Metaphor for Culture & Wine

The old woman’s got goals for her lifetime,

she thinks, amidst swallows of masticated cheese,

pearly white incisors up and down, still bright from years of bleach,

not a cavity in her life, she swears, the only holes in her mind.

Wouldn’t it be grand to remember what she’d wanted to be

years before she grew as she is now,

sitting, watching robins pluck seeds from the feeder

staring back with beady eyes.  How she used to love birds,

back when she taught textbooks on poetry and grammar.  To each

their own, she thinks, grinning at the birds.  Soon

she’ll fill the feeder with rice and watch.

månset

Stars that once hung, hovering above Earth,

blissfully unaware of one another,

have been purposefully crossed by my own hand.

The alteration, a subtle shift of space,

has awoken in them a self-realization

so great that they conceived cognition.

My hand, with the sheen of a just bitten apple,

slithers its pen across my kneepad,

leaving behind venomous words that are liable

to paralyze any and all who ingest them.

Condemned for my choices, doubled over by my decisions,

I am on a one way track to isolation,

where the windows and doors are mere reflections.

My tongue has to pick one of the two paths available,

its destination set for either of my cheeks,

leaving my voice to beat quietly in my chest.

The stakes have gone platinum, but I predict the fork,

veins cool to the touch, leaving the night without thirst.

The hierarchy of this faculty is baffling,

and leaves Freud in need of a good couch,

but the triad of my mind has but one

conductor to wave the baton, full steam ahead.

Let the nebulae to their galaxies return,

and I to the words that phrase me.

SEPIA

Inspiration is not a wind or breeze,

It is a tidal wave that submerges me,

And now I am swimming in words.

I choose my favorite stroke

To keep my head afloat,

Ink left behind from my floatation device.

A perfect form of freestyle

That gives me the freedom to shift

Front, back, side to side, moving at a crawl.

Phrases being to foam and flow,

Sentences drifting forth from them.

The undercurrent starts to strengthen,

An underlying message present,

Pulling my head underneath,

Understanding slow on my part.

I am the vehicle, the medium of the message,

The host of a muse whose tongue was cut,

Voice pseudo-mine.

As quickly as it rolled in, the storm breaks,

Ink settles on the page, and the well dries up.

More than anything, my desire is to drown

In this fountain of knowledge,

Float face down in the flow of words that

Fill my lungs with the phrases within,

Bottling them up and drawing them into my pen.

passing

i feel as if i am drifting along
feverishly unaware of my surroundings
that casually bypass my position
my mind is empty now
the flames eating up all consciousness
needs are no longer wanted
nothing all that i want
the pounding in my head
reverberates the beating in my chest
echoes growing weaker now
nature neutralizing me
as my warmth enters the atmosphere

Theme for… whatever.

To any readers eagerly anticipating this week’s theme (as tomorrow is only a day away): This week the three of us will be writing poetic postmodernist critiques on postmodernism. In other words, we’re taking a break. We will, however, be convening this weekend for a poetry-moot wherein we will spend hours discussing everyting and deciding nothing.

“The Hitchhiker’s Guide to a New Society.”

So, I had this idea which inspired the theme: take a piece of literature and turn it on its head. I guess I could have specified this, but I wanted to see what the others at KGB would come up with. Here is my own: a mash-up of ideas ranging from The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy to a simple revolution. You know, no biggie. Anyhow, read, enjoy the company of my words, & take away as you will.

Due to formatting, I am again posting on Rapidshare.
Here is the link: “The Hitchhiker’s Guide to a New Society.”

/G

Spacium

http://rapidshare.com/files/249873203/Lazarus.pdf

Theme for 6/28

do the twist.

/GT

SEAMSTRESS

Her hands make the flesh of my neck tingle

Before igniting a feverish burn that

Spreads to my every fiber.

Capable of molding me to her every whim,

She needs no blueprint;

Experience has taught her that it won’t be

Long now, and my shape begins to take form.

Eyes glaze over like a fine French pastry,

Delicat(essen)ly designed for optimal flavor.

Her influence has made me believe that I am not

Alone;

Others exist, both in this world and the next.

She is calm tonight. The moonlight reflects and

I see her in a new light; David Blane’s tricks

Are miniscule in her lens.

Only she can find a way to keep me from

Remembering to forget the bad times;

My body craves the best of her,

And I know even(tually) she will have to consent.

I pray that day will come soon,

For I fear she may think I’m too needy;

Life is hard when you’ve hit thirty/a dead end job/the wall,

But she makes me forget about my shortcomings/past/pain.

I think she’s figured this out.

She’s been asking a lot of me lately,

And tonight she said she wants to see the stars.

I borrow a neighbor’s car and drive

Until there is no more light, just a shower of sparks

Raining from above.

I want to show her how much she means to me,

So I get out of the car and take her to my third story roof

The stars came to life and danced for us

With shapes and colors; Silent Fireworks.

Her hand grips me tight, and I think this could be it!

Tonight she’ll finally fall for me!

She whispers in my ear and sends shivers down my spine;

I swear I’d sprout wings if her hands would will it.

There is a passion in her voice that I’ve never heard before,

Surely she knows I would attend her every word.

I tell her that, when I’m with her, I feel that I could fly,

And she convinces me to try.

As my toes let go of the shingles, I tell her that

I am her cloth, she is the needle, and my only wish is that,

Someday,

Her stitches will make me into a masterpiece.

“The She-Wolf.”

Again, due to some slight yet significant limitations on WordPress, I have uploaded my contribution to Rapidshare. As a matter of point, I should remind of the theme: “Space – the final frontier. Go where no man has gone before.” To the first half I set my purpose. To the second half I took liberty, focusing instead on where man has already been. That said, enjoy.

“The She-Wolf.”

Accompanied (optional, but recommended) listening.