208 lines
6.1 KiB
Plaintext
208 lines
6.1 KiB
Plaintext
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F U C K E D U P C O L L E G E K I D S
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- t h e p o e t r y v e n t u r e -
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some of the best poetry is about those deep & penetrating
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emotions, just primal enough to allow poets & philosphers
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to wax intellectual about them. love, rage, hate, fear,
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sadness... all of these things are what make us human,
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all of these things are what make us poets. sometimes
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there is nothing better than a few moments alone with
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a line or two, written just for you, 200 years ago.
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The Writers Poem
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Clean white paper,
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staring into the void
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Neatly ruled lines,
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judging every written word
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Deadline rushing nearer,
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threatening to overtake
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Pen touching down on paper,
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bleeding my soul as the ink
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All to you the reader,
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keeper of the dream
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voyager
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antithesis
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between us
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a taut unsharing exists
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smoked air hazes our
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understanding
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vague words stretch
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our love not strong
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enough
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to survive
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the mutual unseeing
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of wide spectrum
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philosophies
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containing
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too many shades of grey
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and not a single
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solid
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line
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over which our hands
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might
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touch
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the chasm is too wide
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for crossing
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demonika
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mp5
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single repeat can't touch
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overwhelming adrenaline
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prepare, and it still pulls
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one second down
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thought trails to meme
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only on tv, hands of control
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high risk raid, self defense
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two seconds down
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magazine empty
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pause to admire killing technique
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fresh circle of pinpoints
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silence returns
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dis
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rage
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Rage deep within me,
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rising up from years ago.
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Memories of fleeing,
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and having fun.
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I wish to reach for that time again,
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Picking up the source, I look around,
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dropping it to the ground.
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What once was, and is no longer ...
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Hatred for all of those ones,
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from years ago,
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pureness in expression,
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and clear of intent.
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Now reaching over, I picture them,
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as I pull the trigger.
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Smashing them to pieces,
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shattering the pictures of the ghosts,
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that I wish never were ...
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I fall to the ground,
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to only find that there is no end.
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Rage deep inside of me,
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burrowing deeper and deeper,
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until one of these years,
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I will just all out explode,
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and will never be pieced back together, again.
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For, only one can deal so much,
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as rage builds up in all of me.
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Violent scenes, past glimpses,
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I shudder to have to even thought of them,
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Closing my eyes, one more time,
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I take a deep breath,
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to never arise.
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Me, Myself, and I. October 21st, 1997.
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half-mast
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(or; ripping off bukowski again)
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i am writing this poem with a black pen at work
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it is an expensive pen and the ink comes out smoothly
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this is being written on college-ruled loose-leaf paper
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it is friday, august 1st, 1997
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it is 5:32p.m.
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there are three cars in the station
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now there are two
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across the street is the municipal complex
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there is a library, a police station, and a firehouse
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there is a U.S. flag waving in front of it
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it is at half-mast
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that is where i got the title for this poem
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the flag is at half-mast because a fireman died in his sleep last friday
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he was 47 years old and his name was ronald hartranft
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i never met him but i think his wife was a monster
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i never met her either
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he did not burn to death saving lives like he should have
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instead, last friday, his wife looked at him and he looked at her
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and he turned around, climbed the stairs, and went to bed
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i don't blame him
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nor do i blame us
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laying in bed instead of saving ourselves
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glancing at the clock between cigarettes
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laughing at it
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with our hands at our throats
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hoping the other would finish it off
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and then..
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release
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you get up to go
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gather your things
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pause by the stairs
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turn around and
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you look at me and i look at you
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and i wave my hand at half-mast
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you smile
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wave back
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turn again
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climb down the stairs
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and leave
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and i roll over
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give my salute
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and go to
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sleep
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fighting the fire that took hartranft last friday
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he was 47 and his wife
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was a monster
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styx - thefedz@rad.edu
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E D I T O R S: jericho@dim.com & demonika@dim.com
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jericho@dimensional.com with "subscribe poetry". if
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send a list of missing issues and they will be sent.
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A V A I L A B I L I T Y:
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AnonFTP: FTP.DIMENSIONAL.COM/users/jericho/FUCK/POETRY
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WWW: http://www.dimensional.com/~jericho
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(c) Copyright. All poems copyright by original author.
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F O U N D E D: October 30, 1997
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