poem
psyki "mad dash, abruptly halted"

i took one timid step forward,
then, slightly more bravely
than the first,
i took another, throwing aside my cane,
then one more, then two, then five,
soon i was walking briskly,
before long i was swiftly jogging,
speeding faster
than i ever had before in my life,
my running crescendoed to a mad dash,
abruptly halted by a stone wall,
i awoke, my head resting in a pool,
a pool of thickening blood,
the color of which i have never seen.
000206
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caite From my mother's sleep I fell into the State,
And I hunched in its belly till my wet fur froze.
Six miles from earth, loosed from its dream of life,
I woke to black flak and the nightmare fighters.
When I died they washed me out of the turret with a hose.
randall jerrell
love this poem
000904
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daxle I've written one good poem in all of my life. It was in the 8th grade, for a school assingment and it took me all of about 15 minutes. The kicker is that I don't actually like it, because it's basically about how messed up I am. Nevertheless, it's a good one. 000920
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birdmad i've written over a thousand in my life, and of those, i'd say there are maybe four or five good ones

the rest, categorically and absolutely were a waste of ink and paper
001118
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god ya gotta live for those few good ones. that's what it's all about. 001118
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Glory Box The one true communication. A complete breath, inhale and exhale. Fifteen words can make you cry, make you burst at the seams, make you melt your self into every pore of humanity. Poetry is the air, the way you speak, the way that sometimes you just fit me so well. I'd write you a poem, but all you have to do is look in my eyes. It's already there. 001204
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chanaka been writing for around 8 years.....what good ever comes of it? i mean, isn't poetry supposed to be read? so i stick some out there...they are my babies, my little sprouts of poems that could become something. or not. either way, i love them so. all of them. even the ones that suck. 001204
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jem see:
and_you_will_be
thanks!!
=o)
010311
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NinNy Nu Nu tanks too. 010519
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LOLA I@m just low on poems. 010630
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absent but still present support is the greatest
love
the ability to do anything
because the love
of another makes you
believe
that you can
nothing else could feel
as great
as the strong concrete arms of
love
holding you up with your
dreams
010701
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Dafremen Not a bad point. Not bad at all. Too bad some people use that same love as a crutch to get through life instead of as an incentive to do great things. What a waste. 010702
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bandaids go to: my_story 011221
...
Avalanched this morning i rose out of
rain and questionable intentions
honorable perhaps but never clear
i painted a smile and erased the sleep



all those pictures in your head
were false reaenactments of who i am
so there. see through the fog and flash light
just thinking of you made me stop in the road
caught me in your high beamed stare
so who i am to suppose anything
about what you want. so itís time for
me to go home again.




i hate how when i woke up
i felt in control and by midnight
my life is on the floor at my feet




about sadness
that feeling in your chest. itís just a dull pain but it throbs there inside of you, reminding you that it is slowly eating you outside from in. and itís there, it tears at your heart whenever you let it loose,
itís icy teeth knaw at you, never letting you rest easy with yourself. and when you are actaully alone it swells up and rises into your throat bringing tears and wet pillows and clenched fists. and it makes you realize how unfair the world is. it brings to light how unfortunate you are, how much you have against yourself and how much you loathe other people. it shows you how much your skin doesnít fit. it wallows in your self-pity until you canít stand bathing in your own tears. only then, when you are disgusted with sadness are you able to cleanse yourself. free yourself of the ache and then you smile.




indifference is the death
of all interests. locked in.
bordem chases the rosy health
from loveís cheeks. blocked in.
solitude makes either
peace or hunger. caught.
feelings i long for are slipping
through my fingers and time
(escaping my hold on them)
is flitting away from me
why do i want this and yet
run from it as i am looking back?
so chain them, capture them.




see that green eyed boy
loitering behind the tree
the sunshine missed him
must have forgotten to see him
wondering if itís going to rain
wondering if iíll see him again




my heart is that somewhere in between
in between the sleeping and waking
what i feel is real and whatís reality,
between the nightmare and the dream.
understands the ground beneath is quaking
but not sure where the quicksandís found.




not quite sure how to leap
havenít learned that yet (gotta work on getting up higher)
cause my heartís been nailed ground
and itís trying to jump, to skip that beat
but i donít even know what to think
what is there to do now that i canít sleep
canít even lie there anymore
because my heart is wondering
when love goes out the window
whoís there to open the door?



a friend wrote them, tell me, what do you think?
011221
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ClairE I hate you.

If I ripped you up I'd feel you hating me through myself.
011221
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kerry i like the short ones 011221
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avalanched the life that
would have been
lived as a lie,

( a lie
larger than life itself),

learned both a lesson in
love, and
in human inhumanity

from a voice that told truths on
a coffee-stained sofa
sunday.

Past knowledge became
meshed with
newly restored reality

as the aftertaste of the
tale of undeniable
evil
lingered in the air,
altering an existance

all on an ironically
elegant
afternoon.
020317
...
intimate stranger who wouldn't confess?
we use poems to caress
and impress
and profess in distress
but it seems
a mess, no less
that we forget
to say something
sweet
in this sour
summer sweat
to the poems themselves that we meet!
it is the words we should be thanking
for doing all that shanking.
the poem gets the beating
the verse they criticize
but the free-lance is free
from any physical demise
so i cannot decide
weither it's behind poems we hide, shy,
desperate to confide
or weither they spread us and fly,
ready to die to open our eyes.
020710
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kerry i wrote five pages on you and i haven't seen you in 6 months. and the last time i did see you, all you did was hug me tightly and walk away and i found it hard to breathe. so now you are tall with beautiful dark brown eyes and dark curling hair and i wipe my eyes and cannot believe it is the little boy i used to play dinosaurs with. and i don't know how i feel about you, i_dont. i_wish i did. 020820
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Glory Box No one likes gratuitous showmanship.

Except for me.

flat inflection
you're not easy like the other one.
I can't tell when you're on
or which direction the light is shining.
murky puddle you.
your aching spark,
the foetus you,
rolled into an armour ball.
emotion man.
you make me rise,
inhale,
and like any other,
i hate
i hate
i hate
shady days.
no man is an island
even when that's what he wants most.
020826
...
andshit You are standing at the edge of a cliff.
The winds talk loud, "Is everything peachy?"
and blow dust in your face. Your balance shifts--
a glimpse of the bottom fast approaching.
Tears slip your eyelids. Blame it on the wind.
FUCKING WIND! If only it were stronger
and could move you... otherwise you'll linger
wondering if the end is the only end.
The question echoes with morbid beauty.
You start to put the moment into verse,
Suspending life for a poet's duty
Momentarily. The rest is rehearsed.
Now there's only paper, pen, quiet home.
The cliff is gone. Well, just finish the poem.
021012
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soyano is everything peachy? 021021
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jolie to let you into the dungeons (sp?) of my place, to tast the taste that rotts my mouth, can't one only keep the demons locked there? They escape yet - to make me crumble. To let you into a place that is me 021129
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lost a very good song by Taproot 030227
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jordan "tertium non data"

the third is not given. very smart, i'm sure, or maybe it doesn't really work unless hand-written. in either case you'll see it sometime soon. ooh, how much more fun than an email! today's not been great for me, how about you?
030522
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phil and if I lived through one more line
of this poem
030930
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User24 I didn't buy this life
I didn't get insurance
I have no guarantee
I don't have my receipt

My off the shelf identity
is out of fashion now
I'll have to go to town
and buy a new one soon

I didn't choose your way
I didn't sign my name
I have no contract with you
I do not have to listen

Your promises, they beckon
they whisper and conspire.
now you want my soul
I have to pay for you to take it?

I don't want your version
I don't need your lies
but I didn't buy this life
and I don't have my receipt.
031121
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marked . 031123
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starjewel

I looked up the word poem in Websters Dictionary the other day, thought the definition was so cool

Poem: (n) An arrangement of words written or spoken: traditionally a rhythmical composition, SOMETIMES RHYMED,expressing experiences, ideas, or emotions in a style more concentrated, imaginative, and powerful than that of ordinary speech.

Yep thought that rocked, and if you don't believe me dust off the old dictionary, look it up
031228
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u24 one day a little dog
ran across the road
his name was jack
he wore a mack
and spoke like a little green toad.
040716
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Lyrics Across_the_Universe... 040716
...
. . 040927
...
. . 040929
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. . 040929
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rockfreq when i see
my greasy hair
sliding down my
head
i know...
its time for a shower
041110
...
guardian_tiger only means anything to strangers when you pull words from your soul, different from the cliches that everybody else knows.
only makes a mark on the world when you harness the power your language has and marry it to your emotions.

their child is a crumpled paper with tears smearing the calligraphed words
050325
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narcisstic_grapes the first never ended, the second never began.
a soul was left behind.
060315
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syrupy sickly sweet. Kick the Plan and Rip the Man,
Jump the Fan or Bump and Ran;
Fly on {Crandolam Joeban}
the Michelin man - |Duran Duran|
060421
what's it to you?
who go
blather
from