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Daily Poetry

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Mon Oncle Ignatius

22:41 / 05.06.06

Ah! Slayer!
'tis your day of Prayer!

Mighty are your guitars
and powerful your drums
that thrash out the devil's tunes
in praise of speed and doom!

Ah! Slayer!
'tis your natal day of Prayer!

Thunderous the storm
of riffs and chopping skins,
which drives the weak before your ire
consumed by unholy Metal's fire.

Ah! Slayer!
'tis your day of Evil Prayer!

Heads shall bang
And eardrums churn
Grinding from the core
Of six-strung Marshalled planks
most furiously spanked.

Ah! Slayer!
'tis your insane day of Prayer!

United under Satan:
From burnt altars of Norge
to the death-heads of Brasilia.
Salute the rulers of the moshpit!
(and Anthrax were quite shit)

[solo]

None can double-tap or overdrive,
and surmount your Reign in Blood.

[longer solo]

So! Take care!
It's now the day of Slayer!

[FX: windows breaking on a global scale, screams etc.]

00:28 / 13.06.06

adultfriendfinder, adultfriendfinder
Won't you send me a blinder
I won't treat her too harshly
Or look too far inside her
In her mind or her body
No I'm not that type
I won't phone her at the office
And I won't tell my wife.

adultfriendfinder, adultfriendfinder
I was highly impressed
With the lady you sent me
When she got undressed
(I was thinking perhaps I'd be vaguely depressed -
Business hotels on the M25
Can make one question what one's still doing alive)
But no, no problem
I had an erection
While I was perusing the business section
Of the Guardian, that day.

00:10 / 17.06.06

The Second Coming

I remember
there were no knocks
on the door, just
boots, shiny except
for the scuffed toes
wood splintering
like those branches there.
In a house jammed
with furniture
there was nowhere
to hide. They
were not the sun.
But they cast some
kind of brackish light
erased solid objects
with their eyes until
we crouched, naked, before
them. Mother’s whispered
prayers like an underground
brook. They were the
upside-down Jesus
who would come again.

Come at me now
with those same black
boots and razor nicks
on your chins. I
have lived through boot
and fist and hunger.
I take no cover.

04:35 / 25.06.06

KEEP PERILOUS

there are things we keep
we keep something in mind
you can't keep your hands off someone
she can't keep her eyes off someone else
we keep up and move with the times
you cross your fingers and keep a foot in both camps
they keep an open mind
and keep half an eye on something else
to keep her on a tight leash.
our fathers said "keep your wits about you
keep the bastards at arm's length
keep your end up, lad
if you want to keep it in check
keep a civil tongue in your head
keep a grip on yourself
keep a lid on anything that needs a lid
keep a low profile and keep a straight face
keep a tight rein on your vices
keep abreast of changes in your field
and keep after her until she says yes
keep your hero ear to the ground
keep your eye on the brass ring
and keep your other eye on the ground ahead
keep at that mineshaft if you want to keep poverty at bay
keep body and soul together
keep both feet on the ground
keep your chin up
keep your cool
keep something dark
keep someone down
keep faith with others
keep faith with yourself
keep your finger on the pulse
only if it'll keep you from losing yourself in the herd
keep someone guessing, an enemy or a friend or a lover
keep your hands clean and keep your nose clean
and keep them to the grindstone
keep your head above water
keep love in the picture
keep it down
keep your mouth shut
keep your familiars on the edge of their seats and on their toes
keep your own counsel
Keep your pecker up!
and keep someone posted about your pecker
keep your powder dry
keep your shirt on
Keep your shirt on!
keep someone sweet
keep tabs on your portfolio
keep the ball rolling
keep the home fires burning
keep the wolf from the door
keep yourself to yourself
keep some music for yourself
keep track of the years
keep your cards close to your chest and
keep an ace under your hat
keep someone up to regale them
keep up appearances to
keep up with the Joneses
don't let them keep you guessing or keep you in the dark
keep in touch
keep one step ahead
keep a dog and bark yourself
he always said
you can't keep a good man down

20:50 / 02.08.06

and keep this thread near the top - what a lot of creators we are...

well then, another:

a stalactite suspended like calamity calibrating
the lure of another reflective rupture, plush
catastrophe - perspective gathering objective,
agree to grieve - peeling from stone ripping
apart connection, collective anger venting and
shining finally illumination, vision clear from fear
with pawns aligned: past maligned [note the tense]

My Mom Thinks I'm Cool

23:45 / 03.08.06

broken rolling bent and twisted
losing bits of itself as it spins
flies, spills and crashes out of control,
no smooth path this, no longer round it,
sun baking down like a laser beam,
dust and rocks and no shelter from anything,
one great sputtering crash as it's flung higher up
only to land at last gasping on its side, rocking,
swaying, bending, creaking at its beating and then
coming to rest as dust drifts.

slow food for rust, nursing home for spiders,
catcher of distant rain and, perhaps, one day, flower pot.

17:40 / 07.08.06

Embittered and angry with my workplace I spent most of yesterday writing really bad haikus based on my office experience. While they're mostly too bad to post here I did quite like these two:

I cannot advise
the F.S.A forbid it.
Please call your broker.

A mountain of debt
falls upon the unwary.
Frustrated they shriek

paranoidwriter waves hello

22:31 / 12.08.06

I'm not very good at poetry, but this one came almost fully formed today, so I thought I'd pop it in here to tickle your pickle:

Inner Thing

There's something in me
Fighting to get out.
It's in my ribcage,
Hear it thump and shout?

One day it'll escape,
And we'll no longer fight.
Maybe not today,
But who knows...
Maybe tonight?

There's something in me
I try hard to hide;
Guard it with thoughts,
Deep down inside.

One day it'll escape,
And give us a hug.
There's no guarantee,
But who knows...
Maybe... it's love?

Whisky Priestess

10:04 / 14.08.06

More likely to be an Alien, though.

paranoidwriter waves hello

12:42 / 14.08.06

Aye, and I think it's hungry. Don't get too close.

Unconditional Love

00:18 / 15.08.06

In tight unison the calling of his voice flounders.
emotion breaks making the lips bleed.
Every thoguht grates as it rises, he tries desperately to vocalise the sound of unspoken screams.
Moaning escapes from his gut.
His eyes feel nothing.

The movement quickens a sneer.
Teeth ready to bite, tongue to lash
Sitting waiting an echoe of himself falling before him.
Unglazed awareness sharpens its striking intent to consume itself with every notion of pain untold.
Restlessly he is waiting.
A past that will never be.

05:25 / 15.08.06

you've started something, axolotyl...

finance manager
howls like swarming bumblebees
it was only lunch

stapler, red pen, stamp,
highlighters orange yellow
and a cup of tea

truth, like fax machine
transmitting, pages missing,
is no truth at all

13:09 / 24.08.06

Boxes of promise
The world might be inside, Oh!
Another War Book

Elderly lady
'Female Ejaculation?'
Not in stock, sorry

Woman with small kids
'Citizenship' is ten quid
Home Office are scum

Man browsing, once again
Notice says, WOMEN ONLY

paranoidwriter waves hello

13:36 / 25.08.06

Aw... these poems are great (in my untrained opinion), and this is definitely one of my favourite threads to read.

Anyhoo, here's the latest, fully formed, dollop of PW poetry-poo to ooze from my shitty brain (hold your nose):

Life, Love, & Language

Life is good, life is shit;
It's whatever you really think it is.
Love is good, love is shit;
But every body needs a bit.
Language is good, language is shit
It's up to us what we make of it!

(I really want to teach that one to children, so they can annoy their teachers and parents; but don't worry, I won't.)

17:59 / 07.09.06

Wonderful thread, thought I'd try my hand at an addition. This is the shortest thing I've ever done, if it's liked (or not) I'll probably just add more later. It's called:

Purr

Women do curl up,
like cats,
no matter what the feminists say.

23:25 / 13.09.06

Language,
verdant jailor
lush iron bars of consciousness
sweaty, steamy
fogging the window.

(ooooo, it's been a long while for the Zoom.)

23:55 / 13.09.06

Balasthurius, I like that very much. I think it's tender and sweet and young sounding. Post more.

03:18 / 14.09.06

'Zadie Smith'

Zadie, dear Zadie
I am not jealous
I've made my way in the world
I'm am not one of those fellas
Who shows up at your signings
And asks you out for a drink
Then puts my script on the table
And asks what you think
(Twitchy, in glasses
And the thing's in green ink
And then you do have to leave there
Feeling quite odd
Having just realised;
It's written it in blood!)

Zadie dear Zadie,
I'm not like that
I admire your lifestyle
The work and the cats
(The way you've got back at
'All those Oxbridge twats')
The Harvard degree
And the Whitbread prize
That guy from college
That you cut down to size
After he wet the bed.

Zadie, dear Zadie
I'm not that guy at all
(I am doing quite well in corporate law)
I am one of those men who will rise
And not fall

(Although I'd rather you didn't mention this incident again in the national press, man ... Some things are special for college, right?)

Strange Machine Vs The Virus with Shoes

00:36 / 17.09.06

Man

the killer in the sand,

he has his magic wand,

will use it and be gone,

use it when he can,

fear is his plan.

the vermin of his race,

will not ask you your name,

forgives his own disgrace,

subjects you to his hate,

unsure of his place,

will blame you for his fate,

The worm that eats his soul,

will become your load.

with will he inflicts pain,

his prominent domain,

your master you will serve,

until you break his chain.

Be strong or you will break,
underneath his gaze,
if you do not face,
your own pathetic state.

Whisky Priestess

17:27 / 17.09.06

To Mr. Zadie Smith
Oh Nick Laird
Of you I had never haird
(except in the context of your illustrious wife)
Until you published "Utterly Monkey"
Whose title was ironic and strangely sad
Because you look a little bit like one.

02:27 / 19.09.06

i got my first smell of winter today

colder but stonger than summer
easy hard to know

less bright more hidden
in depth and quiet you've given

tommorow's stance in coat and hat

05:34 / 20.09.06

a quiet street
the stillness drifts south
into traffic following one another

to anywhere else,

another dreary commute with a battery at its terminal
sparks of grief at ever having to live
skip skyward and spiral spectacularly

until the close of day,

glad i am here
in the street among its quiet content.

Whisky Priestess

09:47 / 21.09.06

Boot Camp Poetry

Day One: Criticism

a quiet street
the stillness drifts south
into traffic following one another

to anywhere else

KEEP

See, that's the kind of subtle, evocative, melancholic opening I like to see from the men under my command!!!

However:

another dreary commute with a battery at its terminal
sparks of grief at ever having to live
skip skyward and spiral spectacularly

until the close of day,

glad i am here
in the street among its quiet content.

LOSE

I'll give you pointless alliteration, that strained battery metaphor and a hackneyed, lame-ass cliche like "quiet content", soldier!!!
Drop and gimme fifty (heroic couplets)!

ONLY NICE THINGS

09:50 / 21.09.06

WE'RE NOT ALLOWED TO MENTION THAT THEY'RE BAD

Whisky Priestess

13:30 / 21.09.06

Yeah, I know. That guiding principle enshrined in the summary has saved me a lot of time and effort in the past. I just thought this one started off with potential and spunked it up the wall a bit.

(Also, I didn't mention the word "bad", which gets me off, right? ... Right?)

But I will delete my post if you don't find it helpful, Astrojax. Let me know.

04:43 / 26.09.06

behind the cells in repair
the vast house and it's audience

from a wound in his hip
that mansion i found emptied itself before him

someone fetched from my lips
dwellings to spread over their daring

ulcers covered his weight, his feet
that nameless bulk, the standing army

to wander through, always remembering
the potency of presence swept down

Hallo, Paper Spaceboy

03:03 / 29.09.06

THE HAIR IS ANTI-BODY

Body? Body? Are you listening?
I sneeze you from the ends of my follicles,
your sponge fuses and your pores swelter open.
I build genitals dry, and then a face, chest, armpits.
A neck unfurls long and uneven, and I want to scrape it off.

But I can't. I can't control your political growth;
my bodysedan, my bodyshack, my bodybody.

But you? You shuck me, bodyoyster.
You snap my threads off, toss me to the floor.
You have outgrown me. Fucking bodybody –
well, I hate you.
I hate your smooth articulation.
I hate the glopping belly that swells from my treasure trail.
I hate those toes sprouting from my lowest strands.

You cake me in foam, hot sugar, and other chemistries. Slice me away.
I am not sandwich meat, bodybaloney. You are relentless in your plucking!

Night, I kink myself into other hair
and compare bodyportfolios -
the experimental nails and incidental groins.
Unpredictable, an accompaniment. We call this art.
This incident.
This parallel.
This rustling intake.

All Acting Regiment

13:23 / 29.09.06

Where is Bob?
Bob is dead.
A big bird came
And ate his head.

I'm doing a degree in this shit, baby. Better beleive it.

23:14 / 29.09.06

drunk in manchester, again
Odd remembered, quiet sinister friend.

time was long ago, but quite soon to me
I had ago and i had a me. i had a drunk and a funk
I seem i remember me.

07:14 / 30.09.06

sorry, i wandered away for a bit... back now - no, please whiskey p, do continue to give your feedback. i find it illuminating, not least gratifying that it stimulates a response at all, as a writer!

please keep...

this was indeed 'daily'. i composed it in the reply screen, so am happy to get such first impressions.

and no, you didn't say it was bad, so i concur, you are de-hooked!

18:04 / 30.09.06

wandering out of work
wondering light in city in dark
today is quiet and tomorrow a glimpse

water and sky self-complement in each grand design, fine
, quite fine

All that was amiss has run run away for now. let it be far.

yesterday, i remembered in giggles and smiles

but drunken poetry: a bit wank

Hallo, Paper Spaceboy

04:24 / 02.10.06

but drunken poetry: a bit wank

Oh no, the poems have been drinking again;

Dolor grumbles, unable to stand, weighted down
with the pressures of work, unable to shut up
about "the inexorable sadness of pencils,"
the cheap fuck.

John Donne's canon roves in packs, throughout the bar,
trying to pick up Shakespeare's sonnets,
the haiku of Basho,
anything that moves and has rhythm; they whisper on and on
about the sexual bliss of love, "Yes, want a quickie
in the bathroom? Our blood has already mingled."

It's all right;
there's this Western movie backdrop
in the corner,
trying to seduce a cowboy.

These poems, they drink, they drink, they drink,
they fall down, they look hopeless,
they will gossip in the morning,
about whole books of Dorothy Parker, lined up, puking,
Daddy soothing them, monstrous,
horrific in the light of day.

(What? Drunk poetry AND a bit of wank.)

23:54 / 16.10.06

(A little bit of a song I'm writing)

When you look through my TV
Trying to experience some reality
You won't see me
'Cause I'm invisible.

And when you search for me
In your land of golden arches
Nothing's all you'll see
'Cause I'm invisible.

When you run for me
Swooshing by with all your speed
You won't catch me
'Cause I'm invisible.

And when you search the web for me
On your international business machine
The blue screen's all you'll see
'Cause I'm invisible.

(It's a work in progress.)

Hallo, Paper Spaceboy

03:11 / 23.10.06

In the nervous star's well,
crushed & trampled, under heat
the red knight scrapes his feet
along the pavement;
lost track of the dragons
& the damsels he envies.

The red knight knows red
& very little else--
red boots, red gloves, red codpiece,
red mask & red lance.
Red lockpicks, red traffic lights,
red bowling shoes & question marks
written in red ink in red text books
to be returned to the red library on Red Street.
It's like having something in your eye all the time.

O, for a world of food colouring!
O, for bodies dappled with white light!
O, for soft linens and cream walls!
O, for forms signed in triplicate,
on rose, on robin's egg blue, & on lime!

The red knight waits at the bus stop
while the bus sits and sits and sits
on the other side of the intersection,
waiting for the light to change.

17:59 / 13.11.06

Mind if I join in?

Time Being:

Seeing light for the first time again.
Born into this, the world supposedly of men.
You cry and wonder, faced with endless possibilities.
When you are old enough to fathom three dimensions
the world has already grown into you, become part of you.
Everything in it becomes categorized and connected
some machines are deemed defective because they imagine what others do not, can not
But knowing and thinking and connecting is obligatory.
Purgatorial delights, heavenly wonders and demonic frights
All of these await the living, those born into dying
from the first day on crying into a well that can never be filled
Skilled you may become in the ways of the wandering bi-ped.
A head for thinking, weight for sinking and climbing at the same time.
Little wonder, all of your impressions were once mine.
Yet I forgot how the original cold light must shine
into the eyes of one who knows only warmth and comfort
If you are young enough to remember, you are older and wiser than us all.
How perfect to an angel, Heaven must seem, as it falls
down to heed the call of life, as a time being.

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