all knowledge
Bringing the gift of powdered sugar
I have not lied on the online quizzes
They told me I was pure
That I was Water
I know you are the man who sits on my bureau
With the crazy eyes
But the quiz never lies
I am pure, I am pure,
I am pure, I am pure!
I will take a bite of your Candied Apple
For I know its contents
The apple you grew!
current mood: pristine
current music: Walk On The Wild Side--Lou Reed & Velvet Underground
|
|
(1 comment | comment on this)
|
| Saturday, February 28th, 2004
| |
11:59 pm - Confusion
|
|
jsjwriting
|
Shredding sanity like a vicious lion
Thoughts, opinions, desires
Lost in bleak darkness.
The words on the tip of her tongue
Gone
Faded.
Destroyed.
The crimson paints the faded lime walls
Thrown without attention to detail.
Lacking direction
A purpose
A meaning.
She lies in with dried tears.
After the last words
"I can't escape."
current mood: complacent
|
|
(1 comment | comment on this)
|
| Monday, February 23rd, 2004
| |
1:40 pm - Confusion.
|
opaquementality
|
Confusion is the plague to all thinkers. It's symptoms are Inexperience and Doubt, with occasionally a sign of a nasty case of Apathy. It's a disease that sneaks up on you, until one day you realize you understand nothing and you're in a sick bed you can't get out of. It envelops you like a bad cold and you can't breathe or eat or sleep without thinking of all the things you didn't completely today do to your illness. And it spreads. Like an infection. Confusion about one issue breeds in that area until the spawn of the virus settles comfortably in a place you thought you had completely under your control. This leads to more cases of Doubt and lastly Frustration, which is a horrible side-effect that results in the pulling of hair, gnashing of teeth, tears, and loss of appetite.
The only conceivable cure for this disease is a mix of simple anecdotes. Education and Determination usually do a good job of battling away the havoc-reaking enzymes that invade your brain. A daily percentage of Organization might help, but sometimes a shot of Explanation is the best thing. Self Reflection should be taken in small doses. A healthy amount Patience works wonders.
So there are cures. Just try not to catch it. Prevention of Confusion could be acheived through a warm layer of Interest before you head out!
|
|
(comment on this)
|
| Saturday, February 21st, 2004
| |
11:31 pm
|
vrgnwhore
|
No one ever said Breaking away would be easy.
No matter how bad things are, they have become a part of you, A layer of your skin that makes you who you are. If it were so easy, the word "Breaking" wouldn't be in it.
current mood: contemplative
current music: Staind
|
|
(1 comment | comment on this)
|
| |
5:22 pm - Dimming Street Lights
|
|
| Tuesday, February 17th, 2004
| |
9:04 pm - -First Post-
|
masteryak
|
He stepped into the elevator with me. I didn't want him to and I couldn't look him in the eye, but he stood there in all his glory as if daring me to defy myself. The doors shut and sealed the two of us inside the smallest room we would ever have to be in. I proceeded to be made heartless, like becoming unpure by someone you don't even love. He pushed a button but the floor never came, it never came.
-Untitled
current mood: apathetic
current music: The Rag
|
|
(1 comment | comment on this)
|
| Monday, February 16th, 2004
| |
8:38 pm - Innocence Lost, Innocence Found
|
before_dawn
|
Innocence ( Stream of Consciousness )
You can make your own list of innocence. Innocence recovered.
You can make each kiss your first kiss! You can recapture your own innocence.
You can make each ride on Magic Mountain at Disneyland, your first ride!
Innocence Found. Paradise Found.
current music: Passion by Peter Gabriel
|
|
(5 comments | comment on this)
|
| Thursday, February 12th, 2004
| |
2:18 pm - Speed
|
scarletcreation
|
I lie face up,
with the palpitations of
an astronaut ready for take off.
You show the night to me
in silhouettes,
daring me to cross your horizon.
You eclipse me,
and I'm speeding through space
unable to focus on a single star.
I can feel the hot sun
resting on the cool of the moon
and I am travelling faster.
Speeding through space,
you push and pull
at the edges of the universe.
You will bring down Creation again
only to tell God to rise
for another sacred encore.
I, like Time, will collapse
at the mighty overtaking,
only to be built again.
current mood: creative
current music: Missippi--Train
|
|
(comment on this)
|
| Thursday, February 10th, 2005
| |
4:39 pm
|
always_a_sin
|
Statues scratched and shattered
Angel wings torn apart
Cross on fire, deadly stench
I look into the face of death
Corpses scattered everywhere
Darkness chained to this land
little by little
Every soul here dies
Raped and tortured
knife through the heart
Lies a younge girl
She never wanted to die
Life stripped her
of her innocence
Took it all away
Left her for man's cruel hands
I look into face of death
But i am not afraid
When my body will be found
MY fingure will be on my gun
So that they'll know i fought my way
So that they'll miss me when i'm gone
|
|
(1 comment | comment on this)
|
| Sunday, February 8th, 2004
| |
12:51 am - Last of the Generation
|
|
jsjwriting
|
Preface: I was compelled to write this poem in honor of my 94-year-old great grandmother, who currently lives in Floridia. Since the theme is about innocence, I thought it would be appropriate.
Faded black-and-white photos pegged in disorder
With crude metal tumbtacks to hold them.
Reminders of our innocence, our youth.
But he is gone now.
And only I remain to remember.
Life taken away from me
And only a breathing body remains
With freedom dictated by hourly Bingo trips.
Hardly mobile.
I am the last of them.
So I closed my near-blind eyes
And ended the generation.
|
|
(2 comments | comment on this)
|
| Monday, February 2nd, 2004
| |
7:35 pm - untitled
|
outtaplace
|
These games we play again and again
An eye for an eye
A limb for a limb
Round and round
In circles we spin
Knowing only what we see
But what's going on within?
|
|
(1 comment | comment on this)
|
| Tuesday, February 3rd, 2004
| |
3:57 am
|
misscharlie
|
Apologies for not realising earlier, but I noticed that  docvergil hasn't posted any new topics recently and hasn't updated her journal in six weeks. I hope everything is okay with her. Anyone know?
Anyway, I guess I'll be posting new topics until she returns. This week they are..
1. Innocence
2. Confusion
Feel free to write about anything you wish related to the chosen topics. It can be a single word, sentence, paragraph, poem, short story or your life story... just write!!!
Any ideas for future writing topics?
|
|
(1 comment | comment on this)
|
| Friday, January 30th, 2004
| |
8:29 pm - I need you...
|
|
awesomewells
|
Ok... i've written this poem and i'm not sure what to call it. So what i thought i'd do was post it and have you think of a title based on how it affected you (if at all, because that is quite a presumtuous comment on my behalf). So please give me feedback on what you think and if you like throw a title my way. When all entries are in i'll choose one and the person who's title i chose wins a lifetime supply of integrity, and maybe a bit of creative genius as a bonus. Thank you all in advance.
So here it is:
Shiny and proud from flowing,
the horse galloped,
glinted eyes full of knowing.
In his path a fallen tree
With a smirk and function,
He mocked its horizontal bark.
Amidst the destruction,
The horse strode home,
where he painted,
the tree in all is unfallen glory.
He returned to where earth and wood,
had met with no sound.
He hung his painting,
on a hoof shaped sapling,
in full view of the downtrodden tree.
Reminding him,
of what he once was,
and shall never be again.
|
|
(2 comments | comment on this)
|
| Monday, January 26th, 2004
| |
2:40 pm - March Of Humiliation: An Epic
|
|
jsjwriting
|
Preface: This is the tale of our band adjudication two years ago. I think I'm going to be telling this to my children...
We entered the stage uncaring
With no reverence for dynamics or articulation.
Our interests?
Our teck-decks
Spearment gum
Talking to the other flute player.
The extent of our musical knowledge?
Passive listening.
Harmony overriding melonic lines.
And our finale?
Crashing on the wooden stage
Cut to nonchalant look on cymbol player's face
"OH...MY...GOD."
We ended in laughter
Watching silent tears in the corners of her blood-shot eyes.
Her humiliation.
And our punishment?
No trip to the amusement park!
But no worries.
We went anyway.
|
|
(comment on this)
|
|
|
|
|