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My roommate has several magnetic poetry sets, and I got to playing around with them tonight, and came up with this little poem, which Oz insists I post.
that you should be suddenly white
a winter child moon goddess
whispering of sex and socrates
born from lazy blue mornings
black coffee in bed
lust on my tongue
and the vast wantings of you
diamond tears velvet kisses
perhaps that is how we fall out of love
one lie at a time
the perfume of your hair haunting me
surrender to the ghost of our dream
no summer no always
only broken sleep dark with raw aches
and cold winter snow
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No matter what we have come through, or how many perils we have safely passed, or how imperfect and jagged our life has been, we cannot in our heart of hearts imagine how it could have been different. As we look back on it, it slips in behind us in orderly disarray, and, with all its mistakes, acquires a sort of eternal fitness, and even, at times, a poetic glamour.
-Randolph Silliman Bourne
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*grins stupidly*
How bitter sweet the sounds of genius.
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The maverick heroine of STP land, avenger against those who would kick off with pretty women;
Hero to some, just another pretty face to others.
The cutest little lesbian.
THE Lesbian.
...Without love, we are never more than Strangers In Paradise.
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remember bleeding
that night under the stars
those gorgeous eyes
i watched salt flood skin
in bitter tears
you felt love linger hot
in soft sweet kisses
through the smoke in the room
i saw you in wild shadow
wandered over and asked for a light
you were gold honey
brilliant deep and willing
is this madness
to wantneedcrush you
by morning i was gone
and a thousand porcelain gods
murmured a sad concerto
of your sacrifice
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No matter what we have come through, or how many perils we have safely passed, or how imperfect and jagged our life has been, we cannot in our heart of hearts imagine how it could have been different. As we look back on it, it slips in behind us in orderly disarray, and, with all its mistakes, acquires a sort of eternal fitness, and even, at times, a poetic glamour.
-Randolph Silliman Bourne
[This message has been edited by WiloeLeigh (edited September 20, 2001).]
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*Sits wearing all black and a beret, drinking cappuchino and snapping her fingers*
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The maverick heroine of STP land, avenger against those who would kick off with pretty women;
Hero to some, just another pretty face to others.
The cutest little lesbian.
THE Lesbian.
...Without love, we are never more than Strangers In Paradise.
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untitled #3
she thinks i run behind
chasing a rip in her black dress
like a man drunk
on the beauty beneath
that whispers of pink garden roses
light falls on one bare breast
shadowed and smeared
my fingers smooth this pale vision
in her eyes i see
she wanted to be caught
her legs
they part for me
and she is summer sun flooding
deliciously
untitled #4
stranger man
said lonely woman
drive me over there
and pointed to a place
outside the universe
he shrugged
opened her door
a smile in his blue sky eyes
she stepped paused thought
and shot
his rusty car
then whispered
no
i like it here
instead
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No matter what we have come through, or how many perils we have safely passed, or how imperfect and jagged our life has been, we cannot in our heart of hearts imagine how it could have been different. As we look back on it, it slips in behind us in orderly disarray, and, with all its mistakes, acquires a sort of eternal fitness, and even, at times, a poetic glamour.
-Randolph Silliman Bourne
[This message has been edited by WiloeLeigh (edited September 21, 2001).]
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I like it (even though peotry is still fascist) ... why is it called Magnetic Poetry though ?
the mel
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What is success ?
To laugh often and much.
To win the respect of intelligent people and the affection of children.
To earn the appreciation of honest critics and endure the betrayal of false friends.
To appreciate beauty.
To find the best in others.
To leave the world a bit better.
To know even one life has breathed easier because you have lived.
That is to have succeeded.
Ralph Waldo Emerson
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ooooh!! #3 was a bit risque..
...Wiloe... http://www.hostboard.com/ubb/wink.gif
Very good though.
Mel, dude, 'magnetic poetry' is a box of words that you use like fridge magnets to make poetry. Wiloe's using them to make these ones.
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The maverick heroine of STP land, avenger against those who would kick off with pretty women;
Hero to some, just another pretty face to others.
The cutest little lesbian.
THE Lesbian.
...Without love, we are never more than Strangers In Paradise.
-
http://prominence.com/java/poetry/
magnetic poetry online... ;)
-g
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Pray for the dead, but fight like hell for the living.
-Mother Jones-
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'Child's Play' (made with magnetic poetry)
By Jessamy Davis
sweet mean winter monster
whisper and play
sweat
drool
pant
beat me less
from black
raw beauty must burn
gorgeous knife
take only essential juice
fall like them
life was always through
cry sad friends
some light did live
they stop
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The maverick heroine of STP land, avenger against those who would kick off with pretty women;
Hero to some, just another pretty face to others.
The cutest little lesbian.
THE Lesbian.
...Without love, we are never more than Strangers In Paradise.
-
a morning ache in the skin
recalls you fallen
and early salt on the tongue
breathes your run to the sea
so i wake like a warm-blooded goddess
lie on a milk and honey bed
and remember
i have you
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No matter what we have come through, or how many perils we have safely passed, or how imperfect and jagged our life has been, we cannot in our heart of hearts imagine how it could have been different. As we look back on it, it slips in behind us in orderly disarray, and, with all its mistakes, acquires a sort of eternal fitness, and even, at times, a poetic glamour.
-Randolph Silliman Bourne
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how easy it is to surrender to eternity
in this embrace
a flooding vision of black
pools of shadow steeped in ink
i breathe in the deep surrounding us
as you remember dancing with broken time
the sky in your hair
we fall like cold stars
through the center of the universe
down to dark urges and raw needs
linger with me tonight
let me lick away the salt on your lips
when we wake
you ask why i love you
and silence in the morning light
is the only word i know
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No matter what we have come through, or how many perils we have safely passed, or how imperfect and jagged our life has been, we cannot in our heart of hearts imagine how it could have been different. As we look back on it, it slips in behind us in orderly disarray, and, with all its mistakes, acquires a sort of eternal fitness, and even, at times, a poetic glamour.
-Randolph Silliman Bourne
