A Poem Thread

His wild heart beats with painful sobs,
His strin'd hands clench an ice-cold rifle,
His aching jaws grip a hot parch'd tongue,
His wide eyes search unconsciously.

He cannot shriek.

Bloody saliva
Dribbles down his shapeless jacket.

I saw him stab
And stab again
A well-killed Boche.

This is the happy warrior,
This is he...
 
There's no denying those trick zones
where cities stuffed on spin loop
and cajole around the perigee of hope

but if there's no perfume trace after
the missile strike we might as well
spray our luminous selves with mace

until we go holiday blind. War cries
haul the heavy shadows of the past
into the present and with long patriotic

faces, we reveal how bloody empty
our history of habitation really is:
then, the magpie mocks everything

still in use, or spoken. An event, not
exactly a wet dream nor an ocean
pounding the headland's umbrage

nor a rutilant samba quivering
with nationalist fervour towards
the dark potential of anti-language:

though some sounds perjure with burnt
semiotic offerings, others taste gun-metal
blue, torture themselves into a cultural

frenzy. What slowness in a countdown
when the children cannot be heard ó
at the mere mention of another war

useless hands drop to thighs leaden
as petrol fumes. The aqueous envelope
of the globe bleeds but you cannot cry.
 
HOMECOMING

He was lying,
with half his body under the ceiling,
half under the sky.
He was surrounded by people
when he returned today.
They carried him, covered with blood and dust
and laid him on the balcony.
From a cloud, drops of rain
were falling on his feet.
 
THE EXHAUSTED PEOPLE

The exhausted people were sitting in the square
listening to the soft winds which may have been peddlars
or loiterers who had lost their way.

The exhausted people had their own open square
where the paving stones had taken on human qualities;
if one of the people were missing,
they cried out for him.

The exhausted people were in the open square
and their faces grew more brittle each day,
their hair, softer
in the evening's faint light.
When they glanced at one another, their eyes were brittle
until they thought of themselves as glass
and shattered.
 
They say:
Truth is the first casualty of war
but
they are wrong
it is Language

Language goes AWOL when the first shot is fired

Language is packing its bags
it's heading for the border
looking over its shoulder
nervously checking its papers
will it pass go or
be monopolised
compromised again

Language is waiting in transit
hiding in the hold of a leaking ship
anxious to leave the violence behind
Language knows it will be tortured
if it returns home ˆ it can never return home
Language will risk word smugglers

Language is a refugee
made illegal by circumstance
Language is being detained behind a cyclone fence
it is being held against its will

Language doesn't know who it can trust anymore
it was rescued and escaped in a mini-bus
then left to fend for itself in a desert of concerned onlookers
all holding remote controls and ready to switch channels

Language has a secret
It knows how quickly
a disturbance becomes an intervention
how overnight it can change from
a local police action
to a global reaction
to first strike and zero tolerance

There is a war on Language
 
Heroes


He died, you know
One hundred and three years old.
Gave him a state funeral,
draped his coffin
with the flag.
He's a hero from Gallipoli;
kept his head down
in the blood of his comrades
– and waited
Made a dead hero at one hundred and three.

He was alive, you know
when they pulled him
from the rubble.
Put his story
on TV, in the newspapers.
He's a hero from Thredbo;
kept his head down
in the blood of his wife
– and waited.
He's a hero 'cos he survived.

We're still here, you know
Fifty thousand years old;
and not assimilated yet.
Making ends meet,
burying our fallen.
Fighting for justice,
for our stolen ones,
fighting for our land.
The heroes from terra nullius;
We didn't keep our heads down
in the blood of our ancestors
– waiting.

Waiting for our medals,
our front page story;
but we're heroes
anyway.
 
Beyond The Wire


Beyond the wire
An awkward shadow dims the sand,
A twisted body,
Fallen with outstretched hand.

The last patrol
Returned, churning the night's quiet dust,
Leaving in the wire
A stain of blood to rust.


Six men went out
In search of new enemy mines;
Only five returned;
The sixth had found new lines.


As he crouched,
dark in the pale light of the moon,
A sentry saw him,
Ready, alas, too soon.


The silent night
Leapt with the shock of rifle fire -
Now his body lies
Alone, beyond the wire.
 
Sniper


Moves in the rocks with inching fingers.
We among the feathery banana trees
Imagine for him his aim: the steel helmet
And English face filling the backsight's V.
Again as it was last time, that spurting noise,
Thud, and the writhing figure in long grass.
until we match precision with precision:
We move ten men to one and have him then.

I saw the sniper in the afternoon. The rifle
Lay there beside him neatly like his shooting,
The grass twined all about his cap.
He had killed neatly but we had set
Ten men about him to write death in jags
Cutting and spoiling on his face and broken body.
 
German Prisoners of War


In a courtyard of the shelled farm they stand
The dusty mirrors of defeated eyes
Obscurring those proud days of fierce "Sieg Heils!"
They droop, dispirited, parched of all hope,
Their faces black with battered Europe's dust,
Dark with prophecy of hearts' forebodings.
Against the crumbling walls their arms are stacked,
Neat mounds, packages of surrendered death.
Our guns, now mute, mime articulation,
Persuasive signposts to captivity.
"Ou est le Boche?" is chalked upon our truck,
Releasing Belgian shouts and plausive hands.
We sway our victor's way through the faint light:
They say we'll be in Antwerp for tonight.
 
Of Strangeitude

They say that light
takes a million years to emerge from the sun
I wonder why it struggles to break free from it's womb

The pupil of my eye is black
Strangeitude
 
[1] [wrote this one a few hours before a midterm exam]

taking my brain for a walk,
walking, walking down the line;
the fireing squad is laughing at the sight of me,
laughing, laughing down the line.

rollover in coffee,
take a bite off your flesh;
the clock is ticking
keeping, keeping its' grin.

the brain is nervous
wanting, wanting to faint;
no effect, no effect
twitching the chain.

the rocks under my feet
sound like bullets
tearing, tearing my skin,
and the pigeons scream like vultures
as if seeing, seeing me dead.

-[]-[]-[]-[]-[]-[]-[]-


[2] [ACME Happy-Citizen-Machine®] [some two hours before the test]

happy?
are you happy?
you are happy?
really happy?
you must be happy!
happy?
you must be happy!
be happy!
happy?
be happy now
puppy!!
killing those not happy!
happy?
you smile, I'm so
happy!
my job is to make you happy!
are you happy, puppy?
glad to see you happy!
stupid puppy!
once more say you're happy!
happy?
good puppy!

-[]-[]-[]-[]-[]-[]-[]-


[3] [today]

will I ever be recreated,
will I ever be remade
in the image of gods,
in the image of winds,
will I ever be again?

no ghosts,
no birdsongs,
no whispers in graveyards tell
what will be.

always be free to open my eyes,
free to wake my mind from the sleep,
free to dream
and in dreams create a god
from a human man.

a bit mortal,
a bit suicidal
a bit nervous before the step
after the sun.

so many questions,
so many songs,
so many dreams
and so many fears
but no..
no answers real.

-[]-[]-[]-[]-[]-[]-[]-


[4] [a few moments ago] [read it aloud to get it right]

It's a silent, it's a silent
it's a silent, lonely run,
a run through the rainbows
and darkness, and shadows
with the, with the demons;
they grab me by hand
and take where no man dreamed.

It's clear, it's pure,
like an eye of a starlight dragon;
I'm lost, I'm lost,
I am so lost
that this is my home,
no returning, turning back.

Sometimes they call,
the humans - they call,
sometimes I see a shadow,
a shadow walking by,
it speaks, but I can not,
I can not understand.

Then they come and they write,
they write that this is a lie,
but the pages burn right after I smile.

You can not, you can not understand,
that where I see a garden of night
for you there is only concrete and snakes.

So I am, I am here
with the demons, starlight and night,
no living man passes by;
I am, I am here alone,
my world is for me alone.

---------
all © 2004 by Avatar
 
roll into the sheet
300 thread count
a cocoon of dirtied white
the scratchy cotton meshed
with the murky light on my cheek
the haven of these walls
i will lay here now and i will lay here later
mother says get up child
but the voice is muffled by the bedding
 
Sciforums dying? LOL! :D
Alive as ever. Anyways.. whatever.. here's one I wrote some moments ago.
But there's little use of this thread really.
-------

Our ship has sunk in shallow waters
and Noah has fled
to the depths of sea
where the fishes still are sharks
and the sharpness of a blade is art.

God sent a message,
it never arrived,
was shot down in flight.

Cruise control through our lives,
with commercials to the stars,
the begining was the end,
the remaining - just slow death
and decaying thoughts.

---
© 2004 by Avatar
 
Sandman

Tears for wheels, torn for clothes...
she tailored fine reveals
to expose what should not show.

Made high to feel.
So no one knows...
the blood that steals
all in rows.

Crying like a glacier
in the Sandman's heart it snows..
the day his sunshine left him,
was the night cloak that he chose.

He tried to cough, and shine his voice..
he gave her love, then he tried in prose
to warm her heart with poetry.
She fell to peices the day he froze.

So he made her rings of icicles
she wore them on her toes...
as she danced her dance on red-hot coals..
her tears turned to glass; all shattered souls.

Sharp paper walls cut empty holes,
and fenced these Four to make amends..
squares for wheels fell to ruin.. again.
Rolling blocks had made them friends.

A viking with a raven pulled a golden thread from the Sandman's nose.
Then the sandman fell to peices: falter fallen angel..
into a dune, on a crackling road.
made of tears of glass... on that day he froze.

"Viking?"
said the Raven,
"whos image trapped in every tear?"
"Raven.."
said the viking
"its the one he loved that's there."

"But," said the Raven shaken,
"she smiles as she dances,
blood streaming from her hair...
it soaks the ground beneath the world,
a vision I cannot bear!"

"But Raven,"
said the viking,
" the Arms you chose to wear,
are made of flesh and lightening,
your soul belongs to aire!"
"While I ride the tide in a vessel made
of a great white whale's hair.
It breathes beneath my feet of shells,
we'll now set sail! prepare!"

So, they gathered up the Sandman...
in one small box they placed his dune.
In another they placed his tears of glass..
that forever contained his ruin.

They waded through the blood,
that flowed across the sand.
they crossed to the shore..and ALL
ABOARD!!
they turned their backs to that cursed land,
carrying a glacier
that became the Sandman.

Raven snapped his fearsome wings...
thunder clapped! forever more...
his beating wings robbed sky of air..
parting the sea from shore to shore..

And when the part slammed shut again...
all of existance heard the Creator's roar!!
that boomed atop the tidal wave..
that carried the vikings vesssel
and the cargo that he swore.....

unfinished..... july 1998 GV
 
The Gnarled Tree
by Claywoman
Friday, August 29, 2003

..


--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Grandfather, why are you so bent?
Why are you so wrinkled?
Why are you missing so many branches, so many needles?

Listen to my words my small ancestor.
I once was a small sprout like you,
Looking up at the tall ones,
Asking the same questions.
I reached for the sunshine,
I buried my roots deep within the rich soil.
I tickled when squirrels scampered up my trunk,
And I grew.

Growth takes many, many years,
Patience is our name,
It is the way we exist.
Those who find patience hard
Are those who's roots are shallow,
Those that fall in storms.
I sat patiently, waited, watched,
I lived and learned.

I’ve seen sights you can only imagine,
I’ve lived through fires
That killed many, but I lived!
Scorched, in pain,
But I lived!
I stood through earth shakes
Watched crevasses open
Where none before.

My body shaded fauna, flora.
I witnessed births beneath my branches.
For this, I dropped them
For privacy for mother and child.
I watched this child of life
Slowly rise with the same wonder
Of all young, the puzzlement the wonder.
I watched this small life nurse for the first time.

I witnessed many endings of life.
The acceptance of fate,
The peace within the eyes,
The calmness of peace.
I watched as the life force
Left the body and it sunk slowly
Into the earth cradled for eternity.
I watched as it became one with the earth
Leaving behind nothing but wisps of hair blowing in the breezes.

I’ve watched the influx of the two footed ones
I’ve seen their young Run around my trunk
Try to span me with their young arms and fingers.
I’ve survived while others around me fell to the axes.
I’ve listened to the creak of wagon wheels
Give way to noisy, noxious fumes of motors.
From my topmost branches, I see their homes, their villages.
I’ve seen them come and go, but life goes on.

Every year I grew
From childhood to adolescence,
From adolescence to maturity,
From maturity to old age.
However, I looked forward to the warmth
Of life and the sun.
Each day was an adventure
Each day I heard the glorious voices of birds!

But as I aged, I drooped
From the weight of my own growth.
Now the sun only warms me,
My life’s fluids, my blood runs slowly.
I grow tired.
One of these days I will be as the other old ones
I will sink into the earth
Shrieking with the pain, in protest as I fall.

But from my death will come life renewed.
New life will spring from my rotting corpse.
I will nourish the earth and the fungi that grow.
My body will be the playground
For the young scampering, playing.
When I become one with the earth
I can rest, sleep, dream
Remember.

So look at my gnarled body
Think of the years, the millennia lived.
Each of my fingers reach heavenward
Towards the source of life
My hands maybe gnarled,
But my soul is straight and tall.
In my mind I am young and supple,
Age is only outward.

When I leave this life,
When I am lying on the ground,
Sinking into that final sleep,
Don’t cry for my loss,
Remember the life I’ve lived.
Rejoice in my renewal.
Think of what I’ve told you,
Remember me with laughter.

Grandfather, I love you…
 
well hope you like some haiku's
(really short japanese poems with a as much information in it as possible/ and these ones are "erotic haiku" lol)

1.our tongues
falling in love
as we say goodnight

2.long rainy season-
reading the Kama Sutra
alone in bed

3.bright moon-
the black satin of her body
on the parquet-floor

4. months later
finding her dark hair
on the blue pillow
 
The final smile

Awake
Rancid smell
of urine soaked sheets
Defecations between my legs
and still my heart beats

Imagination and will impotent
Body flaccid, yet mind clear
Plenty to say and do,
Eyes that can only wander and can shed no tears.

Memories come and go
a year has passed and here I have laid
Necrotized flesh on my back
lying still a price to be paid.

Nurses arrive and tend to my needs
talk in pleasantries with condescension
Rub ointments on my back
and try to relieve my tension.

Food it spooned into my mouth
As once I was a baby in my mothers arms
I am enraged that this is my life
But the time that I could show what I feel
has long since gone.

Lying on my side now I watch the monitors green line,
bouncing as they do to the rhythm of my heart.
A noise sounded and the line stayed still pulsing no more.
And as nurses moved swiftly into the room.

Light faded from view
The first and last smile appeared
on my heart that no one could see,
as oblivion’s veil came and covered me.

QQ 12/2004
 
It's not all that great, but I spent a bit of work on it...

The cruelest axe blows felled the man,
As it was of thy horrid plan.
"Oh Murder, murder!" I had cried,
While on these horrors I had spied.

Blood pours wicked from his veins,
Fills my heart with wicked pains,
Fills my nose with deathly scent,
And brings me to outraged lament.

Revenge! I shall now taste thy fear!
You draw away as I draw near!
I'll make thy heart fill with regret.
I'll make you sorry, sorry yet.

I seek thy blood to pay the fine
For evilness in thy design.
To kill a friend so dear and close
Is like to break a thousand oaths.

No punishment could quite compare;
No sentencing could quite be fair.
But *I* will prosecute you thus.
For all thy sins I simply *must*.

No payment will at all suffice.
In mounstrous pain you'll pay the price.
Within thy house I'll creep quite soon,
And search for moments opportune.

At dusk I reach thy edifice
And feel determined righteousness.
The moon has risen in the sky.
A lonely, flickering light I spy.

As I am silent in thy halls
I press my ear against the walls
To wish to give thee much surprise,
O man who I so much despise.

And now I hear the faintest sound
Of crackling wood from firery mound.
I wear a grin from ear to ear
As I grow ever, ever near.

I step within thy living room.
Close behind your back I loom
I see thee sitting unaware
Just sitting in thy easy chair.

I see the fire burning bright
And then to my extreme delight
A poker red and hot I see
I hardly can suppress my glee!

I grab the poker from its place
And wield it with decisive grace.
I wave it fiercely near thy face
As would a noble knight a mace.

I cry out loud in anger great
"Muderer, here lies thy fate!
Revenge impells me to such lengths
As now to summon evil strengths.

That revenge gives me excuse
To compensate for great abuse.
Abhorrèd deeds condemn you now!"
A drop of sweat slid down his brow.

"I beg you brother, I implore!
O, Please accuse me of no more!
I have done naught of what you speak!"
He let out with a frightened squeak.

At this I laughed with gaeity
"Thy trickery will not fool me!
I know that you're the one at fault!
No lies like that could make me halt!"

He cringed in hopelessness of fate.
He knew his hour was too late.
He could not fend off my attack.
Then finally... his corpse went slack.

I feel no anger or remorse.
At letting justice take true course.
I gave him my revenge that day.
But for forgiveness I now pray.

So if you could in thy fine grace
My innocence to help replace
So that I would break free at last
From countless sins that bind me fast.
 
That state....

when you're not bored, nor excited, not sad, nor happy, not angry, nor satisfied, not nervous but worried, not scared but slightly jumpy...

and complacent as all hell....

all at the same time...

it rarely happens...

...but I am in that state.
 
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