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Wednesday, July 20th, 2005

Subject:Dancing in the Ghetto
Posted by:cirrhosis.
Time:3:22 pm.
Read more...Collapse )
what is poetry?

Sunday, May 29th, 2005

Subject:Sanity
Posted by:cirrhosis.
Time:10:38 pm.
Seeping through the ironies of luck
Are the crooked smiles of lovers
Justified in their remorse, lamenting
For their once-cherished justice
And the movement of sound has
Devoured the bleeding hearts
Caught between the tragic embrace
Of the lovers’ crooked smiles

Crawling at a shattering pace
I am re-born into what I was
Fleeting sacrifices I have made
Were destined to be mistaken
As mistakes made for you

Trusted by those standing tall
On greased heels and firm knees
Facing the wind with a biting
Vengeance of sentimentality
And the movement of sound has
Enveloped those caught staring
Towards the fleeting abyss of
The lover’s skyward glare

Crawling at a shattering pace
I am re-born into what I was
Fleeting sacrifices I have made
Were destined to be mistaken
As mistakes made for you

And when I settled into dust
I was found to be unharmed
And I was not alone
I was not alone
what is poetry?

Wednesday, April 6th, 2005

Subject:The Notion of Notoriety
Posted by:cirrhosis.
Time:10:03 pm.
Now that the remnants of what you are
Have devoured the art of solemnity
Consolation will be sought between
The lingering wisps of love
Caught between the padlocked kisses
Of liars trapped in sweet remorse
Fought for by the sheer desire
Of memories rescued in vain
James Dean is turning in his grave
With a steel-toed wonderment of
The forever cluttered and tamed
Everything ends, nothing ever changes

Now that the notion of notoriety
Is lost among the stifling shards of shame
Triumphant glances will be shot
Towards the vigor of regret
Locked in a tomb of indifference
With haste, we will live on and away
Distraught and fooled by a stingy sage
The staid retain their pestilence
Stranded in the loneliness of
Acting out of taint and jest
Sacrificing the least acknowledged
Everything ends, nothing ever changes

Now that the staple of the affair has
Interlocked the pages of disbelief
The yesterdays will be forgotten
With the tomorrow that will not be
Taught to be the miracle of allure
The whispers disappear unattained
Brought upon by this brilliant mistake
The remnants of what you are bedamned
Fleeting steadfast forgetfulness has
Stricken the passion of the beloved
Disgust of the unexpected lover
Everything ends, nothing ever changes
what is poetry?

Sunday, March 13th, 2005

Subject:Short-Suited Romance
Posted by:cirrhosis.
Time:9:53 pm.
We’re all dealt the bad hand
When we’re lingering in love
So I linger a bit longer
On the smell of your perfume
We’re all hypocritical
When we use the word hypocrisy
So I suppose it’s possible
I’ve misjudged the novelty
Of irony

I left my mark under her chin
Where the cotton meets the skin
I left my last stamp of misguidance
Confusion, pride, and romance
Where the cotton meets the skin

We’ve all been sent careening
Down the blistered sun-scarred edge
Of a certain empty gesture
That is the memory of fleeting
We’ve all been found to be lost
Without a crying shame and
Without a pocket to cry into
Just singing the same damn song
Of irony

I left my mark under her chin
Where the cotton meets the skin
I left my stamp of indifference
Slander, stupidity, and romance
Where the cotton meets the skin

And in a state of foreseeable disaster
I can stammer my way to victory
Stumble timidly like the man
I’ve never been and never will be
Curse my words under my breath
Like the man I never was

We’ll all be merely dancing
When you’ll ask me “How is this fun?”
And that’s when you’ll hear
What I’m screaming at the sun
We’ll laugh at what we did
And mourn what was never done
As we’ve graduated to children
Trying to grasp the idea of love
And irony

I left my mark under her chin
Where the cotton meets the skin
I left my stamp of impotence
Stability, fear, and romance
Where the cotton meets the skin
I left my stamp of silence
Anxiety, anger, and romance
Where the cotton meets the skin



It is probably evident that, since the last time I wrote a song, I have been listening toa lot of Elvis Costello and Paul Simon, and have been influenced by them. A lot.
what is poetry?

Saturday, November 27th, 2004

Subject:Ghosts of The House
Posted by:cirrhosis.
Time:9:44 pm.
It’s spoken through stingy sage that
Sulfur shores were formed by a
Constant river of gin and scotch
Flowing through a desirous heart
Lost among the calamity of passion and
The two-ton secrets of solemnity
Forever existing, no longer sure
Of their own mutuality

It’s been said that one could find
Beneath the chandelier graveyards
A criminal of disasters, a jester for
The final page-turning machines
Sought among the simplicity of insolence
And the stripes along the jaw-lines
Of the breeding grounds, this soil
Isn’t out to stud quite yet

It’s been seen through the thinnest eyes
Of the scourging scores of scowlers
That the heart of Saturday nights
Are littered with the hearts of minds
Caught among the shrill desires of
The callow children believing
In their insolence, yet they
Aren’t the furious end of death
what is poetry?

Friday, November 5th, 2004

Subject:And it's cool and clean as ... sugar-free jazz
Posted by:dferahgo.
Time:6:14 am.
Mood: awake.
Cryztal and I had a lengthy, philosophical couple of sentences last night and decided it would be for the better if litsanon came to an end. It really just never got off the ground like I imagined, although a few people did have a good spin behind the wheel. I'd like to extend my personal gratitude to all of you took part in my "vision": kittenonthekeys, crystal_ivy, abandonedsoul, cirrhosis, hirotheavitar, i_love_tenchi, lunar_endeavor, metlwolf, sheepywonder, rosicrucian, squeebothorass, and whisperstar.

And, of course, a very special thank you to my special friend and lover, i_am_bottled.



x-posted in dferahgo
1 opinion|what is poetry?

Thursday, November 4th, 2004

Subject:rebel rebel....
Posted by:crystal_ivy.
Time:2:24 pm.
Mood: cranky.
David assigned me a poetry project. So I started to write a poem but I broke it into three. And then there is the one that I posted in Crystal_ivy.
Hope you like them.

TheCollapse )

ICollapse )
2 opinions|what is poetry?

Saturday, October 30th, 2004

Subject:Six new poems.
Posted by:dferahgo.
Time:9:51 pm.
Mood:hesitant.
I have been ... bored.

these two are relatedCollapse )

on sexismCollapse )

on religionCollapse )

what do YOU think this is about?Collapse )

on ... carpentry?Collapse )
1 opinion|what is poetry?

Subject:Graciella
Posted by:crystal_ivy.
Time:5:32 pm.
Mood: hungry.
Graciella of the purple down
bathing in beauty softer than sound.
Crowded in by dancing demons
she lacked nothing to believe in.
Driven wild by pre-pubescence
love was yearning for the essence.
Silent, pure, pretty but plain,
she did her work, never complained.
When sunlight dawned on her pretty face,
happiness vanished without a trace.
Her life knew joy, only in bed
where dreams brought memories long since dead.
A cure for solitude was plainly found
in a dreamers love song, a lovely sound.
All she wanted was protection
but ended up searching for perfection.
a lover, dreamer, and a poetess
she held herself, yearning for tenderness.
her life was a story, an open book
encased in a love song, a word, a look.
She wrote it out one day in a letter
craving for love, she thought she'd be better.
Crying alone, she wrote her epitath,
"A perfect lady, a perfect death."


I'm still not happy with it. Something is amiss...
So have I thouroughly depressed everyone? Yeah It's what I do best.
I really like this poem because it's based on basicly a mixture of that girl that noone sits next to only because she never talks, and...well...Rachael.
I'm sorry, I'm obsessed with writing poems about her. I love her so much. For those of you who don't know her she is forever_silent.
she is my best friend ever. hope you like it. sorry im flooding you guys here but im on a creative streak.
and if you think its a bit scetchy, keep in mind that i wrote this while footballs were whizzing over my head threatening my life.
what is poetry?

Thursday, October 28th, 2004

Subject:I'm with stupid
Posted by:crystal_ivy.
Time:7:35 pm.
Hey. For anyone who is participating in the Corrupt Nursery Rhymes Theme , a good website to go to is www.nurseryrhyme.com</b>.

Now I am going to do the best I can.

Hey, mister, mister
the man with the riddle
went and killed the moon
you though it was funny
when the policy shorted
your mind ran away too soon.



I don't know...maybe not.


Hey...everyone should listen to the song It's Oh So Quiet by Bjork.
I love it!


Oh and PS. Thanks David. I am a dinkus
what is poetry?

Subject:a fun little corruption
Posted by:dferahgo.
Time:2:40 pm.
Mood:ornery.
Marry, marry.... - quite contrary!
- How does your god ingrow?
When silver sells, and crock law-spells
The petty maids control.

-----

Let's declare a Corrupt A Nursery Ryhme theme, shall we? As always, being on-topic is encouraged but not manditory. (I'll even expand it to include other kinds of corruptions, I just thought the nursery ryhme idea was fun.)
1 opinion|what is poetry?

Wednesday, October 27th, 2004

Posted by:dferahgo.
Time:10:05 am.
Mood:rebellious.
"The State"

The state of matter's in a flux.
The state of the union is the crux
Of all of our oppression.
Poverty is all that stops the bucks
From trampling, indeed it sucks
To be a classless American.

The state of your mind is revolting
When you spend all your time consulting
The television for company.
The snake in your head is molting
Can't believe you don't find it insulting -
It's the end of your liberty.

In a dismal apartment, Windy City,
I lurk in the dark and sip coffee.
The alley is wet with static
Of a universe ceasing to be.
Like any system spreads to entropy.
No sense in being a fanatic,

Clinging to this or that philosophy.
All the slogans once free
Now war prisoners
used against us
every one incorporated
desperate destroy
refuse
they can't take away what we don't want, embrace
them and
self-destruct
what is poetry?

Tuesday, October 26th, 2004

Subject:Doctor
Posted by:crystal_ivy.
Time:9:13 pm.
Mood: confused.
the pain comes fast
quick as sugar melts on the tongue
slow and easy
dripping down
his heart bleeds
his arms are filled with an ancient remedy.
stick it to me, doctor
take my life with the giving
steal my breath from my lips
i take thee
only thee
make the end count
make the last moment a moment of ecstasy.
take from me the will to live,
if only a chance to die in the winter
of an addiction far too hungry for the taking.
lovely and greedy for the making.
far too delicious to give
far too dangerous to keep.
far too....far too....far too....far......
what is poetry?

Subject:new poem
Posted by:crystal_ivy.
Time:7:54 pm.
Mood: creative.
Streets
The city needs more sidewalks
more hills and piney groves
more churches with little old ladies
and their lead cased cash registers.
the city needs more people
not eyes, a mouth, a chin.
the city needs more laughter
not television, remote control, order in.
the city needs more family meals
more daddy read this one!
not daddy..can i go?
the city needs what urbanites never got
the city needs more love
what is poetry?

Posted by:kittenonthekeys.
Time:7:53 pm.
Autumn always gives me the melancholies
I'm feeling indescribable
A tear or two well up when I heard the news
The world it doth mock us
a reasonable sounding man
floating in a warm bubble bath
- share the spotlight!



((Follows suit))
1 opinion|what is poetry?

Subject:oh my goodness!
Posted by:crystal_ivy.
Time:6:31 pm.
Mood: excited.
Hello fellow literaries..
I am really excited right now.
I have just discovered a new kind of poetry.
Now before I tell you and before you think this is an odd sort of plagiarism hear me out.
You know how people take photographs and even though they are taking a scene out of nature, life, it is their own work?
well I have discovered something similar.
Even though some people simply don't have poetry in them, they speak it all the same. They are just not aware. I wrote a poem taken from snatches of what people say in Livejournal. You might see a few words of your own. Most of it is my own though...ego i guess.
I hope you like it as much as I do.


Notice the Blank

Unfortunate Events
I don't think I care
there is a secret love of mine.
Theres nothing romantic
i am speaking of a certain kind of awesome
stripped forest, with snow on the ground
Naked..within a realm of humilation
noone will touch it
god, what if I fail
i never have passion
everyday things are changing
my body is stiff and sore
what hours I have
notice the blank


cross posted in crystal_ivy
what is poetry?

Posted by:dferahgo.
Time:4:51 pm.
Mood:frustrated but wryly amused.
Poll #373386 Poll of Doom

What can I, as a mod, do to get you bastards posting in here?

Do my homework for me.
0(0.0%)
Pay me.
1(20.0%)
Collaborate with me.
0(0.0%)
Sexual favors.
2(40.0%)
Nothing - my name is Ida and I post here all the time!
1(20.0%)
Other (please elaborate below)
1(20.0%)

If other, please specify

what is poetry?

Monday, October 25th, 2004

Subject:Response poetry. (It's not that great. -_-)
Posted by:dferahgo.
Time:9:28 am.
Mood:meh. disappointed..
I admit, I like writing poetry that is kind of a response to more famous poetry. It's fun to feel like you're bickering with the revered greats, even if they're dead (often long dead) and can't exactly bicker back.

Partly this poem is in response to Frost

hereCollapse )

but mostly, I figure, it's in response to those shitty motivational posters various institutions like to hang on their walls. (When I get a classroom, I'll be the comic-strip-hanging kind of teacher, not the motivational-quotes-hanging sort of teacher. Although I know teachers like that who rock hard [hi Kat!], it's not my cup of tea. And I do have one exception, this really cool life quotes poster. Eh!) You know the kind: "Rather than walk the road already paved, go where there is no road and MAKE YOUR OWN." Dun-dun-dun.

So anyway, here's my response-poem.

-----

"Where There Is No Road," by David Puthoff

In that hoary wood
I found your frosted road
less - yet more, now, travelled.
Tempted
I was to walk it.
To add to those footsteps,
hundred following yours,
my own.
Yet,
I remembered your words.
I passed the road now travelled
to go and make my own.

Everywhere I went in that dusky wood
A footprint lay where I knew not it should.

Others, I saw, had heeded your advice.
Many.
I grew frustrated, looking for a road my own.
Only, with every branch I lifted,
I found
a soda can, a sandal strap, a used condom,
all left by countless careless pilgrims
of individuality.
Fine, then.
Fuck your roads.
I will climb a cliff,
I thought,
a road suitable only for madmen.
The rocks bite my fingers.
I am thrilled by the enlightening descent
thrilled by the inkblot of my body
after the ascendant fall.
1 opinion|what is poetry?

Saturday, October 16th, 2004

Subject:Here's a little song I wrote, might want to sing it note by note
Posted by:crystal_ivy.
Time:10:42 pm.
I spent three straight years
in the kitchen of hell
wondering what life is
who’s gonna kill
me in the end.

Wandering around
with a spoon and a knife
wondering who God is
what is life
I’ll tell you now

The moon aint setting
on a dirty day.
We need to find one more
sinner to pray
I’ll tell you now.

Apathy and entropy
and Heaven knows what
goes on with a tv
and a soda pop gut.
I’ll tell you how

I lived three years
in the kitchen of hell,
wondering who will save me
and what I can sell.

I heard a man say,
"To the promised land
I’m going tomorow
with my fingers in the sand."

God loves children
and their teenage mothers.
Jesus loves sinners
and the lost confused brothers.

So let me tell you
all about the kitchen of hell.
I loved there for three years
and I can tell

Noone passed go
and gets in free
but life helped me learn
and God helped me see

That even the sinners
and the haters get love
All from a man
who was sent from above.

So let me tell you
all about the kitchen of hell
cooking like an egg
in a Texas dry spell

Walking around
with a question and a tale
All about God
and the kitchen of hell.
what is poetry?

Friday, October 15th, 2004

Subject:[working title]
Posted by:dferahgo.
Time:12:23 pm.
When Byzantium lies in dust
Where will you be, o voice?
O scarlet songbird notes,
What gaudy hearts will hearken?
For four thousand years the city stands
Each architect building high,
Indeed, highter still and madly
When built upon adobe backs,
Steel girders through ionic
Columns and down into dusty thatch.
So stands your fable city, each Age
Vomiting up the next.
Atop each edifice gold does shine
But sparingly and below, in sewers,
In alleys, in holes and lost homes,
Not a scrap of gold adorns a pen,
Nary a ripe ruby in a Pharoah's eye.
Of course it has all been taken.
The earth spills no new gold, all is
Taken, robbed, from those before.
Today's architect was yesterday's Vandal.
Today's Goths will be tomorrow's Wright.

Eternity's gold holds no value in
Rotten tombs of yesteryear;
Those who pillage, rape, and plunder,
not the dead, hold gold dear.
So crow your wretched song now, o bird,
Despairing not in your endeavor;
Take comfort in how we value you
And in that nothing lasts forever.
1 opinion|what is poetry?

LiveJournal for Literature Anonymous.

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