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Daily Poetry

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13:11 / 15.11.06

ATTENTION, ATTENTION
ATTENTION, ATTENTION
You need it all the time.
You want more,
Attention whore.
All you, all the time.

No, really,
Go ahead...

You are just so - special.
Don't let me intterupt you.
Not you.
Not me.
No, no...

I'll sip my tea,
And wait...
For attention to fall onto an unlit corner,
Of your special self.

11:01 / 19.11.06

[attention whore mode]

In her heart, I did perceive
the chance to grant me one reprieve
In which I could no longer deceive
myself of all her glory

Of her lips, I did then glean
the chance of finding love unclean
In which she could not be mean
and tell me swiftly hurry

By her voice, I did then hear
the chance for her to draw me near
In which to drown, in oceans clear
and never to say; "I'm sorry"

Through her skin, I did know real
the chance to enter, rob and steal
In which my neck the rope would feel
and rats at my feet scurry

From her eyes, I did then gather
the day of my death, - should I let her? -
In which there will be a rather
messy end to our story

[/attention whore mode]

10:20 / 21.11.06

A severed head laughing madly
a wall of bricks looking sadly
out on wasted fields.
Here nothing shields one from insanity:
a bird lost in vanity
is carried feather and tail dying by locusts
on their way to even darker places
they will leave of the bird no traces
but a lingering reflection of surprise

Two bird eyes captured just before death,
what a strange dimension...this time and space traveller has found
Here death comes in reversed sounds
and tactile colours... odours of nothing
permeate the air while trees grow hair
and fires freeze in mid-combustion

On a particularly unabandoned junction
the traveller finds eyeless beggars and earless kings
Somewhere, another severed head sings a song of love disembodied
Up is left to withering mathematical equasions.
Invasions of disgruntled mascots and clowns
Bears made into coffeegrounds and a lonely circus tent stands,
upside down...

If this place has a mind, the traveller wonders,
it must be strange indeed to imagine such wonders...

A knowing Deity smiles and flips a switch

22:55 / 23.11.06

She is all that I am,
She is all that I know.
It is from Her I come,
And back to Her I will go.

I am a snowflake in Her avalanche,
On Her beach, a grain of sand.
I am but a leaf in Her stoic branches,
And putty in Her hand.

She is all that I am,
She is all that I know.
It is from Her I come,
And back to Her I will go.

In whatever form She manifests,
She pulls me closer to Her breast,
She orders then life's harshest tests,
And for love I do my best.

She is all that I am,
She is all that I know.
It is from Her I come,
And back to Her I will go.

01:17 / 28.11.06

a quickie:

t'is whispered, never said
, for such words in hearts do dread,
that on nights of the bloody moon,
the dead reach out for the living...

"Folly!" say the answer-giving
"Tales for old wives and fools,
spun on ancient beliefs and fear"
Yet whenever such a night draws near
even men of science cling to their beloved...

20:07 / 03.12.06

posted by sine: a long time ago methinks

ARTHE MOONOUNG

I WILL REST EASY
OFT PLEASANT
A PERFECT SILENT SERVANT OF THE MOMENT

I WILL STAY COOL
QUELL RECALL
NO SOULWALL OF SYMMETRICAL STEEL DEATHKNELLS

NOT RINGISH WRONG OR ABOG HEADLONG
NOR A GALLIRING BAGDOG BLEEDAN GONE
FOR A STITCHSEEP IS A KEEPSELL
AND IT KANS DROPSHARP OVER ARFOOLS
DONE AND OVER

FOR A MOURNFUL MORTAL MOUTHFULLA GRAVELMIRTH
IN NINETEETH DEATHIETH GRIPPED
AND A MODISH GLENDALOUGH WICKETORN CHANED
AND WICKMODISH INNARDS RIPPED

IF MY SPIRIT OFFS AND ROUGHALONGLAUGH
SHE SIGHS AND SHIGH AND THATCHFORTH
IN WARMURKETH WRATH AND FIENDFLASH HATH
YET REST EDO AND ACHESEASY

BY THY MIRTHNOTCH FOR TURKLARK
AND THY ROSEMARKEN SLEEKSPEAK
FOR SWEET MOONOUNG I SING
WARD THE BLEAKBREAK MASK
OF HEART-DRUNKIST REPAST
AND THE DIMURK PYRE KNIGHTLITE

O TIRESOME NOTE
O LONESOME ECHO
O DARKSOMMUN RAFT OF POLYPHEME ROAME
O SHAMELESS LUME OF THE ROWLANG HECKLER
MAKETH SUMPRIME OF JUNGLEN HOME

ASAIL FULLUP
THAT OBEDDENT ZAUSTFROST
THRICECROST, WIND-STIRRUP'D AND WILD
A THRONEAGOLD ARCHYHIGH
PILEUNDER A SCRABBING SKY
BUILT HOLY ALONCE FOR A GELDED CHILDGOD
THERE THROBBERY AND BOYHOOD BLOODED
TRANSFERRED UNCHANGED AND UNLAGGARD
TRANSFERROUS UNHAGGARD BY THE WORD UNFADED
AND BYWORD UNFACED
LEFT BEHINDMOST OUR CRYE:

sailan an Anall! An for theo
In avege de, O Anthe Moonoung!
She isma! SHE ISMA!
AVEGE DE SHE ISMA!
sailang an Anall fen an Anthe Moonoung!

THERE TANFANGLED IT ONWARD FEELTH
ERID GE WILD FARFARWAYNOW
PORUNG DU THAY AND AWAY BY CORR-O-DIR
AND A MODISH GLENDALOUGH
BUT I WILL REST EASY
EDO AND ACHESEASY
WHENST OFFISH THE LOWING RUNG
BUT I WILL REST EASY
EDO AND ACHESEASY
AND SING FOR SWEET MOONOUNG

Wow, I got goosebumps, and it's been a good while...

Once again, rambling:

"Elitist"

The random strains of idiot thought:

(and their laughter annoys me still)

We were on a bus, in a bus
when travelling whence we came
And the four of them sat drunken
loud, indignant in their frame

of mind the driver they proclaimed
either a nice guy or a whore.
Within the span of sixty minutes
the horror of stupidity,

became real so much more.

The laughter of the laughless,
in reaction to something, unfunny still,
has angered me so many times
and incited the urge to kill.

A question posed inside of me:

"Do they constitute the silent majority?"

, sent shivers down my spine.

Hallo, Paper Spaceboy

17:18 / 05.12.06

The sneeze must be
seductive

not blatant
or kinetic

demure and maybe
understated

curled under like
a prawn

10:10 / 06.12.06

Happy

This milk it comes from happy cows
This meat from happy pigs
And the piggy’s house was built, you know,
Out of many happy twigs

The crops come from happy farmers
Who happily farm their fields
While the happy sun shines down on them
And a happy burglar steals

This world was made from happy molecules
The happy universe as well
All of Heaven is made out of happiness
And happiness is made in hell

We are made of happy DNA
And we’re happily splicing genes
Consider that there is only happy death
And happy dying scenes

Happy is the way
Happy is the word
Happy is the fly that buzzes
On the happy turd

If you look at the world
And all it’s happy skies,
You‘ll see that happy is the way of life
And the way of our demise

Varily Yeay! Happily gay
With happy we are surely blessed
Never once go out of your way
To leave someone depressed

As a closing thought you might have guessed
The happy author’s intentions:
Of all that massive Creation has wrought:
Happy, surely, are all its inventions?

15:01 / 07.12.06

Silence drives by here,
More often steers clear,
Drink a bottle o' beer,
Wonder if I am gay.

That face you wore then,
You do remember when?
Always did pretend,
So, I stole it for a mask.

The sixteen blackbirds,
Flew by in your words,
I know it seems absurd,
But they really had to know.

Staggered path in sand,
Thoughts made of island,
Didn't count on them,
As they all do disappear,

Dancing around in,
The mask of our sin,
And you reflect in,
The image in the pool.

Ye wanted to see,
In your vanity
An enternity
Now thou is stuck here with thee.

11:41 / 10.12.06

Broken Theatre

Too long slept I
inside the broken theatre
by the ocean’s restless tide

When the eyes of my beloved
were not yet upon me;

I felt cold sand beneath me
all around me, a smothering salted grave
Then saving grace bestowed
upon me her gift of life renewed

Through fluttering swift rescue,
a butterfly’s wings
whispered things of mornings
never dreamt before in the dull longing time

I left the broken theatre
to belong once and forever
to a new kaleidoscopic world

Where, in eyes everchanging
, was reflected a boundless river
, a shiver contained a thousand nights
for the light we held together

08:57 / 11.12.06

Peel back your tear encrusted sheets
like a freshly plough field
Listen to the inland gulls wheel

each day you rise from the furrow
like a weed, each night chopped down
naively, in belief you may flower

Pull up your roots, out of the chalk
down the valley, the grey welsh slate
sky carries less weight

20:15 / 13.12.06

Awful:

I Sherwood like your Forrest
I'm Rob in your 'hood

22:43 / 15.12.06

It is the teething dragon
Listen to the wail
Flasking by the gallon
Internment of the tale

Bones a' movin 'round the track,
per customer demand
Must be tending to the rack, now,
entrails filled with sand

Border Monkey Accident
Water Taken Mother
Father is Assassin Send
Mining of a Bother

17:23 / 18.12.06

Cards lying not
Conductor of life present
Taken from the endless road
Medication prays for rain

Cards lying not
Dedicated to dissent
Shaken from a fading dream
To fall into life again

Worry not, nonetoomuch
There is a present waiting

21:42 / 20.12.06

Nessy sleepses

The mind requires rest
yet the night can not supply it
One thought haunts like a pest
yet the mind can not deny it

Left and right bring the same unease
there's no making peace tonight
Across the ceiling are the many bees
and terror gnomes dig deep inside

The body requires rest
yet no sleep will supply it
One thought haunts only to detest
yet the mind cannot deny it

The rolling of the pains
leave drained the fragile being
Repetition proves too big a strain
and of doubt there is no freeing

13:49 / 27.12.06

Weird al ain't got nothing on me.
My humble apology.

To the tune of: "Losing my religion"

Oh life, is fleeting,
it's fleeting like you
and you are like me
The lengths that I must measure
from head to all toes
Oh no, I've seen too much
I inspect the dead

That's me i'm a coroner
That's me in a morgue
And corpses are my profession
Trying to keep up with death
And I knew that I could do it
Oh, known all along
But you have to be strong
I thought that I heard one laughing
I thought that I heard one sing
I think I thought I saw one cry

Ever recording
Every waking hour I'm
constantly in session
Trying to keep up with death
All dead are wise and fools, fools
Maybe I'm working too much
I inspect the dead
Consider this
Consider this
Some look almost alive
Consider this
Almost too alive
to have been real
What if all the newly deceased
come flailing around?
I'm working too much
I thought that I heard one laughing
I thought that I heard one sing
I think I thought I saw one cry

But it was just a dream
when I heard one scream

20:04 / 28.12.06

Losing My Mortician?

13:59 / 04.01.07

Apart from the latest (the not so funny spoof of a very overrated r.e.m. song), I wanted to ask if anyone would be willing to provide (constructive) criticism on any of the poems I posted here. I'm trying to find out what I might be doing wrong and what I might be doing right poetry-wise. I usually write in dutch, but I'm keen on improving my skills in english creative writing as well.

An older one (to keep it on topic)

Signaling the dying friend,
motioning him forward.
Onto the stinking grassy greens,
where both our lives must end.

Come with me, dear friend,
and let us die together.
For it is without question,
we both are struck by this affliction.

The affliction that brought us to vomit lies,
lies in many stinking mounds.
The curse upon our backs to haunt us,
make all love suspect and dead all hope.

No knife or rope to save us
Knife to cut off cursed tongue.
No knife or rope to save us
Rope to quickly end it all.

On these stinking grassy greens
we must in silent sorrow sit.
Now friends, betrayed by jealousy
know only death make end to it.

00:13 / 07.01.07

[emode]

Are his dreams the signs of things to come
or reflections of times past?
The endless drone of thoughts in mind
, mind always the long run.

Are the tears he, so reluctantly, sheds
for memory, or future?
The streams that well up deep inside
, side always with the one.

Are his actions worth remembering
or drops to a great bonfire?
The words that never leave his heart
, heart always the home.

Are the worries he, too often, shares
for woman, or mankind?
The solitude that has its reasons
, reasons always: "alone".

18:56 / 10.01.07

Inside the travelling cage,
a little kitten meows.
Transported from her home,
to hunt for mice in kitchen.

The travelling cage is carried
by a lonely aging man.
Whose hair is white as tampons
lying in the fallen snow.

Inside the travelling cage,
a little kitten purrs.
Covered in a blanket
and dreaming of the hunt.

The travelling cage is moving
to Copper's field by train.
The old man coughs politely
a young man sits oblivious.

Inside the travelling cage
a little kitten stirrs.
Shaken by the sudden stop
and screeching of the rails.

The travelling cage is carried
with care and with compassion.
By the old man whose knees are bent
whose wife no one dares mention.

Inside the travelling cage
a little kitten cowers.
From the cold wind breathing in
flakes that melt on blanket.

The travelling cage has reached
a home to call a home.
The old man's place for memories
is greeted with new life.

Inside the travelling cage
a little kitten jumps
As the door that slowly opens
reveals the entire world

Hallo, Paper Spaceboy

01:36 / 12.01.07

dressed up and
made up and
strung up for
all to see; rosy cheeks
and swaggeringly-slick tongue out,
"How do you do?"

or worlds, suspended,
trollopy worlds jellied
and served with
tiny bug-eyed people in tubes:
oh, alien-pops, dime-dozen
and delicious, certainly, especially,
the grape-flavoured ones.

02:03 / 12.01.07

Phriar and Papers, you have made my evening. Thank you.

14:27 / 14.01.07

Jack purred "rofl"

The words of a great are changed.
I wish I could have written them
so dearly,
so clearly.
But for now I must consign myself
to irrespectful plagiarism:

Speaking of the tired age, the wrinkling of the skin,
a man growing older, perhaps desiring not to know.
Speaking of the women, and itching for the past
a man growing older, starts to question how,

and why his age now shows itself,
where before the ladies watched,
and never saw him quietly sitting there
while speaking of dead painters

Knowing for name to have been known
he wanders through obscurity park.
Knowing for his light to have shown,
he feared no less, and found no rest
in slow decay to dark

He dreams himself upon the beach,
yet can not hear a mermaid sing,
to sing for him alone.

He dreamt himself upon the beach,
yet found no safe hold therein,
and returned only to drown.

Brought back by voices,
speaking of dead painters.

03:42 / 15.01.07

She lost the ring, that was once mine to give
I found it in Luik, or as the french say Liége

As I think back, I can't help but wonder
if the purpose of that ring, was to be given to others
,to stay on slender fingers for duration of one love
,to get lost when that love died, in order to pass on

in search of love to signify
in search of love that wouldn't die

And I can't help but wonder, where that ring has gone
, and whose slender finger in silvery bands it holds...

03:58 / 15.01.07

In Somnia, we'll meet again
as we have met before...
Endless nights of consciousness
, who could ask for more?

In Somnia, we'll breathe again
as sand defies our waking eyes.

In Somnia we'll write again
as we have written before
Another morning comes to bless
the darkness of our shore

In Somnia we'll fight again
against the tides of sleeping life.

10:22 / 16.01.07

Far beyond salvation and
nowhere near the light.
Trapped in circles without end,
lost without a guide.

Whereto? he asks,
and listens not
to answers from a dream.

Whereto? he asks,
and sees not
that he holds the reigns.

Riding ages on the dark carriage
always hurrying near the edge.
Unable to change selfdefeating ways
for fear of life and death.

Why me? he asks,
and hears not
that he need not really fear.

Who am I? he asks,
and learns not
that he's not really here.

Far beyond his own undoing and
inside the worry binding.
He travels along the same dark ranges
himself forever blinding.

Who can save the frightened man,
from the fears he thinks his deepest self?

12:45 / 16.01.07

TITLE: Ed & Aunt June
AUTHOR: Mike Phillips

There’s fever in the air
Just below the timber line
There’s fever in the room
Way below the poverty line

You see, in the trees
All you trust is your 14-inch, low definition dream
All you trust is your Appalachian, low-repetition dream

He came in the middle of the night
She wanted to make sure everything was just right
Red curtains, checkerboard room
Fever in the head becomes fever in the womb

No ski masks needed, no silent alarm
Just some good old-fashioned Purple Mountain charm

Hallo, Paper Spaceboy

02:21 / 17.01.07

They fire the rockets late at night.

Hundreds of them, silver-slipped
and igniting atmosphere
from hundreds of secret launchpads.

Swamps. Deserts. Grassy veldts.
Animals, low to the ground, awaken
and raise their heads (so slow by comparison).

Something has changed.

It's up from here.

04:14 / 17.01.07

bored at work.

no rain.

suddenly... o, just a light flickering in the empty store-room.

Hallo, Paper Spaceboy

19:52 / 17.01.07

Books come in
Books go out
Pulp tide sways

10:42 / 18.01.07

Coughy and Severits

Hungover, all the world tastes like ashes
The flash of a candle behind closed eyes
is a newly discovered cure.

Hungover, you slide from a sweatstained mattress
The harrasment of senses through audible light
is a tough welcome to endure.

At first, the world is two small slits,
before it turns into a raging storm.
Alas, you have to face it, as
no one can suspend time and space forever.

12:06 / 18.01.07

I wrote this one for someone, anyone on my online dating site. I'm looking for a girlfriend/partner/wife, sick of being lonely. Do you think she will like it?

"Thoughts of You"

Days will pass and my mind will wonder,
how long alone I should wander?
From place to place, abroad aplenty,
I always come back and my own nest is empty.

These thoughts of you are with me then;
And I realise my life needs you for Zen.
Let's make a pact to keep it simple
I'll love you whatever, never mind the pimple!
I will be traveling again to far off lands
Alone once more, but with your love in my hands
I'll keep it fresh, and safe from harm
Until I return and wrap you in my arms.

Send me a kiss and I will tell you how,
These thoughts of you are with me now.

Blondeguy73 2007

12:18 / 18.01.07

MMMmmmm, some really nice stuff in here. Tis good for the soul.

15:08 / 18.01.07

To the tune of "Love & Marriage"

Love and Eris,
Love and Eris,
Go together like a horse and carriage!
This I tell you fucker.
You can't have one without the other!

yes, I know it is not a stunning piece, but it is running through my mind like a big joke.

ONLY NICE THINGS

15:34 / 18.01.07

Phriar: After lengthy discussion, it was mandated that criticism of poems posted to "Daily Poetry" was not allowed, to preserve it as a safe place where people could show off their babies, even if those babies were not the prettiest. We could start another, criticism-invited poetry thread,though...

That said, Johnleespider, a word of advice:

I'll keep it fresh, and safe from harm

I know that you are talking about her heart, but to be honest my immediate response was that you had changed the subject to your penis. Just sayin'.

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