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Archive for November, 2009

Party.

Wind and rain
all insane
blackened beef
and falling leaf
maddened mothers
tiffing lovers
troubled teens
bitching queens
mystery host
turned to ghost
bored boys
bland toys
silty salad
solemn ballad
corny clown
with a frown
dullish light
approaching night
busted balloon
ending soon
Audience depart
with a start
the host reappears
to very few cheers
children to bed
tucked in and fed
out comes the cheer
in a bottle of beer
laughing emerges
and the brightness subverges
onto the remains
of the days past pains

Ben………

.
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123 PRISONER OF SELF

PRISONER OF SELF
prisoner of self
ego prison guards
chanting for divine intervention
slowly the drone
turns into crescendo
I WANT
I WANT
I WANT
then the refrain
THEREFORE I AM
plunge the bloody knife
vanquish the victim
crumbling corpse
bleeding gushing gasping
oozing into clay heap
I WANT
claims another
THEREFORE I AM
stands tall with bloody hands
yet alone forever

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SOUND ABOUNDS

SOUND ABOUNDS

The noise of boys
Enjoys a royal lack of poise
Whereas the glittered twitter
Girls emit has, one must admit
That bit of wit to generate
Pandemic snit, sometimes fit,
And sometimes merely bitter litter,
Ploys of misdirected verbal toys.

The howls of owls, mostly vowels,
Contrasts with fowl’s chicken clucks
And quacks of ducks, like the clacks
Of hockey pucks, well fortified
With consonants, much like cries
Of shifting continents which pop;
Also roar and thunder as land masses
Stumble, blunder, shifting mountains,
Squashing plains, generating hurricanes
Like a monster cosmic sneeze
To seize the trees and knock people
To their knees, soaking oaks
In windy pokes, quaking blokes
To their bowels, so they rush
Inside to hide and wipe their faces
Dry with towels.

When eating leeks one should take peeks
At what squeaks and sneaks from baseboard holes –
Most likely mice or things not nice
Like moles and voles that move in shoals
To seek their goals – say, dried out rolls
That, left in bowls, stale to look like
Crumpled poles or, perhaps, like parrot beaks.

Therefore, when sound gets out of bounds
It’s good advice to stuff your ears
With stickey rice, or perhaps it might suffice
To use a slice of worn out shoes that might bemuse
A crowd of peers, inspire jeers and sidelong leers
Whose social force would scare a horse.
But, never mind. If they’re not kind, you can, of course
Bury them in lemon rinds or other kinds
Of fruity skins projected out of garbage bins
Which might result in raucus dins
Or other awful unlawful sounds.

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piss in the boots

some have the rocks of life
some have the feathers
i have beaten them all
with my pillow
start back and shank by
this is the way we break the sky
shifting dirt and fallin rocks
whos sleeping tonight?
the lox with the big fox

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Dante

You can change a "yes" to a "no" for cash in Lucan.

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Re: Poem: I want to suicide – C&C Welcome

Despair

How to stare meaninglessness in its large, milky eye, and continue on?
It’s our tragic condition; if only you could accept you might have a new
kind of freedom. But all you can think of is tautology: this
meaninglessness is meaningless. You’re no longer excited that the world
is full of ice cream cones to be licked, fast cars to drive at various
speeds, and words, so many words waiting to be used in the proper order.
The oppressiveness of vitality! The man who despairs will have none of
it. For him, hope is even more abstract than God, and the little cocoon
he’s built around himself offers a curious satisfaction. A firing squad
is not coming in the morning. He just feels as if it is. His doctor is
all pill and euphemism. Knock, knock. The Jehovah’s Witnesses are at the
door, three of them, cheerful beyond decency. They’d like to explain a
few things.

- Hide quoted text — Show quoted text -

PoetsAnonym…@dial.pipex.com wrote:

> I want to suicide

> I want to suicide
> maybe go with a little cyanide
> jump of somewhere real high
> and for a little while try to fly
> tie a rope tight round my neck
> hopefully it’ll give me a clean break
> stand in the path of an oncoming train
> hoping I’ll feel a lot of pain
> jump in deep and forget how to swim
> as my lights slowly die and dim
> McD*****s, now they’re no good for your health
> or maybe pour petrol all over myself
> and burst into flame like a mini-sun
> after all, suicide should be made more fun
> shouldn’t make you feel
> like a low down bum

> © 1997 Ernest J Francis

> more at…
> http://dialspace.dial.pipex.com/town/terrace/oy55/index.htm

> kill kill kill… tell me, who’s expected to clean up the place after
> you, eh? Norman Bate’s housekeeper…


===================================================
More Moons for Midnight: A Website Collection
of Literary Works by Darren Schulz:
http://www.geocities.com/Paris/Metro/1927/

Of poets, there’s Anonymous, more famous
than many who sign their names.
Even the most famous poet
could walk down Fifth Avenue in sunlight
and not be known. Few poets, therefore,
or bus drivers or clerks, for that matter,
seek anonymity. Why seek what is already yours?
Anonymity suggests a chosen state, a series
of remote, discrete, not necessarily unhappy days.
It presumes you’ve done something noteworthy,
that the voyeuristic public wants to breathe your air.
Or you’re a squealer, a rat, the government loves you,
and your old bad friends are looking for someone
you can’t afford to be. Fame is death to you.
To the unrecognized, the always passed over,
fame seems like manna, and actually might be
if they can keep from needing it. Better if it comes
when you’re older, friends already in place,
character lines etched around your mouth and eyes.
And there you are, almost safe, committed
to the habits that have limited you for years.
===================================================

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Poetry in the 21st Century

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At last a syntax sophisticated and inclusive enough to contain your
entire cultural needs.  You may never need to speak spontaneously again.

Syntax is changing faster and faster.  Experts predict that by 2003,
linguistic systems will need major updates every few days. We may not be
at that level yet, but here at Global Telelanguage Resources, we don’t
think you can be too prepared. We work with structures dynamic and
flexible enough to configure even the most disjunctive approaches to
communication and art.

Following directly from the many daring innovations in poetry performed
in the 1970s and 1980s, GTR features an expanded program of verbal
initiatives to bring us the next millennium and beyond. Where previous
schools of poetry promised you a total syntax, GTR will give you a truly
"Global" one.

Check out the future of poetics at

http://users.uniserve.com/~gtr

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<B><FONT SIZE=+1>At last a syntax sophisticated and inclusive enough to
contain your entire cultural needs.&nbsp; You may never need to speak spontaneously
again.</FONT></B>

<P>Syntax is changing faster and faster.&nbsp; Experts predict that by
2003, linguistic systems will need major updates every few days. We may
not be at that level yet, but here at Global Telelanguage Resources, we
don’t think you can be too prepared. We work with structures dynamic and
flexible enough to configure even the most disjunctive approaches to communication
and art.

<P>Following directly from the many daring innovations in poetry performed
in the 1970s and 1980s, GTR features an expanded program of verbal initiatives
to bring us the next millennium and beyond. Where previous schools of poetry
promised you a total syntax, GTR will give you a truly "Global" one.

<P>Check out the future of poetics at

<P><A HREF="http://users.uniserve.com/~gtr">http://users.uniserve.com/~gtr</A>
<BR>&nbsp;</HTML>

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Firey Times….C&C Please

Christmas arrives
fire rapes the land
ruining lives
charcoaled hands

Christmas isn’t white
and cold
it’s blistering light
red and bold

Crackling centers on
a Christmas table
and in house gone
a lovely fable

Same as last year
it began again
total fear
and fighting men

water a console
from heated stick
same as a hole
made with shovel or pick

White for a lot
red for a bunch
Spare us from this cook pot
and think of us at Christmas lunch.

Ben…….

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Sleepless Night

Hi everyone!  This is my first posting, but not my last…

Sleepless Night

This feeling of nervousness
does not cease
the pulsating rhythm unending
my heart wanting to scream
but my throat not knowing how
my thoughts linger on only one care

I reflect on a child at Christmas
not being able to close his eyes
such as he am I
excited not at the sight of such an old man
but a younger one
each minute apart too long
my dreams to real to sleep
I cannot survive the awaking

© Claudia Rice

(exotically sensual…but in a passive way) :)

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contest

In The Grip Of The Web is now offering a poetry contest!!

Please go to http://www2.sanasys.com/~jude/contest.html for details

Judy Gripton
In The Grip Of The Web
http://www2.sanasys.com/~jude

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