A Poem Thread
- Thread starter Angelus
- Start date
DerSteppenwolf
Registered Senior Member
i'm not northamerican
i'll soon post a poem in spanish. try to read it as i try to read german poems. even when u don't understand u can get the rithym. bb
i'll soon post a poem in spanish. try to read it as i try to read german poems. even when u don't understand u can get the rithym. bb
Continuing...
Chapter 0.
Home and narcissus:
Relief at a thousand ant bites, but I am an ant;
Relief at the painful cold that further froze my heart--
protected me from the warmth that abused;
protected me from ever a warm smile melting my heart--
causing my death.
The smile that will at once stop,
And my heart that is always melting;
The pain that will pain,
all disappearing in the cold of water and the pain that was no pain,
for my heart has gone cold and the blood no longer flows--
I am at home.
There,
Wadin' my arms slowly, feeling the flirting water given,
flowing with the waves, soaking the breeze-- nature's relief, nature's jealousy.
The jealous hand that turned the gazer into stone, that wept at the gazer's beauty, that smelted the stone for its beauty, that wept at its wickedness, looks
and jealously murmurs.
The cold becomes the cool, and my home becomes the strange;
the cool becomes the warm, and the strange becomes the devilish incantation of every soldier breaching the walls I've built.
Gripped by the returning fear, presented with the gift of sense:
Flailing my arms, and gasping for air in the overwhelming presence of a pain real—
No longer am I alone in the cushion of the cold, no longer am I sheltered.
My ice melts in the warmth,
and I am losing myself in the fall to protect from the heat—by falling into the heat.
Faster and faster and perhaps on impact, the smallest of ice shall there still remain.
“You do not belong here! Painless one, you do not belong here!”
But my face, it shows my fear, and the one, it sees, and guilt is the reward?
The guilt presented the cushion of the ocean floor.
Wicked one.
It presented me with guests of green and red and white, all hidden by the murky mist of both fall and being.
“’tis my last gift.”
Wicked one.
Chapter 0.
Home and narcissus:
Relief at a thousand ant bites, but I am an ant;
Relief at the painful cold that further froze my heart--
protected me from the warmth that abused;
protected me from ever a warm smile melting my heart--
causing my death.
The smile that will at once stop,
And my heart that is always melting;
The pain that will pain,
all disappearing in the cold of water and the pain that was no pain,
for my heart has gone cold and the blood no longer flows--
I am at home.
There,
Wadin' my arms slowly, feeling the flirting water given,
flowing with the waves, soaking the breeze-- nature's relief, nature's jealousy.
The jealous hand that turned the gazer into stone, that wept at the gazer's beauty, that smelted the stone for its beauty, that wept at its wickedness, looks
and jealously murmurs.
The cold becomes the cool, and my home becomes the strange;
the cool becomes the warm, and the strange becomes the devilish incantation of every soldier breaching the walls I've built.
Gripped by the returning fear, presented with the gift of sense:
Flailing my arms, and gasping for air in the overwhelming presence of a pain real—
No longer am I alone in the cushion of the cold, no longer am I sheltered.
My ice melts in the warmth,
and I am losing myself in the fall to protect from the heat—by falling into the heat.
Faster and faster and perhaps on impact, the smallest of ice shall there still remain.
“You do not belong here! Painless one, you do not belong here!”
But my face, it shows my fear, and the one, it sees, and guilt is the reward?
The guilt presented the cushion of the ocean floor.
Wicked one.
It presented me with guests of green and red and white, all hidden by the murky mist of both fall and being.
“’tis my last gift.”
Wicked one.
And therefore, with 7 chapters to go, the combined first 2 chapters of my masterpiece 
…
Chapter 0.
Inception:
As we lay in the sanctuary of the bed,
having escaped the heat, and the stares of outsiders,
my fingers traced the arch of her cool back.
I just knew the rhythm of her breathing was almost as soothing
as the peace that would surely be on her face.
Yet even when in her sleep she nudged nearer to me,
pushing herself closer to me, giving herself to me,
even in her dream, I still would not look.
My gaze, fixated upon a darker spot on the ceiling,
lost focus the harder and harder I tried, so I wouldn’t fail,
so to hide my distress amid the false of calm,
so to pretend the quickness of my heartbeat to whim,
so to protect myself from what was to come— decision, ‘twas made by I,
so to pull sheets upon sheets of ice over my already cold heart.
Flight:
As the spot blurred did my vision of what was to come.
What am I
But an ant fleeing from the hovering foot destined to squish it?
The realization of the coming did not caused my flight—
My welcoming of the foot caused my fright—
And my flight.
My aim, no more deterred
By her grapping of empty air,
Her embrace of herself in the loss of warmth,
Or the murmur of displeasure in a sleep disturbed.
I had to run.
The feet may come, will come,
But this insignificant beast will surely run.
And into the car, into the returning dark and heat, went I,
And into the foreboding opening by the bay, sped I,
And into the misty water, guarded by the cold, jumped I,
And with relief did I welcome the sudden pain of my impact.
Home and narcissus:
Relief at a thousand ant bites, but I am an ant;
Relief at the painful cold that further froze my heart--
protected me from the warmth that abused;
protected me from ever a warm smile melting my heart--
causing my death.
The smile that will at once stop,
And my heart that is always melting;
The pain that will pain,
all disappearing in the cold of water and the pain that was no pain,
for my heart has gone cold and the blood no longer flows--
I am at home.
There,
Wadin' my arms slowly, feeling the flirting water given,
flowing with the waves, soaking the breeze-- nature's relief, nature's jealousy.
The jealous hand that turned the gazer into stone, that wept at the gazer's beauty, that smelted the stone for its beauty, that wept at its wickedness, looks
and jealously murmurs.
The cold becomes the cool, and my home becomes the strange;
the cool becomes the warm, and the strange becomes the devilish incantation of every soldier breaching the walls I've built.
Gripped by the returning fear, presented with the gift of sense:
Flailing my arms, and gasping for air in the overwhelming presence of a pain real—
No longer am I alone in the cushion of the cold, no longer am I sheltered.
My ice melts in the warmth,
and I am losing myself in the fall to protect from the heat—by falling into the heat.
Faster and faster and perhaps on impact, the smallest of ice shall there still remain.
“You do not belong here! Painless one, you do not belong here!”
But my face, it shows my fear, and the one, it sees, and guilt is the reward?
The guilt presented the cushion of the ocean floor.
Wicked one.
It presented me with guests of green and red and white, all hidden by the murky mist of both fall and being.
“’tis my last gift.”
Wicked one.
Chapter 1
And on my deathbed, in the middle of the neverending green of the ocean floor,
I sucked on invisible bubbles in the hope of a last breath to lengthen the beauty
of seeing the neverending blue that surrounded me.
And in my mist, in front me, on the platform of the palpable blue,
the wide eyed monster with eighteen tentacles waited patiently.
And with life giving growls, it asked:
Relief from the inevitable or the prolongation of the inevitable?
And in my silence, the invisible bubbles became paling hues on my eyes.
And in my fear, I yelled, Oh, the prolongation of the inevitable!
So stuck in the suffocating hell of the hypocritical and silently approaching tentacles,
I waited to die, and the monster waited for me to die.
And so, along came the petty pretty flowery swordfish, riding on the wave of the murmuring blue--
a gentle speck in a space of empty beauty--
a deceptive twinge of harshness in the dullness of the blue-- how fleeting is man.
And yet again, another offerer of life, another attempt to test my resolve,
another attempt to abuse the delicate and vulnerable situation of my being.
And yet like the abused whore whose head is filled with a false rose-laden wedding,
I greedily welcomed the abuser with warmth, and it became my saviour-- dressed in multicoloured stripes
that spurned multilayered degrees of happines on my burning whites.
And in my blindness, I missed the pointed blade of a nose that grew by the second.
Stuck in between the glazed tentacles and the blinding colours,
my only care remained the prolongation of a life increasing slipping my fingers, a life absent of my control, a life dictated by a bully and a liar.
And I suppose it wasn't so much that I cared- I had no time to think.
I wanted to breathe; I wanted to live; I merely wanted, and it stopped at my want.
…Chapter 0.
Inception:
As we lay in the sanctuary of the bed,
having escaped the heat, and the stares of outsiders,
my fingers traced the arch of her cool back.
I just knew the rhythm of her breathing was almost as soothing
as the peace that would surely be on her face.
Yet even when in her sleep she nudged nearer to me,
pushing herself closer to me, giving herself to me,
even in her dream, I still would not look.
My gaze, fixated upon a darker spot on the ceiling,
lost focus the harder and harder I tried, so I wouldn’t fail,
so to hide my distress amid the false of calm,
so to pretend the quickness of my heartbeat to whim,
so to protect myself from what was to come— decision, ‘twas made by I,
so to pull sheets upon sheets of ice over my already cold heart.
Flight:
As the spot blurred did my vision of what was to come.
What am I
But an ant fleeing from the hovering foot destined to squish it?
The realization of the coming did not caused my flight—
My welcoming of the foot caused my fright—
And my flight.
My aim, no more deterred
By her grapping of empty air,
Her embrace of herself in the loss of warmth,
Or the murmur of displeasure in a sleep disturbed.
I had to run.
The feet may come, will come,
But this insignificant beast will surely run.
And into the car, into the returning dark and heat, went I,
And into the foreboding opening by the bay, sped I,
And into the misty water, guarded by the cold, jumped I,
And with relief did I welcome the sudden pain of my impact.
Home and narcissus:
Relief at a thousand ant bites, but I am an ant;
Relief at the painful cold that further froze my heart--
protected me from the warmth that abused;
protected me from ever a warm smile melting my heart--
causing my death.
The smile that will at once stop,
And my heart that is always melting;
The pain that will pain,
all disappearing in the cold of water and the pain that was no pain,
for my heart has gone cold and the blood no longer flows--
I am at home.
There,
Wadin' my arms slowly, feeling the flirting water given,
flowing with the waves, soaking the breeze-- nature's relief, nature's jealousy.
The jealous hand that turned the gazer into stone, that wept at the gazer's beauty, that smelted the stone for its beauty, that wept at its wickedness, looks
and jealously murmurs.
The cold becomes the cool, and my home becomes the strange;
the cool becomes the warm, and the strange becomes the devilish incantation of every soldier breaching the walls I've built.
Gripped by the returning fear, presented with the gift of sense:
Flailing my arms, and gasping for air in the overwhelming presence of a pain real—
No longer am I alone in the cushion of the cold, no longer am I sheltered.
My ice melts in the warmth,
and I am losing myself in the fall to protect from the heat—by falling into the heat.
Faster and faster and perhaps on impact, the smallest of ice shall there still remain.
“You do not belong here! Painless one, you do not belong here!”
But my face, it shows my fear, and the one, it sees, and guilt is the reward?
The guilt presented the cushion of the ocean floor.
Wicked one.
It presented me with guests of green and red and white, all hidden by the murky mist of both fall and being.
“’tis my last gift.”
Wicked one.
Chapter 1
And on my deathbed, in the middle of the neverending green of the ocean floor,
I sucked on invisible bubbles in the hope of a last breath to lengthen the beauty
of seeing the neverending blue that surrounded me.
And in my mist, in front me, on the platform of the palpable blue,
the wide eyed monster with eighteen tentacles waited patiently.
And with life giving growls, it asked:
Relief from the inevitable or the prolongation of the inevitable?
And in my silence, the invisible bubbles became paling hues on my eyes.
And in my fear, I yelled, Oh, the prolongation of the inevitable!
So stuck in the suffocating hell of the hypocritical and silently approaching tentacles,
I waited to die, and the monster waited for me to die.
And so, along came the petty pretty flowery swordfish, riding on the wave of the murmuring blue--
a gentle speck in a space of empty beauty--
a deceptive twinge of harshness in the dullness of the blue-- how fleeting is man.
And yet again, another offerer of life, another attempt to test my resolve,
another attempt to abuse the delicate and vulnerable situation of my being.
And yet like the abused whore whose head is filled with a false rose-laden wedding,
I greedily welcomed the abuser with warmth, and it became my saviour-- dressed in multicoloured stripes
that spurned multilayered degrees of happines on my burning whites.
And in my blindness, I missed the pointed blade of a nose that grew by the second.
Stuck in between the glazed tentacles and the blinding colours,
my only care remained the prolongation of a life increasing slipping my fingers, a life absent of my control, a life dictated by a bully and a liar.
And I suppose it wasn't so much that I cared- I had no time to think.
I wanted to breathe; I wanted to live; I merely wanted, and it stopped at my want.
Last edited:
The other's lover
The sight that was
of my hand that was
of the moon that was
on your thighs,
in the breeze that was
the chile'
of the hur'cane
brought with it,
that I am liar.
But the wish that was
of the moon to
shine on the embrace
of you 'n I
in the breeze
that was the son
of the peace and song
of the spring,
reminds me that's not you here.
So the beast that delivers
the pleasure that is both pain and penance
means that my repentance's in vain and head alone.
So flog me, why don't you flog me?
My Muse
Release me, by God, release me.
It's been a fortnight and a thick book've have filled, and the thick book I"ll burn for its all mine and mine and mine.
The sight that was
of my hand that was
of the moon that was
on your thighs,
in the breeze that was
the chile'
of the hur'cane
brought with it,
that I am liar.
But the wish that was
of the moon to
shine on the embrace
of you 'n I
in the breeze
that was the son
of the peace and song
of the spring,
reminds me that's not you here.
So the beast that delivers
the pleasure that is both pain and penance
means that my repentance's in vain and head alone.
So flog me, why don't you flog me?
My Muse
Release me, by God, release me.
It's been a fortnight and a thick book've have filled, and the thick book I"ll burn for its all mine and mine and mine.
Yet another gift for delineating my favourite beauty
When the memories came,
I washed them down with the sweet poison that destroys my insides,
allows me to forget that when the ever present comes again,
and the fruits of my labour are gone,
I can look forward to washing the gifts that have plagued me.
So when the leaves fall on me,
let the lonely bird sing
that there lies a man who never failed, for they lies a man who never tried.
So when the ever present rolls around again,
and I'm reborn,
please warn me of the memories yet to come,
impale it on my soul,
for I'm weak before this poison--
it is the friend that smiles and kills.
And though I know of its cold heart,
I'm a lonely man that needs its friendship for when the ever present rolled before,
'twas the only friend in the cold winters that stretched for months and months.
The beginning of my judgement of I
Sing it, it said.
Sing it, and let the joy flow through the sorrow of our souls.
And I said:
I have made you the whore of my dreams.
Am I not merciful?
Am I not merciless?
Have I have not made you the angel of my dreams?
Why then do you plague me with the careless love of the child whose eyes have not opened?
Have I not dragged you through the pits, burnt you on the stake and begged the onlooking scavangers to ravage your unmoving body?
Have I not sold your soul for the pleasure of a dirty woman?
Am I not merciful?
Release me of your punsihment: this hell that eats on my wicked shell in the hope of a soft underbelly.
You seek failure, it is washed.
When the memories came,
I washed them down with the sweet poison that destroys my insides,
allows me to forget that when the ever present comes again,
and the fruits of my labour are gone,
I can look forward to washing the gifts that have plagued me.
So when the leaves fall on me,
let the lonely bird sing
that there lies a man who never failed, for they lies a man who never tried.
So when the ever present rolls around again,
and I'm reborn,
please warn me of the memories yet to come,
impale it on my soul,
for I'm weak before this poison--
it is the friend that smiles and kills.
And though I know of its cold heart,
I'm a lonely man that needs its friendship for when the ever present rolled before,
'twas the only friend in the cold winters that stretched for months and months.
The beginning of my judgement of I
Sing it, it said.
Sing it, and let the joy flow through the sorrow of our souls.
And I said:
I have made you the whore of my dreams.
Am I not merciful?
Am I not merciless?
Have I have not made you the angel of my dreams?
Why then do you plague me with the careless love of the child whose eyes have not opened?
Have I not dragged you through the pits, burnt you on the stake and begged the onlooking scavangers to ravage your unmoving body?
Have I not sold your soul for the pleasure of a dirty woman?
Am I not merciful?
Release me of your punsihment: this hell that eats on my wicked shell in the hope of a soft underbelly.
You seek failure, it is washed.
You have your brand new mercedes
you have your big screen tv
you have your suburban lifestyle
but what's in it for me?
You forget to ask all the questions
you have answers as far's I can see.
you know what's right for your family
and I can't posess a weed?
you have your big screen tv
you have your suburban lifestyle
but what's in it for me?
You forget to ask all the questions
you have answers as far's I can see.
you know what's right for your family
and I can't posess a weed?
Der Steppenwolf,
What happened to the promised poem? Chicken out?
What happened to the promised poem? Chicken out?
The poison that I drown with hateful fits of passion
promises to turn the dawn into yet another day
when yet another promise is broken.
And the potential to be vanquished
brings with it, that in my hell shall I remain.
And yet the tears won’t fall.
The bridge that stands between the cooling water—
relief from the fire of this hell, must be broken;
For another stands with me on this side;
And the strength to lift her over these burning flames
is the gift of the poison that promises
To bring with it,
the cure to my life’s joys and pains.
promises to turn the dawn into yet another day
when yet another promise is broken.
And the potential to be vanquished
brings with it, that in my hell shall I remain.
And yet the tears won’t fall.
The bridge that stands between the cooling water—
relief from the fire of this hell, must be broken;
For another stands with me on this side;
And the strength to lift her over these burning flames
is the gift of the poison that promises
To bring with it,
the cure to my life’s joys and pains.
The joy that is jazz
The falling leaves on a sunny day
that is Coltrane-- life's pleasure
in the restraint of society's ills.
Take me there, the sweet caress of the 'phone
that guides me through the trails of the mind
in this relentless pursuit of a moment of calm content.
The cruel waves of the reckless sea
fall with the release of a white dove in the empty blue
of the eyes of the unquestioning lover.
Confusion, perfection, haste, calm-- the amalgam of a cruel life crushed in the moment
of perfect control: you shall hurt no more, rise my son, rise
and ride on the wind that caresses with the sweetness of the unquestioning lover.
Few things illuminate my face with the pure joy
like the swallow of a giving and beautiful woman.
So what? Ah miles, miles, upon miles on the confidence of miles-- Davis, that is.
Invent as we go, create as we get me lost in the self leading labyrinth.
Take time in showing the exit; take me there my lover,
tease me, care to not make me beg, swallow me oh my lover, keep the fleeting smile on my face.
The falling leaves on a sunny day
that is Coltrane-- life's pleasure
in the restraint of society's ills.
Take me there, the sweet caress of the 'phone
that guides me through the trails of the mind
in this relentless pursuit of a moment of calm content.
The cruel waves of the reckless sea
fall with the release of a white dove in the empty blue
of the eyes of the unquestioning lover.
Confusion, perfection, haste, calm-- the amalgam of a cruel life crushed in the moment
of perfect control: you shall hurt no more, rise my son, rise
and ride on the wind that caresses with the sweetness of the unquestioning lover.
Few things illuminate my face with the pure joy
like the swallow of a giving and beautiful woman.
So what? Ah miles, miles, upon miles on the confidence of miles-- Davis, that is.
Invent as we go, create as we get me lost in the self leading labyrinth.
Take time in showing the exit; take me there my lover,
tease me, care to not make me beg, swallow me oh my lover, keep the fleeting smile on my face.
Lacking faith, plagued by the reason
that cannot cure my cowardice
in the decision that plagues and tortures.
Unable to the accept the pleasurable illusion
of the all-knowing, all pleasing god,
that stands annointed and gives without question.
Begging without reason in the constant
and futile attempt to silence them all--
voices of unreason addicted to beliefs: the simplicity that heals.
And there you stand, selfishly ungiving;
pleasing yourself in the beauty that is you;
punishing yourself in the beauty that is you.
You shall be the next-- my cure, my repentance.
Give a hint of yourself to all.
Pain them with the illusion of the all-seeing, ungiving and beautiful flower
that pricks at their gentle fingers.
Make them bleed.
Your blood, your hurt: the touch and need of the spurned lover,
shall be my cure.
Flooded with faith, gifted with the all-seeking eyes,
I watch as one after the other,
egos and mirrors get ripped and broken.
I killed the faceless one to save a million saveless ones;
you kill a million faceless ones to save the image of a faceless one.
There shall be no remorse; you shall be my paining cure.
This is precisely what you seek-- the loving face that seeks with abandon
and glides over you to the the wall of light you purposely
stand to illuminate the dark of your hurting and beautiful eyes.
I cry as much for you as I do for me.
You shall be my next victim, and like all the animals that cannot refuse my call,
so shall you open up and get stabbed.
I cry all for you.
that cannot cure my cowardice
in the decision that plagues and tortures.
Unable to the accept the pleasurable illusion
of the all-knowing, all pleasing god,
that stands annointed and gives without question.
Begging without reason in the constant
and futile attempt to silence them all--
voices of unreason addicted to beliefs: the simplicity that heals.
And there you stand, selfishly ungiving;
pleasing yourself in the beauty that is you;
punishing yourself in the beauty that is you.
You shall be the next-- my cure, my repentance.
Give a hint of yourself to all.
Pain them with the illusion of the all-seeing, ungiving and beautiful flower
that pricks at their gentle fingers.
Make them bleed.
Your blood, your hurt: the touch and need of the spurned lover,
shall be my cure.
Flooded with faith, gifted with the all-seeking eyes,
I watch as one after the other,
egos and mirrors get ripped and broken.
I killed the faceless one to save a million saveless ones;
you kill a million faceless ones to save the image of a faceless one.
There shall be no remorse; you shall be my paining cure.
This is precisely what you seek-- the loving face that seeks with abandon
and glides over you to the the wall of light you purposely
stand to illuminate the dark of your hurting and beautiful eyes.
I cry as much for you as I do for me.
You shall be my next victim, and like all the animals that cannot refuse my call,
so shall you open up and get stabbed.
I cry all for you.
[DEATH _ LOVE _ CHILD]
[or] [Black Vibrations]
1. [here and now - it rains]
rain's sorrow:
A raven carried on the wings
on the wings of earth and winds,
a raven carried to the grave
by seven angels of the night.
The rain fell silently,
the rain fell desperately,
barely touching the ground
he kissed his friend goodbye.
Only once in eternity
dies such a friend as this -
black cry of the night,
black tear in the blacklit sky.
2. [devil's bite]
young demon:
I put a candle in her arms,
I let my whisper fly;
it's wings opened the sky,
a black door in the night.
It seemed like a demon sun-
all black yet burning cold-
a flame that chills
and sets ones fears alight.
]\()/[
] || [
]/ \[
[><><]
young demoness:
I held a cry
on my palm ,
it burned whispers
under my skin.
They flew like birds
in my dreams,
their feathers touched
my sa-ni-ty.
And every night
when midnight hit
a door opened
and they flew outside
to hunt for
tears.
3. [newborn in hell]
little one:
I have a pillow,
it's like a rose in blood-
the last remaining kiss
from the world above.
I have put aside
the last tear I cried-
a bullet still burning
in my rotting heart.
"For what?" you say
I do no know,
needles in my veins -
I can not think;
that was a foolish wish.
---
O - (**
| \
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,
,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,
,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,
____^^^^^^^____+_+++_++__
---
13.05.2004.;14:13
© 2004 by Avatar
[or] [Black Vibrations]
1. [here and now - it rains]
rain's sorrow:
A raven carried on the wings
on the wings of earth and winds,
a raven carried to the grave
by seven angels of the night.
The rain fell silently,
the rain fell desperately,
barely touching the ground
he kissed his friend goodbye.
Only once in eternity
dies such a friend as this -
black cry of the night,
black tear in the blacklit sky.
2. [devil's bite]
young demon:
I put a candle in her arms,
I let my whisper fly;
it's wings opened the sky,
a black door in the night.
It seemed like a demon sun-
all black yet burning cold-
a flame that chills
and sets ones fears alight.
]\()/[
] || [
]/ \[
[><><]
young demoness:
I held a cry
on my palm ,
it burned whispers
under my skin.
They flew like birds
in my dreams,
their feathers touched
my sa-ni-ty.
And every night
when midnight hit
a door opened
and they flew outside
to hunt for
tears.
3. [newborn in hell]
little one:
I have a pillow,
it's like a rose in blood-
the last remaining kiss
from the world above.
I have put aside
the last tear I cried-
a bullet still burning
in my rotting heart.
"For what?" you say
I do no know,
needles in my veins -
I can not think;
that was a foolish wish.
---
O - (**
| \
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,
,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,
,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,
____^^^^^^^____+_+++_++__
---
13.05.2004.;14:13
© 2004 by Avatar
Last edited:
[mythago's kiss]
a step in cold
a slave, a slave
I sold my soul
a place in heaven
I fall
I draw your name
I fall, I fall
a sacriface
wrapped around your name like storm
my Rvivinon
eight strokes in blood
on angel's wings
eight wishes blowing deadly winds
my fingers kissing every raindrop
laughing in the face of creator
You fool
You fool
no cure
no cure
No soul can hold
my Rvivinon
heaven, earth
lock your doors
beyond your dreams
I fall
I fall
to create
my Rvivinon
--
15.05.2004.;22:09
© 2004 by Avatar
a step in cold
a slave, a slave
I sold my soul
a place in heaven
I fall
I draw your name
I fall, I fall
a sacriface
wrapped around your name like storm
my Rvivinon
eight strokes in blood
on angel's wings
eight wishes blowing deadly winds
my fingers kissing every raindrop
laughing in the face of creator
You fool
You fool
no cure
no cure
No soul can hold
my Rvivinon
heaven, earth
lock your doors
beyond your dreams
I fall
I fall
to create
my Rvivinon
--
15.05.2004.;22:09
© 2004 by Avatar
The Trip to Allemagne
by Kristin Kerley ~ American Poet (from Pieces of Soul, (c) 1995)
I died on a plane;
This old town
Has got me down,
I can't go home again.
Waved good-bye to Uncle,
Saw Michel crying by the door,
Heard the roar -- jet engines,
Take me home once more.
Up the stairs, and on the ledge,
Humpty Dumpty went to sit;
Jack fell down, and Humpty frowned,
My God! I'm still here, yet!
Then I gave a wave to Michel,
Said "good-bye, auf wiedersehn,"
I'll see my Uncle soon, this time;
I am coming home.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Travels with My Uncle
by Kristin Kerley ~ American Poet (from Pieces of Soul (c) 1995)
Across the wild blue yonder,
Over Atlantic Blue,
I sailed my ship of silver
To a faraway land with my crew.
I traveled with my Uncle,
He took me everwhere,
I saw great lands and people,
Home was far from here.
Oh, I have seen great places,
And I've seen the world as well,
But since I've been to Allemagne,
I'd rather be in Hell.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Homeboy Rap
by Kristin Kerley ~ American Poet (from Pieces of Soul (c) 1995)
Is there no escape -- I'm leaving?
Where is the door -- I'm grieving?
Call me a taxi -- which evening?
This girl is gone -- she's leaving.
Run for the exit -- show's over,
Trample the usher -- he's not your lover,
Run down the street -- where's your mother?
This girl is gone from this bed of clover.
Fly to the moon to end your pain,
Fry a potato, and you're insane,
Give a poor boy a silver dollar,
This girl is gone -- she won't wear no homeboy's collar.
Hitchhike down the lonesome freeway,
Give a ride to some homeboy anyway,
Pray for some rain on a hot day,
This girl is gone -- headed for a new way.
This girl is gone -- anyway you see it.
This girl is history -- I'll repeat it.
This girl is ancient history -- she's a afossil.
Ain't no homeboy gonna be her apostle.
Show me the encyclopedia,
How this girl outran the media,
Give me a dollor for everyone you make,
This girl ain't waitn' for some macho fake.
Don't be shy -- I said don't be coy,
This girl don't want no bad ass homeboy,
She'll just use you like some erotic toy,
This girl don't want no lyin' homeboy.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Don't Cry
by Kristin Kerley ~ American Poet (from Pieces of Soul (c) 1995)
Don't cry, when your daddy says "good-bye,"
You know he told you lies,
Your tears will never dry,
They'll drown you, and you'll die.
Don't cry, you're not the one to blame,
He caused you all the pain,
He won't come home again,
They said he went insane.
Don't cry, your mama didn't cry,
Wheb he left her there to die,
But death she would defy,
Now the cold wind hears him cry.
Don't cry, he left so long ago,
How were you to know?
The pain won't let you go,
The cold, harsh winds still blow.
Don't cry, just overcome your fears,
He's been gone for years,
You're wasting all your tears,
The cold wind still burns your ears.
Don't cry, your mama said, "Don't cry,"
She'll love you till she dies,
And will protect you from the skies,
She won't let the cold wind get in your eyes.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Train to Thereisenstadt
by Kristin Kerley ~ American Poet (from Pieces of Soul (c) 1995
Don't worry 'bout the train to Thereisenstadt,
The ticket was cheap, but the ride was not,
The traveler was innocent -- but history forgot.
The conviction came without even a trial,
The whole world was sad -- not even one smile,
The train kept on rolling down every deadly mile.
The cattle cars were full -- not even a stall,
We pulled into the village just west of Baunatal,
They threw out the dead ones by a light on the wall.
I arose the next morning in a field painted green,
Among the reddest poppies that I'd ever seen,
I looked down on my body like it was all just a dream
So was the fate of young Nijla Roos,
It was only her body that she had to lose,
Her soul keeps on writing for the world to peruse.
In Baunatal, you'll leave no wreath,
On the poppy field where she took her last breath,
For she knew at that moment, there is no death.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Poppies in Green Fields
by Kristin Kerley ~ American Poet (from Pieces of Soul (c) 1995)
Poppies in green fields are all that I see,
I even see poppies growing over me.
Poppies in mourning, poppies at night,
Where poppies grow, thre is no light.
Flower of the wicked, flower of the dead,
Poppy, my poppy, growing over my head.
I can see poppies from the place where I lie,
And I can be sure poppies also die.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Odyssey of Oblivion
by Kristin Kerley ~ American poet (from Pieces of Soul (c) 1995)
I awakened this morning
From my fantasy flight,
Only to find that my journey
Was an illusion of night.
A train at the depot,
A plain in the air,
My spirit refused them
To get here from there!
In the kalaidoscope of Earth lights,
I see the cosmic chameleon,
Who holds onto my spirit,
In this odyssey of oblivion.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The Blue Light Special
by Kristin Kerley ~ American Poet (from Pieces of Soul (c) 1995)
If old man Hillendahl could see it now,
He'd shed a tear from his eternal plot,
What used to be his cabbage patch
Is now a parking lot.
His plow is silent; his cow is dead,
They were just poor German sharecroppers --
The blue light special echoes o'er his grave,
"Attention, K-Mart shoppers. . . ".
Rows of cabbage planted north to south,
He worked the field that would be his grave,
And as I walked past his farm from school each day,
Old man Hillendahl would always wave.
At the far northwest corner of the Hillendahl farm,
Lie the bones of his ancestors' from immigrant days,
Whose spirits have shown the affinity between,
The old "blue light special," and the azure haze.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Wasichu's Greed
by Kristin Kerley ~ American Poet (from Pieces of Soul (c) 1995)
Wasichu build railroads from East to West,
And raped the Native American's best;
Driving each spike, hand by hand,
The People watched them rape their land.
To the Great Spirit, their homage was paid,
As Wasichu's railroad ties were laid,
Across Grandmother Earth, from East to West,
Through desert valley and mountain crest.
The Red Man cried in futile frustration,
As Wasichu herded them to reservations,
Their new sacred land, the Indian Nations,
They were stranded on Wasichu's creation.
The Native American is a dying breed,
When the railroad was laid by Wasichu's greed,
From East to West, through hills of gold,
Their sacred land was raped and sold.
Profit came to Wasichu's hand,
When the People died on borrowed land,
Where East meets West, beneath the Mound,
They used to call "happy hunting ground."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
by Kristin Kerley ~ American Poet (from Pieces of Soul, (c) 1995)
I died on a plane;
This old town
Has got me down,
I can't go home again.
Waved good-bye to Uncle,
Saw Michel crying by the door,
Heard the roar -- jet engines,
Take me home once more.
Up the stairs, and on the ledge,
Humpty Dumpty went to sit;
Jack fell down, and Humpty frowned,
My God! I'm still here, yet!
Then I gave a wave to Michel,
Said "good-bye, auf wiedersehn,"
I'll see my Uncle soon, this time;
I am coming home.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Travels with My Uncle
by Kristin Kerley ~ American Poet (from Pieces of Soul (c) 1995)
Across the wild blue yonder,
Over Atlantic Blue,
I sailed my ship of silver
To a faraway land with my crew.
I traveled with my Uncle,
He took me everwhere,
I saw great lands and people,
Home was far from here.
Oh, I have seen great places,
And I've seen the world as well,
But since I've been to Allemagne,
I'd rather be in Hell.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Homeboy Rap
by Kristin Kerley ~ American Poet (from Pieces of Soul (c) 1995)
Is there no escape -- I'm leaving?
Where is the door -- I'm grieving?
Call me a taxi -- which evening?
This girl is gone -- she's leaving.
Run for the exit -- show's over,
Trample the usher -- he's not your lover,
Run down the street -- where's your mother?
This girl is gone from this bed of clover.
Fly to the moon to end your pain,
Fry a potato, and you're insane,
Give a poor boy a silver dollar,
This girl is gone -- she won't wear no homeboy's collar.
Hitchhike down the lonesome freeway,
Give a ride to some homeboy anyway,
Pray for some rain on a hot day,
This girl is gone -- headed for a new way.
This girl is gone -- anyway you see it.
This girl is history -- I'll repeat it.
This girl is ancient history -- she's a afossil.
Ain't no homeboy gonna be her apostle.
Show me the encyclopedia,
How this girl outran the media,
Give me a dollor for everyone you make,
This girl ain't waitn' for some macho fake.
Don't be shy -- I said don't be coy,
This girl don't want no bad ass homeboy,
She'll just use you like some erotic toy,
This girl don't want no lyin' homeboy.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Don't Cry
by Kristin Kerley ~ American Poet (from Pieces of Soul (c) 1995)
Don't cry, when your daddy says "good-bye,"
You know he told you lies,
Your tears will never dry,
They'll drown you, and you'll die.
Don't cry, you're not the one to blame,
He caused you all the pain,
He won't come home again,
They said he went insane.
Don't cry, your mama didn't cry,
Wheb he left her there to die,
But death she would defy,
Now the cold wind hears him cry.
Don't cry, he left so long ago,
How were you to know?
The pain won't let you go,
The cold, harsh winds still blow.
Don't cry, just overcome your fears,
He's been gone for years,
You're wasting all your tears,
The cold wind still burns your ears.
Don't cry, your mama said, "Don't cry,"
She'll love you till she dies,
And will protect you from the skies,
She won't let the cold wind get in your eyes.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Train to Thereisenstadt
by Kristin Kerley ~ American Poet (from Pieces of Soul (c) 1995
Don't worry 'bout the train to Thereisenstadt,
The ticket was cheap, but the ride was not,
The traveler was innocent -- but history forgot.
The conviction came without even a trial,
The whole world was sad -- not even one smile,
The train kept on rolling down every deadly mile.
The cattle cars were full -- not even a stall,
We pulled into the village just west of Baunatal,
They threw out the dead ones by a light on the wall.
I arose the next morning in a field painted green,
Among the reddest poppies that I'd ever seen,
I looked down on my body like it was all just a dream
So was the fate of young Nijla Roos,
It was only her body that she had to lose,
Her soul keeps on writing for the world to peruse.
In Baunatal, you'll leave no wreath,
On the poppy field where she took her last breath,
For she knew at that moment, there is no death.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Poppies in Green Fields
by Kristin Kerley ~ American Poet (from Pieces of Soul (c) 1995)
Poppies in green fields are all that I see,
I even see poppies growing over me.
Poppies in mourning, poppies at night,
Where poppies grow, thre is no light.
Flower of the wicked, flower of the dead,
Poppy, my poppy, growing over my head.
I can see poppies from the place where I lie,
And I can be sure poppies also die.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Odyssey of Oblivion
by Kristin Kerley ~ American poet (from Pieces of Soul (c) 1995)
I awakened this morning
From my fantasy flight,
Only to find that my journey
Was an illusion of night.
A train at the depot,
A plain in the air,
My spirit refused them
To get here from there!
In the kalaidoscope of Earth lights,
I see the cosmic chameleon,
Who holds onto my spirit,
In this odyssey of oblivion.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The Blue Light Special
by Kristin Kerley ~ American Poet (from Pieces of Soul (c) 1995)
If old man Hillendahl could see it now,
He'd shed a tear from his eternal plot,
What used to be his cabbage patch
Is now a parking lot.
His plow is silent; his cow is dead,
They were just poor German sharecroppers --
The blue light special echoes o'er his grave,
"Attention, K-Mart shoppers. . . ".
Rows of cabbage planted north to south,
He worked the field that would be his grave,
And as I walked past his farm from school each day,
Old man Hillendahl would always wave.
At the far northwest corner of the Hillendahl farm,
Lie the bones of his ancestors' from immigrant days,
Whose spirits have shown the affinity between,
The old "blue light special," and the azure haze.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Wasichu's Greed
by Kristin Kerley ~ American Poet (from Pieces of Soul (c) 1995)
Wasichu build railroads from East to West,
And raped the Native American's best;
Driving each spike, hand by hand,
The People watched them rape their land.
To the Great Spirit, their homage was paid,
As Wasichu's railroad ties were laid,
Across Grandmother Earth, from East to West,
Through desert valley and mountain crest.
The Red Man cried in futile frustration,
As Wasichu herded them to reservations,
Their new sacred land, the Indian Nations,
They were stranded on Wasichu's creation.
The Native American is a dying breed,
When the railroad was laid by Wasichu's greed,
From East to West, through hills of gold,
Their sacred land was raped and sold.
Profit came to Wasichu's hand,
When the People died on borrowed land,
Where East meets West, beneath the Mound,
They used to call "happy hunting ground."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Nick Stenson
Registered Member
Down The Drain I Surround My Pain In Pounds Of Cocaine..
Its Strange..
Im On A Different Chapter But At The Same Page..
And My Name, Isn't Nothing More Than Bad Riddence..
Drugs At UnWritten Statistics..
But That Just Hits The Image..
If You Could Witness, My Life Under A Lime Light..
I Cant Find Right Worth The Time Sight, So I Live The High Life..
Sellin Drugs To Kids...
Drugs That Is..
Dont Got Enough To Live..
So Many Times I Think "I've Had Enuff Of This..
Smoked 8 Lines Of White Powder..
Smoked Myself Sour...
Lost All Power, As My System Shut Down During The Same Hour..
Breathe Hard In The ER..
Such A Stoner..
I Couldn't Save Myself, It Was All Up To A Donor..
Found The Organ, A Loner..
Barely Able To Funtion..
Never Make An Assumption Cuz They Made Somethin Outta Nothin..
Solid Conjuntions Eruption..
Turned Over A New Leaf..
Me?
Please.. The Leaves Breeched South Of The Tree..
I Admit, I Toned It Down A Bit, We'll Leave It At That..
Since I Seen All Its Wrath, Im Back..
I Tried But It Just Crossed In My Path..The Crack Kills, But Packs Thrills And Attracts Bills..
I Laugh Still..
Smoke So Mch Never Had A Chance To Sat Still..
When Will My Maturity Take Its Form And Show Up..
No Luck..
18 Years, Kids Got Jobs And I Aint Even Took The Next Step In Becomin 'Grown Up
A Freeze Frame, Drivin Down East Main When The Police Came..
A Dream Break, Never Thought You Could See Pain.
Over A Small Guard Rail, Into A Yard Sale..
3 Flips Then Stopped..
Cops, In Place..
Looked To My Friend, Didn't Know If He Was Breathing Or Not..
In Shock, I Crawled Out, Doin Whatever I Could To Get Him Released And Propped.
The Police Ceased Me..
And Before I Could See Him, Declared Deceased..
No Dreams..
We Got Past Them Then Abide And He Died..
I Cried For His Life, Just Wished I Wasn't High At The Time..
Tried To Get By, But Had 24 Years To Surround My Name..
Housed In Pain..
Couldn't Do This No More..
Took The Renouned Cocaine..
With A Look In Shame..
Opened The Bag And Poored Its Remains Down The Drain..
Its Strange..
Im On A Different Chapter But At The Same Page..
And My Name, Isn't Nothing More Than Bad Riddence..
Drugs At UnWritten Statistics..
But That Just Hits The Image..
If You Could Witness, My Life Under A Lime Light..
I Cant Find Right Worth The Time Sight, So I Live The High Life..
Sellin Drugs To Kids...
Drugs That Is..
Dont Got Enough To Live..
So Many Times I Think "I've Had Enuff Of This..
Smoked 8 Lines Of White Powder..
Smoked Myself Sour...
Lost All Power, As My System Shut Down During The Same Hour..
Breathe Hard In The ER..
Such A Stoner..
I Couldn't Save Myself, It Was All Up To A Donor..
Found The Organ, A Loner..
Barely Able To Funtion..
Never Make An Assumption Cuz They Made Somethin Outta Nothin..
Solid Conjuntions Eruption..
Turned Over A New Leaf..
Me?
Please.. The Leaves Breeched South Of The Tree..
I Admit, I Toned It Down A Bit, We'll Leave It At That..
Since I Seen All Its Wrath, Im Back..
I Tried But It Just Crossed In My Path..The Crack Kills, But Packs Thrills And Attracts Bills..
I Laugh Still..
Smoke So Mch Never Had A Chance To Sat Still..
When Will My Maturity Take Its Form And Show Up..
No Luck..
18 Years, Kids Got Jobs And I Aint Even Took The Next Step In Becomin 'Grown Up
A Freeze Frame, Drivin Down East Main When The Police Came..
A Dream Break, Never Thought You Could See Pain.
Over A Small Guard Rail, Into A Yard Sale..
3 Flips Then Stopped..
Cops, In Place..
Looked To My Friend, Didn't Know If He Was Breathing Or Not..
In Shock, I Crawled Out, Doin Whatever I Could To Get Him Released And Propped.
The Police Ceased Me..
And Before I Could See Him, Declared Deceased..
No Dreams..
We Got Past Them Then Abide And He Died..
I Cried For His Life, Just Wished I Wasn't High At The Time..
Tried To Get By, But Had 24 Years To Surround My Name..
Housed In Pain..
Couldn't Do This No More..
Took The Renouned Cocaine..
With A Look In Shame..
Opened The Bag And Poored Its Remains Down The Drain..
Nick Stenson
Registered Member
As I struggle to pozess
words to confess
to you
as they linger on my brain
brought forth by anger, frustration, and pain
it remains the same
...
Words that go un-spoken
yet another heart becomes broken
and the light from which your eyes bring
everlasting hope
of a better day thus far its making
my life that much better
and your lips that much sweeter
....
How i love you, its real
only not words can describe
the nerves that you touch with presence
and your spirt that passes thru me
your essence, guides me thru toils and troubles
and foils and fumbles
...
sometimes when its late at night
or ealry at the day
youve found a way to enter
my mind my heart and my veins
your a part of me all the same
your the words i speak
and smell from every which flower i seek
the prick of a rose
you bleed from my finger
your love is a song bird
I Love You
words to confess
to you
as they linger on my brain
brought forth by anger, frustration, and pain
it remains the same
...
Words that go un-spoken
yet another heart becomes broken
and the light from which your eyes bring
everlasting hope
of a better day thus far its making
my life that much better
and your lips that much sweeter
....
How i love you, its real
only not words can describe
the nerves that you touch with presence
and your spirt that passes thru me
your essence, guides me thru toils and troubles
and foils and fumbles
...
sometimes when its late at night
or ealry at the day
youve found a way to enter
my mind my heart and my veins
your a part of me all the same
your the words i speak
and smell from every which flower i seek
the prick of a rose
you bleed from my finger
your love is a song bird
I Love You
The rain shatters at the shouting crowd.
There's no way out of here
Our desperate cryes versus their tired rejections
We're rebels
But we don't get anywhere
We're rebels
Against the corrupt system
Times over and over and again to the end
I shout -"Free me.. free me!"
But nothing changes
It's all still...
There's no way out of here
Our desperate cryes versus their tired rejections
We're rebels
But we don't get anywhere
We're rebels
Against the corrupt system
Times over and over and again to the end
I shout -"Free me.. free me!"
But nothing changes
It's all still...
The Idle creature of Greece
I am constricted, restrained by the the mind that fights itself.
I am flooded, washed by the icy water that freezes my soul that begs to run.
No, I have not quit.
No, I do not lie.
Yes, Perhaps I lie, in the lie of quit when quitting was a lie.
This fucking nail is four inches deep!
Pain me mutherfucka, pain me.
I need to awake, this dream is far too smooth, far too pleasing;
my laziness gets rewarded with life's leisure far too often.
This fucking nail is now six inches deep!
Pain me mutherfucka, pain me.
Okay.
There lies a woman in my wake, naked to the waist, inviting me as I am,
not some gentle flesh eager to teach her to swim.
No, I shall do your wish.
Yes, I shall drown you.
This fucking nail is one inch deep!
Enough pain.
I am constricted, restrained by the the mind that fights itself.
I am flooded, washed by the icy water that freezes my soul that begs to run.
No, I have not quit.
No, I do not lie.
Yes, Perhaps I lie, in the lie of quit when quitting was a lie.
This fucking nail is four inches deep!
Pain me mutherfucka, pain me.
I need to awake, this dream is far too smooth, far too pleasing;
my laziness gets rewarded with life's leisure far too often.
This fucking nail is now six inches deep!
Pain me mutherfucka, pain me.
Okay.
There lies a woman in my wake, naked to the waist, inviting me as I am,
not some gentle flesh eager to teach her to swim.
No, I shall do your wish.
Yes, I shall drown you.
This fucking nail is one inch deep!
Enough pain.