A ball of clay
Violet, with gentle thumb prints
Pressed by loving fingers.
Warm hands soften clay
Giving shape
Many colors
Multiple forms
Twisting together, shapes
Not just twisting, objects
An exercise in craft, love
A dim lamp
The light cuts through the dark, Scattering dust
Into their air-born dance
A human face in the clay
With loving thumbprints
On the mouth
On the eyes
Carefully molded
Enamored with its form


Anonymous
2/25/2006
05:19:53 PM

Microphone and Piano

The man sings his song
With a passion.

The microphone feeds
The words to his mouth
As he swallows them whole
And they bounce
Off the chords
In the back of his throat
And are rocketed
Out through his eyes
With the pain
Of a faraway heart.

The piano keys
Shake his hands
Which in turn
Sway his wrists
Which in turn
Send his body
Writhing and slinking
Like a broken dancer
Dancing to the beat
Of invisibility.

The man plays his passion
With a song.


Anonymous
2/23/06
07:28:49 PM

Ah, you wretched fearful lovers
As you drift across this night
May your hearts be filled with wonder
And your dreams remain as bright.


I like to write this on slips of paper and leave them in public places.


Anonymous
2/22/2006
10:38:33 PM

My seven year old cousin got
saved tonight she said
now shes a little lamb of god
oh godohgodoh G O D. why is
she A HYPO CR ITE? my mother
almost cried but I remember being
7
so I said "what is you baptized"
and she said "i is baptized born again"
(it's a synonym, but really, the
black suited, black hatted lovers
and haters of the soul don't care:
they don't don't don't careeee)
and i said you is born Again?

her mother-ivorysoapstonestatue
with a touch of red on each cheek
puffed out like apples and seventy
seventy seventy seven babies come
and come out! oooh she is bleedeeng
baybees. oout they ooze.

please cut the foreskin, circumcise the heart of this girl and throw it at the feet of MOSES or Harriet Tubman. hm she's just a little lamb and Mary has her, full of grace and white as snow, and every where that mary went the lamb is NOT IS NOT A
goattttttttttt
that is, hail mary.

unless you're like a little child said jesus, that demon
comes out by prayer and fasting
and fast is the child who grows
up in the sight of the LORD. ALPHAOMEGA beta-testing.

the desciples broke open that 7 yr
old head and out popped 7 foods
two fish five loaves and a whole
lot of wholly water. she's multiplying
this sinner sinner hypocrite
and every day there's more and they
are FISHERS OF MEN with their
soft soft drift nets


sleep in the bosom of jesus.


Anonymous
2/22/2006
09:35:03 PM

Victorian

It’s that quintessential moment
At the crowning of the night,
As my eager coachmen lingers
‘Neath the foggy streetlamp’s light.

There you step out from the darkness
With your pompadour flipped high
And those striking stick pin diamonds
To match the glittering in the sky.

There’s that naughty done-wrong feeling – there,
From which none can refrain.
Ay, it creeps up on our faces
And our smirk is just the same.

And arm and arm, and lip to lip
We steal down English streets,
Our tawdry minds both filled with sins
Confinéd to the sheets.

Our names and lands are on the line.
If these devilish acts were known.
But it makes it all the sweeter
Knowing you’re a woman - and not my own.

And those champagne nights and cheap delights
Of which we both abhor
Are swept away in single kiss
And the slam of a bedroom door.


Well…I might be a common man
And you, not a duchess in gems.
And this is all a fantasy.
No champagne and no Thames.

This may just be my fantasy
But this, my dear, is true.
I want to get Victorian
And cheat on her with you.


Anonymous
2/18/2006
02:41:26 PM

Okay, the visual, spatial aspect of this poem as I originally wrote it will be lost in this format, but hopefully the sound of the words will still come through.

A deep red sliding along a silver line
in mirrored unseen unison with hands sliding over flesh
one heart gleams a burgundy from the facets of its dark depths while another
overflows with warm
hot blood
coursing through veins beneath pale, soft white skin
rent by white ivory
harshandhardandohsosweet
lean back
and feel the bones within the flesh of searching fingers
tighten
against the curve of your spine
and glide
over
lands
you never knew…
caress
and gently,
gently…
until you see through touch
in the glowing light of a shared soul

the beauty no mirror could ever make you see.


Anonymous
07:19:20 PM

♥


Anonymous
11:59:55 AM

The ache that follows his form,
That chokes the giddy song behind the sternum,

I would not trade this
For sanguine wrists
Or cigarette burns.

Sluggish taps in the chest
However painful, however slow,
Declare that the heart has not turned to granite
just yet.


Anonymous
11:12:53 PM

"Math People Are Not English People"

They use different sides of the brain

But there is a rhythm in
sin(c)=tan(e)

and beauty in the way
the derivative of
x^4
curves like dune crests
and shark vertebrae
slicing the water

and something more than
a little poetic
in the arcs and angles
of a sliced circle.


Anonymous
07:10:29 PM

These are my final thoughts
I've spoken too much already
wielded as a blade
your words have pierced me for the last time

Its my turn to fight
My turn to scream..
Yet my cries fall on deaf ears..
Listen! Goddammit why won't you listen!?
No medicine is strong enough for this
Nothing can dull this pain

I'm your sister
making another mistake
I'm your daughter
yet again disappointing
I'm your friend
Hoping you will see through my smile
I'm your student
Striving for Perfection

I am an angel..
fallen from heaven and stuck in this hell


Anonymous
10:19:34 PM

Ugh, secret:

During church today we were talking about lust and when I was focused on to answer a question all I could think of was Walt Whitman's "I Sing the Body Electric."

So when it's like "Hey, do you have something to be thankful for, sir?" And all I can think to say is:

"The expression of a well-made man appears not only in his face,
It is in his limbs and joints also, it is curiously in the joints of his hips and wrists,
It is in his walk, the carriage of his neck, the flex of his waist and knees, dress does not hide him,
The strong sweet quality he has strikes through the cotton and broadcloth,
To see him pass conveys as much as the best poem, perhaps more
You linger to see his back, and the back of his neck and shoulder-side."

or

"I knew a man, a common farmer, father of five sons...
When he went with his five sons and many grand sons to hunt or fish, you would pick him out as the most beautiful and vigorous of the gang,
You would wish long and long to be with him, you would wish to sit by him in the boat that you and he might touch each other."

So instead you don't say anything and you sit gaping mouthed and look stupid, and think awkwardly that everyone can read the thoughts inside your head.

Yay for poetry :P


TintedFragipan
01:36 PM

I am a doll with
sparkling glass eyes

I am the envy of
girls who pass by

I am beautiful and perfect
in every way

but boys don't play with dolls


Anonymous
09:14:09 AM

Ahhhh, even as I write these very words, TANGST IS DOWN.

I am crying, on the inside.

I will post something from a novel, that I could relate to:

"In a strange room you must empty yourself for sleep. And before you are emptied for sleep, what are you. And when you are emptied for sleep, you are not. And when you are filled with sleep, you never were. I don't know what I am. I don't know if I am or not. Jewel knows he is, because he does not know that he does now know whether he is or not. He cannot empty himself for sleep because he is not what he is and he is what he is not. Beyond the unlamped wall I can hear the rain shaping the wagon that is ours, the load that is ourno longer theirs that felled and sawed it nor yet theirs that bought it and which is not ours either, lie on our wagon though it does, since only the wind and the rain shape it only to Jewel and me, that are not asleep. And since sleep is is--not the rain and wind are was, it is not. Yet the wagon is because when the wagon is was, Addie Bundren will not be. Jewel is, so Addie Bundren must be. And then I must be, or I could not empty my self for sleep in a strange room. And so if I am not emptied yet, I am is.
How often have I lain beneath rain on a strange roof, thinking of home."

-Darl Bundren, from William Falkners As I Lay Dying.


TintedFragipan
07:44 PM

hey i wrote a poem today, totally random, just stream of consciousness type thing.

IT LOOKS LONG BUT TAKES QUITE A SHORT TIME TO READ. it may not makes sense to you, but just give it a shot please? :)...

Noodles

I remember…
Being inside
A small crate
With love empty and superficial

I remember…
A wall
A long low gray wall
Stretched

I remember…
Staring through the carpet
Endless rows of feet
Pound over
Over
Over fragile fibers

I remember…
A scream
A soft little cry ate
Through my bones
Eyes I could not see,
But I felt
Deep eyes, soft eyes
Turned thin and brittle

I remember…
Opening a door
Key?
It doesn’t matter
The room is not even there.
I miss that
Room.
I no longer understand.

I remember…
That I stopped
For one blink I stared at
My innocent feet
Neatly packaged in their
Red
Shoes
I then realized I was moving
Away away away
From where my heart wanted to go.
But oh!
My feet had given up
Though my heart had not…
I drifted down
Down the long way I had come.
Why the journey?
I do not understand but

I remember…
A sweaty dark space
A jacket
Whose?
Where have they gone?
The buttons, the pockets
All brown brown brown
And smelling of loneliness

I remember…
A bowl of noodles
Round green bowl
Sweet golden noodles
They mocked me.
That one noodle
Laughing its bright, sharp
Noodle-laugh
My air scattered away

I remember…
The rough bites of wood
The soft sloughing of falling scraps
Why this transformation?
The purpose: some other game
A pencil
Sharp
For the sake of others?

If it were up to me
I think
I would like
To be a dull pencil.

But I do not remember.


Anonymous
06:16:21 PM

We make plans for big times
Get bogged down, distracted
We make plans for good times
All neon, all surface
So kiss me before it all gets complicated

--Plans by Bloc Party

Live for the moment, yeah?

Anonymous
12:24:29 AM