245 lines
7.7 KiB
Plaintext
245 lines
7.7 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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i often think of ways to describe this zine, and I
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usually come up short. this is no exception.
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why the appeal of poetry? i think the lack of formal
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english.. the pure chaos that can ensue in the words
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gives it appeal.
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other times i think the randomness finds home in the
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free will we all have. or perhaps it is something
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else.
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Freedom...
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The house was empty when he got home.
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It was better like that.
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Noone could understand he needed to leave.
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He needed to be free.
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He was eager to be on his way,
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to where he'd be happy.
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So he sat at his desk and typed a goodbye letter.
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He'd miss his pals, but promised to see them again, someday.
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He'd need to prepare for his trip now.
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He began to fill the tub with warm water,
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not bothering to remove his cloths.
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For a second he wondered, is leaving a
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temporary solution to a permenant problem?
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No. Life is an eternal problem.
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With that he reached for his blade,
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Swiftly making 2 incisions, down eigther wrist.
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Just like that
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his wrists began to drain his angst
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into the warm water.
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The Pain was leaving quickly...
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The Deceit
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The Depresion
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The Breakdowns
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The Tears
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The...
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I'll love you forever...Monte, I promise.
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all fucking gone now...exiting from wrist to water.
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No more being alone...
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no more being anything anymore.
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It all drains from him. slowly...
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He feels a tingle over his body
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as he gets light headed.
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He smiles, with a tear in his eye.
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"I'd rather die then lose your love."
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He dips his head into the now crimson pool.
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He inhales its warmth.
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His vision turns to black.
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And now...
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Freedom...
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Montell the p3nny
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Reason
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Often one hundred words to express
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a single thought or desire. The beauty
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of unmoderated speak. To directionless
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travel and eternal unforgiven. All to
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say such a simple thing.
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The things we do. The lies we vomit.
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Actions as foreign as heaven itself.
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All come natual by some miracle.
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For what? The one thing that seldom
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exposes itself in meaningful form.
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A curse or blessing among the chaos
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of heart. The primary slice of
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ruling passion.
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Love can certainly condemn.
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an untitled work of agony
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night stillness trembles with the slither soft sound
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of my heart
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i n ch i n g away from me
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it makes a bloody path
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pocked with the black wounds of loss
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i tie a pink ribbon around it
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and put it in a box
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for safekeeping
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demonika
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SILENCE ECHOES
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Silence echoes
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still and wide
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far within
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the place beside
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where your voice, heard
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amongst the roar
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of mem'ries found
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the day before,
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was lost amongst
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the thoughts that I
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could not speak out
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nor even cry.
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At times I'm lost
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for things to say,
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and so in haste
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I drift away
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too far from you
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to even see
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the one who angers
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me is me;
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who, though strewn
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in rage's quarry,
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implores you to believe
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I'm sorry.
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Cancer Omega
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UNTITLED
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Do you remember your first time
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the excitement you felt at the end of the line?
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Do you remember the creamy white satin?
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With each turn a new twist arose
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you understood it far better than most
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Losing yourself between the covers
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Never knowing you'd be lovers
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Finding pleasure with each twirl
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of the tongue
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Caressing the words
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one by one
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When it was over, you're whole body shook
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These pleasures can only be found
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inside a book
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Bluerose
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Naive with intent, hurt and overspent,
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You experience a dramatic event,
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Unwanted and untrue, battered and confused,
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Your mind starts to twist.
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Second thoughts begin to chime,
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If you only knew the time,
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Your love could sense the truth,
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Even though whats the use,
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You lost whats left, abused,
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Your pride and will to choose,
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The mate you one day sought,
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The one whose blind from thought.
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If hidden agendas bother your night,
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Open the door, and send them in flight,
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A difficult task to unwind, at last,
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But now omnicient you are,
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A sight to see thus far,
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Your now a shining star!
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sadia
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SAY NO TO "MELTING POT" THEORISTS
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swallowing hard, i find avant-garde prussians
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lingering in my reflection, with german arrogances
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squeezed into my fingers; an anglo-saxophone tune.
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neutral swiss; banking on my central europe heritage
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where religious fractions were divided and multiplied,
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leaving my family little recourse but to learn america.
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now i am some generation icon, gapped from historial accuracy
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by people whose forefathers probably kissed my foremothers once;
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inconsistencies in backgrounds still force everyone apart.
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April 28, 1998
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Indiana Poet
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Speaker
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Numerous lines flow out,
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untouchable strings,
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that hold my heart.
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Reaching past my body,
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into the depth of what is unseen.
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Surrounding my every breath.
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Streaming itno my very veins,
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steam is released through my pores.
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Leaving me, having been cleansed.
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Winding through my very spirit,
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it lifts my soul higher.
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Body is only an image.
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An image that is better
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to have forgotten
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then to ever redeem.
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-Kamira March 20, 1998
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E D I T O R S: jericho@dim.com & demonika@dim.com
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to receive new issues via e-mail, send mail to
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majordomo@sekurity.org with "subscribe poetry". if
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you do not have FTP access and would like back issues,
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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.sekurity.org/~poetry
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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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