got quite a few in my pocket at the moment, so i thought it considerate to start a single thread for them (by the way some of these are quite surreal... hopefully that wont put people off ) also... this is probably the only occasion i ever use capital letters. cause for celebration! :H -------------------------------------------------------- Orange glue spread on a spam sandwich Forever a favourite of the spiritual guru Who was a fireman in his day job To pay the bills that landed on his doorstep Eating takeaways by the dozen Spending his last few pennies on chips He knows he shouldn't be this way But what can he do when he lives in a land Where eveyone smiles to his grinning face, But when he turns they throw daggers All he can do is duck, and ignore everything. Hearing things that aren't there And seeing things he can't portray He was just a boy we'll never really know Or love for that matter.
Shrouding The Anyway Shading on the walls Of my life How deep it is to me Intricate in colour Intimate in construction It fascinates me Taking me under its spell Falling on my knees I drop my eyes To the ground Downhill Downstream Amongst certain things On these walls of my life Are shaded in Intricately And Intimately.
Murmers of screams, a distant memory For the backpacker in his caravan What to expect, he knows of nothing Just to be one with the coffee of life Mabye comb his hair every so often Mabye not, but keep the childlike charm He had won from the friends he once left behind All those years ago In his caravan across the pancake of the universe On his journey to no-where.
A cat, dressed all in red, Sleeping through it's inner depths In a captains tower, on a bridge Piecing together the wisdom of the world And it's semi-failure-atic outlook It's not easy to do, you know He not sceptical, he just lucky Lighting a pipe to clear his mind It's certainly not tobacco Disconnecting the grey lighting Vividly inventing the same backdrop With randomization and alternatization He listens to his own experiences Bouncing off the floodlights That shine like the diamond sun Honeymooning in his home, sweet home Turning in his bed, coloured in with crayons The cat is learning over the years
I have liked the haiku very much. You've started from Shakespeare and then developed it on your own. And it raises an interesting problem. I'll say that a name has two parts, the sound (the word) and its reference to a person in this world.
For these compliments I have received, i share with You my pot of tea. (care for a biscuit?) ps. i think myself has hit on something there... eureka! mabye i could expand that sentence into a thousand page document and get all the credit for it...
Same level same level until CRASh it breaks like so many crums cleaving alternately you understand no room for reason or rhyme in the manic arrangement of cells that eventually translates into the whole generating what one may call FREAK OUTTTTTTTTTTTTTT t’s of course enphasizing the disparity of the moment uncomfortable waiting, waiting waiting just to see to find out if the end is .................. Ahahaha better then the means because the means are Just plain disturbing
wow, shouldna put that as a reply huh, well i'll figure this mess out soon enough, like your stuff tho.
thank you. Death of a Backpacker (A continued tale from Jun 17th) Broken soul of a traveller on a midnight hill, Unmoving, face pointed to the grass below him Perched onto a plastic stool, surrounded by empty beer cans. Heavily intoxicated by a number of substances, Squinting through the lens of a second-rate microscope, He downs his whiskey to suppress his fears of what awaits him. Head pounding, slowly losing his heart to corporate propaganda, Spooning cold baked beans through thick facial hair, Breathing away his last seconds on earth, Watching his past fly before him like a dull comic strip, Tales of lovesick insanity, trips to slimy massage parlours, Playing with Rubix cubes on Hollywood sets, Rebelling nothing he wished he could, illiterate in the language of love, Worthless cherished moments just as monotonous as the first time round. Closing his eyes to the world for the last time, empty needle dropping out from his lifeless palm. Inky black sky above, lit up by yellow stars Casting light on another needle filled with brown-ish heroin lazing on the pine-hued grass, "You can meet me sometime in the moonlight, and I shall set you free", The narcotic eternally whispers to the spirits of the mountains.
Wow...that last one is going perfectly along with the song I'm listening to...You and your mad po-tree skillz.
Man Honey those are all great! I feel poety is like a window to the soul,the mind writes it, the soul creates it! You obvioulsy have a beautiful soul!
Endre Ady: Who Come from Far Away We are the men who are always late, we are the men who come from far away. Our walk is always weary and sad, we are the men who are always late. We do not even know how to die in peace. When the face of distant death appears, our souls splash into a tam tam of flame. We do not even know how to die in peace. We are the men who are always late. We are never on time with our success, our dreams, our heaven, or our embrace. We are the men who are always late.
