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poetry thread

Forums › Forums › General Discussions › Open Topic › poetry thread

  • This topic has 500 replies, 34 voices, and was last updated 11 years, 3 months ago by kerbdogma.
Viewing 15 posts - 286 through 300 (of 501 total)
← 1 2 3 … 19 20 21 … 32 33 34 →
  • Author
    Posts
  • April 6, 2005 at 3:07 pm #72916
    crazycloud
    Participant

      whatever happened
      to good old fashion
      quaaludes? those are
      a good way to calm
      down women who
      think about doing
      violent things to people,
      herbal tea just
      doesnt do the trick.

      April 6, 2005 at 8:17 pm #72917
      Annastefka
      Participant

        Hey mi amigo cloud,

        Is that a poem or a question?

        April 6, 2005 at 9:40 pm #72918
        Rich
        Participant

          To Die For My Own Need Would Be Unwise
          I’ll Stay Safe In The Arms Of The Night
          Hiding From The Place Where Demons Dance And Laugh

          When You Let Go
          I Cried
          And Tears Rolled Down My Chin
          Planting Mantis Eggs As They Hit The Ground

          My Heart Fell Out My Sock
          When The Shoes Came Loose
          Tomorrow I’ll Be Safe
          If I Can Just Get Passed Tonight

          April 7, 2005 at 12:26 am #72919
          crazycloud
          Participant

            hi annastefka how is lil nacho ?
            youve been to portugal? you really slept on newspapers??
            that is a trip or gemini transmission
            just a poem i thought about aftere
            musing on elliot smith’s "suicide" and
            HST & crazy ex girlfriends. geez did you reed fata’s peom about
            slitting throats. she must be scorpio.

            ….. the pigeons of jack kerouac
            sleep in the shoes
            of mexico
            dangling from the wires
            of forgotten children……

            April 7, 2005 at 10:51 am #72920
            Annastefka
            Participant

              I did not follow Elliot Smith or his music but was shocked to find he stabbed his self in the heart. Good God, I can’t imagine. It is possible to "feel" too much. At what point, I keep thinking, at what point, I guess I am wondering, perhaps drugs and alcohol were to blame, I mean, I can’t even complete the sentence. My first question, I suppose is harsh, I mean, does no one know, when someone is about to kill themselves? It would seem the "telemetry" would be easy to pick up on. I share the same birthday
              (as well as astrological aspects) as John Bonham so I have almost killed myself on several occasions, never intentionally though, only under the elaborate conceptual structure of having a good time. (it’s a gemini thing)

              Little Nacho is well, El quiere la leche de mi pecho toda el dia, but thats normal for a little guy. I have slept on newspapers in portugal, and in a bar on the coast of Spain. I think I need to write down some of my stories for my children but not yet I want to get them grown-up first.

              I don’t have a new poem but my daughter has in her room now my journal from age 11 or 12 and I wrote,

              For this shall ever be, a secret kept from all the rest between yourself and me.

              April 7, 2005 at 12:02 pm #72921
              fata morgana
              Participant

                Hey Annastefka, it’s nice to see you back :)

                Hey crazycloud, this is so brilliant and possibly an answer to some current coco loco problems :roll:

                "crazycloud" wrote:
                whatever happened
                to good old fashion
                quaaludes? those are
                a good way to calm
                down women who
                think about doing
                violent things to people,
                herbal tea just
                doesnt do the trick.
                April 7, 2005 at 12:32 pm #72922
                fata morgana
                Participant
                  "crazycloud" wrote:
                  hi annastefka how is lil nacho ?
                  youve been to portugal? you really slept on newspapers??
                  that is a trip or gemini transmission
                  just a poem i thought about aftere
                  musing on elliot smith’s "suicide" and
                  HST & crazy ex girlfriends. geez did you reed fata’s peom about
                  slitting throats. she must be scorpio.

                  ….. the pigeons of jack kerouac
                  sleep in the shoes
                  of mexico
                  dangling from the wires
                  of forgotten children……

                  I’m not Scorpio, I’m Leo–so, back of!!! :twisted:

                  That poem is about the assassination/execution of a CARE field worker.
                  She did not deserve to die.
                  There seems to be doubts about these executions and beheadings–saying that they were hoaxes.
                  I am not in the position, at present, to verify the authenticity of these allegations but I still believe that they are real. People were assassinated–it’s just a matter of knowing by who and for what purpous, really.

                  April 7, 2005 at 1:45 pm #72923
                  Rich
                  Participant
                    Quote:

                    ….. the pigeons of jack kerouac
                    sleep in the shoes
                    of mexico
                    dangling from the wires
                    of forgotten children……

                    thats a good one

                    April 7, 2005 at 9:25 pm #72924
                    crazycloud
                    Participant

                      im crab
                      sketteley dee
                      ittaly fee
                      wee diddly me
                      he he

                      April 8, 2005 at 1:31 am #72925
                      Rich
                      Participant

                        The Hand Of Faith
                        Reaches Down And Grabs Me
                        Streching Me to Elastic
                        Dying I smile
                        I love you

                        April 8, 2005 at 2:35 pm #72926
                        fata morgana
                        Participant

                          My guess
                          Is as good as yours

                          http://www.zmag.org/content/showarticle.cfm?SectionID=15&ItemID=6684

                          http://www.zahrakazemi.com/

                          April 8, 2005 at 10:32 pm #72927
                          Rich
                          Participant

                            A Flying Bird Lands
                            and drys its wings on the sandy ground
                            A pot boils over, and burns the worm
                            Poached Dinner and Easy Pickings

                            April 9, 2005 at 3:56 pm #72928
                            crazycloud
                            Participant

                              thats a shame about that woman getting the chop chop…
                              they do that all the time over there… my friend was in saudi arabia in the military and said they do it every satthday there, and thats the country that is supposed to be our friends… and in uzbekistahn one of our "staunch" allies the boil poets in oil.

                              April 12, 2005 at 10:37 am #72929
                              fata morgana
                              Participant

                                And I don’t like
                                To guess

                                http://story.news.yahoo.com/news?tmpl=story&cid=2245&ncid=2245&e=2&u=/ap/20050412/ap_on_re_mi_ea/iran_canada_journalist

                                April 12, 2005 at 10:41 am #72930
                                fata morgana
                                Participant

                                  Poètes en huile
                                  Lack ink, instead
                                  Inc reaps
                                  Then sinks
                                  Its dipstick
                                  While poets toil
                                  With the meaning
                                  Of burning parchment

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