cant wait mr. trail, i liked the other one very much...i'd like to hear you read though, that would be awesome...with some old guy with his double bass and another jamican guy with bongos or something

And I'll make this final my stand my greatest with three rounds to the head
Another two the chest, and soon you'll fall dead
Marching through the winter's forests an army of nameless, faceless ready to die
Ready to bow to my every whim, indeed, they'll die this night
Our final stand, in the snow, in cold blood and snow boots, for a lover's heart
I shall gladly slaughter every new born for your love, or the love of someone like you
I shall march an army for you, in the rain, and in the snow, and beneath the sun
I'll bomb the stars right of the sky and I'll pierce your flesh with a firefly to illuminate the scars in your eyes
Everything glows red and gold for you tonight, in the fold and behold, you're in a different kind of light
Hopped up on love and snorting the dust of crushed angel wings, a mass of Heavenly Kings help me fight for your affection
Raped by the beast of this dramatic love scene, I'm brought to my knees as my heart is washed clean
Scraped of all the smiles, injected with lies from the silver barrel
My time to suck it up and take it like a man to see one more smile across that pretty face before I shove it through a window

Two and two are
formed in the mindless ramblings of incoherent slumber
never to remain whole
neither to fall apart
to change
is now little more than a footnote on the memoirs of human existance
why adapt
when surroundings are altered at the click of a
buttoned down formality

where once sat the mind now sits this
blind instablity
lurks behind a representation of the heart
felt cries of the wanderer

in compacted prose meaning is expanded ten
fold your clothes
pack your bag
re enter the artistic exhibition of grey
mono
toned down

mark your territory and revert to sleep
for irish eyes smile without comprehension
to the unaware
a rose
a rose
by any
other name

BUMPer to BUMPer Driving!!

ignite the flames of passion inside,
for i promise this is all i have to say tonight.
a hounded point of existence is all i've ever found,
and i've seen the likes of the very edge...
"come feast at my banquet," he says, allowing us to cope with what we have,
or to say goodbye-
and remain nameless and blessed outside of death.
take your pivot as you move up and down the stairs of the saga we take our very breaths in.
your's and mine, our silhouettes stare blankly on toward another direction.
what if it was to be the right choice?
you are hit like another shot of vodka, that intoxicates to the drinker's death. it deadens the toll, just to reap it's ugly benefit.
they laugh at this comedy;
but you are ashamed, because this comedy -
is your sanity.


eh, whatever. I love beat poetry though.

very nice stuff. i really like this thread.

the work on here is in many ways much much better than all the lyric stuff
maybe it has to do with the whole "free your mind" stuff that gaslight is talking about

[QUOTE=Thevermiciousknid]the work on here is in many ways much much better than all the lyric stuff
maybe it has to do with the whole "free your mind" stuff that gaslight is talking about[/QUOTE]

So...do you like my second one?

i like all of your work alot. how about my second one, the experimentation with punctuation?

If you're referring to Whim On!...it messed with my head, dude. I honestly couldn't follow it:(.

:thumb:

well it is meant to just be a mood poem...what general word describes it? and im sorry if it wasnt true beat poetry. :D

TrailofTragedy: I thought the ending to the second one was so awesome, as was the rest. Did you read any of mine? was it any good?

[QUOTE=Thevermiciousknid][I]the last one was really well done, lemme have a go:[/I]


"move past me" remarks the the thousand demons shimmering at the end of her smoldering cigarette, a smoldering dream.
yeah, we knew each other once, but train tracks threw us apart, and the rusted hinges couldnt roll again, again across fields.
the fields, places where smiling fawns through blankets over our eyes, when we did move past them, and the thought only of their dance.
so in love they were, with the clapping of hoves, on the hills, laced with the earthy musk of your unlit ashes, of my innocence.
but like the sun, innocence had its brother, the moon and naivety, and that was when brush fire took our fawns, took them.
now they refuse to dance "not with the sun in our eyes" they demand, not with smoke in our lungs.
coughing, you slip me a note, crinkled as my soul, lashed by tormented lonliness, left were windy sidewalks start.
the letters can't spring, broken ankles, doctor's trips leave them lifeless, like you, and oh so many cigarettes.
coughing, you fake a smile for me, "we were young". ya, but it doesn't mean we danced with someone elses' feet,

does it?

[I]there, thats all i got
.....i wasn't even thinking, my eyes were shut the whole time[/I][/QUOTE]



Don't know about the cigarette references...just doesn't seem, I don't know, right?

"yeah, we knew each other once, but train tracks threw us apart, and the rusted hinges couldnt roll again, again across fields."

Definitely my favorite line.

"but like the sun, innocence had its brother, the moon and naivety, and that was when brush fire took our fawns, took them."

Good stuff too :)

bump this shizza, yo!

We need more input into this thread, people!!! Hopefully I'll have another up by the end of the weekend.

I will be posting something later tonight.

It's a shortcut to getting my English Extension Assessment done :p.

This isn't sure enough
The way we move in the air
It makes me clutch at my chest
And doubt gravity

Sure enough
We align ourselves between the flight paths of telegraph wires
And dotted lines on highways that pattern this city
Streetlights that hang their heads low
And weakly collapse their light onto cracked pavements
As our footsteps fade
And every dying footstep takes a person with it

Somewhere, sure enough, redbrick walls are bathed in grey
And beneath an attic window there's a room that you've seen in your dreams
And even if romanticism is nothing but the fantasies of lonely minds
Logistics state both that it must exists and that you'll never know for sure

[i]Short but I'm tired...[/i]

Gaslight, that was nothing short of amazing! I'm turning this into a competition of sorts:p. My next one will, hopefully, top yours, hehe.

It might even [i]beat[/i] mine.

:amaze:








[size=1]I'm very sorry.[/size]

[QUOTE=joshmay41465]:thumb:

well it is meant to just be a mood poem...what general word describes it? [/QUOTE]

crap



quite possibly the poorest excuse for poetry I have seen here so far.

Are you trying to trick us into thinking you're artsy or something?

And that is quite possibly the most unnecessary and most idiotic post I have ever seen. Let's see your input into this thread, shall we? And if you looked at Joshmay's other postings(songs for example) they are very, very good. Very original, creative, and deep.

He's just having a little fun, so leave him alone. You are the exact reason why I should be allowed to carry a gun:).

[QUOTE=gaslight]It might even [i]beat[/i] mine.

:amaze:








[size=1]I'm very sorry.[/size][/QUOTE]

Ahahaha. Good one...







:lol:

3rd grade had just finished
I walked home from school
with my care bear doll against my side

I met Christie in the park near my house
Wandering around as we began to talk
About the episode of power rangers on

And then with a endearing phrase
My breath was taking away
she said "It's a beautiful day isn't it?"

and i began to say "Yeah but.."
but was cut off with..
"Why ruin it?"


..i don't know if it is beat poetry or not..

thank you very much trail :D

too bad he saw through my plot of posting metrical punctuation to get people to think im artsy! *drats, now how shall i achieve my plan of world domination?*

[/evil laughter]

and yep, i have to say that guy is, if not an idiot, very immature and uninformed.

:-* to all my lyrical buddies, i love you all :)

This thread did pick up pretty nicely over time :thumb:.

Pixiesfanyo, I don't see why it wouldn't be.

[QUOTE=joshmay41465]thank you very much trail :D

too bad he saw through my plot of posting metrical punctuation to get people to think im artsy! *drats, now how shall i achieve my plan of world domination?*

[/evil laughter]

and yep, i have to say that guy is, if not an idiot, very immature and uninformed.

:-* to all my lyrical buddies, i love you all :)[/QUOTE]


pfff just because I don't like your poetry means I'm immature.

I thought gaslight's was good, I didn't really like Thevermiciousknid's though.

I mean honestly, what were you trying to accomplish with that puncuation poem of yours?
all it was was "flow, go, there and everywhere" with a lot of puncuation marks.
you could have at least attempted to write something slightly poetic, or used half-words or sounds or anything besides some line taken out of a grade school poetry assignment. Ultimately that poem has no soul to it, and that is why it is bad, and that is why it seems fake (poserish).

The Face of Masochism

he burns
like rhetorical statements that you don't understand
he seizes your face by the other's demand.
you build your own pyre, stack the stones up so high-
the provoked fuel inflames, engulfing the sky.
memory of melodies saturate your thoughts
and past grudges blister the mercy you sought.
insolence, not innocence, has brought you this end
he stares twisted, the deviant guise he bends.
too many times have you been victim to his lure-
and now; now he is laughing with utmost rapture.
your skin is screaming, but not louder than your heart
though silently you wish you could take back your part
"too late, it's too late!" he murmers in your ear
his whispers become your screams- it's the only thing you hear
it's flowing out from in you, your life spilt before the flame
your lungs churning from the toxin though they try, could not tame.
the smoke in your mouth quickly scalds your tongue quiet
the others heard the words, but they refuse to buy it.


it's not really finished, but there you go
-bek

[QUOTE=lulled_clone]pfff just because I don't like your poetry means I'm immature.

I thought gaslight's was good, I didn't really like Thevermiciousknid's though.

I mean honestly, what were you trying to accomplish with that puncuation poem of yours?
all it was was "flow, go, there and everywhere" with a lot of puncuation marks.
you could have at least attempted to write something slightly poetic, or used half-words or sounds or anything besides some line taken out of a grade school poetry assignment. Ultimately that poem has no soul to it, and that is why it is bad, and that is why it seems fake (poserish).[/QUOTE]


well i appreciate your opinion more, now, but the poem was to convey a sense of mayhem and movement, and if you notice the patterns in the punctuation, but yet how they constantly change, and then the way the words seem like they are running away from you as you read them, i feel it establishes a mood of being on a new york city sidewalk during lunch hour.

thats just my interpretation. no need to be so harsh if you disagree.

These wings are made of construction paper and duct tape
Suspending me high above my pain with piano wire and razor blades
Flying, soaring, over the fantasy worlds in this makeshift fairy-tale
My happy ending comes with slit wrists and a bloody love to call my own
Bombard my world with tears and valentines full of day old chocolate
I knew your love could never be fresh and new...
But I don't hold that against you...
Marching on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on
Will we ever stop? Or will we continue to climb for our highest peak in which both of us are smiling?
I don't ever think we'll see that sun, or sleep beneath that moon because we're too different
You're life
I'm death
Although we go hand in hand we could never be together...

the wall
the fall
earth came crashing down
with a bump!!

:)

i havent checked this in ages, and the wonderful poetry just keeps tumbling in. I have been working on post modern poetry on my own, and i'm posting some of it (seeing as its all about 10 lines), although it might not really count as beat poetry (gaslight, does it?)


shimmering veils, that are hands
or formally clenched fists
if you knew them
unjeweled
would you still give them life.
dark coats in closets,
are carcasses from the feast
filled with the stuff of all-
the wolf's milk,
suffered onto the two trojans
who arms ached for her patterned fur.
but they were simply being
fattened

thats one, if it counts, I'll do another

'nother bump, I should have another entry tonight. HOPEFULLY.

[QUOTE=joshmay41465]well i appreciate your opinion more, now, but the poem was to convey a sense of mayhem and movement, and if you notice the patterns in the punctuation, but yet how they constantly change, and then the way the words seem like they are running away from you as you read them, i feel it establishes a mood of being on a new york city sidewalk during lunch hour.

thats just my interpretation. no need to be so harsh if you disagree.[/QUOTE]

ok, but isn't New York loud and busy.. I wouldn't think "flow" and "whim" describe it very well, but I guess I could see how the punctuation could create a feeling of chaos... but quiet chaos.
It seems like it would be better if you used that to describe a scene where everyone is unsettled or startled or offended or something, but no one says anything about it... like maybe if a preacher said something offensive during a sermom, but no one wants to say anything about it.. (you could use the poem to target the close-mindedness of a certain religion... and how no one says anything for fear of being labeled as a non-believer or something like that.. I don;t know)





meh, it's your poem

i love you now! :D

you put into words what i was trying to say...haha. an uncomfortable shifting...yes. i couldn't describe it like i wanted to....you did. good job.

Bump, **** not being able to have time to post another!!

If anyone missed it, Joshmay is our new mod.

Beatnik Party

:chug:

congrads, and a bump

I write beat poetry.

It looks better on paper than in real life,
The story of my life,
Cut this message with a letter knife,
Lord,
You've put me through so much strife,
So many interludes,
And stop-start patterns,
All these hidden clues,
That drag out and flatten,
Dim the lights so I can see the river flow,
Praise you with my lifeblood,
If I could only be allowed to grow,
And you and I, we have the kind of silence,
That begs no applause and feeds no violence,
To soothe the aches in eyes of those who've been trying,
Too long,
Tired of dying,
Being reborn just to hear,
The angels chanting the same songs,
Strutted in the gardens of lordlings,
Caught the breaths of pixies,
And the strangest things,
Of these I sing,
Of these I've heard,
When all your fairytales come true,
Don't waste me, doll,
I'll be waiting,
If not for you,
I'll smile and pretend I do,
I'm good at that,
I know you know,
Stories chatter,
Phone calls interrupt,
I'm drunk on words, yet I can't think,
Relocate a single vowel,
Split ends tore to make a point,
Leaving souls disemboweled,
Crawled out from under rocks was my style,
Now we travel,
To a different end,
A different need,
To a thoughtless start,
A sprouting seed,
A circle of friends should be like a shrubbery: close-cropped and ornamental.

The sparrow comes flying in whispers,
Of wisps in the willows,
And squalls on the crystal pond.
I am the superfluous subterfuge that blankets your rhyme,
I am clouded in message,
Accusation,
Unholy,
Has splintered will call now,
And sing us a song,
What ran,
Stakes,
Along,
In hours of oceans in eons of sleep,
Will plan out erratic and fall on its face,
And clocks in these poems,
Like plastic produced,
Misguided, misused,
Like lies where they fused,
This young here be old,
Come on, cane down and look at me,
Spectral like a land claim,
I am veiled in scorn.
Static pastiche in kitsch,
And blue-eyed is wrong again,
These murals are songs again,
When the new here comes back,
And the new spirit fades,
In juke joint bars,
And castle yards,
Prefix this threat with a valentine,
Suffix this blessing with a knife.
Fatal all I ever was,
In times of turmoil,
Alliances of passive stance,
And tuned the war drum,
Pitched in graves,
To make up a hymn to rally the slaves,
And stake them high on cerebral lies and celebrity names,
To raise the common to credited streets,
And golden sidewalks stare again,
Shut the **** up and sit the **** down,
Drains lurk freeways,
Skies too much,
So just look to the ground,
Hope will engulf itself,
But that and oxymoron,
For hands of strength to shelter you,
And lights of life to guide you,
It's written in blood upon the tabloids.

we're only one bullet away from making the front page
we could be the Romeo and Juliet of the 21st century
poison replaced by bullets and swords replaced by guns
TV monitors arcoss the nation can watch our public display of affection
gather the family round, folks, for something you won't soon forget
one kiss for me, one kiss for her, and two shots to the head
pass the round and then the body bag
let's play russian roulette and blame our deaths on cupid
rest your head on my shoulder amd I promise everything will be alright
maybe I can catch the ricochet of your shot and won't have to watch you die
let's throw caution to the wind and our heads to the side
backlash never looked so appealing as it does right now
rest in peace beautiful, I'll see you in Heaven

one I used for my english project (my teacher brought in his bass and played it while i read, too cool :thumb: )


whispering through cocaine, to dribble
slurred, unheard words on the mushrooms
that sprout from the
dark moss that litters the said rocks

or had they been said, or chalked into places
where the beady eyes of a inquiring wander can look

"by god! he has no feet!"

[I]thats right,[/I] says the man with no heart
and they ponder, swirls of their own pain
rise into a crushing waze, thats slides
out, into a sea of contempt

he can only lie, binded with his lacking
while a blue reminds him who led to his
death, one that was also held into place
but not yet by the chock

"how can these skyscrapers hold themselves up?"

[I]well they don't[/I], its the borrowed money and
ashes, that stirred will be a cloud
one we rememeber as fish n chips

unallowed, when pieces of coloured glass, shatters,
lines the bowels of the empty heart
they will replace life
so that our feetless shapes, curved
shall rely on our growing
enthusiasm

for our lovely mushrooms


good day :wave: