horus8
replying on SupremeDreamer by Nirvana13666
24 Sep 2003, 12:31 PM
And to top it off. you are not even bright enough to realize I'm talking to wKing Abdullah IIw 195.157.153.253, not you.
You have ass ears. Trust me, whn I say, your poem is shit an average, that's why I gave you a 7. And I was being VERY giving, and we know why don't we? Now back to your poem...
Let's deconstruct it, shall we? "I am blind to colors that bleed bright
The solstice of my life is over
Solitude has begun" Blind to colors that bleed bright? how do you know they are bleeding bright than? And what exactly do you equate your life's solstace as meaning metaphorically, because, that's a horrible analogy, really.
Also, I don't sweat, I pant.
"I wish you wanted me
I wish you hadnât forgotten the way I hate
I died yesterday
Today itâs just my dead body wanting
Wanting to feel alive again" now let's look at this for a minute? this has got to be the worst ending stanza to any poem ever. your poem is to Cliche what cliche is to reality tv. your readers must watch a lot of tv, because, just scanning your poem reminds me of sunday morning dry english muffins and a boner that takes to long to go away while all I want to do is piss, but not like a girl.
because, I mean, it's hard to have a lot of readers with poetry as crap as what you wrote above. That's very unprofessional of you? Would you like me to do an edit for you? Add some words a little bigger than "frigid" and "shiver" or say more poignant than "forgotten"? lol. When you say "a lot of readers" do you mean like a sixth grade classroom in the special ed dept. And, also, how in the fuck do you pronounce "NNirvana" Sort of drawn out at the beginning? like ENNNNNNNNNNN-ir-van-aaaaa?
Who are your readers?
It's neither you daft impartial flick of dandruff. I told you already it's some passages from my new manuscript.
Dear Horus8:
Stop riding on shit buddy. Take a deep breath and realize that you wouldnât get so pissed unless it wasnât good. I am sorry that your life is so meaningless; breathing down my back about my writing might make your day a little more enlightening but no need to sweat me. I donât post here for you to judge me I post here cause I have a lot of readers.
"Usher" lol. Ailes are only so big. Atolls, however, are huge!
Then...Why are you wearing a bra?
ehe
Like I said Juno's Peacock. Not James' tube sock. I WRITE ABOUT LOVE AND NECESSITOUS HEARTACHE YOU TWAT. And I do it s-e-l-f-l-e-s-s-l-y.
The Garden Island
In an Oriental evening dress;
You fix me a pineapple salad.
While you are cutting, I
notice that you have set
the fruit's green crown off
to the side of the counter.
When I ask you "Why?", you
smile a Motherâs pearls, and
tell me that if we plant
it, a new pineapple will
grow back in its place.
Underneath the green.
Then you left me alone again
for a spell, how long, I have
forgotten now, but long enough
for the ants to have completely
carried it away.
Thinking back...
It might have been nice
if we would have tried
to grow anything together.
Taurus women and the pride
Strong, and large with thought.
I find you grazing your days away.
From this perch, I pant through heat-
-wave & dry hunger.
A rogue footed lion
lickin' my chops
to your undersigned
fattening. Your brown
eyed mouth rolls and
nose flares above
the sweet grass.
My darkened neck's mane,
thick for statement,
and wind tossed warning.
Beautifully unkempt for this king's
Feast. Until we dance your death
tight in my mouth exhausting,
partners in more natural times.
Your breath jerks to recall an
end in my embrace.
I bellow to you & your pride.
I roar for your warm blood.
Accepting our exchange until
you are inside of me
working out your soft flesh.
Covering your death face
with a free paw, I roll
up against you, marking
your outsides all mine.
In this loveless drought.
I find a fresh heart waiting.
To beat in me forever
This need to understand.
You're a missing link.
With your will to be kept
You will taste well needed,
and full of patient love.
A beast of burdened patience
Domesticated,
yet unhindered domestically.
Tame, though proud less & still.
My wild eyes hunt and find that
tether between men & my wild stance.
It's you, as we both wait
swishing our tails until night fall
let's me loose, to descend, and I do.
Straight for you.
Even as I consumed you, your
eyes bid me, "Go ahead...
And take the time god
gave me, to be me, and
let you be that selflessly mine".
For the taking.
Gems of love, stones of war
An emerald green to crimson swing
The quiet ones can't be trusted
Their love is designed for pressing.
Under the moon waning pale you bring
Your heart completely busted
An emerald green to crimson swing.
Are you awake, can you hold the bearing
For all that you have lusted
Their love is designed for pressing.
An oath of trust, a faith worth swearing
For battle your gear's adjusted
An emerald green to crimson swing
Some times, in my dreams you sing
As I am dying on a grey field rusted
Their love is designed for pressing
I fought as I loved, an immeasurable thing
The fingerprints can't be dusted
An emerald green to crimson swing
Their love is designed for pressing.
Find a drug reference that rambles thus far? You are an idiot. Calling me a drug rambler is like calling you a shit wrangler? Which would be physically impossible.
Upside down and tigers
Jungle and night, those stars
Up my amber eyes
Up my burning gaze
Up my heart beat
The cleansing pulse and hunt
which keeps no balance between
here and there, or you and me.
Cracked earth and day
Volcanic soil, my paw print
Lap water at the brook, and cold tongue
Blood whiskers, canines, Ivory --
long and beautiful smile, reflections...
When I see our face watered up at me
I lowest growl pheromones & strong musk
We are upside down and tigers.
Day sleepers
Down my full stomach
Down my need to kill
Until tonight, I'll tiger still.
Tasmanian Wolf
Soul walking is so extinct.
You carpenter's son.
You cat in the hat.
Icarus up
Young man, old man, maze.
Why not death by Minotaur?
You get wings instead.
I love you father.
You tied a string to an ant.
Sent it through a shell.
Icarus down
Sticky new feathers.
Do not frown at me old man.
Time to touch the sun.
As I freed from you.
I became just what you were.
Swallowed by the Sea.
Thracian mountains until the Sea
In the woods that bore me.
The lyre, with flute, that brought me up.
To sing the songs of olde.
Collecting moisture in God's cup.
A lover's muse needs chasing.
Through thick, heath, and grove all day.
Because, life's to short for wasting.
On kings that need more pawns to play.
So I strum my chords for living.
To drink, and dance, then fish the Sea.
These things should be a given.
But men will never let this be.
Your fear of death will trick you.
It'll make you lie, and cheat, or harm.
But must you feel the need too,
trade your honey for their swarm?
The race of men shall always
repeat the past then fall asleep.
Right up until our final days.
I pray the lord my soul to keep.
Sleepwalking paths overgrown, now alone.
You came here as one, and not a soul more.
Yet, you fight to regain youth with a moan.
Missing the root whilst ignoring your core.
Part II: Keeping the Bird
While cleaning the aviary
Webs, feathers, eggshells
Not a song left to whistle
Rats run these corners
12673 Jalapeño Ave. Chino, Ca.
I drove by your old house
yesterday. There was a young
couple inside with a baby &
people milling about elated.
I thought about how we used
to hide in those junipers out front
& play truth or dare as an excuse
to get familiar with our bodies.
I sat there across the street
and finished up my cigarette
An old man inside shot me a look
Then abruptly, closed the curtains.
The house was smaller with out you.
I am not sure how to take this... Is this meant to be a reply or just some sort of rebuttal?
Scorpion feet lucky rabbit
High desert love triangle.
Will you fruit tree?
Can you spot me glacier & wind gusts?
Mountain meadows over dull yellow dunes.
To soon, goodbyes, rifle in every corner.
Turkish coffee
Wearing my Ruana
Devilsâ tongue Chile
Mouthfuls of honey
& mango preserves
Even the dog knows better
than to nose poke a scorpion.
But you see there is a brittle brown
piece of plywood 30 yards from the front
porch. Underneath it is a decomposing rabbit,
and a fat see through scorpion.
Poisonous & barbed kisses
All full of babies.
Heeled before its time.
Who said âRabbit's feet
were luckyâ?
The Queen & The Locksmith
From sunset 'til dawn, I'm grinding your keys.
It's become assembly line robotic.
The truth leaves me crippled, forced to beg "please".
Smirking, you herald me, "New & Ionic".
You bid me, "Need nothing", but file your lines.
Sparks, and the wheel's shrill, all days & all ways.
Your heel in the small of me back defines.
Each way a man loves, and to what he prays.
You chained me with habits, and claimed, "'âtwas best".
That a man could be drug held by your form.
Needing your nature, I did not resist.
My compulsive drive bid, "drone in your swarm".
Now I'm hypnotized by your soft wing's song.
It speaks to the yearn I have to belong".
The Masonic Underling & the 33 degree
The wheel of fifths stiffs
me again, as your climax
keeps the slow burn ward
I was just nothing
but your book collector then
So still am I now
I love you alone.
Keeping our secret letters
Sagittarius
To be under you
for all of that which is not
Eternally yours
Prometheus sang for vultures
I gave you my fire
and look what you did with it
Love is for the birds
Unmasking Wyverns
Watch me slave at words I could never say
Monsoon shark god furious
The love of my father, she snaked away
Wind swept waves bled 'til Sunday
It's a shame I am that curious
Watch me slave at words I could never say
Fierce night howls paved the way
And the way it was deleterious
The love of my father, she snaked away
Children raced past our well-lit display
An unintentional metamorphosis
Watch me slave at words I could never say
A crow-haired woman asked, "Was I okay?"
Lips crimson and voluptuous
The love of my father, she snaked away
A god of wind, a shark at play
Your past is not mysterious
Watch me slave at words I could never say
The love of my father, she snaked away.
The Rift
Starts at a place
that I cannot recall.
A depravity structured.
The strongest of walls.
Dividing my soul
from the beauty of God.
Keeping me safe
from what is, and what was.
On this side pure darkness.
with sounds that raise hair.
Since, there was never a nexus,
I studied despair.
I learnt to bend shadows.
And the secrets of words,
but I never found out
how I could be cured.
Because, fear has been stronger
then what they call love
I can eat it, or make it.
When push comes to shove.
Independent of structure.
Void of all heart.
The rift is my gift,
as it tears me apart.
The Ebony Orchid of Theta
The darkest orchid I have ever seen
came to me last night through the realm of dream.
Its pistils, onyx & its edges keen
Though its center was a swirling off cream.
I swore that I even could hear it speak
to me of things I should choose not repeat.
The way men's will can shrivel then turn weak
And the way it spoke was hardly discreet.
Of children in folds, and parents in dire,
and of the greed of men consuming the world.
Of matter less space, and colorless fire
And of the way chaos shall reign unfurled.
Part of me wondered how it had grown here.
Flower black with a pollen of pure fear.
The darkest woods ever
They were the darkest woods ever.
At least that I had ever seen.
Trees with leaves almost of leather.
Animals, that struck me as too lean.
So I quickened up my rigid stride.
While my eyes scanned for some light.
If I had a horse, full speed I'd ride.
If my lungs were not so tight.
I never should have dared to trespass.
Goddamn shortcuts are always wrong.
Where is my boy scout with his compass?
Why is this taking so awfully long?
Wait... Is that a light that I see up ahead?
No... Just the moon climbing higher instead.
Las Gaviotas
There is a burning moon in Mexico
Love and blood go hand in hand
So deep, and high, I can't let go.
It rises red, its sky crawl is slow
A bulging middle with golden band
There is a burning moon in Mexico.
Drunk, I watch the ebb tide flow
Where waves wash away at the land
So deep, and high, I can't let go.
A guitar song with black pearls so
consumed with guilt I cannot stand
There is a burning moon in Mexico.
She hangs there naked, all a glow
Over an Ocean of silence and sand
So deep, and high, I can't let go.
In the distance a storm does grow
Spinning eye pulls, strand by strand
There is a burning moon in Mexico
So deep, and high, I can't let go.
Jackanapes and smoke buttons
Why I spit?
Well that's simple.
Take a long fucking look
At your logic, and method,
And obsessive compulsive
need for security blankets.
I watched you for days.
Gossip to friends about
Necessitous heartache.
As I purged my bleeding
Stomach and vomited in
The Jacuzzi from the bad
Catering sticking to my
fingers and throat.
But you, you kept it up
the grand facade and
orated to the deserving.
About fast food and hand
lotions, and your quick trips to
Bermuda. Your trough fed
Japanese gardener.
I saw you then as you always were,
but different, better, a blue
bleeder. A fine diner,
and the toast of Oxford.
And then⦠Then a great
day came when you let me kiss
your pinky ring, and play with your
Lionel train set down in the basement.
You let me blow your whistle, and
push the smoke button.
I was so fucking happy
I cried.
Now look at you.
Look at me.
Wrecked,
On the bridge
Between paper
Mountains, and a pair
of your sisters
Pomp pomes.
Look at you.
So fucking
Cocksure.
Making me.
Make myself.
Sick of us.
While flipping over stones
I found my love under a rock.
In the backyard of my mind.
With bare feet I'll load then cock.
Although I'm shooting blind.
It was that reckless attitude.
Those chances I would take.
I should have shown more gratitude.
When they warned me of the snake.
'stead I frolicked mad in rapture.
While flipping over stones.
A worm was coiled, and poised to capture.
This rolling of my bones.
My head swings low, so sets the sun.
Those holes bleed slow, the snake has won.
Limericks of hot seething love, gone bad
Was there ever a day when I knew?
Just what a woman could do.
To the walls of your heart.
'till death do us part.
Dreams, and nightmares, come true.
Some things should never be found.
Because Love is a patient bloodhound.
That is hot on your trail.
You had better set sail.
Since the earth is only so round.
If Psyche would have just trusted
in Eros, before she busted.
The pact that they made,
but she chose to trade.
True love for a bed that was dusted.
Then there was Pandora's box.
How the curious woman unlocks.
A container of sin.
Just watch that bitch grin.
Foxes in heat always win.
Part I : Catching the Bird
At a hotel room in Royal Oak
Sleeping the day away.
Upside down on the couch.
The mail slot in the door would open,
with a box of light, indiscriminately.
A set of eyes with voice,
"You got your rent?â
Silently,
I put my pants on.
Letting the question answer itself.
Border towns & the runs
A border town faceless
and hostile as a car bomb
With sailors and donkeys
And prostitutes that pull
their life's work behind them
In a suitcase on loud wheels.
A drunken bald tattooed spic
gets his head bashed in
with a Corona bottle
While I'm talking to a
cute and pudgy beauty
that thinks I'm as fruity
As parrot soup & chili Verde.
Everything is for sale
Everyone is waiting
To take you into
their doors and give
you a taste of your
own medicine.
One last walk around
the cobble-stoned block
A beautiful streetwalker
flashes me her brown tits
Then pulls up her skirt
To whip out a dick.
I flick my cigarette
and then show her mine's
bigger than hers, limp.
Later, I go eat at something
resembling a Denny's
I order using the "English" menu
I get the "scrabeled eggs and Bakon"
with a smile turned mad grin.
When the sun finally arrives
I find a crack to climb into.
To sleep it off, and wait it out.
Having no intention of seeing
these filthy in between people
returning back to normal.
Because, I know we won't ever
let them. It's too fucking
affordable, lazy, and risky.
John Denver's Han glider
Bobbing, fluorescents...
Hot pink, electric blue nylon
Wing, waves, slight breeze...
Sunset, Albatross eyeing the
situation. Always looking out
for a lazy moment to preen and one leg.
Spanning the remnants of music
and water. I can vaguely hear
a blowhole off in the distance.
If I was not so hypothermic and disoriented.
Treading for my life. I bet I
could even imagine how its spray
might feel; If my saturation currently
was instead a desert, a dune, a Gila
monster's paradise, and me oh my oh was
not so awash with thirst and sun burnt laziness.
Is that a dingy dinging?
The bark of a sea lion?
The fin of a Maeko shark?
When I last hugged a tree?
It was for dear life.
I had been on peyote for days,
and I was convinced that if
I squeezed hard enough.
It would pull me in.
For good.
Current, riptide, undertow.
All fine examples of secret movement.
Moon, blood, women.
Yes, I'm awake. More bright
eyed and bushy tailed than that
hare who shunned holes for pipes
and slippers and drumsticks.
Fast, but not proud.
Warm milk spoiled.
Cycles, poles, reproduction.
In my past life, I was a square
boulder from Mu.
Then some surly native went and carved
me into a giant head with
exaggerated ear lobes and lips.
Doomed to fall face first, I did.
Snow Coning
Movie of the week
"The man on the ice float"
Drifting further south
Than most have ever.
He spies a plane circling
And decides to piss the word
"Privacy" in immaculate cursive.
The plane writes,
"Buy a car this 4th of July!"
In large puffy cottony letters.
The man ponders the invitation,
But then hunches down & scoops himself
a snow cone out of his new home with his hat.
Happy fucking Birth Day, America.
Thoughts on getting back
On getting back;
Who are you said plant to yr
hazel. I am witch.
I am your sore thumb.
Glass explodes
Death Gardel.
& 7:30 comes.
My grandfather has a flesh-eating bacteria.
1966 jungle parasite.
STAFF SEEPING IN GAUZE
JESUS ANTI PALM PRINT
Black blood & full moon.
Pull
push
fog
lighthouse
Tahoe.
I lick my cold sore
Who in the fuck are you?
I am yr bad hand.
I am yr rattrap
Snapping dragon
poppy sac kneel
bicuspid slip
yawning nap
then twilight
and Columbian
guitar for my family
Aye yah yah yah yah.
cuckoo rue cuckoo.
I am yr long nail.
When I luv for keeps.
I keep.
Mini van
Arco
Mexican eyelash & miniature cantaloupe.
When I was five I climbed trees.
Yes, trees
I hid
I was silent & forgettable
I extended
I still am.
pulling from, and
to shadows.
Now scratching at the shudder.
rattle breath you do howl low
you do
still &
yr mine, and
only a vineyard
and a grape walk
and a long talk
can save us now.
Save us now
and happen.
Recording
yr yesterdays.
Air sickness bag
Sitting next to you on that airplane
could only be compared to
being cooked alive
by pygmies with no salt,
or culinary etiquette.
And when you started
comparatively analyzing
yourself to people in magazines?
Was right about the time when
I yawned and asked
for a pillow and blanket.
You can't boil a boiled egg, but I can swallow one whole.
1. Key point: drug induced ramblings are boring.
2. Not as boring as you, but boring none the less.
That's why I don't write them anymore, but enjoy taking the ones I've written in the past and re-editing them to educate the younger poets as to the draw backs of self loathing.
3. If you could properly eat and walk. I'm sure you'd
ramble too. though it would be face first onto a cock
a ramble none the less!
4. God, I hope you didn't write that poem above because...
It really is hopeless, and to put it bluntly and quote myself it's "A home run of shit".
5. Carl Sagan once said "Ego's are like collapsing stars, unless you're crippled or in a wheelchair than they are
simply black holes" I never knew what he meant 'till now?
6. I am however in possession of a lot of creativity and
Intelligence, and I'm sorry it wasn't contagious, toodlepip.
I will, of course, be shoving the first half of my book onto this poem anyway. Choke on it. lol.
timing is essential with expressing words like love...
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