247 lines
7.5 KiB
Plaintext
247 lines
7.5 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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It is amazing that a good poet can tell an epic story
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in 20 lines when Stephen King can't rip out a good
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thriller in under 1,000 pages. Poetry forces the poet
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to suffer a stringent economy, even in the book length
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epic poems beating to the rhythm of iambic pentameter.
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Support these talented souls. Buy poetry journals and
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books. Show publishers that a good poem is worth it's
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weight in dollars.
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An electric galaxy startled by reality,
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an earthquake that tests fearless mortality,
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you question this event but lost is the answer,
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a cost you resent not paying when it was asked for,
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in a time of disbelief, dismay, and displeasure,
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at a time of impulse, anger, and whether,
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you act with diligence depolyed too clever,
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you provide a reaction uncontrollable as laughter,
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a disaster it is when turned to frenzy,
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it takes a new twist when taken seriously,
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you see its creates time in sudden matters,
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its after the fact in which you attack,
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and excuse yourself from fault without question,
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and refuse yourself from forgiving this exception!
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sadia
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chia pets and high octane soda
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i spent all day today
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trying to get you outta my head
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every last one of my thoughts today
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was of your beauty
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and oh how your beauty makes me feel
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(how you make me feel for that matter)
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you just blow my mind
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all into little bits and peices
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you sweep me away
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on wings i never knew i had
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you make me feel oh so high
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like i can fly amongst the twilight
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take me away
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and show me where you want to go
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show me how you feel the way you feel
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cause i wanna be there too
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i wish i could be with you
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and hold you in my arms
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i wish i could feel you right here beside me
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(i know what i want and i think you do too)
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help me feel the night
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you seem to wear it so well
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carry me into the night
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and show me how to wear myself
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boogah
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EMILIO JUAREZ DIES
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left front row -
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dense country breeze
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gently rains down.
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inadequate crowd -
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naked in tears
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for showing up
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empty-handed.
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someone speaks -
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i have never met him,
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but he knows names,
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places, accomplishments.
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stone-packed field -
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i see two for my parents,
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and my sister, fragile,
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drops a tulip between them.
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civilian tradition -
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no honorable flag,
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no guns, no bugle;
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generic newspaper ashes.
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it's unbelievable to think
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poets die like everyone else.
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Indiana Poet April 27, 1998
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Swirled Twirl
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Poems of lines, that wind through.
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My mind is full, always busy.
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Never before reading and reflecting back.
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Now I sit and am astounded by
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what all I have found.
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What is this inner beat,
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that keeps going and going,
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seeming to never to stop.
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How do these things spillout
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and form their own life?
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Crazy swirls and low spirals
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spin around, make about as much sense.
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Why then do I wonder why
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I can sit and be kicked and never cry.
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My out pouring of emotion kept in rythme.
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Kamira March 20, 1998
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MY SHADOW ON THE WALL
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Morning's dawned, another day.
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I wish I knew some other way
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To say goodbye to those I love,
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Tell you what I'm thinking of.
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But the words refuse to form.
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All the seeds of reason shorn
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Simply lay upon the floor.
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You won't see me anymore.
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Oh my baby, gently sleep.
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I didn't want to see you weep.
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It's a shame I have to go.
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There are things you'll never know.
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'Cause I won't be coming home.
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No, the streets are where I'll roam.
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You won't know me when I call
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Nor my shadow on the wall.
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Think of me in tender times
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When I sang you gentle rhymes
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And I rocked you fast asleep,
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..."I pray the Lord my soul to keep."
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Oh my lover, think of me
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When you're standing by the sea,
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And you feel the windswept spray.
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Think of me while I'm away.
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For I won't be coming home
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No, the streets are where I'll roam.
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You won't know me when I call
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Nor my shadow on the wall.
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Over by our favorite pier
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Hold a seashell to your ear
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And above the ocean's noise,
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In that shell you'll hear my voice.
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I'll be saying, "I loved you,
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But there were things I had to do.
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Though I had love in my hands
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I was such a lonely man."
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What a pity it should be
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That you never once knew me,
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But such things are part of life...
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...I await the reaper's scythe.
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Cancer Omega
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resolution to failure
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as i lay my head on the leather bound book
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tension flows out of me, muscles relaxing
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the will to move on is lost forever
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strength to keep up the good fight faded
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the time of vibrance decades removed
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subtle power, natural leadership, lost friends
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a gaunt relic of what i used to be
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my will is caving in, dooming me to solitue
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i take one last breath... again
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mea_culpa
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one night stand
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shame is oil on the mirror
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the morning after
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left behind, an impermanent
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memoir of a hot cheek
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against cold glass
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demonika
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will the cycle ever end:
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A great emptiness beholds me
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a flutter of the heart
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a feeling of fullness
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a change in lifestyle
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a change in temperament
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realization dawns
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this is not me
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a great emptiness beholds me
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blaise
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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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