poetry

[Freakboy]

we shoul all start writing poetry and stuff this message board is getting boring and its NEUTRAL MILK HOTEL so dont let it get boring!!!

my poetry is about 9/11

Within the smoke and dust and pain
one positive feeling still remains;
the feeling that we cannot give in.
the feeling we cannot sit
down and watch this happen again.

Within the rush and speed and sound
one positive thought still sticks around.
that before the world caves in
We'll be safe and sound with family & friends
and keep our chins up
so we can once again laugh out loud
And show all the world that wonderful sound
And then, once again stand tall and proud.

Within the sirens and bells and tears
I refuse to live in hate and fear.
There must be some sort of lesson here.
There must be a reason somewhere near.
Is this punishement by god?
for not loving eachother enough?
Or is this a punishment by the rest of the world
For always acting so tough?
I don't think I'll ever know
And I will never care.
Because as long as we all continue to glow
I can avoid the darkness of darkness's stare.

[nice man washing]

Interim dreams of sad, mocking lowing
As blessed blooms die slowly
In a stale room.

You see me, oh mistress of choking,
Let the red flowing sky breathe,
Highly, growing.

Wank, wank, wank in a cup.

[axelrod gunnerson]

Got to stop this empty calorie intake,
I'm going to switch to diet.
Those sugars, those carbs, that fat
hugs my muscle, my bones.
With tears in their eyes crying
I love you I love you I love you
Out- out!
I am Twiggy. I am Roseanne Barr.
I am woman
hear me vomit.

[axelrod gunnerson]

Dirt and soot underfoot
Several swine basted in wine
Gorge and engorge
Live till you cry
Cremate all the creampuffs
Inseminate all the magistrates
Invigorate till the cravings emigrate
And so do you

Your ash is the last in the trash
The forest fire is to be admired
Lying in its own shit, but we forget that that is fertilizer.
The trees have retired,
but recruitment is looking good, especially in a few years

[Harnk]

Legs long as the Winter is grey
Eyes green as the broccoli you peddled
Arms so generous, you give then away
On a distant moon you happily settled

~ Harnk Lethargene

[Harnk]

Silk swathed soldiers
Shifting in the stirrups
Salty sword stabbings
Soaking in syrup

Solitary sex solutions
Silent salty sauce
Squirming in the battlefields
Solidifying trust

[William]

the sexcock pupils of a child deer
splashing
in the windsheild
the organic shapes of her organs
in a kalidescope of glass and metal
sirens and gravel
holy fucks
shrouded
with the christ-stained intentions
of ambulance bleeps.

[auxiliaryoctopus]

20

The number twenty stood monolithic,
a giant squid which I had seen
on the wall of the zoo
orange and large
and twenty.

These I reckoned as the largest of things,
the squid and the twenty,
and for me they became the same,
so even now twenty-dollar-bills
have many arms
and squids say,
unintelligible to everyone else:
“20�

To my father,
I asked: is twenty the highest number?
confident the 20-Squid would best any others,
who had no many-limbed orange avatars.

I was wrong.

“No�

“well how many are after it?� (thinking, maybe, twenty more…)

“they go on forever�

infinity stoned and stubbed me early,
and slew roundly a squid, who was twenty,
or else diminished him, an icon fallen dumb

and I assigned no animal to infinity.

[auxiliaryoctopus]

The Night Whitesnake Was Like, Dang
(not autobiographical)

The night Whitesnake was like, Dang,
dude you don’t even know.

Headed to the sports arena
in Scoony’s van
with that badass wizard painted on the side
and a case of Bud
Scoony scored from the fridge
in his Dad’s garage,

the foam got caught in my mustache
and turned it white like the Wizard’s mustache,
I said that I was a wizard too,
the wizard of WWWWWWWWROCK!!!
then I stuck my tongue out
and everyone laughed
until Bud came out of their noses
and it stung.

Sherri Obanski
had bleached and spiked her hair
it poked the blue cigarette-burnt cloth
from the ceiling
already starting to droop
and in her leather top
she was like, dang.

A few years later
she moved to Cleveland
with Scoony
and they opened a Laundromat
where you could get a tan while you waited
for your cloths,

but just for tonight
we laughed
drank
and cussed
and said that it was the same old shit
but a different day, man,
and someone yelled
“IHEARYA�

but it wasn’t the same old shit
and it was sure as hell a different day
and I wish,
when I’m greasy from riveting the tires
on some snobby rich girl’s brand new Jeep,
that it was the same old shit
and the days were all like that one.

[auxiliaryoctopus]

Three Objects My Wife Invests

The sherbet skirt’s
dots and lines
percolated from pores
on citrus rinds,
and set aside
for a time and times
autumnal browns
like old equines.

The banjo-uke’s
skittish noise
combed the hair
of Hardy Boys,
and turned askance
on table tops
boppish bushes
of British mops.

The petunias perched
on whimsy stems
and warbled forth
in verdant hymns,
and shouted aloud
their purple poems
hissing like
harlequin gramophones.

[Peach]

Originally posted by axelrod gunnerson
Got to stop this empty calorie intake,
I'm going to switch to diet.
Those sugars, those carbs, that fat
hugs my muscle, my bones.
With tears in their eyes crying
I love you I love you I love you
Out- out!
I am Twiggy. I am Roseanne Barr.
I am woman
hear me vomit.

I got tears reading that. Well done.

[Peach]

This is intitled : Be

Don't blench,
Don't blush,
Blessedness won't do it,
You're blessed,
It's bliss,
Beautiful and blooming,
Don't bend on what they say,
Don't melt and blend into the mold,
Blossom blithely,
Blow the black from your skies,
And bring the blue back in,
Bitten by the bitter,
Let them say what they've got to say,
Don't betray the believe I've got in you,
And don't bet on the basal,
Bathe the others to make them sink down slowly,
And barely will they notice,
The beauty of what you can Be.

[ObsoleteTimeMachine]

I'm watching
Radio towers
Give in to lust
And collapse onto each other

The moment sings
From everybody's stereo

[Harnk]

Soiled life
You had your chance
You had it all
You had nice pants

~ Parn Winterneck

[nice man washing]

I drink oolong tea,
Hot and translucent.

I drink oolong tea,
Cleans my brain out.

I drink oolong tea,
I drink oolong tea,
I drink oolong tea.

[auxiliaryoctopus]

Very nice, Nathan. Especially the middle stanza.

[MrG]

Auxilaryoctopus, check your U2U, please. :)

Mike

[opopopo]

we will capture giant gnats,
and dress them up in funny hats,
teach them to be acrobats,
before we feed them to your cats.

[Harnk]

Tangled in soup
Could one be?
Holy Mule Monday
Swimming in a tree?

[braintostem]

Waking up inside.
brushing my coarseness.
alone with the blatant burden.
i've drifted.
though the feathers have fallen.
i've retreated.
dancing legs, i've not forgotten.
eyes like a sterling cat.
confusing like chess.
milk from a bottle.
an infant has nestled.
tearing of my lashes.
so often i've thought.
sensitivity throws me.
over fences of love.
not sure which side i lay.
the ruffles of my dress crackle.
upon the lifeless body.
sweating and trembling.
frightened in my socks.
headstrong along blind pathways.
talking myself in circles.
thinking all the worst.
anger and soft bellowing.
are all that reach my ears...

[axelrod gunnerson]

Wearing Black
-----------------

Seal sun bathing on a rock
Its smooth skin pulled taught
Over carved muscles hidden from sight

White foam from the waves
hit the beaches where the seal lays
and where the hammer strikes the timpani

Further back in the ocean
The water grows thin, shallow
see the smooth bottom: the surface

Earthen sea urchins in twin tide pools
starring right back at me
when they thought they heard a shout

What they heard was
teeth marks left on the seal’s back
tongue nudged into a cavern with salt water pouring out

Two electric eels swim by
when their bodies touch
lightning shoots from the water
foam from a whale spout
electrocute, eviscerate, vibrate
grab those hips and collaborate

Low tide while I try to figure out the future
low pride when I look at this reflection
Eyes low as the seal swims by

That night the humidity was bearable
bearing a soul on your back
Just an intersection and coincidental eye contact

Burning away the future
Watching our souls float in the sky
Three crying into the sea

[axelrod gunnerson]

The Day the Pope Died
-----------------------


My great aunt died.
I laid in bliss or sleep-
I confuse the two.

[Harnk]

Tabernackle? I laugh
Winston Churchill? A gas
Let's do lunch on the moon
Let's remove our pants
Holy Holy hop hop
Cantebery breeze
Swimmin on the brink of Gary Gary Weeze

[Harnk]

My sickness is cruel
And while you have tea
I sit in a tree peeling back the bark of my scars
My hurt drops kick like thunder
While you contemplate Earl Grey or Green
I sit in a shed boiling down a lunch made of cars
My pain strikes punch like Joe Lewis Whammo
And while you nap
I sit on a fire cooling down from yesterday's disaster
My mind peaks and twists
And while you ponder a casual stroll
I'm sitting in a soup can convinced of invasion
My days are dying
While you're test driving a Hyundai Fantasticon
I'm sitting on a bed of lobster clad in Fruit of the Loom
My funeral was quiet
While your Dad cheered you on the sidelines
I was laid to rest in a junkyard
Your Sunday was grand
As I decayed amongst the litter
You sat in a private screening of the new Tom Hanks film
Your life was honoured
By those who who lived less
I can hear your smile from the rattle of the dirt
As you child kicks his first can just above my resting
I hate you

[Christophe dininski]

Distance sense
A flowing emotion of
a buzz so high
you'd swear its from above
I tried to fly
but my wings were cut offf
forever running

[Christophe dininski]

three years
carried you on for so long
i hate you but I always wanted to fuck you
that nagging pain in my side
dense palm built thick with anger
thermo nuclear power prism
burst free through jungled dreams
the warmth of your breathe
the comfort of your breast
rest my weary head
its taken such time to meet
the perfect girl your mine

[The_new_improved_Kirk]

DICK CHENEY VS TERRIE SHAIVO

a subtle potasium defiency
mind ruited in entropy

coronary drama, im to rich for this
4 more years for my kicks

everyone grab your erasers

pasive agresive;notes on nothing
pasive agresive;showdown showdown!

notes on nothing notes on nothing, my erasers sharper now.

[CantDance]

A BIT OF GOOD

Remember back the day we slid
We were dieng, dead, but just barely
Some were jealous of us
I remember the bright red eyes
as we were almost up and out
on the beach

Moping along together
Going towards water
naught more specific
One day we will make it there
but now lets pause
and bury ourselves
in the memories of each grain

It turned into a war
flinging them harshly at eachother
and love was abandoned for one moment
(one eternity)
and sand got into my eyes
And I cried for you
because I knew you didnt know how.

I remember when an old man
The day he came here turned to me and said
Always Learn, Always Learn
but I didn't know what
and I never did learn.
So I tried then, with you.

And we thought and thought,
the sand dried up
and burned with desire
to do something right - for once.

And you picked up a handful and passed it over
and I held it in my hands
and gave it a lick.

That wasn't right.

And the dry grains fell through my cracked fingers.
From close up you could hear the scream of each
as it took the plunge.
even if I caught them, my other hand was just as

Cracked. And I felt so helpless to save them
But God knows I tried
And you came over and we took turns passing them back and forth
Holding on as long as we could
Until they had all fallen

Except one little grain left in my hand.
I was thankful that I had the chance to at least save one
And I didn't want to let it go,
Not ever,
Not ever mama.
But I knew I was flawed and holding on to it
would only be its doom.

So I got up on my tippy toes
Raised my hand.
You smiled at me and I was crying again
Raised my hand, and blew
We lost sigh instantly, Only God knows
if he survived that day.

But you turned to me and say,

"That is how we learn to fly"

[Harnk]

"Sneel" shouted the Nume, as a crowd of bald spiders passed through his ears, parading one by one like lost Italian men searching for The Parmigian Lady. Springs of laughter perched upon the tulips chattering alone in mouth, no face, but a hovering taste of invisible teeth, or tongue rolled in one like a hollow cannoli for Vito, the silent one who searches in tears for his linguin dear, no yes oh no, as we go shifting between Hot Uranus Backsqueeze and Fresh Hungry Nupper Punch. A stance that could only be described as vague, Paul Pwoll stood stiff tall, holding a bouquet of love, squeezing out whispery farts that rose in plumes of beige, dispersing into little ones scattered about and wide. To touch this moment would be to die, so please graze, not clutch, oh please you must touch, just soft. I thought of sofas that day. Eggs too, but this feeling was wrong, like a song about songs, it does not belong, neither here nor there, so step back and watch me dance myself sexy. Touch my day, Klaus. Touch it grey.

[Edited on 5-6-2005 by Harnk]

[Edited on 5-6-2005 by Harnk]

[Harnk]

Swollen birds have their share of fun, and while no one took a notice, Pith and Stonn decided to tag along in disguise, salad and leopard respectively. Dead onions peppered the gated area where Kog was holding the longest moment ever taken to decide on lunch. A Reuben seemed so appropraite yet his gut screamed out for cinnamon ghoulash. As a token to those who chose to walk in reverse, to capture a mood of even, and without a money back gurantee it seemed fruitless, if not entirely Hemmingway. Pith clutched his loins in a panic of condition, separated by a filthy Monday and an extremely inconsidrate Wednesday. Holding patterns were redirected as the sky made way for a few finches who seemed intent on bringing back the old American past-time of square dancing on stilts. Pith slapped Stonn before telling him that we was now in love, and no longer a biblical tyrant for casual indecency. Federal officials lightened their grip on situational homicide as a show of good faith to those who chose to eliminate anyone who stood in line at the supermarket with more than 10 items while standing in the express lane. Paul Simon was there, and as you would imagine he was more than pleased. My erection is my divinity. Hold all calls until I push this pot roast out of my buttocks.

[twoheadedboypartii]

Untitled Neutral Milk Hotel Inspired Poem

coy epiphanal sylvans carelessly trot through lush woods
meandering zigzaggedly seeking no particular way
as balmic foliage showers streams of hope

crushed fantasies of ecstacy dance humbly,
cascading self-perpetuated fears spattering uncertainties
casting the doubt of the begininglessness of time

a muffled pulse awakens
water gushes through the portcullis of dimensions
everflowing lies

as religious besotted angels happily eradicate lurking trees,
a child brings a ready neck
eager to appease bacchic struggles to find unfleshed flowers...

[twoheadedboypartii]

((untitled)) part two

swimming through crystallized lies
drowning on truth
clever enigmas row merrily
no need to undo bristling chasms
spewing specious manna
to gorging machinations
universes tick and tock
manufacturing man and man his gods
as drunken logic lilts soothing hymns
small boxes of clean
never bothering with space
keep sweating flesh-eating maggots
and undulating pangs of pain
dance wide eyed, waving arms
to manifested melodies of crisp melancholy
piercing spent souls who
languidly call for air in the dark
dreaming of fantastic breath
with all one could see
as paranoid dirt plays with dead hurt
and lankily dears wade tepidly
into strange depths of moribundity
and the leviathan is swallowed by a vanishing tail
bemused; secret space floods the boxes
and hidden corners creep
as cartwheeling memories shimmy
sprouting ideas and broken embryos
laughing at beautiful clumps of emptiness
and dying ever so elegantly
as time unravels and blurs
tripping on naiveté and imploding on false hope

[twoheadedboypartii]

Originally posted by Half-Handed
Growth renewed is the promise of Spring.
Only you do not hear it, do not see it,
eyes tight shut against the returning sun.
Still-born. Such a gentle description for
one small thing, centred in the storm,
unmoving, unmoved, never to know rain.
Tears are no substitute for rain.

Love is a word that we polished for you
in the bright rub of our fingers on soft toys,
kept it safe in paper-lined drawers,
enfolded in small blankets and new clothes,
and all for this silence, this blind acceptance.

Looking for the last time, I see that you
are, were, a girl. We had names for a girl,
mutually long-agonised and finally agreed,
but there is no good name for this.

I liked this one, especially the line "Love is a word that we polished for you."

[wickerwhistle]

kilo kilo signal signal
chattering against the sour sea
do si do your whicker whistle
so's to charm this savory salvation
while it sways and bellows
b'neath the salty tavern where you'd
laid to witness all that you'd come for
but this lonely bust only left you misled
and soaking with more mistrust
your hands full of echoes
you join gravity's party with
welcome receive.
things are looking up, no?

[Edited on 5-29-2005 by wickerwhistle]

[echelle]

Thirty-three thousand soldiers fight from utop trapeze bars for thirteen years. Neither side understands the delicacy of when to stop short. Underneath, solitaire fans march with helmets full of ripe lice. Occasionally, one pukes up a balloon. Fist-sized and blue. Others cough out plastic bags.

Back home on the wallpaper, their still lifes stay healthy.

Outside, kids crawl up telephone poles or hide under blonde sheets to avoid the explosives. They script self-defense through static electricity. Wear braids. Scratch bruises shaped like trapezoids. Build race carts out of aluminum and oak. Find floorboards and nail frog legs together.

-//-

A pretty girl with diabetes lives in the blushing suburbs, while her submarine heals. Her pupils have been stained with octopus ink, and she is certain her lungs are meant to shiver.
(all into salt water).

-//-

Coming back home I found rattraps sleeping in on Sundays. My baby brother has planted his old Halloween costumes in the topsoil. An astronaut suit. A Celtics jersey. A cape. I can hear the straps and stitches talking to themselves. They always talk to themselves. Pull your elbows to your spine, this isn’t happening. Happening.

-//-

I grew up a hypochondriac carrying a rake. Living in a blue house (as it swallowed a green house.) "Look at our house! Dad ripped it all up and burned it! The walls! The stairs! The floors!" My mother was a pushcart, a towel rack, a Tuesday. My father was the same. That’s why they fought. But then again, who didn’t? By the time I was five, every eavesdrop knew my name. In fact. They read it on microfilm as it filtered on apartment walls. At ten I thought, no, no, I will escape in lines.

-//-


for three years I lived in a laundromat filled with cicadas chirping...

if the jurassic ever happened
it was happening then

I moved
the catamarans go out on wednesday now
got to make a note of that.

-//-

and every time I blush and sigh, who knows where my enzymes flush next.

-//-

I guess that's all my synapses will allow for today. and on and on it went.

[echelle]

Thirty-three thousand soldiers fight from utop trapeze bars for thirteen years. Neither side understands the delicacy of when to stop short. Underneath, solitaire fans march with helmets full of ripe lice. Occasionally, one pukes up a balloon. Fist-sized and blue. Others cough out plastic bags.

Back home on the wallpaper, their still lifes stay healthy.

Outside, kids crawl up telephone poles or hide under blonde sheets to avoid the explosives. They script self-defense through static electricity. Wear braids. Scratch bruises shaped like trapezoids. Build race carts out of aluminum and oak. Find floorboards and nail frog legs together.

-//-

A pretty girl with diabetes lives in the blushing suburbs, while her submarine heals. Her pupils have been stained with octopus ink, and she is certain her lungs are meant to shiver.
(all into salt water).

-//-

Coming back home I found rattraps sleeping in on Sundays. My baby brother has planted his old Halloween costumes in the topsoil. An astronaut suit. A Celtics jersey. A cape. I can hear the straps and stitches talking to themselves. They always talk to themselves. Pull your elbows to your spine, this isn’t happening. Happening.

-//-

I grew up a hypochondriac carrying a rake. Living in a blue house (as it swallowed a green house.) "Look at our house! Dad ripped it all up and burned it! The walls! The stairs! The floors!" My mother was a pushcart, a towel rack, a Tuesday. My father was the same. That’s why they fought. But then again, who didn’t? By the time I was five, every eavesdrop knew my name. In fact. They read it on microfilm as it filtered on apartment walls. At ten I thought, no, no, I will escape in lines.

-//-


for three years I lived in a laundromat filled with cicadas chirping...

if the jurassic ever happened
it was happening then

I moved
the catamarans go out on wednesday now
got to make a note of that.

-//-

and every time I blush and sigh, who knows where my enzymes flush next.

-//-

I guess that's all my synapses will allow for today. and on and on it went.