Words in Red Ink. Ticks and crosses, words in red ink, things of far fancy furnish my thoughts. I sweep and I swagger and focus on forms. Finding dead feeling come into the fore. The dip of her pelvis, the shape of her gait, you stride my minds musings, you transfix my state. Too sharp bright and painful the memory now seems, and all this past hurts still buried in me. She did it for self, for fear and to me. And I knew her madness; it’s burned there for years. That Fire’s now rekindled and I feel her curse, and I can’t forgive her and I never will. But nothing is spoken and nothing is guessed! What more will you ask, and ask evermore? My thoughts soon find focus, my fingers do write, my heart still beats slowly as it starts to bite. My will sets the motion of words on the page and opens the deluge of my inner rage. Ticks and crosses, words in red ink, torn from within, a darkness that’s guarded and locked in a safe. But I jiggled the keyhole, I opened the latch and from this dark portal my, my visions dispatched.
I love this poem! It's so dark, but at the same time has a catchy flow. I like the contrast between the style and subject matter. It reminds me of old nursery rhymes (when they were used to scare children into behavingPlease Register or Log in to view the hidden image!). I think my favorite stanzas are: And when he measures he checks them twice, he licks his lips and wipes his knife. He drains the blood and wraps the bones; he fits them in their future homes. And in the basement he bricks them in, he carves the corpses and wears the skins It's so morbid, but your word choice is amazing. Very strong imagery.
Zen, Fermat, Gauss, Germain Met Carroll, on the Plane To Athens, Greek Romance, and later on There was a Dance. They gave a holler "Yellow Submarine!" And decorated it with Monde Green in Space They built a vessel which V,p Might sail through Time itself, And make some T. The Hatter sells, for 1-/6 A scone that clangs like tonnes Of bricks He pulls out from his Hat, when He tries to tell you where you're at, then, You see the price: "Sesquiplicate!" Tile the rudder, till the Sail! We are there already...
Bewayre the Bandersnotch, ma soon. Blag-ol' the Bandersnatcher stays and plays And tries to catch yer. But don't get close You will end up toast, or Sunday's roast on Fridays.
Kind of like the Jabberwocky by Lewis Carroll http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jabberwocky Please Register or Log in to view the hidden image!
"It all just seems so bloody pointless, you know?" A pome: Rack me no rackman, inoffs But van me a lud's wig. Fred me no fredrics! Show pan, and bay toven. Debus the debusies; appogiaturas for ron! A (Lud) Ennysson Please Register or Log in to view the hidden image!
Thinking A blank page is waiting and watching As if time and balance hang upon its pale face But the words never seem to fit right They feel too tight And the voice seems to sound out of place
For Scary Please Register or Log in to view the hidden image! The Tale of the Grinning Man The Grinning Man has come to town To gobble your children upside down He’ll start with their toes and when he reaches their knees He’ll bite them in half as quick as you please His teeth are wide his eyes are round He stands at least six feet from the ground Donned in green with hide for skin His sharp white teeth will split you thin Beware the cunning of his grin! He appears at will in the darkest of nights To give you one of the greatest frights He leers, he leans, he gnashes wide He’ll break your bones to get inside The Grinning Man has come to town To eat your children pound by pound He’ll strip them clean, down to the bone And with their bodies, he’ll build his home He foretells of doom with his Cheshire smile He invades your mind and stays a while And when he’s ripped free your greatest sin It’s then you know you belong to him Beware the cunning of his grin! The Grinning Man has come to town To suck out your soul and swallow it down!
Whoo Hoo Jessie! The first metrical/accentual verse of yours I’ve read! How do you find writing using Iambic pentameter? It’s a bit old school but it does give the poem a nice pace. I like your non-metrical poems as well but it’s nice to see you try something like this. (Sorry if I sound like I've got my head up my ass) I love stories and poems about monsters and supernatural themes(As you might have guessed); writing about feelings and profound thoughts always seems to drain me, after a while I can’t dredge up anymore profound feelings to write about. So I write something fun like your poem here. I love it; I’m going to read it to my little nieces and nephew when I’m looking after them, they love scary stuff too.
Lol, I'm glad you liked it. I was reading up on legends of "cryptids" and came upon the Grinning Man and this poem just flowed right out onto the page. I didn't even have to think about it. It was fun to write Please Register or Log in to view the hidden image! I feel you on that one. I think that's why I haven't been writing. Profundity is beyond me right now. I'm glad. I hope they enjoy it!Please Register or Log in to view the hidden image!
Jibber Jabber T'was silly, how the 'lectric stove Did grind and jangle, when one made A tinsy, or a board of scoves, And the ov'n cloth got frayed.
King of the Hairy Monkeymen Of fruit and bones and half cast turns, in trees and brooks they take their looks, they read no books, they’re not uncouth and seeks no truth! They are the one and only proof. They are the Hairy Monkeymen, in their varied monkey clans; they plan no plans, make no demands of you or I or of the land. They jump through trees and there they veer, from snakes and snares and all they fear. They dance and pound and scurry round and climb the sweet and scented ground, and up the mound they do bound to find the door and bang it down. There they roar, and do implore for their King to come once more, and here he comes! They’re all struck dumb; he makes the gibbons bang the drums, and trumpets call and the monkeys brawl and chatter all throughout the halls. He is the immortal Monkey King, and see the things his maidens bring, there’s cans of spam and marzipan and bamboo rushes in their hands. He’s planed his plans and roused his clan’s just see the way he commands his bands! ‘Equal to Heaven’ his standard says, And he rides a stately pachyderm, and for all the wisdom he has learned, he goes to fight and might, just might? Win the thing that’s beyond mans sight, and of Heaven he’ll take an humungus bite. But a mountain will fell upon to his head, and for 500 years he’ll grow his beard and little monkeys will play with his ears. And what of the myriad monkey men? Who weep for their imprisoned King? But their tears are soon forgotten hence, and playful thoughts fill up their heads, because ambition might make a Monkey King, but most monkeys value other things.
Fear The Reaper Fear the Reaper, fear his cry, hear him laugh, as you die, now you're dead, six feet below, listen as, the church bells toll.
Sammy Dawg Sammy Dawg, he’s ma homey, the tats he has tell a story. Around his back flows a storm sea and the ship’s it casts upon Dawg’s shoulder are there devoured by a monster. Yes Sammy Dawg ma one and only, his arms a long and lean and bony, and the eye there has a weary journey up roads track marked and hoary, there lives up there a very different story. O Sammy Dawg ma wounded brother, I’m here for you and no other, on you is inked the pure redeemer, he walks across an ocean torso and there he finds a lot and more so. What up my Dawg! I feel like saying, but Sammy Dawg is just not playing, but a story still his tats are saying, in vivid hues but they’re decaying. Sammy Dawg he was ma Homey, his story’s sad but his tats are narly!
Album: Balance Song: Remind My Soul Lyrics: Yeah, it's gettin' wild out here It makes me wonder how a black man could ever raise a child out here You know the old krumbsnatcha's in this land of decay So why we killin' for the crumbs when there's so much to stay? We're no longer suposed to be slaves I bet Harriet Tubman will be turnin' in her grave Like remind my soul Of the time we were great before the self hate My elders all feel the same there's no bravery We're suposed to fight for freedom not just the end of slavery Are we too selfish to even bless the kids with jewels So our youth don't get played out for fools? Will they get program how to behave? Malcolm X must be turnin' in his grave Like remind my soul Of the time we were great before the self hate The time we were great before the self hate (x3) The time we were great Wait, we still great, but I met up with this dread, said "Peace, Respect" To set respect and not seen that around here yet Black man kill himself for limited amount of wealth And them disrespecting women saw him disrespect himself I agree for what the dread haven't get off of his chest Bob Marley will be disturbed from his rest Like remind my soul Of the time we were great before the self hate Can't work a dead end 9 to 5 for what To be another victim of social security cuts? I gotta cut myself from the chains and run free Empower myself to be my own authority People die so I don't have to be a runaway slave Nat Turner must be turnin' in his grave Like remind my soul Of the time we were great before the self hate The time we were great before the self hate (x3) The time we were great Wait, we still great, but We thought to worship these rappers and athletes and actors Many who think they better in the walk right passed ya It's what you do off camera and off the court That really makes you worthy of the people support But some brothers get those millions and forget how to behave Arther Ashe must be turnin' in his grave Like remind my soul Of the time we were great before the self hate We crabs in a barrel, you ain't gettin out until I do first And that's why the guns burst Whatever happened to strenght in numbers? Some of the greatest minds on the planet are among us But so many start on strugglin' and never get saved Man, Martin must be turnin' in his grave Like remind my soul Of the time we were great before the self hate The time we were great before the self hate (x3) The time we were great Remind my soul Of the time we were great before the self hate yo Yeah
lmao! Hey, he tried...sorta' Please Register or Log in to view the hidden image! Anyways... I Hate Your Living Room It’s not that chairs aren’t useful Because they are Especially your favorite chair Or maybe that broken and dilapidated, yet comfy couch Useful for sitting on Useful for ignoring when its use is not useful Always there, dependable because you made it so The chair It never moves from it’s perfectly positioned spot It doesn’t blink or shed a tear It sits quietly; waiting Waiting for you to come sit your big, dumb, lazy ass in it Because that’s what favorite chairs do They hold you when you’re tired They comfort you when you’re cold They don’t cry on your shoulder They don’t ask for attention They don’t even complain when you mistreat them You can kick that chair Step on it; let your dog chew a hole in the side Pull out the stuffing; yank out its guts like a butcher Dig your way in until you fit just right Until only you can fit that chair Until only you can lay claim And the chair, the useful chair Sits placidly, meekly, eerily quiet in the corner You know that chair will never leave Because chairs just don’t get up and walk away It’s not that chairs aren’t useful It’s just that I don’t want to be a piece of furniture in your life
On a too bright Sunday afternoon. He liked the way she walked, when she hurried past her ass bopped rhythmically, she was just a girl walking by on a too bright Sunday afternoon. A statuesque figure against the gray concrete, a boppy Jazz tune on the car radio played counterpoint to her passing ass. It was the syncopated essence of lust, it moved within him. Strange how a pleasing juxtaposition of curves can make a man suffer with longing. As the passing cars blurred to smears and the trudging humanity became indistinct, only his fulsome dancer and he lived in this moment. Their glints collided as their eyes caught, was her smile for him? The perving young punk in the pickup. But it was so sweet. Its unselfconsciousness shamed him, but he couldn’t help looking it was as wired into him, he wanted her to be all the things he knew she couldn’t really be. And then she was gone! Why did he look at her like that? She knew he was watching; a random voyeur captured by the tilt of her hips. The world started again, too hot, too bright, too painfully real and the city ate him up again, made a particle out of him and he was dissolved back into its body, the system pushed the particle on. The girl behind the store window watched him glide past, the young man with the fierce blue eyes, she’d lived a timeless second in those points of fire ice. Strange how a knowing smile on a well-made face can make a woman suffer with longing.
