A Poem Thread

You feed off the kindness of others
Suck the souls of the compassionate
Your lies, they bleed sugar and sweetness
Tainted with vinegar and unseen by the eyes
Which lay upon your facades so easily
Each one crafted for it's victim
Another heart in your Pandora's box
The worlds you wish to them to embrace
Corrupted in their civility and void of function
Lightly phosphorescent, teaming with deceitful notions
Footfalls click loudly on empty brown bricks
Streets that are filled with dirty rain
And you, the poseur mayor
In a cheap knock off suit
Polyester and smelling of rewrites
The neon signs broken and without power
Should have served as a warning, and yet
Foolishly, I bought your vial of snake oil
Sold my soul for the moment to save you
Because you begged me to do it, set the trap
And burned the lies like a beacon to the heartfelt
Now I sit, front row center and am mute
The play goes on, the same leads but new players
Night after pitiful night, they play their part
Lying shattered at your feet come curtain call
You bow, retreat to your dressing room
Midst the flowers and the well wishes
You paint new backdrops, change the costumes
But the show is sadly still the same
The critics are writing, dear actor
Your time is near, the show is
CANCELED
 
Barbie Speaks

Barbie Speaks

I get lost sometimes, left, laying there, somewhere
wedged between heavy layers of substance
pressing me flat, till I am as thin as skin,
wide eyed with the terror of being unable to move.

Becoming mere object, form without volition,
like a catatonic, grossly posed and placed, staring endlessly
the parts of me manipulated accordingly,
by others having the propensity for movement,
for momentum.

Beneath things, vision is confined, weighted,
focused on the bottom of whatever is on top of you,
the seemingly mundane outlines of everyday holding you down.

It is not being stuck here, feeling unable to breathe that scares me.
When could I ever, really, breathe without pretending?
It is how they will uncover me eventually, pry me out by the head,
someone stumbling across me and deciding
what is best for everyone, is best for me to be put away.

It is how they will examine me, label me, and put me in a box, up there safe
with all of the other dolls with all of their missing parts,
with their shorn short hair, shorn short by a toddler's shears,
along with all of our perfectly painted lips, that someone else sealed shut, long ago.

Oh, how I envy the living, in my plastic way.
When there is always someone else who speaks for you,
How you long to have a voice all of your own.

-Cordelia or AKA Ivan Osokin
 
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The old ghost

When I reach the hut, my friend is still asleep, but the old man is waiting, and I sit by the small fire opposite him

"No", he says, "Come and sit on this side", I oblige and sit in his quarter of the fire-circle.

"Do not tell me what the Spirit showed you, nor where the guide led you, and do not tell this to any other, nor that I have warned you not to speak of it.

Are you well?"

"Yes"; I wait expectantly for his reply, but he sighs and quickly makes the signs of guarding over our fire, sprinkling something in the flames.

He chants some of the old words for a while, then stops, looking at me impassively.
He stands as if to leave and walks slowly to the entrance. At last, he turns and says: "Do not trouble this guide with more questioning, until at least three moons have passed over the Great Water. The time of the third moon will be your greatest chance, and also your greatest risk.

Only ask again at this time, he will remember and offer you his help again, but don't trouble or pester him."

He smiles, turns and leaves me with my thoughts. I think I will find the home of the Spirit, I will go to where it goes.
The next time I find the guide, he will tell me.
 
Synthetic Telepathy

Synthetic Telepathy

Soft as the murmuring breeze,
mouthing silent insinuations into the flesh,
their tonal entrance varied, vibrating.
A long high pitch that heightens, sets off
a fine silhouette of rising hair
along a lengthening nape of neck.
Waves traversing up the smoothest curvature of spine,
violation resounding off of the walls,
flesh,
and what was once the sacred space,
inside.
 
The Push and the Pull

A day begins
My soul weary
Frail and fragile
Broken by the sunrise
A simple touch to shatter
The light becomes too frequent
All too enduring, seeping into me
It slowly tears me in strips
Weakening my resolve
Wearing me thin
My little fractures
Become fissures at dusk
A growing stain darkens my heart
Reaches desperately for hope
Finding only broken conclusions
Continues to grasp at the light
Just out of its reach
The night implodes
Dawn begins
And I bleed dry
Drip by drop pulses
Until I am ghostly pale
A visage of my former self
As thin as a veil
Translucent
Wilted
Nearly gone
Held only by a thread
Bustled by the breeze
I shall meet the winter
When I can let go
 
New people in an old place

"I met some people in a dream once," the old one had said,

"I knew them, but did not recognise any face.

I spoke to one of their kind in words I had no memory of then, nor can I now recall them.
We spoke together as men, who had known each other from a beginning, who came from the same place, and so his face, and his words, were new to me."
 
Steve100 said:
One fine day in the middle of the night
Two dead men got up to fight
Back to back they faced each other
Drew their swords and shot each other

One was blind and the other couldn't see
So they picked out a dummy for a referee
A blind came to watch them
A deaf and dumb bobby to shout "hooray!"

A legless horse passing by
Kicked the blind man in the eye
That knocked him through a nine inch wall
Into a dry ditch and drowned them all
Click to expand...

Awesome.
 
"I would be true, for there are those who trust me;
I would be pure, for there are those who care;
I would be strong, for there is much to suffer;
I would be brave, for there is much to dare;

I would be friend of all—the foe—the friendless;
I would be giving and forget the gift;
I would be humble, for I know my weakness;
I would look up and laugh—and love—and lift."

Howard Arnold Walter
 
Under A Maroon Moonlight

Underneath a Surreal Maroon Moonlight


“…and two bodies stretched out.” – Octavio Paz



…and two bodies stretched out
each toward the other,
touch seems so simple at the time,
Bare-naked bodies lose their seriousness
when side by side and laughing,
two are found lying, laughing, joined at the hips,
bellies slackened into the bed.
they have faced one another in touch, laughter lighting
the still dark corners of a stranger’s room, enough to peer into.

laughter mistaken for ease
when what was felt was a stranger’s embrace,
the candlelight playing tricks of illumination
words share only what we wanted to hear
the other’s voice that we thought had answered
still lingered there for days, back within their throat.

asked for, the words appear belligerent, a stranger’s
experience of regret
Bare-naked bodies become so serious
when side by side and laughing,
two were once lying joined at the hips
bellies slackened into the bed.
two bodies stretched out,
each toward the other, touching,
relieved to know they are again facing no one.

-Cordelia_2_PNIsuiter
 
"We don' smoke marywanna, down in th' Skogee
We don' take no trips, on El Ess Dee
We still wave ol' Glory, down at th' Kourthaus
An' whaht-lahtnin' still th' biggest thrill, of all"
 
nebo v ogne
stalnoy parochnyu
nebo v zare
tak ne parochno

Осада стального града. Месть и принципы
Заставили объединиться вместе
Двести лет, открытой лжи и лести
Оставили свой след на доблести и чести
Плёвое дело, разбить веру одним махом
Похоть содержит тело, как ремень носит бляху
Вспахан огород с раздорным маком
Те, чьи имена все знали, стонали в осаде
Рвали мясо клыками из стали
Но мы опоздали, и похоть обернулась
Обратной стороной медали
Стопы судьбы повернули механизма педали
Кого к стенке, а кого в пленных
Дней бренных, циферблат перемолол
Количество N-ных
Смывая пепел победы с кожи военных
 
A Sailor's Requiem

A SAILOR'S REQUIEM

How I once loved the geography,
So exacting, so conditional,
Limited to and confined within
Longitudinal lines which only I could justify
In crossing, each of us attempting to explore,
navigating the boundaries of a love.

Yet age is such an educational journey,
Waves of tears felt now to pound
The growing tides' confining shores. Stranded here,
Grounded, beneath the weight of so much empty sky above, yet
Still knowing the possibility of sailing, a life no longer free.
Shipwrecked, sailing unknown and even well known ports
possibly will be forever lost to me.
 
Verily, life is but a ship
That sails, alone upon the blue
Be strong and brave in what you seek
Yet to thyself be true

And my son, be not afraid
Of your dominion's keep
Do not throw back so far your head
You sink upon its deep
 
Legche razrushity chem sozdaty
v nochy pererezaty vse konczi na vechno
sumrochniy deny poteryaty
lish priobresti pustuyu beskonechnosty

V tvoey apathii glaz
cherez konecz nashey druzhbi
serdcze rastaet lish raz
a bolshe ne nuzhno

:bawl::bawl::(
 
long lost
long nights
last week
held tight

now gone
some still
have more
no will

be mine
stay near
love lost
still here
 
Wearing windows

At times we all wear windows
To let each other in
And parrots scream in protest
For diamonds have no kin
But windows are also trouble
For them who have no faith
In glass fused in marriage
To face’s truthful base
For when one wears a window
One must wisely don
And figure for him just which side
Of the looking glass he’s on.
 
Color

The thing about color
Is that it is completely ours to pervert
Completely our perversion
The other thing about color
Is that it tells us we are capable
Completely capable
But this is mostly in a corporeal sense
Because color is our instinct
Shade our capacity
Just pigments of our imagination
 
Dew

When hazy green meets hazy blue
Maybe under the falling ground that drips its pixels
Hazy sheets of dew are sewn
The thing about dew, though, is that it is most beautiful preserved
As with all things too fine for us physically
If we aren’t content with the thought of dew
It may as well not be dew, and maybe not even be at all
Because then we would name it
And that is dew’s undoing
Because then we would touch it
And that is ours.
 
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