A Poem Thread

A soldier stands
burried in myst
looking at the watch on his arm.

The fog eats the time
and the soldier stands
for two hundred years
waiting to shoot.

No order to retreat,
no order to end the war;
you stand there
with the stars.

---
© 2004 by Avatar
 
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just newly written for my
_TwistED_INsanITy_ series
---

Look in my eyes-
your doctor,
inject in your blood
your doctor.

A pill on your tongue-
your doctor,
a pill in your system-
killer.

Carries a knife-
your killer,
cuts you a smile-
your lover.

A death in your arms
makes you aaaaaah;
a hypnosis,a poison...
give

---
© 2004 by Avatar
 
Here is a "Frisbinator-Ku" poem. It does not rhyme, but it gets straight to the point. It is only one sentence composed of six words. Here it is:


Stop posting depressing poems you assholes.


I worked weeks on that poem, and I am happy to say that my inspiration came from this thread. I sure hope that you all enjoyed it, and maybe even learned a little bit from it.
 
your authority ends at your socks and doesn't stretch to my location. so why don't you just chill out and stop being an annoying anomaly in this thread? thank you
 
POSTHUMANS

two monsters
born near the same time and place
meet and mate

brother and sister, they share love and hate

appearances deceive, for no one can see
how significant they are
in the sequence of things to be

but eventually they feel it and know it

and once knowing
they share a moment of regret for the humans around them
who have been their lifelong friends
but then the moment is gone

they know that if they join
it means the end of the old order
and the start of the new

and for a time they struggle with the thought
but then realize that such is their fate
and they are powerless to stop it

they make love
and their son is beautiful
and so incredibly smart and creative!

we should have another but this time a daughter

and our children
will love each other and hate each other
and they will hold hands

as they journey through a rapidly improving world
that is - each day -
significantly less troubled by humans

© 2004 your imaginary friend maxalaniz
 
Just a short one.

Burial at sea.

Out of the boat,
into the dark.
Goodbye sailor,
hello shark. :)
 
Gravity's grateful personality
attracts, yet apalls
and makes one feel wanted
during three-storey falls

© my good friend John North
 
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ALL HAIL THE SWORDS!,
all hate the swords,
all dream in swords,
all die in the name of swords.
---

Two swords were crying deep in sand,
two swords were dying
from their masters hand.

Two deadly blows,
two finest blows
their bearers killed each other's goals.

Their bearers drunk each other's souls
and now they are not themselves,
but piles of rotting bones,
sinking in the swamp of time.


A sword is never killed in battle,
a sword is ever lasting fire;
it bites the flesh of human wearer,
it takes away what is guarded by prayer.

But sometimes fate plays a wicked game
and kills an immortal forged for fame,
as now the swords are drenched in eons
and slowly rusting away their name.

Pick up the swords,
pick up their names
and walk inside an icy plane.

Take up their goals
and sing their souls
where the battle is fought
against the god
of time.​

---
© 2004 by Avatar
 
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I designed your lips
to form a flame,
they vaporized my veins;
and all the blood
turned to salt and rock
cracking in the
fires of your name.

---
© 2004 by Avatar
 
I aspire to inspire merely one.
Selfish of me perhaps,
but my brother, the magic's gone.
I drive and set alight Cooke, Coltrane
in the wells of society's mishaps;
selfish I maybe my brother,
but oh, their wickedness my heart abhor.
Gifted children of the unseeing God,
selfless in the praising of this dead God,
you have have laid to waste the green
of the forest that gives life.
Praise and again, annoint this sighing God;
I aspire to inspire merely one.
I am the freedloading freddy,
so Miles help me.
 
Deeds

White, volumnous mountains on my right,
a slight cooling breeze on my tired face,
I release a tired breath as I fight my eyes
that wish to close in the promise of daylight.

And on my left, the branches embrace the stems
as two gaunt trees dance their famous dance
in the cooling breeze.

In the far distance,
the gift of man is the swivelling light
high on the top of a tall and dull steel ramp.

And in my ear,
the sweet and agonizing voices
of Cooke and Redding--
they sing of a time lost, an anguish still present, yet hidden;
a dream and a promise disappearing
in the selfish, facile reward of a crown
whose gems lose their shine with every passing
of a disgruntled misguided youth with the false smile,
the pat on the back meant to hurt,
the grins of greying men as we jump around:
clowns dressed in overlong shorts as we throw balls through hoops,
clash into each other for a leather ball,
catch a leather ball,
sing of a depressing joy as our women aspire
to be barely cladded images of whores.
And the sounds of Redding speak of the promise of a bright sunny day;
oh, if only the day brought more than a nice fucking day.



cdjghkfeuiflohjs!!!(c) 2004 thefountainhed
 
My ode to love part 21

As I greedily drink the sweetness
that travels inside my fears,
warmly draws me closer to completeness,
it still remains the bottle has its end.
A last sip nears.
Moderation!
Alas, this disease has no cure,
Guided drinks bitter the pleasure;
Weighted licks beckon painful pricks.
Still, when the end approaches,
like a mad chemist, I shall mix and heat,
racing to ebb my heart's furor,
and I shall fail to hide my fears pretense.


© 2004 thefountainhed
 
Insecurities

My heart jumps,
my sweat pools,
my head bobs,
my feet bounce,
my back aches.

Yet I keep reeling in,
pulling the reins of the black beast,
as I shout louder and louder
that it moves, it runs.

It tries yet keeps tiring, slowing, and panting...

Behind in the dusk, the whirring wind
my follower creates, drag the desert sand.
The heat that punishes is the fuel that drives.

So off the beast's back,
onto the burning track,
I’m the sole black
in the surrounding white.

My pace sluggish,
my skin melting,
my will gone,
and my chasing demise
all but upon me,
the last resort is to turn and face the emptiness that awaits.


© 2004 thefountainhed
 
Untitled 198

Ever the giving lover,
The pleasing wonder
To whom you return when the buzzing ant
Is all that hears your rant,
I sit perched upon the hilltop
Of the sun’s resting stop.
There, I await your calls.
Watching and waiting patiently
For your demure crawls
Toward the hill.
There, I shall feed your need with my sweat
As I feed mine with your delight.
Hell or heaven await,
But do not insist I feel your guilt,
This is punishment enough.
 
A salute to those family members that know too much.
"A secret between two people", says Franklin "Is best kept when one of them is dead."



Siblicide (for Sibling Homicide):

In a dark corner she sleeps
That one I share Blood with and Life with – such a curious thing that a being so monstrous in life lays chaste in its slumber, innocent of the dangers that woo her.
Looking down on her, how odd that a mind so attentive and manic does not know an ogre sits by her bed fondling her soul with a dagger.
I wish to kill her.
For every breath that lets out of her body, the hairs on my skin tingle with hate.
The timing is quiet and the melody, manslaughter.
I see her writing in blood and screaming in pain, the silent kind asylums padded with pillows.
Her face with my fingers I quietly paint with the clots she chokes on for her funeral.

For every quiver of eyelash, a lynching roars in my psyche.

This being before me disgusts with its feigned innocence and fragility.
She is smothered by the murderous label: Sibling. In her 20 odd years, all her laughters and joys with those she trusted once have been slaughtered and stuffed in the label that frightens her when uttered- Sibling.
This, the reason for her sleeping in that dark corner away from me...milking her suspicions.
I loathe the girl- the gods are laughing at her misfortunes and mine.
But Sibling trembles when she finds I laugh louder.
 
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Damn, did Gendankens murderous rage silence the everflowing FountainHead? Perhaps I can add to that shocked silence.

A Funeral

I killed a man today.
In the cluttered halls I wander.
I killed him.
His face, a mirror,
reflecting back my own mien.
His face, an affront.
My face, not his.
The library,
My place of learning.
Stacked high with
Works of the ages.
Closely stacked, leaning,
The works of my life.
The library,
My place of murder,
He read a book,
My book, not his.
For this I killed him.
I slashed him with fury,
I slashed him with love,
I removed his visage
To use later.
I removed his eyes,
To remind me of him.
I removed him to the garden,
The place of my somnolescence.
I buried him
amidst my dreams.
While digging
the grave deeply.
I discovered others
Similarly dispatched.
Who did this,
I wondered briefly.
But soon lost interest,
as I turned to my books.
To my wisdom of the ages.
To the lore which birthed me.
I discovered a book
which I had not read.
I settle down in my favorite chair
to read and learn.
There are footfalls
in the hall.
But, I cannot be bothered.
 
Much better than that coutry music ditty you wrote pages ago.

On topic, short but sweet:

**Radio Edit**
 
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Let's play the silly game that fucks up my peace for NOW, and only NOW.

Roses are red, violets are purple
I'd fuck you til your clit starts to ripple.
 
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Illiteracy is noxious. Specifically on selfish bastards.
Lets not play any games since its MY PEACE that TRUMPS YOURS.
 
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