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(former member)

Location: hotel in Las Vegas Gender:  
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Posted:
Oct 31, 2010 - 8:36am |
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TORNADO by Dorothea Lasky I remember he was bent down Like a whirlpool I was yelling at him He looked scared and backed away Another time, I squinted my eyes to see And he said I looked ugly The funny part was when My sister asked me where he went to And I just didn't know He just disappeared one day into nothing I am rotting and rancid Each day, rotting, but I am water, too I am a watery nymph that is hot and wet Like a wetted beast I saw the man walking, hunched over And thought it was him "Father!" I yelled after the man Who was hunched, he was going somewhere He turned but the face was green It is a black life, but I don't want to die I don't want to die, I don't ever want to die God damn you, don't you shoot me in my sleep Let me rot on this earth forever Like a carrot I will be everything God can't see Oh, what do I mean God can see everything I mean the angels, I mean the half-gods I mean the flowers, don't ever let them see me live forever Don't you ever let them see That I am all root here in the ground
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samiyam

Location: Moving North 
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Posted:
Oct 30, 2010 - 7:57am |
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Mormon Missionaries Pay Me a Visitby Ken HadaI'm sitting on my lawn enjoying a nice blunt cigar watching children ride scooters up and down the street twilight gently falling, swallows circling, Mississippi Kites high overhead, tree frog, sounds of sweet shadows Then I see them in the corner of my eye, two bikes slow they can not pass a lost soul - I'm too conspicuous - I don't want this feeling, I want them to pass me by Good evening sir they say I'm Elder Hansen says the first I'm Elder Olson the second chokes and then they wait but all I can think to say: You're kind of young to be elders, aren't you? They launch into their sales pitch about Restoration and Heavenly Father while I recoil in smoke, then interrupt If I convert do I have to give up this cigar? They are not sure but soon get back on track like a loose wheel wobbling until they finally bid me good evening. I watch them roll away and wonder what gives them the audacity to interrupt me while I am at worship
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samiyam

Location: Moving North 
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Posted:
Oct 26, 2010 - 6:46am |
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Your Punishment in HellSomeone will douse a cobra in gasoline, light the sucker, and shove it headfirst down your throat. It'll speed straight through your esophagus, unfurl its hood to fill your stomach then begin to strike and strike and strike and strike and strike: fangs pierce your stomach, venom pours in, the little burn of incipient ulcers grows quick, paralysis sets in. Your lungs stop before your brain, before your hand, which lifts to your mouth the plastic-lidded paper cup holding the caramel macchiato cappuccino with a double shot of espresso and frothed soy milk topped with two shakes of cinnamon and no, NO (yes, you said no twice) sugar that was made for you slowly, while I, already running late, waited behind you for a simple, already-made black coffee. You will lose all motion before that drink reaches your mouth, but you recover and the drink, strangely, has vanished, and barrista and cobra-douser-slash-lighter do it all again and again. I know this because, for my angry impatience, I am behind you in line in hell forever, the pot of black coffee behind the counter steaming, turning, I know, bitter. ~ Gary Leising ~
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Umberdog

Location: In my body. Gender:  
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Posted:
Oct 26, 2010 - 12:17am |
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Phantom Land by Ebon Lupus October 25, 2010
A chill fall night
Luna drifts on dark sky casting a pale reflection over a mist-covered pond where below black salamanders and zombie crayfish hunt unaware that they are hunted At the shoreline
tendrils of mist curl from sun-warmed loam into shallow fog of wolfs-hock depth Fallen trees
struck down in their prime cast long shadows like headstones of unrighteous dead whose haunting moans have failed to know justice although generations have come and gone Through a bleak
and ethereal dream the phantom of a wolf whose bloody death was not unique to any but himself wanders a stolen and corrupted land where miasmal scent of filth and decay of death and birth meld into flexing ghostly nostrils Ahead
circle shadows between shadows into shadows behind and amid a group of rejoicing coyotes muzzles locked skyward howling a cackled song for the dead and living A departed doe
lay near a puddle of coughed up foam eviscerated and disemboweled by sharp fangs she was not killed and yet she had died the wounds inflicted postmortem Coyotes circled her
paying a kind of homage as the phantom wolf watched his spirit undetected by the conclave of joyous coyotes But then
he ventured forth and sniffed the blood and longed for what was lost The dead wolf
raised howl to Luna and Gaea to human treachery and at this the napes of feasting coyotes raised also and they all went silent gazing to one another while the earth seemed to honor the dead with a long moment of eternal quiet
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oldviolin

Location: esse quam videri Gender:  
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Posted:
Oct 25, 2010 - 8:22pm |
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Umberdog

Location: In my body. Gender:  
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Posted:
Oct 25, 2010 - 5:29pm |
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Alone With Everybodyby Charles Bukowski The flesh covers the bone and they put a mind in there and sometimes a soul, and the women break vases against the walls and the men drink too much and nobody finds the one but keep looking crawling in and out of beds. flesh covers the bone and the flesh searches for more than flesh. there's no chance at all: we are all trapped by a singular fate. nobody ever finds the one. the city dumps fill the junkyards fill the madhouses fill the hospitals fill the graveyards fill nothing else fills.
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samiyam

Location: Moving North 
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Posted:
Oct 25, 2010 - 10:14am |
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Ebon_Lupus wrote: Well... they can make you feel bad... but not about yourself.
You are a wise creature, Samiyam. No wait... we are all fools.
 "Day after day, alone on a hill, the man with the foolish grin is keeping perfectly still..." ~ The Beatles ~
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Umberdog

Location: In my body. Gender:  
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Posted:
Oct 24, 2010 - 9:50pm |
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samiyam wrote: A person can never make you feel bad about yourself unless you let him. If you keep in mind that what he/she is reacting to in you is what he/she hates about him/her self. We are all children in the garden. Well... they can make you feel bad... but not about yourself. You are a wise creature, Samiyam. No wait... we are all fools.
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samiyam

Location: Moving North 
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Posted:
Oct 24, 2010 - 9:28pm |
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Ebon_Lupus wrote: I guess I should thank you for your courage... or indifference to the paradigm of contempt.
A person can never make you feel bad about yourself unless you let him. If you keep in mind that what he/she is reacting to in you is what he/she hates about him/her self. We are all children in the garden.
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Umberdog

Location: In my body. Gender:  
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Posted:
Oct 24, 2010 - 9:19pm |
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samiyam wrote:How very honest... I guess I should thank you for your courage... or indifference to the paradigm of contempt.
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samiyam

Location: Moving North 
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Posted:
Oct 24, 2010 - 9:01pm |
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Ebon_Lupus wrote:Honesty by Ebon Lupus October 24, 2010
Honesty — people wish it, or so it seems just one, among many, of humanities dreams alas, when we know it, or so it would seem it's oft wished we'd kept the mere dream
The reason I write this may not be so clear for honesty finds itself amongst many a tear for day after day, week, month, and year revelation quite oft summons anger and jeer
This, especially, must be the dire case once conventional label is put in one's place and many a mind's eyes are blinded by haste of unfair indictment and iniquitous distaste
Thus to be safe, it is truer to lie dishonesty is truer than hate's battle cry for anger oft kills the truths it despise history hath shown this upon many reprise
How very honest...
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Umberdog

Location: In my body. Gender:  
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Posted:
Oct 24, 2010 - 8:49pm |
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Honesty by Ebon Lupus October 24, 2010
Honesty — people wish it, or so it seems just one, among many, of humanities dreams alas, when we know it, or so it would seem it's oft wished we'd kept the mere dream
The reason I write this may not be so clear for honesty finds itself amongst many a tear for day after day, week, month, and year revelation quite oft summons anger and jeer
This, especially, must be the dire case once conventional label is put in one's place and many a mind's eyes are blinded by haste of unfair indictment and iniquitous distaste
Thus to be safe, it is truer to lie dishonesty is truer than hate's battle cry for anger oft kills the truths it despise history hath shown this upon many reprise
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Umberdog

Location: In my body. Gender:  
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Posted:
Oct 23, 2010 - 11:02am |
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An excerpt from Henry W. Longfellow's "The Building of the Ship."
Long ago, In the deer-haunted forests of Maine, When upon mountain and plain Lay the snow, They fell,—those lordly pines! Those grand, majestic pines! 'Mid shouts and cheers The jaded steers, Panting beneath the goad, Dragged down the weary, winding road Those captive kings so straight and tall, To be shorn of their streaming hair, And, naked and bare, To feel the stress and the strain Of the wind and the reeling main, Whose roar Would remind them forevermore Of their native forests they should not see again.
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samiyam

Location: Moving North 
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Posted:
Oct 23, 2010 - 6:38am |
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Night BicycleBlack mamba of the front tire over wet streets, the wet streets, after-rain falling from the neighborhood leaves, luminescence of lampposts' lamps up through the trees. Sink into someone's porch chair and look at all these leaves then ride on into the smell of sawdust. That sweet smell of wood. Someone is renovating. May he do it right! May he be careful. May he do it right. May the work of hands satisfy. Sleep on, Amigos! The girl who left years ago loved you behind that window. She is now some person Living a state away. Which only makes her more. You and me, little poem. Mi amigo. Compadre. Inside each dark house the streetlights keep doing their thing on the far wall. Tonight though. Tonight's streetlight makes me need you. It's writing indifference, little poem, indifference to us on that far wall. Black mamba of the front tire over wet streets, the wet streets, after-rain falling from the neighborhood leaves, luminescence of lampposts' lamp up through the trees. ~ Jonathan Johnson ~
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Umberdog

Location: In my body. Gender:  
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Posted:
Oct 22, 2010 - 3:55pm |
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Hermes Trismegistus
by Henry W. Longfellow Still through Egypt's desert places Flows the lordly Nile, From its banks the great stone faces Gaze with patient smile. Still the pyramids imperious Pierce the cloudless skies, And the Sphinx stares with mysterious, Solemn, stony eyes. But where are the old Egyptian Demi-gods and kings? Nothing left but an inscription Graven on stones and rings. Where are Helios and Hephaestus, Gods of eldest eld? Where is Hermes Trismegistus, Who their secrets held? Where are now the many hundred Thousand books he wrote? By the Thaumaturgists plundered, Lost in lands remote; In oblivion sunk forever, As when o'er the land Blows a storm-wind, in the river Sinks the scattered sand. Something unsubstantial, ghostly, Seems this Theurgist, In deep meditation mostly Wrapped, as in a mist. Vague, phantasmal, and unreal To our thought he seems, Walking in a world ideal, In a land of dreams. Was he one, or many, merging Name and fame in one, Like a stream, to which, converging Many streamlets run? Till, with gathered power proceeding, Ampler sweep it takes, Downward the sweet waters leading From unnumbered lakes. By the Nile I see him wandering, Pausing now and then, On the mystic union pondering Between gods and men; Half believing, wholly feeling, With supreme delight, How the gods, themselves concealing, Lift men to their height. Or in Thebes, the hundred-gated, In the thoroughfare Breathing, as if consecrated, A diviner air; And amid discordant noises, In the jostling throng, Hearing far, celestial voices Of Olympian song. Who shall call his dreams fallacious? Who has searched or sought All the unexplored and spacious Universe of thought? Who, in his own skill confiding, Shall with rule and line Mark the border-land dividing Human and divine? Trismegistus! three times greatest! How thy name sublime Has descended to this latest Progeny of time! Happy they whose written pages Perish with their lives, If amid the crumbling ages Still their name survives! Thine, O priest of Egypt, lately Found I in the vast, Weed-encumbered sombre, stately, Grave-yard of the Past; And a presence moved before me On that gloomy shore, As a waft of wind, that o'er me Breathed, and was no more.
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samiyam

Location: Moving North 
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Posted:
Oct 21, 2010 - 12:18pm |
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oldviolin wrote:Knot A Trace
dawn is to morning as dusk is to mourning all filled with empty night moonlit fleeting nocturne delight timid reed once swayed in flow precious child once played in tow bringing treasure fragrant mirth taking measure stewards earth least of all the pangs of birth litmus tree line stands for crow wing away from silent snow...
paradise the shimmered peak listing aural fissions creak guiding paths once paved in tones sneering haves with burdened stones winter sails with wails of men shorelines hail from now 'til then wave and foam and breaking backs filling holes with what time lacks listening from the bloodied cracks changing winds ever building layers of sand ever gilding...
b
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Manbird

Location: La Villa Toscana Gender:  
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Posted:
Oct 21, 2010 - 11:05am |
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oldviolin wrote:Knot A Trace
dawn is to morning as dusk is to mourning all filled with empty night moonlit fleeting nocturne delight timid reed once swayed in flow precious child once played in tow bringing treasure fragrant mirth taking measure stewards earth least of all the pangs of birth litmus tree line stands for crow wing away from silent snow...
paradise the shimmered peak listing aural fissions creak guiding paths once paved in tones sneering haves with burdened stones winter sails with wails of men shorelines hail from now 'til then wave and foam and breaking backs filling holes with what time lacks listening from the bloodied cracks changing winds ever building layers of sand ever gilding...
b
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oldviolin

Location: esse quam videri Gender:  
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Posted:
Oct 21, 2010 - 9:40am |
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Knot A Trace
dawn is to morning as dusk is to mourning all filled with empty night moonlit fleeting nocturne delight timid reed once swayed in flow precious child once played in tow bringing treasure fragrant mirth taking measure stewards earth least of all the pangs of birth litmus tree line stands for crow wing away from silent snow...
paradise the shimmered peak listing aural fissions creak guiding paths once paved in tones sneering haves with burdened stones winter sails with wails of men shorelines hail from now 'til then wave and foam and breaking backs filling holes with what time lacks listening from the bloodied cracks changing winds ever building layers of sand ever gilding...
b
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samiyam

Location: Moving North 
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Posted:
Oct 20, 2010 - 6:31pm |
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Obituaryby Ronald WallaceJust once, you say, you'd like to see an obituary in which the deceased didn't succumb after "a heroic struggle" with cancer, or heart disease, or Alzheimer's, or whatever it was that finally took him down. Just once, you say, couldn't the obit read: He got sick and quit. He gave up the ghost. He put up no fight at all. Rolled over. Bailed out. Got out while the getting was good. Excused himself from life's feast. You're making a joke and I laugh, though you can't know I'm considering exactly that: no radical prostatectomy for me, no matter what General Practitioner and Major Oncologist may say. I think, let that walnut-sized pipsqueak have its way with me, that pebble in cancer's slingshot that brings dim Goliath down. So, old friend, before I go and take all the wide world with me, I want you to know I picked up the tip. I skipped the main course, I'm here in the punch line. Old friend, the joke's on me.
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nerakdon

Location: Gender:  
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Posted:
Oct 15, 2010 - 4:13pm |
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The setting sun makes bright exes on the pavement could they... mark the spot?
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