Doar blatherite continuous poetry, rhymed or not, and if it has been done already, I'm sure one of you will let me know.

As i sit here empty of mind,
Unique skies are abroad,
Total vistas of blackness find,
Master and slaves of faithless god,
Dafremen Bent upon destruction of
The latter's lack of Godless love
Squeal and scream and in between
Your gasps for breath seem so serene
You are my sanity
You chain my soul to twisted dreams
You're my insanity
Doar screaming first and screaming last
bending bridges far too fast
bounding, bouncing, make it flash
running, diving, feel it crash
knot meat you say to me that it's all been quite done,
that there isn't a feeling that hasn't been had,
but i say to you, there's still more under this sun,
and there's no solace in the agelessness of a feeling like sad.
blather spell check probably and already are both mispelled
my real name here is thus withheld
thpppttttt.....ack. shite, blathere spel chek his cott me agin
muste tri to doit, as I grin
Dafremen Grimace, though more than a grin
Take thy knife and plunge it in
Accursed spellcheck go to hell
First LEARN to write then
We'll learn to spell
Freak ...back to the original poem at hand...

refusing to let go
sending hopeless hope
it only causes more pain
still not letting go
forever stuck in this hell
Death of a Rose so push it down,

downwards, make it flat,

don't give up,

you've got more miles to float


I begin my travel in a sunlit field of hay. I ahted and still hate trying to make up words to match the shit I have gone through and all the hell of everyone around me. I hate my life and all that I've ever done, that comes back to throw me into fits of nightmares. Loneliness is my companion now, give me a good ole c&w tune. How do I relate to the objects around me,
wear a mask and live a continued silence.

I wish I had no debts to pay, my life to end. I need release from this constant barrage of needless life.

Enjoyment is fleeting, happiness is only a word, abandon every feeling and lie like you still have any.

You know the stuffing of your life is gone when you are pretending to have some.

Dark and squat, rising fireflies lick his shoes and extinguish.
Alone to think, wonder why shock waves can come so subtly and not as expected, to tremble in warning.
He brushes his hair back letting it stick in place.

Moaning, he cradles a lost boy,
tasting names but never swallowing.
He was warned not to play with his food, and to despite them he had taken nips and pieces of lessons told.

Nodding slowly, as if under the brink of river sleep, he struggled to raise his head as if in this final fight to betray the nimbus os his fading aura; how bitter.

His views as a youth became quickly and quietly washed with pollutants.

I am one of the lost.
A gray soul caught in modern traps and desires.
Emotions have run out,
At this point nothing swivels, nothing bends.
Every day repeating and completing the dot on the paper.

I would write you bleeding hearts,

and cover it with toiling embraces.

Dynamic convulsion, stretched and bending.
Spare me the twitches.

Spare the heart beat.
A shadow, a timed movie.
Favorites last forever.

Glimpses last while you are staring at the ceiling.
I'm an idiot playing with fools

and the fools are winning.

Description will never be enough.

Describe a page,
imagine hurt,
Laughing at the chords;

And speckle finely a blackness,
watch it drift away.

My words, while I write are confused and true. I like to think of hidden meanings.

And similies are constant.

but true thought always betrays consideration of pages taken away;

Always taken.

Pages turned and pages clicked, pages retraced.

Grab me at my lowest
wrestle my supposed ego.

Tray a nameless see, make it flourish. Call a dictionary as referee. WHO CARES!!

I have too many pages to go it seems, and I fear that I will not reach the last page.

One pen, writing and then spelling. A sad voice screaming into grayness. Life is not accomplishments, I do not think. Life is how you have screamed with the earth. Have I saved or damned.

I really don't know.

Why am I writing?

Tonight is well worn.
Tonight, crazy fingers are deciding.
Where is goodness?
Not a personal salvation, maybe?
I've experienced evil and holiness.

So what is right. Do I accept the spaces, slab a foam pimento into my ear.
Desperation and addiction causes this. and lacking want.
I've always been scared of describing what is happening to me, ridicule fear perhaps. The thought of being exciled. Never having someone to talk to or hold.

I can measure my life by its beats of fhythm. I wonder how infinite are the melodies that hit an individuals ear, and how many of those sounds caress the soul, ready it to be bound, pure movement and instinctual following. Not a robbing of the soul, but a joining, seperate laughing. Slow sounds, erotic shivers from the air.
Delight in shound, I have known no feeling except this movement. Erratic and dancing, eyes half closed, letting the electric control movement. Addiction to sleepness nights, and thoughts.
I wonder at the zero, and laugh at it.
Feeling the transformation in my eyelids.

Wrong words beginning and hurt lips ending, waking to find no dream has happened!
A sensory deprevation of single focus.
Transport me into rememberance.
Consider my actions and not my habits.
Play a tune and smile.
Not for my passing but for my wandering.

Trepidation is the yearning for two.

Into the yawning abyss;
Crawling the weave, you cast
My eyes everywhere.
Their road leads to oblivion,
We walk to extinction.

I've sung many a silent dirge,
To half remembered wounds.
And when new stars appear,
My funeral song will ride the 'Illiad'.

That is why before I dive
Towards the Mirror, I should
Wish for nothing more than
A nerve tingling kiss from you.

Rose Follow me for a moment.
I would make plain my compulsion.
Magnify your want,
That samll mark of annoyance:
Or heal the fallacies of silence.

There are so many who do not
know who they are.
But live with what they do.
It is only very rarely you can
seperate a distinctive goodness
of character, that should/can't
be polluted from that personality
of conscience.

You should be my balanced truths.
And if I could I would play
a concerto in your mind;
just to alleviate my freedom.

The implementation of considering
future worth, blends into mirages
and clouds what shall improve the

Maybe we interpret our actions
too quickly.
Will we all become inefficient
machines and ignorant moles?

Your lush vibrancy is my pen.
I cannot claim to be king of
anyone, nor would I wish to be
Instead treat us as equals, even
if you have to lie to yourself.
I know immaturity is hard to tolerate,
for some, but I believe quite
strongly that this morning fog
will not entirely dissapate.

So let us not be latent but perpetual.

I describe for you a flower,
seen once many years ago,
and return with impassioned haste
to the window to watch
dissapointment walk toward my unlocked door.

Upon cushioned impact, I step back
decades, recalling smiles and
words; ah.....forgive me, promises.

How can I remember your face
with only photographs?

My hand isn't responding to my useless
Have another smoke and remember the
pages of semi circles spread upon the

Does everything stumble when uttered?

My minutes are hours,
Hours are daze,
Daze is forever.

I look to my wrist and watch it break
as if bound to Hercules arrow.

Nothing matters except lines with warmth.
Nothing matters except teaching and learning to watch.
Nothing matters except pressure.

There are no conventions with muted weavings.

I would lose my pride with the quick slash.
Take the pain apart to find its source.

Believe nothing, for the angels
never miss a hated soul that has remained beating.

Such pompous words, such that even this is inextricable from nearness.

I can't recall a single moment when I
am free of you. Nor do I wish to.

You will haunt me with broken bottle
nights, and I lie here not knowing how
or when hell will freeze over, or if I will still be able to continue to walk down this path.
Death of a Rose my last post, anthologized
so I wish to apologize
Dafremen Burnt offerings
Upon the spit of repetition
Spitting on your own creation
Leavin our improvisation twisting
Shifting left and right
It waggles on the wind
Dragon napalmed wings that shudder
Then flutter in ashes
Fall upon the ground
To sound the trumpet blast
Of half a dozen souls
Who joined you in this sojourn
Left upon the Death of Rose
Their mark, this dark repose
This closed unclosure grows
Below the fray
This darkened day betrayed
Its mixture bent upon a whim within
A grim thin slim pestulence
A tin din's corpulence leaves behind
Some spigot's fencing in your mind
And blind to all those roses sprung
Then died upon this noxious dung
Of those whose words had come
To share this fare
Who care about the art
Which blooming fell apart
And now grows still
Do with it what you will..
Death of a Rose thumbs pressed wide apart,
forming indents in solid rock,
here is my crime, here is my chart,
coalescing upon a knock,

who is upon my entry way?
sages profound and classics penned,
bring your needle and some clay
we bring erasers for you to mend.

something simple, filled with life
continue then, my failure mirror,
leave the rock and subtle strife.
here is some cash, make it clearer.
oldephebe hides in this brittle chalice of splintered light? could i depart from the parameters of this blathepage to say death of a rose i almost wept after reading your tear drenched drops of splintered flame briskly shorn from the bleeding torch of your soul..and even now with these few words i feel so inadequate to what you have shared...effortlessly exfoliating the intimacies of your hearts hidden blight..but i wanted to acknowledge this glittering parchment of equisite pathos and so here are these few lines
wrung out..spun out from my splintered Art..and what would those greek sages...the masters of myth and reason say if they heard me equate these ungraceful lines with the apotheosis of human endeavor..i want to read this heart breaking issue out of your souls darkest cavern..again and and's almost borgesian on some levels..and now my tongue is flailing impotently to conjure the right shade of inadequate praise to heap upon your beautiful heart..these words you have written DOAR are simply .. giving birth to shattering sighs..nice work brah

and as usual daf..another side of a another side of your many faceted being
you continue to suprise and delight be well my friend..
oE the first line was should read

how could you know the harrow that hides in this brittle chalice of splintered light?

Death of a Rose a road has been thanked by
the passing pilgrim oE,
giving light upon the dark
edges where the weeds grow.

This road is yours and mine,
friend oE, if you will but
walk it with me.
oldephebe in the demimonde
where a vague path
is parted
in the forlorn field
and some who fortuitously stumble upon them..these diamonds out of the ducts of a splintered soul..would glare at such glittering gems..and some would sit with fingers steepled under a stubled chin
an hirsuit pursuit
of carefully
poised disenchantment
yet informed and cultured aplomb
a pose of profundity..
me, i stoop to lift these tears..glistening jewels
borne out of our ovens..
and i jostle them
upon the smooth plane of my idle hands..the substance of abstraction is not for me
to sift fact from fallacy
here..look a soul smear
splendid spectrum of striated soul
and i am agonizingly
aware of each beautous bleat
of brokeness
shadows grown like stalks of corn
fields of dusk and ash
and slowly stirred things
Death of a Rose blessed stones, heaven=man=hell,
leave some pages unturned,
for all knowledge is burning,
sycophantic parasites are spread
take acid pills to ward
off madness.
Death of a Rose blessed stones, heaven=man=hell,
leave some pages unturned,
for all knowledge is burning,
sycophantic parasites are spread
take acid pills to ward
off madness.
Death of a Rose blessed stones, heaven=man=hell,
leave some pages unturned,
for all knowledge is burning,
sycophantic parasites are spread
take acid pills to ward
off madness.
2 clicks two many oops 031026
oldephebe in the days of my yawping youthwhen my mind seethed like a firebrand on the flank of steer
my cup of consolation
a few beers
i'd start suturing these
these ale fevered quilts
expectorating conjecture...
swaying like a
shimmering apparition
sodden streams of incomprehensible albeit learned spatter

when i'm intoxicated..degrees beyond garrulous..
like some lapsed preacher
swaying in the pulpit..
my friends tell me though
it was quite amusing for them..
i've been separated
from those seas of bargain beer..
telling my torture
to sleep
in alchohol shallows..
setting to restive surging slumber those bruising fugues..
but only the young can really afford to be confused..
craven jester in the court of madness..
stirring the sediment
at the bottom
of a stagnant pond..
call me back..
call me back
to my languishing life..
this is what
heroism is..
to shrug the inertia
of all this
unrequited kisses
the intamacies..
of awakening in a rumpled bed
a dreary dawn and a reticent lover..recognizing the mutual exploitation of one another
reflected blankly
in that stricken posture
damp sour bodies..
clouds of the nights..
rising off
of our morning after bodies..
it's the blandness
the blankness of regret
a one night stand..
it's the body of a soul
you no longer can love..
fermented barley coaxing me into a despairing complicity
if i cannot touch you
with my words
or my body..
what is there
but this well learned minuet..
look there
in the corner..
there's a stern tower
of merciless inculcation
sister somebody
without her habit..
her cotton white coiffeture
rigidly stapled into place..
phantasms after empty orgasms
and then..
a subtle shrug..
an obdurate jut of chin..
and then briskly out the door..
and a bitter, rueful smile
at your rumpled complexion..
Death of a Rose sleep your strained dreams here,
beyond that window are shelves of magic,
wisdom and whimsey,
a juggler cannot compare to those who sit and weave, strand upon strand, deftly making pictures astounding and complexity laid bare.
even the feel of coarse bound lore,
unique in delight and despair,
bring Helen and Troy together again,
give some eyelid fluttering to your complexion. make them tremble when they recognize the carnivore has left.

mantled growth, don't look over your shoulder, coarse and still sands of time cannot win back favour lost.
humble and courteous we shall grasp,
bind your stables loosely, grow some blue grass.
Death of a Rose I think jesus screamed sometimes,
just to let it all out.

so christ, i'll just weep.
here is my emptiness, bleached black and overly sour tasting.

Morality plays upon the piano tonight,
something sanguine and silent.

don't leak on the keyboard
or you'll fry yourself is just a fallacy.

gut spasms in almost lazy hello waves.

i'm alone because i drink
i drink because i'm alone
nice little self wrapped conundrum
doar Bring it on that moon ridden time. Flapping it's wings into a frenzy, just so you can hear it. Step in to the parlour my dearest deceit. Play upon the stage of the night and dramatize its senses. Did you hear that, the masses yearn for the morning, but I hear only my heart beat with intoxication. Roller coaster fantasies are eerliy different when you're standing in sunshine.

The will be my blatherthon. You will see our number flashing at the bottom of the screen. Don't bother calling, we are outside having a cig. I'm not even going to look at the screen while I type this. Just let it come out. Here is my clown, ready to fire from the cannon good people. Oops.....I guess you're not all that good afterall.

There is a wall. People gather to pound their fists on it. It makes them feel righteous and better about themselves. They should check their hands for splinter of rock and steel. Blood can be ignored quite easily when the mind is elsewhere. Keep that mind rooted.

If I was the man who had his ear attuned to inward kisses, would you think less of me?

I've got a little black book that I forgot all over the place and yet I can't seem to do a final loss deal on it. Have to perform an exorcism on it.

this is dangerous, so windy and filled with mines. here it comes, climax in glorious forms. crossroads here and there. for her in sunlight. The middle field is calling (more later).

I have blaphemized and haven't been struck down, now is that right. Can't I expect a holy surge of lightning bolt through the head for the well though out blasphemy. (insert deity of your choice) is cruel.

give me steroids and ethanol, so I can burn cleanly. lips are stimulating. monkey brains are good, they promote regular constipation.

till later my sweet little dark things.
Death of a Rose The middlefield is calling from Eden's den.
It is neither loud nor strong but
Glistening marks its' woeful trail.
It has eaten noiseless insults and
Can never be advanced along the
Metal clasp again; until vanity.
Long strings have knotted, disregarding
Time until its' return to exile.
Harbouring the past, judgements
Have melted words long due but as
Yet unbidden.
Can you hear its' power song, full of
Welcome and blank paper?
Despair if not, because its' ages are
Infinite and flesh tires all too soon.
Someday unravelment will come to stay,
And the bleeding will close,
And the middlefield will welcome
The knock of the shaded door.
Death of a Rose Twirling softly on graceful hands,
Hurting silently in despair.
Escaping hurled and forced barriers,
Rich with river laughter and heat.
Ever in need, wanting not far behind.
Shadowing the blue lagoon,
Asking for the sun.
Death of a Rose A slow bed chant can
hurry an orange and pulsing light.

Her action suspended my tilt,
the letter remained unwritten.

A wonder reclined, furtive strokes
with musical glances.

A loan of patience,
feather dusted, hidden
from tape.

There were many mirrors
but the fanned heat
cooled my skin.
Death of a Rose Tendrils ever seeking,
while hands whipser,
changing the green life above.

You will never be lost with me.
And I will walk through clouds
with you.
Each sunrise, fate may yet
reveal shadows hidden
beneath scarlet breakfast.

Hazy momentum curls around
my head.
Resting contentedly on
a soft embrace,
smelling birth in the
fluttering light.

Beside the river, murmured
truths rushed from crackling
One blink will never get the
hue of the air or that
eluding scent being tossed
by green shields.
Death of a Rose I watch you dance.
Your swaying river flow is hypnotic.

My eyes inflame my head when
you are this close.

You are a stranger to me,
although I have known
your steps for millineum.

I wish you would pause
in that uncertain moment,
and lock that piercing
cry with mine.

I will sit here and answer
life's greatest questions
and always be called a liar.

The only time my fingers
flow is when my cards are

I still feel.
I still yearn.
I still ache.

My peace hugs your back,
but weeds grow distant
and ever closer.

When spasms pass and
the colourful cup has been
shared, my smile will
echo across these hills
untill landslides crush the
Death of a Rose Travelling without purpose.
No stone; no fork to confuse my passage.

I came across footprints as I entered a glade, I could hear soothing burbling, so I crouched down to enjoy it.

I saw a fawn and she peered deeply into my skin, and was disturbed by another source of noise opposite of us both on the other embankment. She fled from us both, leaving barely a ripple in her sudden departure.

I felt I had to follow but not as a chaser, clumsily crashing through the forest but as tracker, careful and patient. A trance enfolded me as I ranged along her escape route.

Every time I glimpsed her just ahead, she would again disappear, my hands started to tremble, my eyes darting around at unfamiliar territory.

I silently came upon some brush, which I slowly slide halfway under, and there was a small lake with the fawn, her sides heaving, due to her flight, having stopped to replenish that which she had sought firstly.

I gazed at her and just when my eyes had slid from the pond to hers, she didn't frighten or bolt, she just turned to gaze at me, seemingly an eternity had just taken place. Then she dipped her head back to the lakes edge to drink again. I like to think that she had decided that some sense of hers had allowed me to escape the definition of a predator after this long chase.

Small waves issued forth across the still water. Where were the other creatures of this forest?
Or did I not hear/see them because of her?

I paused in thought and looked at my trembling hands, not knowing what to do,
thinking that any quick or questioning movement would change her mind about me, causing flight again.
I did not have the energy or wit for another chase.

When I focused once more upon the water's edge, she was gone,
having slipped away while I pondered.

I hear now the other denizens, now that sleep is my companion, but
her essence lingered far past my skin.
Death of a Rose I am standing on a border,
the flickering of life and lost hope.
My death comes to me in a plastic bag,
sometimes two as if to share its burden of poison, or the weight of its release.

It is made for ease and pain of delivery.
And it comes of my own calling.
It arrives in little time at all
and always flattens time afterwards.

Like a beckoned echo it strangles me.
Just a primal sound of fluid,
flowing, pleasing and feared.
Death of a Rose Staring at the twilight,
Letting this grain down
me in one swallow.
Pour her full and empty
her wastefulness into
a morning cup.

I will engulf this in the dawn,
nothing to melt
my tears,
stirring languidly,
brushing the time from
my fingers,
like sands in your shoe,
bothersome to know
it has ruined
Death of a Rose Sink a slick fog into my mind and spread it across low lying hills.
I can imagine a slow dread, beginning
at my feet, as though
my contact with the earth is
the origin of the ill that is slowly
embracing me.

To step gives a brief respite from pain,
until I plant my foot down and then agony blossoms again,



On and on.

Let both my feet leave the ground,
shed the leather and cotten that encases them, join both arms in a high rendered prayer, ready to dive into the unknown,
swim free of constraints.

Folding my legs to frame my new existence.

But of course, the firmament will always have its physic's embraced way with me,
feeding the water laden bread scraps through its steel door.

Hang your projected politics.
Choke on persuasion.

Erratic, stumble, undesirable effort.

Reading a story with no understanding
of the hidden meanings vital for character development.
oldephebe here's my hoary song
pasted and placed here from
some other parchment page
hugged in a helix of blue
i do not write for you
i do not sing for you
i want to fill this barren field
with sprites and the dance of winter lights and fauna frolicking like tigger and pooh on smack
i want to fill these pages with
satiric verisimilitude
and just a word..a pap smear so broad
in its depths ringing something hollow
and shimmering ebullience in its breaths
and when the brown round tone blinks into the black
i want to embalm this
i want to tear the very heart out of winter..i want to etch a dagguerotype of the terror i see clouding in your eyes..the one brief flickering moment of truth that passed between us..and i want to see you drunk and stumbling down the stairs..and see you wrap a shawl around your shame..although i wear your face i cannot begin to assume the mantle of the master raconteur..
the ravages of spirit..the ribaldries that scalded her ears..the coarse and close intimacy of that fraternity..i will never touch upon it..upon that
i want to sit in an oak panelled bar
and see the spirits shimmer in the glass
watch the shape your hands casual and aloof and yet an inescapable affinity with this appendage..the glass the ice..the bourbon sipped slowly..affectionately from the glass
i want to take that which had hung in the air between us all those years
and spread it wide upon the credense table..i want to know the man who spoke in these majestic breadths..the man who had fists like cinder blocks and yet was so aloof towards me..the man who sent men into oblivion
one blow and one hastily slurred word
and they were prostrate upon the pavement...a man of immaculate manhood
all i ever felt was a vague sense of discomfature..and a vague sense of pride or familiarity..
i do not write for you
i am not you
but as the years etche a character in this face the man i see more resembles you..these things that whispered vaguely in the air between us are now spreading their wings wide
i don't want to become you
i don't want to be aloof
i don't want to seek some desolate solace in the smoke and steam of a barley inebriate.. i don't want to be this great house of splendor that has fallen down..i don't want my relationships to be defined by strain and exasperation
but i fear that i am becoming you
no, not the man with cinder block cudgels raining furious blows upon some hapless bar patron who has stayed well past his time..but the man who was so irrevocably alone..who sat up nights and mimed a mirage through his days..
sometimes father i saw the ache..the lonliness cloud your eyes..just for an instant..and then you'd fill the awkward space with that phenomenal photographic memory..and fill my head with exacting forensic prodigies of recall..your recall..estuaries of the esoteric..and i remember at those moments being filled with the poignancy of your sorrow..that now it became my sorrow..a kind of transgenerational cross pollination..and then the notion of daylight burning..
yea i have come at last to myself
the self i searched for as an ephebe
wanted to define myself by something besides my ( )parentage
yea i have come to myself at last
a self i spent so long searching for..
and now i want to be unhinged from the past, the profound lapses of ( )but there is elucing the harsh judgement i have meted out to tender eye of light beams down upon me..i have this panic that is rising in my throat..when i confront the totality of what i have not honored.
paul had his damascus epiphany..struck with holy blindness so he could see what he had become..and how he must atone..and yet i am clinging tenaciously to this rot that eats at me like black moss growing over a soul..
clinging..remembering so acutely every lapse and every shame..O what calamity waits for me in the wings?
and in the interegnum between these precocious winter breaths...autumn is a slow dying fire..and now i try to hide this terror from my son..and from my family and friends..but they see it..
i do not write for you..but it seems the score is being written out of you..
the end from the beggining the requiem has begun..and i have heard its score since those early young years..slender shadow growing tall in the field of dusk
Bespeckled This is a page I'll have to come back to 031026
rendered speechless utterly beautiful 031027
Lemon_Soda Do not fail, oldphebe...

You wrenched tears from my bosom and placed a vice of destinies pain on my soul in your scattered oration...

Your present is my future, or perhaps, one of them...

Give us a happy ending, old phebe, if your hand has the will to scrawl the lines of your path.
oldephebe something tender about me..
i'm tired of
these spurs
forth, in and out
thin sliver of shadow
and your imperious eyes
tell me something
you see
in me
not founded upon
the malice
swimming in your black eyes
tell me something not
founded upon
the savage violence
that sings in your
anthracitic heart
tell me somethin'
that doesn't stain
the air with septic redolence
tell me
something not shaped in that
cauldron of rot
i want to see your face
filled with blazing light
eyes unnarrowed, not haughty
not wide in faux suprise and overt disdain
and as the wind
throttles the tree
in its fist
of unfolding indefagitable fury
can you cast a blind eye and open
heart upon my lapses..
my surcease of synapses
O great house falling
forever into its squalor
shape for me
some beatific illusion
then let this chasm
between us be filled, bridged
let this ancient animus be
let the inner veil of
the temple be wrent
from my maudlin crown of martydom
to your incarnate heart of oppression
let it be told
let it be said
that we are at last threaded in Love
even though the words of that last
sentence curdle in my mouth
like tepid split pea soup filled with
rotting meat left to spoil in summer a bowl encrusted with pathogens
there is no sacrifice that can be made
to restore what never was
still though
it'd be nice
if every now and then
we could say something
borne of the brightness
i've seen filling other mother's eyes
and as the time between us
threatens to repose
tell me something
tell me why
there is this thing
between us filled with
black sky
oldephebe lemon soda i ah..can only write what is in me to write..maybe there will be a happy ending once i atone for all of my "lapses" thankyou for the kind words..i hope your future never touches this travesty i call a life..mostly my own making it is within me to right this wrecked train..but i will need to inhabit something transendant..or It will need to inhabit me.. 031027
oldephebe oh the first line of my penultimate post
should have read:tell me something tender..about me
Death of a Rose discord I take to the flint wheel,
sharpen it until breath can be cut.
wield it unwillingly upon the stones
of this bone filled valley.

seconds tick inside my head,
swinging through the decadence,
creating commotion whenever the
silence returns.

12 steps up and a lifetime of
stairs to fall down, turn away
from deceived mountain guru's.
remodel these hands upon anothers

"is that not fair?", she asked.
"to whom?", I answered.

plant signs under oceans fathoms
equate the two dissonant chords
behold this fate of water falling.
gestate hunger with three words.
Lemon_Soda Well writ. 031029
Doar lemon, add some original verse. 031029
Death of a Rose bring your hate to the surface,
shine it and let it glow.
what do you see?
dryrot in your eyes.

know this, change has slipped,
swallowed by amorphous reason.

racing the emotion down the street.
back and forth without a map.

singular purpose,





Cleft into pieces.
Lemon_Soda *mixes a package of original into the bowl and stirs well*


*licks the spoon*
Doar ah....that's better. 031029
Death of a Rose last page.....i can feel it coming around that worded corner, exhaling a stench of ending.

last page....i can see it scratching at the iron gates, flaking rust particulates onto the brown grass.

last page....i can sense it arriving back from its birth, extensive meandering bringing no souveniers.

last page....i can savour it leaving, breaking frosted glass in its' hastily drawn prison.

last page....i can type its concealment from only tree tops, specifying worn soles and burnt walking sticks.

last page....i reveal as clouded blue aluminum stamps, flip the hankerchief over and begin again.
oldephebe Ode to e e cummings oldephebe...
his lush
over ripe phrases
hanging out of the air
so manly
and yet sensuous
his words
stir a riot
hot musket salvos
into the eye of
guardians of a swiftly
decaying age
his homilys of
erotic heresy
slipped between the knotted
cords of strenously twined
ivy..oh glittering trellis
how do i descend these
these hot houses
bleeding, sweating
into the darkness
each of your
etchings is
is a strange parade
and gilds me to that
young magical time
gilds me to this
solipsistic refrain
and me meeting her
and then your unabashed verse
was so beyond serendipity
i took a wrong turn
and in your
voluptous verse
i found a God thread
i plaintively pound my chest
no it will not be put
to rest
it will leech from
its shallow internment
there are moments
you are vaulted beyond
yourself..when i read
these lines O
scatter the sentinels
that guard the sepulcral
soul..o invigorating
how you do reveal me
Doar yes......that was very well done....oldephebe..... 031031
oE oh. ..uh thanx man.. 031031
Death of a Rose light filled foggy days,
watching it flow and tumble,
cauldron born and cornfed raised
cautiously homing into geometrical
spreading arms wide, in anticipation,
purposely fornicating without breathing,
donning new armour and stepping into the arena
time winded frustration and jealous ravings
core values,
i have spent,
obtuseness deified,
mythical beasts and fairy tale rides,
wounded omnivores,
supplicating subversive demagogues.
oldephebe nice! the prodigies of spirit..doar you are inimitable..fathomless..i am so enjoying your glittering tears of woe shorn out of that cathedral of sorrow..or maybe..i mispeak..maybe these words can broker a new retrieve a semblance of what was thought lost..i don't i am..desultory..shuffling with my shoes..the aggregate..dunghill gravel pit.. heaving my pick into that delusional..dry spring..emptied vein..HOPE..okay all i wanted to say was i am enjoying reading your words.. i'll clean this one up later...

peace doar
Death of a Rose well thank, back slapping wanna be poets that we are....... :-)

I think some of the oE dictionary is rubbing off on me....I'm start trying to think of the multisyllabic variations of nonsensical

the candle is always lit when you are gone from here oldephebe.

\/ to you friend.
oldephebe i wish others would post their rhetorical dalliances here..
that's all we're doing..
just talking
off the top
of our heads..
it doesn't have to be connected
to anything already here..
paste here
your pleated..
beleagured paranoia..w
why then let's have
a thouroughfare to thoughtlessness
and the dance of sprites..
let us pour ourselves
luminous upon the pavement..
i know
i can't
be the only windbag here..
lemon soda..where you AT man?
Daf -
well he's probably in a mountain top monastry gleaning greedily upon the unfathomed mysteries of our questing souls..
maybe he's just doing his thing..
pd, magicforest, celestias shadow, mtree, unhinged, RO, jezebel, stork, minnessota chris,
how many
gorgeous orchids
of sound and spirit
fill this firmament?..
let them come and tell themselves to us..
or just rant..
tell a joke..
take an image..
any ol' image..
even an icon
and squeez it
for ironic effect..
my mirrors all bleary,
black and bereft
insouciant effect..
c'mon..say something
that will renovate my inner life..
tantric theft,
i was wired to my work
and that's why she left..
is there a
cecilia bartoli
out there with a
voice that can cut through a soul like a saw through glass..ply glass
that is..
is there an angry rueful sage of the parchment page refusing till the last to submit to deaths singing blade? c'mon we're all so word glutted here..write your movement to this polyphonic procession..
okay so..

where ya At!!..i never could pull of faux street argot..
c'mon then..
one more round of
anecdotal entanglements..
i feel like the garrulous barber pinning his customer to his unendurable incontinence..
whatever your bag is
bring it and dump it out here..
and again i am all pneumatic discharge of air between pursed lips..
Death of a Rose jesus, mary and the psychic donkey...

I was going to say something similar in the last post but didn't want it to sound insulting....

lemon popped in but only left an original baking in the oven.

Dafremen started the sharing but he is a wanderer, we might not see him for along time.

looks like you and I are the only ones left at the moment.

So I'll slap your back and give you some peace, heartbrother....
Death of a Rose well, I started this with such fervent intent,
trying to bring some worth and leakage to this praple apologies.

i still tend the fire,
hoping for passerby to sit awhile and share some words,

issuing them from between frenzied lips,
juliening a feast for the grey matter of our beings.

scratching symbols and epics in the sand, some only listen to the fathoms careening against the nearest shore.

please read instructions before consuming, don't remove this tag.

subdivide a birth record and proclaim to the world, we are dionysius and ceasar,

call us gladiators of the typed word.
Dafremen Hit the mountain top
Reached the pinnacle and petered
Fettered there
Left behind the wings that somehow o'er the ages
Taught and brought me there
Shed the skin for scrolls of old
Fed the bought and borrowed one
On inner peace instead
Leave me! Be me!
What you want me to
Willingly free me to see me
Gleefully teasing
Beyond this slim composure
Failing then fleeing
This depth of heights unmeasured
You cannot count
The tokens of the toll
Who cannot feel
The bleating of my soul?
The numbing of its cold, hard way?
The crumbling of this mountain stay
This peak of foolishness?
Accursed day melts exposing blessed night
The frightening spectacle of who I was and am
The lightening gave way to what I couldn't understand
I run and stand
Behind the shadow of my conviction
"I am!" I shout
But doubt that I know anything at all
Not anything at all
So called enlightenment
No wisdom here I fear
Just apparitions come and went
Their wisdom spent upon a fool upon his knees
A flea, a mite, a mote, a man
Ran to the mountain top on wings and strings attached
Upon a puppet's hand
Up to the mountain top
The monastery's shadow laughing all the while
Laughing, then it smiles and scowls at my unworthiness
At this scrap of dauntlessness come calling
Blown upon its kiss then falling down
Falling down
"Kiss the earth, dirt.
Kiss the earth, know of your birth, dirt.
Tumble down and ever after know that you are small"
I felt its loamy call
So very very small I am
So very very small
And know I cannot stand
Can only crawl, only crawl up to
Then fall down from the mountain top.
Death of a Rose I trace my imagination through
your skin.

The ultimate medium.

We are a perpetual cycle of involvement,
thanking those who have cut the vines before us.

There is no one way glass for us,
only warm delight flushed with raging energy.

I whisper 'Je taime' close to your jasmine hair.

We know it is a box of memories,
lasting and true.

Slaves to our flexible coil,
never wanting for broken chains.

I envision so many promises we made
and stare shrinking pinholes
into the wall.

You are my wind anchored.
My sail with push.
You carry my colours of emotion out to sea.
You are my desperation, my hope when times begin to dim.
My letters lost, those times when blankness traps my mind.
You are my life support, a constant coma of beautiful dreams and actions.

Your mouth.

You see

Once a man feels its caress, he
never gets over it.

Will you forget me?
Would I forget you?

Let me tell you this in answer.

You are everything that is lovely.
You are all the things I cannot
understand, because understanding
requires knowledge.

Of which I am barren.

You are yourself.
No repition.

Quickened pulse, cornered passion,
undetectable crimes.

Your lips.
Death of a Rose Endurance feeding seclusion,
or mocking the heretic,

Can be the essence of habit.

If you can imagine the abandoned dreams of childhood;

What are your expectations now?

Of others?

Of yourself?

Can we be truthful about ourselves any longer?

There are too many questions. Too many followers of Kali and Loki.

Instead we should become ourselves
to that extent where no one would need
masks to relate, but I guess this dream is abnormal and therefore it should be suppressed.

Our superficial exteriors support and maintain this disease of humanity.

I know this poetry is drivel and childish to many. But maybe, just maybe..this collection of words are here on record, maybe some might leave with some insight or wonder.

They are the ones I would bleed with.
Death of a Rose coloured sand, glistens with dark shadows.
seeing beauty pass, but afraid to stop it.

sweating each day, as if it were yesterday.

without rhyme, want can only be except illusion.

rigid towers flow outwards,
with increasing blindness,
towards fallen metal heaps,
covered with scum.

we will never learn the Druids' Oath.

raffled lives without pillows.
how will movement transform itself?

Despair wraps its fleshless fingers,
waiting to gather the flock in.
Death of a Rose "If I was"

If I was the air that hugged
your movements,
would you wrap
yourself tighter in
the blankets?

If I was the sound that issued
from your mouth in
a lost moment of passion,
would you regret opening
your mouth?

If I was the soft touch beneath
your fingers, would you
rush to wash your hands

If I was the fire in your eyes,
would you throw gasoline
into them to burn them out?

If I was the smile you wear
after a pleasing dream,
would you remember
nightmares in order to
frighten that smile?

If I was the scent that
caused that smile of
pleasure, would you
cease breathing?

But if I was the man who
embraced you closely
and had his ear poised
over your heart,
would you care?
Death of a Rose "The Dream"

A wind beyond the invisible
screams my name.
Sluggishly I move my fingers to swilvel the barrier between it and me.
Vague images barely contained
haunt my haloed feet.

Astride a magnificient beast,

ever changing.......

Suicidal hills below me.

Someone is talking with yielding


Logs surround us but ghosts lie
between us,
although searched by space I cannot hear their words or is it others that cannot hear mine?

Reaching from you, I slip into
inconsequentials, refusing to be shown visions of fragmented hopes.

Is this the first?

Will it be draped with vibrations?

The wind still howls, but now with disciplined compassion.
How I wish it would hang in my clothes,
ready to be washed with black grids.
Death of a Rose I might have left the following on another page somewhere, but oh well.


Flowing rain
patters at the blades.
Arching perfume
isn't bothered by reflection.
Others strike carelessly
into the cratered mud.
Betraying sensual webs
dusted by the years,
sifted by a blazing haze.


The purple light beckons
across the dirty water.
The rain is a rememberance
of the Roman nights.
Whispering of decades without
substance, intangible
to you ears.
Baked clay is wishing for the
stinging wetness,
again believing that the circumstance
might balance itself.

With layered ashes,
will the flame die?
Death of a Rose Envelope my prose with boasting and hate. Each letter furred with life's massive mistakes.
A poem I remember touched my mind and left nothing in return.
I do not read classic or contemporary, I read to enjoy other worlds and experiences, this I do for my mind.
Design is by concientious choice,
Creativity is by madness blurred and refined.
Croak, crack and groan above me.
I wish I could distance myself from these words that will not melt in my forge.
Truly, only life exists where is pleases.
Coil my thoughts like barbed wire and brandish me with the hot hells of the Stygian Abyss.

Comfort is in an unpredictable stroke. The sliding and cold caresses of two, utterly alien to each other, and yet dependant.

Dark spots upon the sky lit background, will draw this ink.

My girth for sanity.
Death of a Rose There is a wall.
People gather and pound.
Who is popular?
Those who keep values,
Or those who disregard?
One wall, one obstacle.
Two sides, one opinion.
One play, two acts.
Once met, never forgotten.

Cameras are a pause for those
floating in a cloud.
Hard skin turns red.
Forgotten time pieces, do they still keep time?

I doubt myself, I brush my self effacement onto this canvass.

Raising hell, no demons erupt.
Flames are of a past divided window.

Brown enamel; who cares?
Eyes are flaring red; who cares?
Print is faded; who reads?

Let midnight slip beneath my fingers,

Or can a caring crescendo decide my fate?

I hate repitition, it bothers me.
My head hangs low while I walk the stumbling steps I take, watching these cracked and brittle appendages scuff dirt, gravel, smearing sidewalk chalk paintings.

My skin is white with chalice music, leaving flakes of an artificial light.

Should I write or just torch this thin membrane?
Death of a Rose Scarlet woman, grained with lacy perfection. I hear your intercourse, chocolate coated,
smiling rightfully outwards.
Your corners hide so much, leaving me with morning dust and unquenched fires.

Elegance with appetite, grasping the shoulders of opulence.

You can swing your chaste chaos with ease; just make your compulsions gratifying.

I will quote your screams to anyone with undesigning motive.

And although there is a little pathogen living in our souls,

this is our challenge,

to embark on pure unavoidable fancy.
celestias shadow yes, i was a girl
i never said i was special
watching chaos
it seemed to me that was enough
if something tell you you're alive,

don't you think it should make you live?
whatever happened to simple pleasures? did they die with the advent of the space/time continuum?
sometimes i think it might be nicer
just to live in caves again
Death of a Rose i must admit pleasure at seeing another wanderer stop buy,
tasting this and leaving a snippet,
an endearing favour, not asked why,
but prose that we will keep in this net.
Stretch but I'm pretty sure they couldn't have enjoyed it any more! 031103
. You said we were passing strangeness, and I couldn't have argued more against it. There is still the rodeo down the road, we'll stop and get some road pops.

So that is why when the armadillo committed suicide, you decided to jump from the car, maybe you wanted to join it in the throes of death. Panic set in me, bringing the tar smell of burnt rubber. I couldn't breathe for the dust clouds the oldsmobile had kicked up in the sidewinding braking that just had happened.

I started running back to you, in the scrub bushes by the side of this highway. I saw one of your legs, but it didn't look right, too many angles. As I got closer I started to hear the hissing of your breathing. There was such amounts of blood in your meteoric path and crater. Your jeans were ripped and road burned; your face had been scraped to the bone. I could see your eyes moving weakly around.

I realized at that instant, I would put you down.
Death of a Rose scotch tape is useful only on paper

point of entry and disparate deep
jetison this blood
away from
cover over
your humility
breakfast of champions
ravage the mighty
complication of my heart
oldephebe each life
is an epic
a diachotomous
vortex of trajedy
and mountain top moments
even the stranger
who slogs home..past us
his/her life was once
a lyric poem
the woman trying to
shirk off the encumbrance
of her husbands name
the man trying to wrest
one last moment of illicit
carnal pleasure from this
dalliance..this dance of
pheremones..this firm
nubile body writhing beneath him
he will return to his wife
and steal his solace in the
intervening years from this one
lapse..this stolen space of bliss
Death of a Rose majority complexion arising from competition,
number crunching just for madness,
ring ring ring

let the machine get it, that's why i bought the damn thing,

illicit behaviour sacrificed to,
spilling odd behaviour patterns across my retinas,
sometimes cursing and feral machinations,
and i feed it, give it meat filled with sedatives.
oldephebe one breath of her
glittering verse
and i was
a rumpled mass
of impiety
i heard her body
with my eyes
yes, now i see it quite clearly
her body spoke to me
and i heard her with my eyes
her low lovely contralto
murmed so agonizingly incoherently
heat and rush and urgency
i let her wrap me in its
sonorous..soft..warm cello bows
and then in her
naked leer she postulated
that it was so outrageously
possible, her head in the
cleft of my folded flesh
she told myself to me
naked skin on naked skin
a menagerie of meat
clenched and pulsed
i tasted her shape
upon the dried canvas of
my imagination
and how do i keep
Me from being completely
eradicated in this
absolute amalgamation
of will, desire,
this wanton ache to be
Abandons play thing
carve me slowly on
your blazing bed
hot metal, template flesh
a glimpse of her
through her curtain of lace
her unbearable silhouette
her erotic entreaties
the gentle slope of her
breasts, that outrageous
mouth, she has bludgeoned
all these building blocks
my house of preservation
falling down
she has usurped
my every prerogative
to the chaste and austere
and what will i say to her
tomorrow, what answer will i give
to her invitation to apostacy
will we grind against the grain
of everything shaped and bordored
by this ring..wrought in
ancient tectonic kisses
folded earth and molten embrasure
will this set itslef
like a mountain shadow
the ring and the vow
and nine months later
will i not know how
this came to be?
what can i do
to steal the
fire from under the pot
Death of a Rose BRAVO! 031115
pipedream um. how d'you expect me to add something meaningful after *that*? 031116
Doar just some of your original verse,
and please, no 'but i'm worthless after all you have said'.

i asked you to write something here or yours for the exact reason that i would like to read something of yours on my created page.

don't make me beg
Dafremen make sure its not religious though pd! And don't state any opinions in it either. (Otherwise it's probably just another pile of steaming ferret do0ky.) ; ) 031116
daf how could you see it
any other way?
how could you not see it
the way i has conceived of it?

i knows..
i thinks..
i believes..
i was taught that...
i is of the opinion that..
i always trumps
oldephebe pd - you don't realize the fullness of your've inspired me to peer deeper into the well and grasp at more than just a dalliance with alliterative exhibitionism and the promenade of jarring juxtapositions. egoless..i think that is what this page is..doar is gifted as well as daf and everyone else who has dropped by..but i still prop up my humble long as it is something that gushes out of me..and is not're writing is wonderful pd don't sell yourself short.

Death of a Rose cleanse me in waters deep,
spin and languish,
gravity blinds me,
coarseness and air pushed,
set up again and again,
pinball pimp,
the truth in it,
the jolt of knights,
second time, third time,
opening and tearing new spikes of westward glances,
carthodic reactions,
newfound ideologies, tongued & set in memory.

convincing and depriving.
Death of a Rose (another blathe from somewhere else)

would you be a participant hanging from your noosed filled walls?

let us play and pay the piper.

for he is the taint and shadow of us all.

suffication fantasies have ways of merging realities into fatalities.

phatasm's ogre and quickened gasps,
ask me how and i'll tell you why.

screwing my words in accordance to bare,
nectar sweet and coven shrouded,
take me as sand and hour glassed tincture.

a muse upon this glove,
humorous and slack,
curled upon my lap.
oE "nectar sweet and coven shrouded" nicely done.. 031116
death blushing 031117
Death of a Rose instinctive vindictiveness is the prize handed out to feathered wolves,
time is still in my heart and mind,
i fear it is late in my evening and the morning i will never see again.

yes, i should have lived differently,
yes, i should have been a better man,
and a million more yes statements,

but this is what i am,
wanting someone, anyone to embrace me as special and theirs.

you say don't change what you are for them,

i say i would change what i wanted to, to swim with them.

shed this frail skin,
leave this husk behind me,
while i careen drunkenly into this private desert.
oldephebe Ode to Sylvia Plath

glittering_dead_breaths reminds me of something by sylvia plath..
her images come at you like storm..
lavender sky
and lightening
swathed in ivory and bone
dark wonder and
cauldron mist
open mouthed kisses
and blood and
i take her every word
into my oceans floor bottom black heart
holy matron cursed by her torment..
the scarlet stripe of father
forget me nots
out damned spot
and do you see the red embered eyes behind the mid-western masquerade..
she seems to be saying
can you touch my torment without looking away..
without wilting under its scarlet kisses?
and oh she seems to whisper
to unwind an absolute fury
of posiedons breaths and splinter thick cords of oak..tearing down these ramparts like so much tissue
to visit this wrath upon my own perfect flesh (she seems to say)
the scalding path of memory and memories yet unborn
and the faintly painted thoughts
that caper in my attic..
now roar out and off the page
full, completly formed
like an ogre
tearing through the womb
and father showing his silent contempt
and no one proffered
a splint for her red fountain soul
to look into his eyes
is to see
the clarity of coldness
as it curdles
every..aspiration to transcend her
glittering dead breaths
I'm over come by deep awe
every time
holding her writhing shadow
in the tomb of my ears
in the flesh cave of my mouth
her broken bone beauty
takes me up again and again

I have to thank pd once again for placing this astonishing womans words
in my life..I wish i could escape to a mountain cloister and drwon myself in her epiphanies hurled out of the Dark
Death of a Rose kisses silent, breadth of her voice, falling upon this earth,
quick succession gasps,
urgency replete.

honour bound i am to give this to her,
complete confusion sweet.

restoration of these limbs and mind,
pausing on her skin, skimming her thigh, twirling in chaotic dancing.

candle shadows fleeing and flickering,
suppleness pulsing, raking the leaves off my back.

reserve a table of succulent pleasure each time i bring her here.

careful calculations are behind her gaze,
preliminary staging of another play,
orating my wishes to her audience.

gyrating my body to this symphony.
Death of a Rose corruscating confusion droplets of ether,
blindly stumbling around and in concert envy,
hammer time into pieces and make jigsaw puzzles for others,
elastic versions of my clone,
scorn and derision are jolting me,
an electric blue flame, noting simplistic engravings.
marked . 031128
pipedream *ovation for DOAR*

and the ode to sylvia...very nicely done, oE, vunderful.

and i'm sorry for being meek! shall try to avoid it while in midst of such wond'rous soul fountains :D
pvcpillow i have been as they say
for a few weeks now. 'fine'
is apt. more or less. 'fine'.
i'm 'all right'
i'm another mild whatisit, noun?
adjective for
it, 'okay'. i'm 'okay'. i'm
'good'. what else would i be, being
myself and away for ten days to
not see anyone but blood relatives
even then, i'm peachy, seriously.
i think of other things again
and it doesn't hurt if i
deliberately re-project, to test
sweetness moments.
but it takes just about
one whiff
of a pine-tree
zesty something
and there you go, i have to
reach down and pull
my knees back up (hello
please stay standing you
are a little wonky as it is
dont go trembly on me
its weak and only
happens in books)
if fairytales don't
exist (i know they do i
have seen one two days ago)
why am i a writer? it
isn't fair to have to
deal with a cynic and romantic
at the same time
marshmallows behind conker
shells is just
too ironic
Doar silence.

thanks you
phil black skys with a layer of stormy clouds
empty spaces of godly shape
below the darkness unfolds
opening their brittle faith
a dragon rears his head
breathe of freezing cold
eyes splintering light
frozen stone smeared like paint
by the movings of this giant thing
in fear they ran from the sky
to drink in streets out of sight
beneath the smoking stacks
in a world without light
children tunnel up to ponds
on their stomachs they wrythe
returning like snakes before the dawn
to rest in steaming rise
huddled in their beds
candles burned for reading
soup with curry and tamarind
parents left dead in their seats
reflected in the clouded mirrors
necromance reanimation
struck exploding bombs of corpses
the dragon for all defeated
falling to the stone-like earth
a rolling river of blasted warmth
tearing away the muddy waste
flames and waters flow
falcons come to walk the shore
picking clam in their claw
shaped like mist in the morning sun
hills plauged by deer
swordsmen calling to their drinks
slipping bread between closed gates
a kingdom rich with poison
a queen's death in summer woe
giving an heir a playground palace
and thrown of the dragon's silver bones
the history and skill taught
for sharpened steel, kept locked
good fortune was not left alone
by what once was ghostly frost
has been blown over the ragged mountain
returning to the thrown
her soul entwined with the fearful beast
which cast the wintery spells for sleep
feeling the words from his coiling mouth
fully protected to be destroyed
she floats blinded in the chill sky
his words searching for something weak
fighting back; her thoughts like fists
leaking information of the past
and the darkness that life was
seeing her beautiful form twitch
released his grip
his struggle of mind
she pushes and lifts the blade
from the ground to his throat
do not rape my kingdom
the poison of his throat spilling
all thoughts of the world
displayed in clashing colors
down the slope
descending on her blossomed feet
the crowd willing her to the thrown
hammered into leaves and dust
painted on the palace walls
Death is from my favourite american invader.

Thanks Phil. Much appreciation and nicely written.

oldephebe beware of the charlatans entreaty.. bearing the branch..
blossoming with friendship
look for the slender shade
of a lie
snickering at the edges
beware the insidious gradient
of incremental excavations
beware the really inspired
projection of integrity
sniff out the moral dissonance
seeping out of its pores
divest yourself of its
ensnarement quickly
beware those pockets
of white, socketless
souless empty light
calling unto our greed
beware the extravegant tongue
constricted in the misdirection
of flattery
beware of what seems plausible and reasonable, what seems to constitute
a plausible pretext
every thing is a dance
the writhing serpent
in the sacerdotal robe..
learn to listen closely
for the music of deceit
shear it from the mellifluous
whole note of integrity
a corruption of code
a degradation of
intonation right at the
lowest, softest edge
of wave amplitude
whole note sullied with
eighth note fractal incursions
of flats and sharps
muddying the soup
you'll see,
you'll hear
if you listen
for it..
the rank squalor
of deceit
the legerdemain of
virtuosic lies
a serpentine swath of
subtley dissonant and disorienting
half-truths and whole lies
cut the cord swiftly
and spare yourself the cost
oE nicely done pcvpillow, phil - i am staring at your words with a grudging awe and the subtle emerald sting of envy..very nicely soon as i get some salve for my ego-clotted soul i'll be just fine.. 031201
pipey-pillow-pvc-dream phil, 'necromance reanimation' has my vocabulary lobe turning somersaults. yummy. specially the last about twenty lines of your poem, mmmmm-mmmm.

thankyew oE duckie, that last poem was another vocab lobe delight. what a lubly way to start the day :D
Death of a Rose kindness intertwined in stares received from strangers, unfathomable from this window.

was that a smile?
was it sardonic?

careful and cautious?

strangers passing, they will never know how their actions and muscle calculations have affected my reflection in this ocean of weeping.

irregular disguises and grasping pain rememberances.

break this chain of soul clouds.

Reach into this vortex and retrieve my imaginings lost.
phil the short boxer ontop my soul
not more buff than any other
my hats to tight I feel your words
you make my soul feel this waving
you worry about the little things
and lots of things beyond control
holding power they start to flow
but just under the right control
I am able to let them go
pipedream 'safe' is a four letter word
i leaped the tide of lukewarm
and stayed poised to fall,
ready to unclip the rounds of weight
from my ankles- too much
thought, too much opinion
too much other people and less
you and me
keep them there.
when you think it's safe
to close your eyes
is when the tide will
pull you back
Death of a Rose corascading icicles dripping a hourly march, spreading life into my skin,
temporary fastidiousness, fading quickly in your sighs,

illuminance from fingertips,
tracing runes and sigils from craven breasts, shaping these columns,

mystic and sage alike have no rosetta stone for them.

willfull gambling with my blood,
lowered gently to your cup.
phil this lined
of betrayal
and dimly
so dense
a tale
it derailed
but mind
has fully
what mines
to fail
phil Black skys, with a layer of stormy clouds; empty spaces, of godly shape. below the darkness unfolds; opening their brittle faith. a dragon rears his head; breathe of freezing cold. eyes splintering light; frozen stone smeared like paint by the movings of this giant thing.

In fear, they ran from the sky; to drink in streets out of sight, beneath the smoking stacks, in a world without light.

Children tunnel up to ponds; on their stomachs they wrythe. returning like snakes before the dawn, to rest in steaming rise. huddled in their beds; candles burned for reading, soup with curry and tamarind, parents left dead in their seats reflected in the clouded mirrors.

Necromance reanimation struck exploding bombs of corpses; the dragon for all defeated; falling to the stone-like earth, a rolling river of blasted warmth, tearing away the muddy waste, flames and waters flow.

Falcons come to walk the shore; picking clam in their claws; shaped like mist in the morning sun

Hills plauged by deer; swordsmen calling to their drinks, slipping bread between closed gates, a kingdom rich with poison.

A queen's death; in summer woe; giving an heir a playground palace and thrown, of the dragon's silver bones.

The history and skill taught, for sharpened steel kept locked; good fortune was not left alone, by what once was ghostly frost has been blown, over the ragged mountain; returning to the thrown.

Her soul entwined with the fearful beast, which cast the wintery spells for sleep; feeling the words from his coiling mouth, fully protected to be destroyed, she floats blinded in the chill sky, his words searching for something weak.
Fighting back; her thoughts like fists; leaking information of the past. and the darkness that life was.

Seeing her beautiful form twitch, released his grip; his struggle of mind, she pushes and lifts the blade from the ground to his throat. "Do not rape my kingdom!"

The poison of his throat; spilling all thoughts of the world, displayed in clashing colors, down the slope.

Descending on her blossomed feet; the crowd willing her to the thrown, hammered into leaves and dust, painted on the palace walls.
phil Black skys, with a layer of stormy clouds; empty spaces, of godly shape; below the darkness unfolds; opening their brittle faith; a dragon rears his head, breathe of freezing cold, eyes splintering light; frozen stone smeared like paint by the movings of this giant thing. 031203
phil Children tunnel up to ponds; on their stomachs they wrythe. returning like snakes before the dawn, to rest in steaming rise; huddled in their beds; candles burned for reading, soup with curry and tamarind, parents left dead in their seats reflected with clouded mirrors. 031203
phil Necromance reanimation; struck exploding bombs of corpses; the dragon for all defeated; falling to the stone-like earth, a rolling river of blasted warmth, tearing away the muddy waste, flames and waters flow. 031203
phil Her soul entwined with the fearful beast, which cast the wintery spells for sleep; feeling the words from his coiling mouth, fully protected to be destroyed, she floats, blinded in the chill sky, his words searching for something weak.
Fighting back; her thoughts like fists; leaking information of the past. and the darkness that life was.
phil Black skys, with a layer of stormy clouds
empty spaces of godly shape
below the darkness unfolds
opening their brittle faith
a dragon rears his head
breath of freezing cold
eyes splintering light
frozen stone smeared like paint
by the movings of this giant thing
In fear, they ran from the sky
to drink in streets out of sight
beneath the smoking stacks
in a world without light
Children tunnel up to ponds
on their stomachs they wrythe
returning like snakes before the dawn
to rest in steaming rise
huddled in their beds
candles burned for reading
soup with curry and tamarind
parents left dead in their seat
reflected by the clouded mirrors

Necromance reanimation
struck exploding bombs of corpses
the dragon for all defeated
falling to the stone-like earth
a rolling river of blasted warmth
tearing away the muddy waste
flames and waters flow
Falcons come to walk the shore
picking the clam in their claws
shaped like mist in the morning sun
Hills plauged by deer
swordsmen calling to their drinks
slipping bread between closed gates
a kingdom rich with poison
A queen's death in summer woe
heirs a playground palace thrown
of the dragon's silver bones
The history and skill taught
for sharpened steel kept locked
her good fortune never left alone
by what once was ghostly
frost has been blown
over the ragged mountain
return into the thrown

Her soul entwined with the fearful beast
which cast the wintery spells for sleep
feeling the words from his coiling mouth
fully protected to be destroyed
she floats still blinded in the chill sky
his words searching for something weak
Fighting back with her thoughts like fists
leaking information of the past
and the darkness that life was
Seeing her beautiful form twitch
his struggling mind realsed the grip
she pushes and lifts the blade
from the ground toward his voice
"Do not rape my kingdom!"
Spilling all thoughts of the world
the poison of his throat
displayed in clashing colors
down the slope
Descending on her blossomed feet
the crowd willing her to the thrown
hammered into leaves and dust
painted on the palace walls
Death of a Rose numbly poking at your brain,
requiring forethought of pain,
practicing the lost art of war,
honour the bereft artisans more.

slaking fine mists in my haste,
brandishing swords for your taste,
tryst we tried and failed to make,
questions old of slackened snake.

volumes of time and space divided,
curtains drawn, lust provided,
cursed light penetrating my fall,
zero hour relinquishing my maul.

oration is but two frailties,
guests are invited to the festivities,
ellipse drawn and danced upon,
market driven with her honeyed song.

bring forth your jesters rope,
excite me with your binding grope,
quiet pools and steathful tears,
here are my pains, here are my fears.
oldephebe emanations and dream incantations..backwater shelter of the first Norse Legends...and bigewater blues..The Gods stare down upon these incandescant writhing lines..I'm glad to see others have added thier uniqueness to this parchment page..everyone please write more..sing some more of your scalding is as if i am on a steel leviathon, it's swollen belly sceaming with the (woeful) hordes of damnations children scarlet serpentine gash split down the center of the on, play on, play on..and sing to us your inimitable songs..climb the dais and bring the crwods to an orgasmic them mounting up with unrestrained delight.. 031207
oE should be "bilgewater blue(s) 031207
pvcpillow i am not a sentimental person.
i am practical. i believe in
the free spirit and being
Wonder Woman. nobody will
crush *me* thankyouverymuch.

i wear a silver
band on my ring finger,
on my right hand. you
took it off as you were wont
to do with my innumerable
finger adornments, and put
them back on. my silver
band is special, my ring
finger is special e'en
if its the wrong hand. you
tried it on and slid it
back onto my finger.

small gesture.
nothing extraordinary.
i didn't take that band off
for months afterward
not even once
just for the idea of
wearing a ring for someone
you tell me i wasn't real
pity you didn't know of
the maelstorm inside me
the months i have spent
with you i have been speechless
faced with the chaos under my skin
words eluded me in the contant
discovery of things i didn't know
trying to seal every image into
my head i
couldn't speak you
couldn't see and so
you are there
and i am here
a little broken
a little harder
i have gathered up
my pieces and glued them together

i am not a sentimental person, you see.
that girl must be someone else..
oldephebe "letting me cascade her with silver rings polished with my reverant fingers"

again *clasps heart* does anyone have any other adjectives for beautiful and intimate and unbearable aching holy devotion?..okay..kind of long..anyway..doar that was just heart make me want to sacrifice myself to Love's obliterating flames once more..but then I think better of it...yeah pining for at least a verisimilitude of infactuated dementia..yeah come on ..Indifferant Sky!..cast another charismatic creator or heart havoc my way..sure why not?
oE pcv=pd right? Such enchanting verse..I can't wait to read you guys vows..keep writing and singing pd/pvc..and "chaos under my skin.." that's the kind of imagery I'd like to conjure..a world in one breath..nicely done.. 031209
oE pcv=pd right? Such enchanting verse..I can't wait to read you guys vows..keep writing and singing pd/pvc..and "chaos under my skin.." that's the kind of imagery I'd like to conjure..a world in one breath..nicely done.. 031209
oE pcv=pd right? Such enchanting verse..I can't wait to read you guys vows..keep writing and singing pd/pvc..and "chaos under my skin.." that's the kind of imagery I'd like to conjure..a world in one breath..nicely done.. 031209
pd uh huh, 'tis me! i kinda thought you'd get it when i did that pvc/dream/pipe/pillow mish-mash way up there *grins* DOAR's appended sobriquet, if ye please...

the source of my chaos and i had another 'conversation' yesterday. pointless, really, it began with me yelling at him and as always ended up with me spilling my guts a little more and there being no expression in his eyes other than a pained idontknowwhat. i'm tired of talking. for the first time trying to stuff the quicksilver of my thoughts and feelings into words is nothing but a practice in futility and leaves me exhausted in every way. i don't have the energy left to deal with this, i will just go with the tide. it isn't like any of my imaginations have ever really come true, so it doesn't matter. even if they did it doesn't, so it should be a win-win situation...right?
obtuse oldephebe i'm confused..anyway pd i don't think you should maryr your self esteem to or for anyone or anything.. Kinda seems like you came through your fast stronger, a little more steel and introspection, a little more mindful of that spring your spirit self feeds from. God..personally me..I'm gettin' tired of me and my melancholy I'm ready for the ruddy big happy already.. pd - you are a white rose ripened by Summer's breath..if I can pilfer a little prose from Willy with the Shakes
jigah like whoe!!
Death of a Rose she gigles when i slide my fingertips across her neck, feeling the small, fine silk hairs, just wanting to keep my fingers in an infinite dance here.

open questions in eyelids fluttering,
warm flush of heated skin,
soft kisses placed upon my fingertips for the dance.

the dance of the chaotic and exploration, travel journals burned and discarded.

gifts of breathing, slightly frozen in time.
pipedream *slaps five with oE*
that's my homie! woo!


that was very pretty, DOAR.
oldephebe doar - just read you inaugeral salvo again..really, really lyrical stuff..made for the ear..keep writing anyway..who here feels like God was in a major aolian mode when He made me..or you? sometimes my heart fills my ear and all i can hear is music..glorious music acompanied by these outrageous flowing phantasmagoric scenes..something out of fragglerock..or..the medieval age meets hallucinogenic flora..but it happens when i'm totally sober..(which i have been since early 1995)..i wish that i had perfect pitch so i could run and write it down..or a perfect aural i could transcribe it later on the ol' keyboard and manuscript paper..i..get so frustrated because i know i won't remember it..and when you're on the train to work..or..spacing out while somebody is talking your ear off..the music comes..i..say come i can't hear this when i'm at the keyboard?..words, orchestrations..modalities..yeah..very frustrating..euphoric..but ultimately fleeting and evanescent(sp)
doar the last two were for you pipers.

still composing the vow,
maybe imagining that the vow should be an eternal quest, always making it, adding to it, never revising it.

i could confine this vow to spoken linguistics for you, and i will.
but within the confines of my bones, i will continue to explore and memorize sparkling additions to the museum.

you need more crashers for your party


ps (kick some ever luvin butt for me in the jousting arena, your black knight has a foot wound at the moment).
pipedream i know, rosie..and they were phenomenally if only those were a particular someone else's words. *bittersweet smile* i have always lived through a fantasy of words, and reality never manages to measure up to the gauzy shimmerdream i personal platonic absolutes. blather is just another fantasy world where i can say things i could never articulate in voice and skip around in sunset forests and indulge myself for a while before i return to the 'yeah, well, that only happens in books' reality of the world. i think i should take a break from this utopian existence of mine here for a while before i start believing that reality could exhibit such sweetness. it isn't real. it won't do to be idealistic; here or there or anywhere. sad but ultimately true.
'whoosh', said the pipedream, as it whizzed by.
'g'bye' said i, watching it fly-
'it was such a pretty dream to live in, even if
just for the blink of an eye'

(iambic pentameter! PEN-TA-ME-TER!)
pd " gifts of breathing, slightly frozen in time. "

*pins that one up on the bulletin-board in her head*
Death of a Rose do you mean you're running out on our marriage?

after all the proposal (shining of binky), partying (what little of it there was), and wedding preparations?

the black knight is heartbroken....
Death of a Rose love the real world...

"now if only those were a particular someone else's words. *bittersweet smile*"

I hope that he can fulfill your needs and wants pipers.
pvc *really*, would i jilt my blather love and break your blackly knighty heart? it mayn't be real but heck, at least it's fun...its crappy being melancholic. 031213
Death of a Rose ode to pvc

open expression, pearls shining, divided evenly among us.

gratiutous fragrancy spread before her,
lifting faces here and there,
giggling softly, not to be humbled.

quiet when surprised but only for seconds, exploding in colours bright,
leading you in zones of safety.

overcome with angers opposite,
falling off my narrow chair,
asterisk embellishment, strewn about like garlands before the fair.

taster of sweet life, knights dance for her pleasure, climbing your fears and battling them to succumb.

honesty rivulets throughout entwined,
hourly musicals like brownian lotion, dispersing lions before her waves.

thus this small trinket, beggar donated,
vesimilitude consecrated.
pipedream *smiles* 031213
pipedream i get it.

*as always, rendered awe-some and speechless*
oE right back at you pd.. 031215
pipedream *showers petals in oE's path*

so every step is a celebration of colour and scent.
oE yeah..i think i'm starting to get that 031216
pd *grins*
Death of a Rose jolting grains, shifting and swaying.
underneath they said is the path of your sorrow,
dry frailty imagined,
densely thicketed over this knoll danced upon,
overpass quick,
familiarity squashed,
thimble discarded behind my naked back.
lyrical monstrosities grinding their teeth,
clipping along unbelievable florescent algae beds,
curtain calls,
sweeping my robe in flowing satin,
revelling in aural fascination.
whitechocolatewalrus Sprinkles on the horizon,
mingling with the sun.
Reminiscing about the stars and moon and,
of course, outer space.
Ordered a shuttle,
enough to have a space ship.
Then we rocket to the moon,
separating the clouds and touching the sky.
This is how we travel
in style.
Donít forget to bring along the pelican bird
with all of its tales.
Oh so many ways to describe love.
whitechocolatewalrus Missing is like searching a deep dark hole
You can miss and miss and miss and feel worse than before
You can look hard and quizzically and see less than when you began
I search the horizon day and night and wish for you
Without realizing it is you I am wishing for
I miss you more and more
Slowly my hope fades
Fading so quickly I forget to notice
And my despair grows
I am nothing without you
A pile of useless dust
That floats in the air with the slightest breeze
You do this to me
You cause my nothingness
My despair
I want you
I need you
And I miss you
Where are you?
Death of a Rose longing is my moniker,
caresses are my needs,
notes of your beating is my desire,
quiet moments of your gaze,
shivering delightfulness,
your want of me as friend, comforter, protector, encourager, your home.

it seems so easy to keep my heart regenerated enough to keep giving it to those who would merely eat it.
oE doar - every time i re-read your lines i discover some hastily overlooked music or image..or excruciatingly intimate evocation..keep writing brah

WCW - great to see you've added your own distinctive divinity to this page
Death of a Rose you are going to inflate my ego oE.

i get very self inflated as it is. and a power trip from me is quite nasty.

oE Damn man! (re:your last etude) 031222
oE *lays a thangkas outside doars abode and strides impacably down the street* 031222
pipers welcome to our sanctuary,little smallrus :) good to have ya.

"it seems so easy to keep my heart regenerated enough to keep giving it to those who would merely eat it."

sound of my own heart, DOAR...sound of my own.
Death of a Rose blinded i am, struck down as an idiot in the making.

gravel crunching like jilted love,
onion tears, frittered away,
zenith wet.

astral projections from my chest,
baskets given, sand received.
whitechocolatewalrus clouded windows
sit for days
chattering chattering
yet so silent
sound of blinking
brightening backwards
hear no voice
hear everything
a blur of time
flashing and crashing
desperation so deep
cry for help
it's oh so silent
a single tear
dry on my chin
standing by window
there is nothing to see.
oldephebe again..such beautiful breaths doar and WCW... 031225
Death of a Rose shame this lifeless eneptitude, i've just reread and pondered and reread such remorse in your words, fuck! (please excuse this pagean i am abase with renewed understanding....yours is a pain and hiding that those of use who fear its release..would become salt before your weeping).

truthfully oE, i scanned your contributions here and remarked upon the utterances of binded soul....when i should have been more of the written word, slowly conversing with this interpretation of a single cry.

you have left me bereft of satires lacking. SUCH WORDS are yours,

i am humbled.
Death of a Rose what happened in my interlude,
the patrons have feasted,
hunger assuaged,
they do not return to their seats,
the perfomances are being readyed,
continuance releases upon a harp delayed.

the audience is lacking behind my frightful gaze.
oldephebe Doar - yes fellow wordsmith, there is a thing in me, this corruption crawling under my skin..the whole hiding thing..U-24 was right..there is this havoc hidden in my heart, there is this iredeemable belches it's mephistopholean miasma, it's breath, the secret breath of me..and that is why i abase myself so tortuously, that is why...there are not yet the words to say what i think i want to the way that i speak..this time of year the old ghosts came back..a wailing chorus wreathing my bed is like walking coatless in a rumpled suit through freezing driving rain, being pelted by pin pricks of my pennance to be wed to these furrows of recidivist rancor and redemption and regreat and revenge and to only know that my heart is made of truth, that i am made of truth and filled with love and yet to be relegated over and over to some dark corner..some purgatorial pennance bereft of that dark malevolent busom that suckled me..I want to say..

"Here are my guilty verses..How many times can i offer this many times must i with fear and trembling mouth the catcheshisms of subservience and fealty to a happened everything happened to me and to my long must we stare at one another across the carnage and pretend we do not smell it's stench..i cannot be like them..i cannot pretend these things never happened, i cannot commit myself to be some instrumentality in your machinations and manipulations all in exhange for the thin shadow of a smile, or affectaton of affection..So yeah sometimes i throw myself to the ground and pretend that i am dead..dead to your heart dead to this family and dead to the injury upon injury my howling soul has endured..all that is left is for me to sail my boat always directly against the wind.."

I stopped shaking like a window in it's shutters in the aftermath of explosion a long time ago..but my heart is still full of love for them..for all of them..and that is just one..forget it.
oldephebe oh yeah doar - did you get the mp3 file i sent you? if you did then please delete it if you haven't already it's crap..i listened to it this morning..and god! i'm going to do an acoustic version, slower and with new lyrics..i'll record it once this stinking flu has abdicated it's unholy predation of my body..(yeah over wrought..maybe i am too dramatic..oh well..fodder for my muse as mtree put it on misstree's_rambling_roof ..okay so i had the flu when i recorded it..i'm all lethargic and my intonation and phrasing and elocution are horendous..because of the flue aug..yeah..i'll send everyone a slower and acoustic version sometime next week..

oh and i liked the juxtaposition of illicit infinity..mad mad music to my ears..heh heh - thanks though for your exhortitant encomium to my so long songs of the Sad. Sometimes i this what we're all doing here filling up ourselves with the unhappiness of other people?...

yeah despair, the drag dejeur..the music swells within me..within all of us.bring to me all of your wilten and broken stem boquets..right?..kiss of blight?..child of Night?...tendrils of flame clawing at the sky in our wake right?...

I dunno
oldephebe oh yeah doar - did you get the mp3 file i sent you? if you did then please delete it if you haven't already it's crap..i listened to it this morning..and god! i'm going to do an acoustic version, slower and with new lyrics..i'll record it once this stinking flu has abdicated it's unholy predation of my body..(yeah over wrought..maybe i am too dramatic..oh well..fodder for my muse as mtree put it on misstree's_rambling_roof ..okay so i had the flu when i recorded it..i'm all lethargic and my intonation and phrasing and elocution are horendous..because of the flue aug..yeah..i'll send everyone a slower and acoustic version sometime next week..

oh and i liked the juxtaposition of illicit infinity..mad mad music to my ears..heh heh - thanks though for your exhortitant encomium to my so long songs of the Sad. Sometimes i this what we're all doing here filling up ourselves with the unhappiness of other people?...

yeah despair, the drag dejeur..the music swells within me..within all of us.bring to me all of your wilten and broken stem boquets..right?..kiss of blight?..child of Night?...tendrils of flame clawing at the sky in our wake right?...

I dunno
whitechocolatewalrus hmm, one for cheer.

take relief
in knowing i own your pain
your sorrow is mine
i keep it
in my chest
locked and stored
for another day.
today is a day for rejoice
today is a day dance
today is a day for music
today is a day for all
to shed our comfort
and go insane.
the thought shall make me smile
make you smile
the sun shines on everyone
glinting rays of happiness
and hard earned rememberances
forever know
that i love you all.
Death of a Rose oE, i never received anything on the autumn fyre project.

oE really?..OK i'll record another track and send it to you after my voice has recovered from the you have enough room in your email to house a 2.6meg mp3 file?

my html editor skills i'm trying to up load three samples to the geocities autmnfyre site..should have it worked out within 48 hours

wcw - that's some mighty nice writing mam
Death of a Rose living year to year,
ear to ear,
are to are,
near to far,
hear on star,
fear is war.
Whitechocolatewalrus thanks oE, i like all of your writing too.
An awesomeness from me to all of the following people:
Knot_Meat / Stork_Daddy (i think)

it's easier for me to do this all at once.

and especially to Death and oE because they seem to be the ones keeping this page alive. Yay!
bloody potato chip the fruity aluminun blink sliver of sun froze all light as the super-bright ice reflections remind me of the chosen finger.
lillies of flavor deflour my freeze-dried carcass well into the next trillion years.
i am one with you, and you are not here. eat more st. john's wort
whitechocolatewalrus is bloody_potato_chip really not_god, or am i just really confused? 040101
whitechocolatewalrus sun freezes snow
to no end
slip and swirl
in circles.
have a meeting
with the vibrantly red
fire hydrant.
i'll visit you in
the hospital.
don't be mad at me,
i didn't do it on purpose.
Death of a Rose lost in your words,
tripping in a finality,
plagaristic mice chewing at the cords,
vitality and eloquence dancing.

her soft brow, waiting for my kiss.
oldephebe i
help but
by the
that all
ruminations seem
to be
tears for a
life still yet
unlived..and yet
there is still the
faintest flicker..
still the hope
that flowers will
blossom in the
broken swale of chest
that a life
lived so long
in shadow can..cheer the time
with more than
"here are my histrionics..
caress this inflamed nape of narcissistic neck so eagerly volunteered unto the stockards
cradle of chain and wood..public shame becomes a parade of lapsed virtues
a virtue unto itself..
all of these fallen lives..
each pool of grief deeper and darker than the one that precedes it
and do we unplait madness
from it's manacles in speaking of
what is long dead and curdled in the heart? what manner of art is this?
i guess nietchze would have none of it.. many of us have really said
farewell to our youth..?
are we all just anoited martyrs
to our own lives..our tears washing away the balm..ungainly colt staggering
in the mantle of manhood/womanhood
how many of us have revised our
lives upon these pages..
how many of us have wilted unto that recidivist self contempt.."
and what about the pretense of placing my lines in quotes?
what is that about?
there is
an ireducible core
in the human
that wich rises like
bile in the throat
against any and everything
that seeks to impose itself upon us..
the primeval NO!
i can say this year it, i will
be different..all of my hoary oaths
to topple that house of idols
heraclitus spoke about..
more than likely though
i will be who i have ever been
stumbling, fumbling towards
the light, white tiger foraging in a frozen desert of ice and bruised snow..
foraging for a fugue and something my
soul can use..
tinkering with my transcendance..
heh..and not smart enough
to know
only comes
with the cessation
of effort..
and then that armada
of quils cast
and shaped
by my own hand
embedded in my soul
will finally fall out..
and all
that had bled out
will be replaced
with a fullness
i've seldom known..
Death of a Rose turning the dark corner of ponderance,
carving the the nether hells,
warping seeds planted in dust,
quivering in concentration,
illuminating the hidden,
watching them scatter as fear entombs them.

place your lips upon mine,
bestow upon me life unseen and unfelt to this day.
rescue this fragile husk.
whitechocolatewalrus waterfall;
the water spurts over the rocks
it descends through the air
splashing against the surface below
over and over again
over and over and over again
so rapidly you don't even know it's a cycle
as you view the glimmering process
stray droplets jump out
and kiss your face
your skin, your hair.
zeke neo-romanticism?
words and combinations that seem to call from the late victorian through the early 20th. things mean more to me when they are not carrying the baggage of past ages. we live in different times. i mean different things than my great grandparents said.
Death of a Rose suspense is a time that i fancy,
wait for it,
can you not feel this,
watches float as petals on the
disturbed water,
a continuous sine wave,
cleaver descending,
political grandstanding,
runners haze.
pipedream thank you, smallrus...many sparkles for you :)

its good to be back...!
minnesota_chris same as it ever was

watchin the days go by
dreamless pipes i have seen sunsets
that stained sky and sea
rose. silhoutte of palm
against a backdrop of cloud touched
by a sacred hand of gold, sky
kissed into flushed content.
and i have longed for you
to have been there, conjured up
your body next to mine, your smile
outside my door, your neck
to lean my head into, your voice
on the line (tell me you miss me call
to wake me up just to hear my
voice say anything i miss

such potency. would it sear
you if you knew?
oldephebe man's stamp upon earth stone and water
has barely begun
and it is the folly and
exuberance of the learned and the young to hoist themselves high upon thier hubris..from age to age
the strivings of man continue to
paint permutations of the pain and appetites that sustain us
we are corrupt
we are governed by
primal and ego driven urges
we are sexual creatures
we mete out pain
we nurture
we create art out of nothingness
we strive and grapple
with the emotions that
writhe madly upon the painted cave wall
the cathedral of stone and blood
that houses our souls
we grapple with the essential question
of our creation
we strive for mastery over the appetites
and impulses that shape us
we love the rubric
we love classification
strapping a thing, an ideal
into the chassis of codification
but man/woman at his/her ireducible core
is ageless,
we are the same corrupt
tyrant born and
nurturer shaped
collection of bipedal
mammals wreaking our will
upon the planet and upon one another
to more or less varying degrees and polarities..
we erect ornate abacuses of reasoning
and extrapolation address the abstract
and unknowable
but from one epoch unto the next
we remain essential the same
the lessons of mans folly
howl at us from history
what has come before will
always inform the present..the future
i have to ask are we all just gestures without motion?..

the great writers..the unknown nurtures and scribes..the story of man inscribed upon the papyrus from age to age will..wait..i want to say something..
often i awake to an atmosphere that is thick with the sediment of of my will..the sediment of so many acts and lapses through out my faith set against my will..

to be to be best by our frailties and emboldened by our the ability to become author to revise a search for our parents..even after they leave us and to be horrified at what we much can we really house in our house of hope? much before it folds in upon itself..?
and yet the cognitive scientist, the biologist, the pysychologist the engineer, the theologian, the person of faith..we can all sit around the credense table..hoist our mugs of fermented barley to that indefinable and yet mother tongue..that wich wets the eyes and sends goose bumps parading up and down our arms..those things that bind us even as we struggle against it's union
. oh my 040106
oE oh hey..pd..another equisite rendering.. 040106
pipers speak for yourself...:) 040107
randomly recent wow.

pipedream isn't it, this page?
*looks around proudly*

our blather sanctuary, it be.
Alfred oldephebe - I'd like to set a match to that podium you seem to be "expectorating" from all the time. Who do you think you are? Tacitus or something? You are pretentious, wordy and please; everyone owns a dictionary. Why do you feel the need to rifle through its pages before trying to impress us with your verbiage? Verbal fluency and reading comprehension is one thing. Communicating, writing well is another thing entirely. You are pretentious to say the least. 040107
Alfred oldephebe - I'd like to set a match to that podium you seem to be "expectorating" from all the time. Who do you think you are? Tacitus or something? You are pretentious, wordy and please; everyone owns a dictionary. Why do you feel the need to rifle through its pages before trying to impress us with your verbiage? Verbal fluency and reading comprehension is one thing. Communicating, writing well is another thing entirely. You are pretentious to say the least. 040107
oldephebe Alfred, I will not join you in yyour darkness, in your pain, in your reflexive vituperations and scalding breaths. I will not contribute to the obvious pain that you are in except to say.."Alfred" if you do no like my writing than please feel free not to read it, and oh how I do tire of saying "I do not use a dictionary or thesaurus, I've written this way since Jr. High. I make all kinds of unconscious associations and this is how the hurly burly turns out."

Be blessed, be free from the obvious pain you are in..

oE and by the way..just as a point of clarification..i believe Tacitus(sp)was some kind of moralist or something from the age of Caesers..and I..I am just kind of thinking out moralist or interpreter or interpolater of history to the crown or the girl in the white satin gown..just me bein' me..

whitechocolatewalrus hey oldephebes,
liked that last one.
pipedream have been here in the blue for a long time, i'd like to back oldephebe up here and affirm the fact that yes, he has always written like this and makes no bones of it. he's anything but pretentious- to one unfamiliar with his writing, perhaps, but really, not. you are absolutely entitled to your own opinion and its expression, but thou shalt not diss oldephebe in presence of pipedream.

(quote unquote)
Death of a Rose as the heavens are weeping,
volumes are cast aside,
tomes of knowledge discarded,
pyres of dead kings,
ages numbed by neglect,
contours of our thoughts.
oE Doar - yep

pd - 'preciate that

wcw - thank ya miss
whitechocolatewalrus the tears expand
widening the horizons
and at a constant drip
fall gracefully
to the mystical earth.
pounding valleys
into existance
creating many a
flowing river.
this conventional process
turns magically exquisite
in the blink of an eye
pipedream *curtseys*
'tis only the natural thing t'do, my dear one.

salt is
eroding my skin i'd
like my sunshine
back they
see a quietness behind
my smile, it surprises
me that it is noticeable.
but then again
everyone but you could
see right through me.
Doar red eyed,
staggering under this load,
knees beginning to complain,
just wanting to bend,
shift the load off my back,
drop it to the ground,
let it settle,
turn my back,
walk away.

little did i know,
chains have been embedded in my skin.
oldephebe Sprint into Slaughter

We sat slumped,
hollowed eyed,
spent from our exertions...
our perversions
i watched
the sweat
cool upon her muscled
erotically charged body
her back, a tapestry of sinew
her clavicle
her deltoids, delicately etched
her arms,
her legs,
such inert power
striated sensuous steel..
and O
how i
knew the agony
their embrace,
of her embrace,
her thoroughbred heart
gouging out every beat,
such a heart,
i listened to it's terror,
to her terror
and how it never slept,
watched her
sprint into slaughter
over and over
her endless journey
into emptiness
whitechocolatewalrus the outer layer is visible
never let it be
known that me lies
embark on
a journey to
my true identity.
shed these skins
of regret
of shame
burning, eating away
working towards
the shining heart
making a meal
of every visible gift
soon only your
your mistakes
will be left
for viewers to devour.
tear away these
and leave the vultures
in the rough winds
of your glorious
rejoice in your
freedom of spirit.
pipers oE...the biology detail kinda kills it...deltiods?!

yay smallrus *thumbs up* you're getting better and better.

i would add something to the fount but i've decided to stop doing the expose-myself-to-misery-in-order-to-heal; enough exposing. im goin' t' go get me life back :D
oE a gesture of disaffection? Humanity...wait there's a phalanx of rabid pacifists promising to pummel me into perfect...

okay human beings, the Individual is responsible for making their own meanings. In every aesthetic act we pry open a new (potentially) cultural and hence (potentially) oppositional space, and that is good. With one breath one word the timorous or the querelous can allow themselves to submit to unproven authority. and ah this is a sign of my sincerity here..I say to them, reclaim your authority from the usurpations from the realm of well meaning critique. If I do not see the primacy, the beauty of what I have wrought it can be wrested easily from me. Sure some folk won't be gah gah over it. Totally natural. But am I defined by that? Not in the least.
Death of a Rose As an early rememberance,
I chose you over all others making me responsible for my actions and words.
Simply a vast pairing of gyrations and glances.

Grant me a desire, I beg.
pipers i dont have anything pretty to put my wretched state of affairs in, so to be succinct: AAAAH, SHIT 040212
Death of a Rose I have rubber banded you to my arm,
Streched you and played a childrens song upon your tenseness.
You vibrate and hum until I let you return to your favoured state.
I could take you and use you to catpult various home made missles at my enemies,
or I could use you to help keep my frail cardboard box of memories together.
And when you are cracked and fragile,
Hell, I'll get another to hold me together.
Death of a Rose Intricate is the pages written with haste and abandonment,
Scars earned and blessed,
Expanding our letters of misunderstanding,
Unfolding the directionless maps.

Picking away at the layers of blurry confinement.
Hiding the odours underneath a manufactured fragrancy, which quickly dissolves, leaving the true stench still underneath.
Measure and conjure your mailingering doubts,
Speak them into the dead microphones placed before you,
Count backwards and make your abode a dark forbidding excile,
Share secret pleasures with no one,
Neglect that fire raging in the corners of your mind,
Quickly pass from reality to the dreamless state of dissappearance.
oldephebe yeah...I'm with pipers...Doar - think i'll nourish myself with your sumptuous prose..spirit verse..yeah..great stuff doar..pd i hope you will be feeling better soon..wish i could say something more..but..i can't summon what ain't there.. :) 040212
Death of a Rose SHITE ....."Intricate are...."

fookin grammar sucks.

Thanks oE.
pipers i quite enjoyed the rubber band thing rosie, *thumbs up*

im better....when im stressed-miserable-tired-generally cranky-and-longingy i need to yell a bit (thankheaven for the blurple)
Death of a Rose for the pillow is down filled,
created with stitching firm,
encased is satin currents,
waiting for the sleep of straining shall return,
give it thought when cold is the breath,
break the lines others have held you down with,
look at the horizon and the entrances to future gardens.
Give your pain over into relief.

Avoid the quagmires of uneasiness,
bloom once again sweet petal.
Whitechocolatewalrus A dreamless state of disappearance
Hiding in the shadows
So quiet
So still
Life rushing by
Burning away the future
Burning away consciousness
Numbness creeping up your spine
All things important
Buried under flickering flames
Leaving behind multitudes of
Useless ash.
Death of a rose gone are the times when thought and deed were justified and honourable,
stolen by those who are slaves to the word of the law.

Waterdowned spirits, barely plausible to the palate,
striking the tinder and smoke filled chambers,
emerging into dust filled daylight.
eluding the furious tailwinds,
preparing the fallen for their release.
oE wcw, your writing improves every time i read each new stanza...beautiful..

doar..thank ye fer the victuals..i shore do need 'em..pd - hey girl...
pipers *gives doar a hug*

hiya, oE, jigar :)

this page is such a relief.
Death of a Rose hugs back at ya mifey o'mine.

oE, praise indeed from the master of the rhetorical.

Ms. WcW, let me know when you've received the much laboured over card.

peace to friends.
whitechocolatewalrus I definitely will:)
Doar, I believe the blathe of wcw
is calling you.
But maybe it isn't, I don't know

Loveliness to everyone
smallrus and oE, pipers,
I wouldn't mind seeing you
on WcW either
Death of a Rose held up high, on stone shoulders,
proclaiming to the