Gotta love the 2:00 AM inspiration...

Well, if we're still doing this:

Love Story, New Year's Day, N.Y.

14th street and flying
delirious confused and breaking
not reeling but spinning certainly
head over heels in the snow

It was to be such a meeting,
coffee and chat, beginnings,
new year new hangover new man

And the ball has dropped
(he waits in Starbucks, mere streets away,
downs his espresso, curses inconstancy
and never loves).

Dimples in the bonnet, snapped limbs.
A heart-shaped blood halo.
An involuntary smile

and the last wordless breath pushed skywards,
the crowd gathering,
a cloud obscuring the sun.
No sirens, no. No sirens.

A Housewife Finally Gets A Quiet Moment To Herself In The Kitchen

and the radio makes
that noise when the batteries go and I

click it
on and
off

and say to myself I don’t get it I don’t get it
why oh why but the noise doesn’t help
it just sounds like a pathetic echo
and nobody’s telling me what to think anymore,
I think I’m falling apart.




(that last one's a ****-take, obviously)

i don't like beef
it gives me heartburn
and other things
like kiwis and tomatoes
and chocolate spread sandwiches.

i don't like you either
cos you give me heartburn
but you've got a nice bum
and you're really quite sweet.

wow! anon - love it

There goes another poem. This is proper WEIRD! I wrote it directly after the previous one, so there are similarities between them.



Tired of pointless walking
the pilgrim becomes a hermit.

What a treasure an empty cave is
to delight in the obscurity of life.

No light has ever been more revealing.
Minutes slide off his body

waiting for a loophole but only finding
the carcass of a dead creature.

Who is this? the hermit wonders.
I'm a dead body, says the carcass,

of a bear of long ago, who found forests
an entangled web of fears.

I came to die to this cave of delight.
I starved myself to death and cried
and the worms came in my help.

The hermit caresses the bones -
they giggle in soft complicity.

I came to this cave, the hermit says,
to find peace and the roots of trees.

Do you think trees find happiness
deep down where the earth is cold?

No idea, says the dead bear.
I only know the taste of berries
turned my breath dark with boredom.

Female bears didn't listen to my call
and hid their hearts in furrowed slippers.

I was in love with a man, says the hermit,
and the bear stays silent with censure.

He could never find the right path
and so we lost each other one night

when all the churches were closed
and all we had left was our cloaks
wet with our lustful emptiness.

I thought that lust was the answer,
that it would keep alive my feet.

But feet remember every step,
through creek and path and stone -
they make a map with every breath.

They told my knees I was deceiving myself,
that I would never find my lover again
and all I had left was the stain of his lust.

Then my chest was infected by ants
that bit my body with tiny jaws.

The light of day made my head swell
with contempt for every living thing.

The dead earth will understand, I thought,
and I found this cave crumbling under my feet.

But the earth is not dead, interrupted the bear.
Every spur of life freshens its soil
like a beating of windless air.

I also thought darkness would embrace me
but the cave stored a secret for me:

the tooth of an ancient mammoth
who came to the cave aching with life.

Life aches with a golden needle
that seamlessly penetrates your insides.

I came to this cave after a mammothess
who thought my love was too big to fit her bosom
threw my heart away to feed the wolves.

But I came to this cave deceived by nature,
looking for the silence of rottenness.

Instead I found the remnants of a wolf
eaten alive by an encounter with remorse.

My son was killed by a cliff, says the wolf,
when he tried to fly away from me.

The hermit looks at his new friends
and sees in the eyes his pilgrimage.

The cave won't deceive him this time.
Berries and teeth and cliffs push him out.
He won't make the same mistake.

He finds the way to an empty church
where he kneels down and prays -
what for I don't know -
and neither does he.

He is joined by a bear, a mammoth
and a wolf,
who saw in the empty altar
the victory of nature.

The roof of the church tickles the clouds
and makes God look down in disbelief.

They've found out about nature, he says.
Nature beats me, after all these years.

Even in the remotest darkness,
a flame kindles a welcoming hearth -

and humans, bears, mammoths
and wolves
find their way back into a path they don't know -

but they do their best and recognise the trail
of the nearest stream in the forest -

and between the gleaming leaves
moist with spring water,

they find with every leap of water
the essence of happiness and trees.

They beat me, these creatures, thinks God,
and he knocks on Nature's door
to ask for a game of chess.



-- Edited by AlbyFC at 00:29, 2005-03-13

-- Edited by AlbyFC at 01:05, 2005-04-16

Awww, thanks! I appreciate your compliment, as you're so good yourself. :o)

I think those two poems are probably the best stuff I've written in aaaaaages.

There goes a shorter pretty poem I wrote for my aunt last year:



My aunt's guitar lies somewhere in the attic
while her small figure is surrounded by Stendhal and Tennyson.

Red and black mingle with the moods of Maud
and paint a serenade on her shirt and her ragged slippers.

My aunt's guitar will always play Cuban songs,
a destitute master for a lonely beginner who hid among cushions

and found in the page of heartache
her own key to joy and Heaven.

Alby, I love your poetry. In fact, between you, Sam, Thai Dave and Sash, we have quite a few poets in our society. Maybe we could put a zine together, or something? In any case, I am too embarrassed to post poetry (though I write shedloads of it) or even post my name as the person who this is directed to is most likely going to read it.

Anyway. Dear unrequited crush. I'm sorry I turn into a babbling idiot and stare at the ground every time I talk to you, and I'm even more sorry I turn up to certain LGBT events hoping you will be there. It's worth it just to see you smile, and if I get a glazed look on my face, it's only because I'm imagining doing things to you that this forum would censor.

Anyway, object of my affections. I know you'll recognise who I am, so please reject me soon. Being in lust is very out of character for a cynical girl like me, plus, I ming.

Sincerely,
Lovestruck in LS6

Life is full of elephants.

When you're fast asleep
they prance around your room
and wink at each other over you.

They reach out with their lips
and tickle your nose
and give you little sneezes.

In the early morning
they leave through your skylight
and melt with the clouds
and when you wake up
you can smell their sweet breath.

The elephants have watched over you
and left stardust in every corner.

Their best present is a small kiss
on your warm forehead,
the gift of heavy angels
with tiny feather wings
who dance proud of their weight,
waiting to come back to you
when you can't see them -
when you need a comforting caress.

Life is full of elephants
brushing against your carpet,
tiptoeing from dream to dream,
opening your doors with careful feet -

no-one is ever so delicate.

But you'll never see these elephants.
They people a land beyond your reach,
where life smells of coconut milk
and love hides behind a palm tree.

-- Edited by AlbyFC at 02:19, 2005-03-13

Glad you enjoyed it, hun. Remember to leave your window slightly open so that the elephants can leave at dawn.

Thanks, lovely. It's nice getting compliments before going to bed. (Even if "Master of the House" will haunt my dreams. Hehe.)

Hi. I'm the guy that wrote the poem that was posted on March 10th. Here's an another one. I don't think it is that good but 'nyway:


My token made out of sacrifice
Burn it onto the wind
Make it prevail in this relam
And let it be the flower of passion he likes
Amulet made out of me
Not for me but I hold it
Charm it so he will wear it

What kind of practice is
What should I attribut to?
This symptom of piercing flesh

I've already checked my fortune sent
From somewhere mysterious yet I belong
But I go back for more

Strings of words
Connected together
Pours out of the vessel
To reach the guy who is imaginary

Violent Heat
Marks the path I burn to lead
Secret spell that I've cast
I will emit light in this dark forest
If he will be there

Vows made in secret
Armour blessed in unbearable spirit
darkness of intensity, marked with zeal
I will embark to it willingly
For I need to give it to him

It's nothing to do with love. But there's such a ****load of poems around this thread I thought I'd chuck it in here just for kicks.

Reaping the Harvest
I think Grandma wants to be a pilgrim.
She says to me "Son, them corn-flakes
Is from in a fact'ry, not a farm"
"But Grandma," I say,
"They taste like fields and sunshine."

Grandma, she tells me, "Ain't no dignity in the production line."
But she's too young to really know
Of when fields were more than export goods.
I read about it. People died.
Were buried at crossroads under the corn.

And people asked, and still ask:
How fertile was the ground beneath the golden grain?
And could a nation really rise
From the dessicated corpses of foreigners?

I like that, anonymous! You are somewhat of a modern Lord Tennyson.

Falafel, when did you write that? It reminds me of my pilgrim poem, but then yours is a mixture of politics and petics. Very original. :o)

I like that, Phil! I especially like the line "locked away in my eyes". I think that is very you and very original. :o)

And don't apologise for not being an English student. There are poets in this world who never studied literature.

By the way, are you and Adam still going out?! ;o) Kidding, honey. Your poem seems a bit sad, that's all.

I can feel the despair, Anon, but why don't you try doing away with the rhyme? I don't know why, but "magic" and "tragic" strikes an odd funny note. :os

quote:

---

Originally posted by: AlbyFC
"I can feel the despair, Anon, but why don't you try doing away with the rhyme? I don't know why, but "magic" and "tragic" strikes an odd funny note. :os "

---

I think the rhyme gives it a really musical edge. It would be cool put to music.

cud b cool 2 put it in2 a song

lol

It's ok, honey. I don't even think pop songs are inspired by real love. They're all conventional stuff. I'm a bit sceptical about love at the moment too! Moral support and huggles!

*hugs Nic back*

If it wasn't for the women........ :o)

Jeannette Winterson [loosely]:

"There is no love that does not pierce the hands and feet" [The Power Book]

I can't tell ya my option, it makes me sound bad but it flamin well works :oD

no u dont u aint seen me in action :oP

Here goes a small poem inspired by The Wizard of Oz:


Clad in a dress of red
the poppy field surprises you

and sends you to a sleep
no kisses can trample upon.

Glinda is late this time –
the snow covers your cold lips

with the sweetest narcotic,
and your hair doesn't mind.

Looking for love
He knew that his heart was healing
He'd been hurt too much to try again
But when she caught his eye
Ain't no man could fight the feeling
He knew he had to try to let love in

Smile to let her know
She was in the mood for talking
So then he began to play the game
Before he knew it
He had told her how much he'd been hurting
How he was hoping she was not the same

Could you be
The kind of lady that I'm seeking?
After all of this time
Could this be true love?
And she said, Boy you don't have to look no more
I'll give the love you need 'til you holler enough, guaranteed
Not like the rest, boy, I'm a kind lady
You've been hurt but be sure boy I am the cure
And when you wake up late thinking it's a dream
Just touch me boy you know, you can count on me
Believe me

Baby
This lady
You know what you've found in me
Is a lady
Kind o'lady
That can give you what you need
Baby
A kind lady
That will never leave you lonely and
Just maybe
This lady
Finally you've found me, oh
Kind lady