Description

Describe it?
Impossible
You wern't there...

how could you see
the way hair shifted
the way voices trembled

how could you notice
the cracks in the wall
the way my heart sings now

When memory is drawn
and plays yet again ?

Thanks for the thanks my friend,
I'll answer with a rhyme,
For how else could I ever respond to,
My poetic partner in crime?
I see that you're a brewer too,
With your share of hops,
And if you brew like you write poetry,
I'm sure your brews are tops.
I wouldn't worry about exploding bottles,
Sometimes the bottle wins,
Not content to be a mere cause,
When the ceiling spins,
They like to play a more direct hand,
Than sliding down your throat,
They don't want to just cause imbalance,
From the roof they gloat.
I must say these beers in Hell,
Are looking mighty nice,
With names like "Bastard" and "Night Owl",
All we need is ice.
For that we shall have to turn to Jonesy,
He will be there too,
He's sealed his place in the afterlife,
For he's a bastard too.
So, I look forward to the first Bastard Party,
In Hell we shall give classes,
In Poetry and Bastardry,
And dring from Unwashed glasses.                                                    

Cheers from the Land of Oz                        

What is time?
What is it to me?
have I been alive
for centuries,
or only since
my eyes opened
this morning?
I remember
things, in a river
a flow of untold
tales told only
in my dreams,
I remember
sounds
feelings
tastes
scents
textures
of things
I’ve never
experienced
or even heard
of…
I here voices
words, sentences
fragments
of thoughts
and wonder
where they fit
in the puzzling
symphony
called my mind,
I listen
as they speak
I listen
as they tweak
I hear the pain
I hear the rain
I hear the vain
I hear twisted
pleas for simple
understanding,
I hear broken dreams
voiced by broken souls
and my eyes cry
because all I do is listen
all I do is hear
I can’t hold a hand
I can’t chase away the fears
I can’t caress away a tear
I can only listen
as my own soul
shrinks inside
I can only listen
can’t take away the pain
I can only listen
can’t walk together in the rain
I can only listen
can’t dream against the vain
I can only listen
and cry those salty tears
from my soul called emotions
and listen
as they drop
away and
hit the floor
shattering the
tenuous hold
I had on the string
the cord
the broken sword
as I fall away
with bloody hands
staining the white dress
and alabaster skin
the clear green
watery blue
swirled with a red hue
while the fish swim
away, the sharks
swarm my resting place
even though my body
has long since
sunk away
within decay
my bones still
rattle and play
whenever
I pray
for my prey
though
the last dove
died today.

The razor and the song

The razor is a seductive liar
it fuzzies up the truth
the fact is: life is full of fire
that stokes the inner soul

Don't get up and leave the show
at sordid intermission
the second act has yet to go
The third and fourth are in the wings

At times my life has scratched me bare
with tragedies beyond belief
but waiting patiently I find there
are joys hidden round the corner

To cash in your chips this early in the game
would cheat yourself from inside straight
It isn't quite who wins the game
but who hangs around to finish

I lost my parents, wife, and double-child
and the razor beckoned to me then
but persevering hard, I reconciled
and gathered new blessings to my breast

and now I watch over sleeping son
and snuggle wife new I'd not yet met
when razor's siren song egged me on
I'm glad I stuffed my ears with wax

Death solves nothing, that dirty coward razor
It harms the ones that love you most
and leaves your enemies unphazed
the show goes on without you.

So sit you back, and enjoy the show
at times scary, bad, and horrible
but still it's the best thing that we know
and the plot is always changing.

Don't miss it
God went to all the trouble to write it after all
If there wasnt hard times there'd be no growth
Hang around for the final credits.
sometimes they show bloopers.

:)

Luv ya!

"Fate(s)"

(Since I'll be away all weekend doing hard slave labour and being paid for it, thought I'd write up a quick lintball so ya'll don't forget who I am before i get back ;) Luff you! =) *HUGS*)
"Fate(s)"
Fate's threads are caught
Around me, lashing me to this earth,
But their threads...their threads
Have united to
become a noose, tied tight around my neck.
Clothos, take your spinning fingers,
Pluck this cord before I go blue!
Lachesis, do not say it's over!
My life's weaving cannot yet be through.
Lady Atropos, won't you hear me?
Cut this thread from round my throat
Because I do not want to live
If I am breathing but to choke.

Sitting at their spinning wheel,
The sisters laughing fills the room which
Encompasses life,
And encompassing doom.

Crash

By Jamison Robert Huebsch and the Wolf called Rage

All emotions have a sound,
Something you want to call out,
When possessed by it,
Screams of pain,
Moans of pleasure,

The sound of rage is more complex,
It is the sound of the crash,
Of the splinter,
The screech of metal,
Of all things breaking,
Submitting to the fury,
Giving way,

Rage is imposing your will on the world,

I have with in me,
The one named rage,
He bears grey fur,
And sharp fangs,
His eyes are reflective yellow,
Seeking the night and the hunt,

I want to break wood,
Bend metal,
Shatter glass,
And let it fall like a thousand broken dreams,
A hundred broken hearts,
A dozen feelings,
Tinkling to the ground,

Rage is seductive,
It stands over the body of a broken person,
Licks it's lips tainted with blood,
Feels the sharpness of it's fangs,
Reassurance of it's vicious self,

It burns the blood,
Shapes the mind,
It is force unbound,
And the world bends or breaks at it's passing,

It's a killer charge you have to dispurse,
A energy you have to burn,
And yet it feeds on it's own burning,

Growing,
Burning,
Hotter,
SCREAMING IN RAGE,
As you break and bend and shatter,
Till nothing can resist,
Everything submits,
Or is driven away,
Everything is broken,
Lies dying,
Now the blood taints your lips,
Now your hands burn with the spent fury,
Now your body aches with the fire it contained,

And everything lies broken,
And dead,
And their blood stains your hands,
Taints your tongue with it's coppery tang,

And you swallow the results of your rage,
You feed again,
Now of the dead and dying,
Now are you sated,

Or does it only fan the flames ?

Impulses

I get an impulse,
And urge,
A tingle up my spine,
Any time you are near.

I reach out to hold your hand,
Only to find you are just a dream,
An image in my mind.

So I close my eyes
To revel in that image,
And get a tingle up my spine.

Tired of Today

I wanted a ticket down
But I couldn't pay
As long as you're here
There's no reason to stay
It's getting late
What do you want me to say?
I'm just so
Fucking tired of today

Feels like we broke up
Just yesterday
You're still here
And it's the middle of May
It's getting old
What do you want me to say?
I'm just so
Fucking tired of today

You wanted to stay friends
I let you have it your way
It was late, I was lonely
And you offered to stay
So we fell into bed
What do you want me to say?
I'm just so
Fucking tired of today

You try to ask me
If I'll be okay
But before I can answer
You're already away
Old habits die hard
What else can I say?
I'm just so
Fucking tired of today

I wanted a ticket down
And you offered to pay
But one good deed
Won't make me stay
I've got to catch a plane
What do you want me to say?
I'm just so
Fucking tired of today

This poem is for anybody who has ever been screwed over massively by there job. Enjoy! 8D

You've lost your mind in the downslide...
Too many numbers,
Chaotic,
Sheets of paper...
And gallons,
Of demented liquor...
Not enough work,
To appease the corporate as$holes...
Pencil breaks,
And failed mistakes,
Always makes,
Less time...
To recreate...
Fresh ideas,
Turn black and crumple before your eyes...
Morons at the top,
And intellegence reaps the benefit,
Of becoming,
Bottom feeders,
And carrion eaters...
Lost total respect,
For their families,
And daily needs...
But even though,
They all laugh at you...
Take their own ammo,
And blow them away...
Learn to target,
A complete direct hit,
And always remember to,
F*CK THE BULLSH!T...

Havok
:)

We miss ya already Lerk!

Everyday.

the cavern of my stomache
craves
brave sacrifices from
tribes of helpless delicatessen

it appears
my toes feast on rubble
that lodges obnoxiously
in the vast recesses of my shoe

my auditory organs
require music, both
beautiful
and i'll-gotten

and my lungs could go well without
any smoke you wish to throw at me
if smoke
could indeed be thrown

My fingers paint
helplessly with the aid of pencil
caricature, when they are
supposed to be taking notes

My brain ignores all this
it tends to other matters
and my soul flies free
as it dreams.

The real me

something in the mirror makes me sad
a look in my eyes, perhaps
or the tears on my cheek
Whatever I see there
looks back at me, my reflection
and tells me things I don't want to hear
And I know that things are not all fine
As I nod and smile outside the mirror
inside of there, the other side of the glass
I am crying
perhaps I am stuck in there
perhaps I always will be
or maybe that's not the real me
and this false smile outside
this false smile is the real me.

From shining candied towers of warmest brown
To dungeon corridors of plain darkness
This is the castle I build for you.
From dreams, all from dreams...
Like Hansel and Gretel reborn
Not in gingerbread, but chocolate.
The Ballroom fills with a sweet gentle scent
As our dancing scuffs whorls from the floor
Like skaters on praline ice, we move
Dancing, dreaming...

Up sculpted candied steps we dance -
Soft light glows warmly by a filigree bed,
Piped lace patterns of brown and tan and white
I pause -
Will our passion melt this world?

The chocolate sculpture crackles and snaps
As we lie back against sugar-dusted pillows.
Flakes of brown fall softly to settle on us,
Cover us...
Our bodies disappear in a world of sweet heaven.
The walls melt,
We melt,
Becoming one with the castle.
This chocolate realm was built from dreams,
And dreams are immortal.

The point is quite moot here,
Pepsi, Jolt or Coke,
It doesn't really matter which,
This is not a joke.
For they are only half the mix,
To complete it you must add,
The right amount of bourbon,
Then none of them are bad.
:)        

Good bye, winter dream.

Good bye.

I will sweep by you on a summer wind, when you are happy at a bar-b-q.

You will know me by my fragrance and the softness of my fingers, that sound like the leaves.

And you will not be sad, you will be in joy that I happened by, I will surround you.

With a veil of beautiful words and thoughts, and the taste of lobster bisque.

with a veil of everything that ever proved true.

And you'll close your eyes with the coming of the wind, and nothing will have ended, and you will have every instant

that never was, in that moment, without regret.

I will leave for the seaside, and you will return to your friends. 

"lash"

my eyelashes grow back in so quickly,
as if to hide the bare patches of flesh.
as if to try and conceal my ugliness.

but i don't try to be pretty anymore,
i am past that stage of life.
i am past that particular obsession.

so now i barely smile at their efforts,
wishing they would just let me be ugly.
wishing they would just let me be me.

always i am told that what counts
is what is on the inside. but what's outside
is what everyone judges me on.

why should i fight this system any longer,
when my bones are tired with resistance?
when my skin is razor thin with trying?

for what reason should i keep my eyelashes,
the long, thick symbols of beauty?
the long, thick lies of my eyes.

no, i will not keep them,
i will yank them, still breathing, as fast as they grow in.
i will not conceal the reality of my anatomy.

this land was made for you and me.

Head layed back on the floor,
Staring up at the ceiling...
The faucet drips slowly,
As the clock spits clicks...
The carpet softly turns into,
Pinpricks,
Making you squirm as you lay there...
Incapacitated...
Your stomach churns,
You wait for it to pass,
But it doesn't...
Every limb seems to disconnect itself,
From your body...
Slowly breaking down...
A tear slips down your cheek,
But even crying,
Causes your body to internally cringe...
Be soon this will pass...
Like another day...
Your sick now,
But you'll get better...
Everything always does...

Doesn't it?

The quiet men hidden behind his comp?
The one that haunts my dreams
and makes me run to the board every night?

Oh, wherefore art thou Darkfox?
oh, how i know this poem sucks,
but wherefore art thou Darkfox?
the one to convince me it's great??

::sigh:: i haven't talked to u on the board in SOOO long. :( and i want your e-mail address, and i want to know any kind of instant messenger service u use so i may stalk u on all of them. HAHA!

well, that's all for now.

Past

My only purpose to serve as a memory
A lesson, if you will, of what was.
Time gone by, this is what I am.
Sometimes you remember me,
Sometimes you forget.
But it matters not,
For I am always here,
Or at least…
I was.

Love is Destruction

Love is destruction
So tear me apart
Rip into me
And dig out my heart

Yeah, love is destruction
Oh, love is destruction

Love is destruction
So break up my soul
Take me in pieces
If you don't want me whole

Yeah, love is destruction
Oh, love is destruction

Love is destruction
So set me on fire
I'll go down in flames
For you to admire

Yeah, love is destruction
Oh, love is destruction

"Split Seconds"

(Thanks to EO and Wenchy for posting some awesome writings last night...inspired me to scribble one up..Enjoy =)
"Split Seconds"
We were for a moment
Just fingers flowing into one another
We ceased for a moment to be you and me,
For a single second in time,
Neither of us had ever existed
And nothing was there, but
Contentment. Compassion. And misery.
How this misery?
In such splendor?
In such a magical pixel, frozen forever in
The memory of my space?
Or the space of my memory,
Dyslexic typo picker reminds me.
Well, i tell you, when you question
this comment: It is the same misery I feel
When i write; When i dance; When i draw; When i sing
The sick perfectionist in me that whispers
Could be better. Could be equalling not good enough. Never were
you given the easy road; Never would you have taken it
were you offered.
Was I, then, born a sufferer?
Let it go, let me not think on it.
Instead, let me relish once again that moment,
When our hearts were just rivers streaming together,
Intertwining in a mystery
Far greater than our selves.
For it is this love that i sometimes believe
Is all that keeps the good blood
Flowing through my veins,
Somewhat parallel to our fingers, eternally moving
Together.

--- Untitled ---

It is at times like these I wish you people knew Swedish, for whilst I do not write many poems im my native tongue, this is one of those rare ones. I have however done my best to translate it, but alas, as it is with translation, it has lost something present in the original.
 Beautiful the snow
World covering grace
Sweet is the air
lacking in hydrogen

Wonderful, that sun
warming the north
And in the by warming
all living creatures

Lively that spring
that never arives
Hindered by winter
it's jealous neighour

Fantastic is language
ever changing
Forever clashing (with
the) teenage monster

Whacky is life
hopeless and hopeful
A whisper from the Deity
that brought us to life

Unquenchable yearning
Memories of yesteryear
Leaves with us
experience

Dances and Playtime
bring us closer
the ancient we seek
and try to embrace

Us belongs the world
though slithery, stuborn
one that never gives up
to our benefit
motivating excitable
creating body

We are the same
We always have been
Our senses bound
at the side of our faith.
--- Alderach, 20/03/2006 --- 

It's always nice to read the work,
Of a fellow poet,
People can often be so frustrating,
Don't we both know it.
As a school principal,
Many things I see,
The people you described just then,
Are so real to me.
A lady came in the other day,
At her her son did swear,
She accused me of teaching him that language,
And brought some pressure to bear.
I explained that I don't say f*ck,
At least not at school,
In front of her son she said, "F*ck that!"
Life can be so cruel.
Parents are not the only ones,
In silly person hell,
One said to me, "I forgot
It was school - then I heard the bell."
This excuse was proferred to me,
From a silly jerk,
As a way of explaining why,
He hadn't done homework.
Another child came to me,
For something he didn't do,
Wondering why he was in trouble,
It sounds so fair to you.
But he didn't do his homework,
"I didn't do it!"  his plea,
He thought only people who did things,
Were ever sent to me.
So, there are many examples near,
Of people a bit off-beat,
I think that we should toast them,
With a Bastard Beer and some Smeet.
For they make our lives so much richer,
We shine like a gem,
It makes us feel much better,
'Coz we're not like them.                                                    

Cheers from the Land of Oz                                           

Thanks for thinking enough of my work,
To post it on your site,
It makes me happy to see my poems,
That might be a tad contrite,
But I don't care, I'm just proud,
To contribute to all things fun,
To add some fuel to creative fires,
To see what they become.    

Spark me
a light
a fire
a funeral
pyre
a little
barbecue
to cook
the steaks on
a little alcohol
to make me
forget
my death
even if I'm
still alive
Do you know
what time
it is
when the batteries
in your clock
are dead?
There's no such
thing as time
it's just
a label
humanity
placed on
something
beyond
comprehension
similar to
how it needs
the bastion
of God
to cling to
so their fragile
minds may continue
to function
without
shattering
and crumbling
to useless
quivering
masses of jelly...

The Unwashed Picnic

‘Let us have a picnic!’ said Toe unto Blob.
‘But wait, aren’t you working this weekend? Won’t you lose your job?’
‘Nonsense!’ replied Toe, as she gathered the villagers round
‘Such an attempt to fire me would be completely unfound!’
Cornbread cooked up sandwiches and baked a nice old pie
BlueCross forbade bringing citrus fruits, though no-one knew quite why
Ymir and Night Owl hauled the ale, round and bursting with drink
Buffy carried the picnic cloth, which was checkered grey and pink
The villagers had settled to have an eatie, when someone proposed a game
‘Which one?’ Turjan asked over tea. ‘Oh, ‘darts’ is really it’s name.’
Replied Toe, who looked about for something for the target to be
‘None can be found! What shall we use?’ And then she spied BC.
‘Oh, no, No no, young whippersnapper, you simply can’t use me.’
And glancing around, he stated, ‘Why don’t we hit that tree?’
Hit a tree? Such a thing? From such a gentle crowd?
‘Alright,’ said Toe, with shrugs, and bade them gather round.
‘Find a weapon! To hit the target, this big old smelly plant.
And please, don’t give anything to Blob; Play darts, he certainly can’t.’
Well Bob got in a little snit, and went to sulk by Iggy
Who was thinking of hitting the tree with a little hickory twiggy
‘Iguana, put that club down! You don’t want to kill the tree!’
‘Hunh? Why not? Aren’t we playing darts?’ replied a confused Iggy.
‘Yeah, we are, so carry on!’ shouted a jolly Toe
As she handed a plasma grenade to her dust bunnie, Margo.
‘Hey, that’s shnot fair!’ slurred Owl, already in a drunken stupor
‘We can’t shtart the game til Ymmie and me recooper-recuper--’
‘Until we get better, you know. Calm down Owl, at least for now, and let little Margo go.’
And so it was the dust bunnie was first up there to throw.
Unfortunately, she too had been dippin’ into the ale
For her plasma grenade exploded just short of Shiny’s silver tail
(Of course, he didn’t notice, fast asleep and snoring
He’d found the picnic somewhat tiring and boring.)
Next up was Wenchy, who wanted to throw Weasel
But used a shoe when he chickened out, the old ungodly dweezle.
Her red high heel fair smacked a tree n gave it a run for its money
Unfortunately, twas the wrong tree...Better luck next time, honey.
Hatchetman was next to try, and he probably would have won
If Lerk hadn’t insisted he’d cheated (by using his gun).
‘Hmm, darts, what an odd game. Perhaps I’ll give it a spin.’
Said old BC who promptly dodged all the citrus fruits thrown at him
‘Hey, you young buggers! I said leave the tanges at home!
Didn’t you read the beginning of the pome (sic)?’
Poor Daisy never knew what hit her, BC just heaved the poor lil cat
She smacked straight into the bullseye with a sickening, sickening splat.
‘Uh oh.’ Cried Toe, ducking behind Iggy and Bob.
Was a bad move on BC’s part, though he did a rather nice job
In wrecking the tree...see, it’s split straight in two
Apparently, when Daisy hit it, she must have fairly flew.
Out of the wreckage of the poor old stump came a big white lump of fur
Growling the kind of awful growl that can only mean ‘Danger’.
‘Ah, hush yer yap, Daisy,’ said BC, producing a wad of cash
‘Yer fine, ye furry coot..Now go out and spend my stash.’
Daisy fairly sauntered but took the stack of bills;
The moral of today’s story: Better to be bribed than to be killed.
The villagers gathered up the Old Farts
And the Unwashed Babies too
And ate and ate all the party food
Until the day was through
Finally they packed back up, and towards home they did go
Daisy, well, she’s still out shopping...she found BC’s Visa Gold.

*HUGS*

Maggot Bag, er, Jingle Bells :)

Word of preface - Maggot Bag is Ozspeak                                                   

for meat pie. Sing to the tune of Jingle Bells.                                                    

Dashing out the door,
I'm running very late,
Off to Uni I go,
To meet my study fate,
Three hundred miles to go,
It suits me very well,
Before I go I'll have to answer,
What to eat in Hell.                                                    

Oh! Maggot Bags! Maggot Bags!
Full of complex oils!
Put on lots of ketchup 'coz,
It's not long 'til they spoil.
Oh! Maggot Bags! Maggot Bags!
They settle your beer belly,
Just the things you need when there's,
Football on the telly!                                                    

Serve them on their own,
Or with some salty chips,
Have them with some peas,
The fat goes to your hips,
Eat them while their warm,
And not when they are cold,
They are the most nutritious meal,
Than in your hand you'll hold.
                                                    

Oh! Maggot Bags! Maggot Bags!
Full of complex oils!
Put on lots of ketchup 'coz,
It's not long 'til they spoil.
Oh! Maggot Bags! Maggot Bags!
They settle your beer belly,
Just the things you need when there's,
Football on the telly!                                                    

Cheers from the Land of Oz                           

Christmas in the Village

It's Christmas in the Village
Everyone's full of cheer
With all at the Bastard Bar
That we hold so dear
We've Sysman with Strawberries
Dipped in chocolate, so sweet
JD laps up ale
From the bowl at his feet
Lerk the Avuncular
Still talks to the trees
Sylvin mutters about teddy bears
Serving her own special tea's
Night Owl's at the bar
On his own private stool
Pondering a game of darts with SCUZ
Whose becoming a drunken fool
Anduilin carves dragons
In the corner so quiet
Roshambo would like one
Like a big kid,he's a riot
Riddick and Tazo are nestled so tight
Thought they were a statue,
They've been there all night
Darkfox is drooling
Over Karate's new dress
She's clearly a 10
Even Greg is a mess
Turjan giggles while drawing,
A bit pickled and lude
He's been sketching some pics
Oh lord, it's Hoopy Frood nude!
Mathurin is showing off
His skills in karate
Jen makes an entrance
The bar stops....what a hottie!
Pipboy and Wraith are off shooting pool
Shadowman dressed to kill
The Estrogen Brigade drools
Amber, so quiet in the corner she sits
It's He@dbytes chair, and he'll have a fit!
Steve so inquisitive...must know how things work
Counting bubbles in ale, it's his own little quirk
JC wears a shirt, with Pink Teddy Bears on it
He sits at the bar, and writes Sylvin a sonnet.
Lovebunnie my son, misbehaving and flirting
He'll be grounded tomorrow and his head will be hurting
Paladin comes in with his new shiny gear
He's got Tink on his shoulder
Giggling so innocently, whispering in his ear
The party's full swing
They're bobbing for cherries?
I'll say no more..
Have a Christmas thats Merry.


If I've left someone out, and I know I have, but I just can't do a poem THAT long. I love you guys. We've all been a source of support for each other at one time or another. I can't count the times you guys have pulled me out of a "blue slump". This is my way of saying Thank You. Merry Christmas.

As time ticks by I remember what I was,
as I sit here now I know who I am
and as look into the distance I see where I want to be
Some day.

You've got to be kidding with this one,
It's a case of the chicken and the egg,
Pick another subject Roadburner,
This of you I beg.
For the two characters can't be compared,
They're similar, not the same,
One is calm, sauve and debonair,
The other, I suppose the same.
One has a love of adventure,
The other one does too,
One is a real killer with the opposite sex,
Of the other that is true.
One has a love of technology,
The other of old caves,
Both will not stop their travels,
'Til they're in their graves.
Indy is a real intellectual type,
The unis are his thing,
But James comes up with surprising stuff,
He's the smugness king.
Both have those rugged good looks,
Of blokes I'm not really fond,
And here I issue a type of preface,
I'm referring to the ONLY Bond.
That has to be the irrepressible Sean,
Connery is his last name,
He looked like he could take a punch,
And coolness is his game.
He's still around in films today,
A movie star type of jock,
He's gone the distance with all actors,
I loved him in "The Rock".
But Indy has some endearing charms,
He's prone to the odd mistake,
His sill things make him more believabloe,
Like us he is a flake.
So, I submit my answer here,
Before my fingers die,
You cannot have a winner now,
I declare a tie.
As a form of postscript though,
And a morale booster,
The egg nor the chicken came first,
I think it was the rooster.                                                    

Ymir

Spark me
a light
a fire
a funeral
pyre
a little
barbecue
to cook
the steaks on
a little alcohol
to make me
forget
my death
even if I'm
still alive
Do you know
what time
it is
when the batteries
in your clock
are dead?
There's no such
thing as time
it's just
a label
humanity
placed on
something
beyond
comprehension
similar to
how it needs
the bastion
of God
to cling to
so their fragile
minds may continue
to function
without
shattering
and crumbling
to useless
quivering
masses of jelly...

The Night Before Christmas

 T'was the night before Christmas - Old Santa was pissed
He cussed out the elves and threw down his list

Miserable little brats, ungrateful little jerks
I have good mind to scrap the whole works

I've busted my ass for damn near a year
Instead of "Thanks Santa" - what do I hear

The old lady bitches cause I work late at night
The elves want more money - The reindeer all fight

Rudolph got drunk and goosed all the maids
Donner is pregnant and Vixen has AIDS

And just when I thought that things would get better
Those assholes from IRS sent me a letter

They say I owe taxes - if that ain't damn funny
Who the hell ever sent Santa some money

And the kids these days - they all are the pits
They want the impossible ...Those mean little shits

I spent a whole year making wagons and sleds
Assembling dolls...Their arms, legs and heads

I made a ton of yo yo's - No request for them
They want computers and robots...I'm not IBM!

If you think that's bad...just picture this
Try holding those brats...with their pants full of piss

They pull on my nose - they grab at my beard
And if I don't smile...parents think I'm weird

Flying through the air...dodging the trees
Falling down chimneys and skinning my knees

I'm quitting this job...there's just no enjoyment
I'll sit on my fat ass and draw unemployment

There's no Christmas this year...now you know the reason
I found me a blonde...and going SOUTH for the season!!

So You're You (And So What?)

If you want to mean something to me
Go down in history
If you want me to remember you
Gimme a good reason
So you're you, and so what?
You don't really mean that much
So you're you, and so what?
You don't really mean that much

If you really want we can play that game
Just remember the rules have changed
This time I'm playing to win
Cause I don't feel like losing
So you're you, and so what?
I don't really care that much
So you're you, and so what?
I don't really care that much

If you want to mean something to me
Go down in history
But I got better things to do
Than hang around waiting
So you're you, and so what?
I don't really care that much
So you're you, and so what?
I don't really care that much

I will Not
Hiaku in this thread
Flustered is my head

"Untitled"

Oh Lord, I must tell you of a man I met.
He came to me in my dreams, and he is so kind,
and I am asking only that You bring him into your kind favor.
He is generous and caring, but in one eye, he is blind.

Oh Lord, last night, he took me to the most wonderful place.
Birds were singing, and honey flowed in the creeks and streams.
It was such Heaven there,
even the flowers seemed to be made of moon beams.

Oh Lord, he showed me the most beautiful tree.
There were delicate apples upon it, and the branches were gold.
He said they tasted as perfect as they looked,
so I took a bite, and it was Heaven, or so she was told.

If only the poor girl could realize all the lies she was told.
For the birds were hidden demons, the honey, a poison of no end.
And if only the poor girl knew,
that the Devil, not a man, beckoned to her, and would be HER end.

The fact that Blizzard has included,
Player killing in the game,
Leaves this open to interpretation,
RPGs won't be the same.
The problems of online gaming,
Are shared with Ultima Online.
Player killing, hacking and duping,
Are pet hats of mine.
But the facility is in the game,
To gather player kills,
There are a myriad of options,
For people to get their thrills.
Some like reaching the end of the game,
Doing it alone,
Conquering each facet of the game,
Hearing monsters groan.
Others like to work cooperatively,
Teamwork is an art,
It adds to the replay of the game,
Comaraderie plays a part.
Others like to duel with people,
Possessing well defined laws,
They are characterised by a code and honour,
Cheaters give them pause.
Others form legitimate guilds,
Caring for their members,
Creating dungeon crawling legends,
Shared round campfire embers.
Others like to use the program code,
To get that rare item,
And when that tough monster appears, They use the same to bite 'em.
Still others like to kill all players,
With spells of invinsibilty,
Still others become bounty hunters,
It's all the same to me.                                                    

Blizzard has included these features,
To cater for all styles,
It's a revolutionary game,
Ahead of most by miles.
I see it as an honest relection,
Of our society,
Some are legitimate, others not,
It doesn't bother me.
I've been pked more than once,
And lost all I had,
The experience was very negative,
I thought it rather bad.
So, I played lots of single player,
Or played with my friends,
People whom I could really trust,
There were no sudden ends.
I guess what I see as the bottom line,
I say this with a smile,
You pick the type of fun that suits you,
Play to your favoured style.
I don't think that we can really label,
Something as right or wrong,
It is our opinion and nothing more,
The defining line is gone.
What we like to do and play,
Is something of our choice,
We may like it, others not,
But should they hear our voice?                                                    

Play the way that suits your style,
And with others of that type,
Find ways to find kindred players,
And avoid the hype.
There are no easy answers here,
Everyone is right,
Their style of playing is O.K. to them,
So, why bother to fight?
There's plenty on offer here,
In this wonderful game,
I'll enjoy it and play with friends,
I hope you do the same.        

Cheers from the Land of Oz                         

Hmm..I once wrote a poem that had no meaning at all. Some guy read it and said it was bad because poems should be like a story, they should have a start and an end and tell a story.
I personally think he was an idiot...and he's not read many short stories if he thinks they all have an ending...or even tell a story for that matter.
Yeah well...I will now try to write you a random poem. I have no story or reason...I shall just start writing. I hope it has no meaning at all to you but to be simply words on a page...or I hope somehow it does have meaning, for how can a word even sitting alone not have a meaning?
*looks back at what she wrote* Does that make sense? I know what I mean but I don't know if I said it right.
Here you go:
I run around in circles,
Randomly straying out of the line,
Lines that you set for me.
And I fall to the ground,
Dizzy.
I don’t know which way is up.
With my eyes closed,
Things are still spinning
Out of my control.
I fall to the ground,
I stay on the ground,
Randomly thinking thoughts,
They spin around.
And make me dizzy.

k.a.stryker
aka:Sylvin

"Things"

I think of all the things I'd like to say
Of all the things I'd like to do
It seems so easy
Like things will go all right
But every time I see you
I loose myself when you look at me
What can I say or do
I'm afraid to hurt you
Because...

I love you

So much poetry
We will be shitcanned to Arts
Tenzing will take us

under a most cold surface
dwells a soul
without bitternes
altough misery is it's only
source of sustenance
it does well enough
to one day flourish
and fill the once beating heart.

Child of the darkness

Child of the darkness
I hear you 
Your touch
Your plea
Winged over
Darkened sea                                                    

To find me here
Awaiting 
Breathlessly
To add life
To the Poetry Compendium                                                    

You're not alone
In darkness
Others exist
Drawing strength
Away from the sun
Join us
We bedraggled ones
Left of centre
There cannot be enough
Poetry Bastards                                                    

Cheers from the Land of Oz                                                    

sleep lies
in the darkness
makes you feel
the cold air rush
over the thin sheets
you huddle shivering
beneath a threadbare
set of bedcovers
your pulse slows
as your blood runs
cold in the veins
but inside your eyes
behind your mind
you walk in the sunshine
on a warm sandy beach
with the scantily clad
beautiful whatever
of your dreams
immune to the cold
in your mind's eye
even as the winter
drives a shiver
through your spine.

Gone for the weekend.
Get your shots in while you can.
Sunday is payback!

"Wretched"

Tangling my hair
Around my fingers
I could just pull it
From out my head;
Let it fall, red snakes
Bleeding over a black sky
Do you ever have a day
Where you just need
To cry?

Dancing with the shadows,
I can feel them again
Underneath my skin;
Don't you know by now?
I don't like to win.
But still I'm standing outside
Crying,
Let me out,
Don't let him in.

I'm stringing my heart on
The chain he gave me; I'll
wrap it up and send it to
him first-class super express regret
Remember, I can forgive
But never can
I ever
Forget.

Is it bad
That when I see him falling down
My first instinct is to just
Leave him on the ground?
Days like this,
My heart burns like a match
My mind goes like a fuse
And my soul decides it's just another
Toy that he can abuse

I'm clawing towards the surface.
I think I'll make it someday.
Maybe then his nightmares
Will start to fade away.

Expectations of the everlasting
warrior-frog of katmandu
are not of possible
futures of parrallel universes
but of world peace in our time.

And if I had a lie to follow
from early day til end of time
you would be my terrible firework
my window into crime

Without the dance, no flat tires
would be cause for opression
and every cushioned seat would
be a sacred sanctuary

An institution for the weak of heart
the handicapped of will.
Hiding behind terms as societies most ill.

For the record, nothing here is true
unless you wish it so, it won't be that way for you.
So take of your unfatazising shackels
and throw yoruself into oblivion.

Through My Eyes

If you were me,
What would you see
If you looked at the world through my eyes?
A masquerade,
Life's game is played
But all I can see are the lies.

If you were me,
Then you would see
What lies behind the masks they wear.
Their hopes, their fears,
Their joy, their tears
Their souls' emotions all laid bare.

It's hard to write a poem,
A poem that should rhyme.
To try and think up such things
I don't think I have time.

I've found a way to do it.
But I will have to admit,
I cannot take the credit.
Banango showed me it.

I know that verse was awful
One I'd hasten to amend,
But then I decided to
Just make this poem end.

Night Owl and Iggy
They sure look 'the same' to me
Oops! Should be 'insane'

Previously I've stated my steamrollerality,
And all that it brings,
However, I've given a few moments consideration,
To those animal things.
I think that I'd be a Frilled Neck Lizard,
A reptile from Oz,
It's cold blooded like I am,
This point, and because,
It's other name is The Bearded Dragon,
It's a bit like me,
When it's in danger it puffs it head up,
It's a sight to see.
Not that I puff my head up larger,
But I do have a beard,
So, the lizard and I kindreds,
It really is quite weird.
Further, I like the sound of them name,
The dragon bit is cool,
And the reptilian part is kinda nice,
Suggesting something cruel.
So, add the two parts together,
Cruel and cool you get,
Prerequisites for a Poetry Bastard,
Quite obvios, I bet.
                                                    

Cheers from the Land of Oz
(any comments from Night Owl                                                   

will be treated with Bastardly Contempt)     

Did Blue Cross return?
Or did the latrine back up?
The stench is the same

Ode to Cassie

Heya girl how ya doing?
It's me the crazy English guy,
you know, the one who get's insanely jealous
the guy who's got 1001 innuendo's

I just wanted to say how wonderful you are,
and how you make me feel so hppey everytime we talk,
Your like a breath of freash air to my stagant day,
In short your my best friend.

Yes, well, i havnt posted any poetry in a while. Altough i've been very active prose wise.

So without further ado, poems from University. A few didnt make it here, because they are in Swedish and you wouldnt understand them. Also, i wont translate them.


Or maybe i will!

*Translated* dated at: sep 2, 2004. Alderach.

Cold, white, cellhallroom
mirrors: work, gain.
Coinciding rewinds of time
do no good.

Questions on and on, albeit
not ressesive lamp.

Nonsens boy, the real thing is less uncommon.
disintegrate not my point of view
like barbarians.

Undoubtably independant wooden table.

Maybe the prose should point
towords reality to a larger extent. I find it odd
that this table isnt leaning.

Unsure if the eraser law holds true.
Soon the Decan will come,
In the break the world is smoking.

I climb these steps,
moss covered steps,
uncertain of where I am going,
only knowing I need to go.
for I am depressed,
and sad,
how I hate to be depressed,
and these steps are soft under my feet,
a soft comfort in a world of harshness,
and somehow I feel protected.
I pass a ledge
hidden under stone,
so I lie down and sleep
on a moss covered bed,
and I know
that I am here,
and I am safe,
protected.

I sit
shrouded
in the light
a soft gentle
binding thing
which does not
allow me the
freedom of thought
and I attempt
to cross the lines
fire a thought
into existence
breed an idea
into being,
but nothing flows
from my mind
through the pen
to the page
that sits sparklingly
crisp, pristine
in its immaculate
colorless infinity
a solidity that just
goes on forever...
But in the darkness
sweet dark, I find
brings to mind
and breeds a rhyme
or an idea of intense
volatility, or simply
sentient empathy,
and flowingly flees
my mind to find
the pattern most
effective on the
pristine page,
now marred with
hieroglyphics,
offsetting the
import of the words
the fact apparent
the colorless
has been broken
black blood bleeds
amidst the immaculate
breaks the chain
in twain
and reveals a world
of vibrant beautiful
colors born
of light.

where comes wisdom

a wise man and a fool
both make the same mistakes
the difference is the tool
of experience one makes

the wise man ponders at his stumbles
and wonders how to learn
the fool just gets back up and grumbles
and varies not a turn

so, be wary as you fall, my friend
and notice how, and why, and where
for wiser then, you'll see the end,
prepared for every snare

Ymir has been here
Wondering who Amir is
BC - take your pills

Here it is...I've been looking for this all over the place since the shootings... I'm really, really outraged by how the media is handling this.. They seem to be saying, in my p.o.v. anyways, that all the psychopaths in the world are depressed teens in trenchcoats. This poem has always been one I've liked, and I think it's fitting here..Richard Cory, perfectly normal guy who everyone thinks is great... See... no trench coat... Not depressed... Not an outcast! Still ends up a psychopath in the end. Huzzah.
*HUGS*
RICHARD CORY

EDWIN ARLINGTON ROBINSON

Whenever Richard Cory went down town,

We people on the pavement looked at him:

He was a gentleman from sole to crown,

Clean favored, and imperially slim.

And he was always quietly arrayed,

And he was always human when he talked;

But still he fluttered pulses when he said,

"Good-morning," and he glittered when he walked.

And he was rich -- yes, richer than a king,

And admirably schooled in every grace:

In fine, we thought that he was everything

To make us wish that we were in his place.

So on we worked, and waited for the light,

And went without the meat, and cursed the bread;

And Richard Cory, one calm summer night,

Went home and put a bullet through his head.

The Weird.

My mind is on fire.
But the fire is moist
It dampens the otherwise.
overactive nodes.
of my headbox.

With delicate scrupenty
the wall of my psyche contracts
pushing what little sense i have
out from my noseholes
Making my consience valid
if blue. Last but not least overidden.

Hands to my tempels. Tunes, be my ride,
blind i must stumble, the beat at my side.
my emotion state is crumbling
and i am filled with the pre-created
The fabricated nonsenssounds
that would enable me to swim
had i only the soundbased mirth-like appendages.

Gather, one last try, the weird. The tired, the nonsenical,
react through absurd to become the reality
Wich i could not express
alone.

Two in the Morning

I'm your pill
I'm your prescription
Two in the morning
One at night

I'm your drug
I'm your addiction
Take one of me
You'll feel alright

I'm your break
I'm intermission
From the life
That you hate

I'm your thing
I'm your condition
I'm the headache
That you fake

Okey-dokey then...

Chaucerian Stanza:

Do not go gentle into that Bastard Bar
Malcontents and ne'er do wells there abide
One can see them easily from afar
But one cannot from them easily hide
Nor can one reverse the tide
Pandora's box reveals creatures fell
But The Bastard Bar is a living hell.


Umm... a different form for each entry? Or are we playing tit-for-tat?

Where's Amir when you need him?

Poem - Ice queen

Oops, I messed up again,
I said something I shouldn’t
Or did something wrong,

I’m sorry I made you mad at me
I’m sorry I hurt your feelings
I never meant you hurt you

Yeah right now here’s the truth

I say what I say,
I do what I do,
I am who I am
I make no apologies for that,

But if I have to disgust you,
Or I have to annoy you
Just to get a response,
Just one little hint of emotion,
Or that I bothered you in some way
Then it’ll all be worthwhile.

I love with all my heart
I SHOW what I feel
I don’t stare blankly or act like it’s nothing
If you cut me do I not bleed?

But if I were to cut you
Would you bleed?
Would you even notice?
Or would you smile and kiss me
And say it’s ok.

I don’t want Ok; I want a sign that it bothers you
I want to get a rise out of you
I just want something
Anything that shows you’re not on autopilot.

If you love me, slap me when I do wrong,
Don’t just forgive me make me sorry
I Know you love me, you tell me all the time
But I feel blocked out by your impassiveness
You love no longer shows.

Will you shed a tear for me when I’m gone?
Or shrug as usual and walk away

I walk these halls of make believe
While shattered nightmares fall to the ground
Turning in circles,
Hoping things will be different
when I get back around.

K. A. Stryker
December 1999

Despair

Alone in apartment
the silent tomb,

I am now forgotten
I can only presume.

Dread solitude extends its embrace,
such that I can remember not your face.

A floor scattered with me and with you
not a thing, not a thing I can do.

My heart silently cries
cries like a child

A yellow bear glances,
ever loving and mild,

He is quizzical, puzzled
with the other toys piled.

There is nothing
nothing left, not even the blue.

My lawless lip quivers
now the flood will ensue.

If you want a war
You won't be disappointed
But I choose weapons

I have always felt that haiku
Is far too weak of a poetic form
But what should we expect from you
The self-proclaimed lower than worm
And so I now suggest to you
You give up your poetic career
And return to trying to get a view
Of some poor Villager's rear
And perhaps one day yet to come
You can return, with all new skill
And with nothing more than my thumb
I'll once again crush you, what a thrill
But until that day, be off with you now
I grow bored with this, witless cow.

Perhaps not a perfect sonnet, but reasonably close for under 5 minutes work.

You've been shot,
Right out of the sky...
Never gave in...
Miles high...
I'm just a layer of sound...
Look what I found...
On my brand new jamming,
Intersound...
I know you'll find,
Piece of mind...
On my fun face race,
Interspace...
I'm the Silver Surfer,
Carrie and Lucifer...
Lay on the ground,
And nobody dies...

Ooh... Hey... Ooh...
Ooh... Hey... Ooh...
Ooh... Hey... Ooh...

While he attacks the brace,
Where the devil does his damage,
And the counting list...
It's like a belly twist...
Like a turn of my own reefer,
Make you sweat and curse,
And we travel for six weeks,
Around the universe...

Sweat and curse...
For six weeks...
Devil does his damage...
Around the universe...
I'll make you sweat and curse...

I'll keep travelin',
Stay in the shadows...
Listen again,
When I come by myself...

Ooh... Hey... Ooh...
Ooh... Hey... Ooh...
Ooh... Hey... Ooh...

Speed can break your neck,
Avoid the collision...
A real...
Clean...
Decision...

Mindscape

Perhaps I have been introspective of late,
But with this I would like to share,
The concept of my mind,
On display,
Like a fair,

My mind is a place,
It exists within me,
It holds many things,
Greater yet undiscovered,
Then uncovered,

There are many places in my mind,
Some bright,
Some dark,
An uneven mix throughout,

Yet even in my darkest years of late,
Come times of brightness,
A moments cheer,

And even in my brightest days,
Came darkness,
A death,
A fear,

There are many places within my mind to see,
Things about me I know,
Things about me I have yet to know,

My fears,
A simple place,
Dark yes,
But It holds parts of me,

A spiny bush,
A piece of pain,
My simplest of fear,
I face it every day,

A towering castle filled with banshee,
My despair,
I fear to tread there,
Yet it is a place I have come to know,

A maze made of rubber walls,
A combination of my greatest fears,
Lost,
Loneliness,
No matter what path I chose,
A dead end,
A bounce of the walls,
Rejection,

On my path out, I pass a fear,
Conquered it lies,
My fear of heights,
Now I wish to fly,

I travel from this dark place,
Towards to shadow realms I seek,
My desires,

I pass my most hated of desires,
But yet I cannot divest myself of it,
A crystal filled with dark and light,
It pulses slowly,
Power it calls,
Things within me it awakes,
Yet I let it sleep,
With lazyness I slay it,
I hold my self in check,
As always,

I pass my next desire,
It is an interesting place,
A library dusty with age,
Secrets untold,
Things unnamed,
Knowledge it is,
Stories unfinished it's pain,

I pass forward,
Other desires I see,
Yet I do not know them,
I have not explored them,
They are for later,
One day I will see,

At the end comes my greatest desire,
The brightest place,
A blazing fire,
It burns with rainbow colors,
A beautiful sight to see,
Love is it's name,
It has always called me,
Yet it is starved,
No wood lies about,
It is the most unfilled of this place,
But I save it for one day,
When it's light will shine,
Making white,
My whole mind,

Next come memories,
A place of glowing lights,
So bright some dark,
A bright moment in the sun,
A name,
A moment unlike any other with my friends,
These sing out to me,
My happy memories,

But without the dark,
The light exists not,
Things I have done,
Attack me,
Memories of rage,
Memories of Loss,
Death,
Memories of inflicting pain,
For ego,
For reasons even less,
Memories of pain inflicted,
Of words that stung,
I know their truth exists not,
Yet they still haunt me,

I fight my way through the lights,
Often I spend just sitting there,
Remembering,
But not this night,

A prison is ahead,
Locked with chains of the mind,
Pieces of me,
I wanted to leave behind,
Parts of me I reject,
Yet they are me,
This cannot be changed,
So them I imprison,
Them I chain,
But their bars are made of concentration,
A day of past,
A day of future,
I slip,
And they are released,
For a time,
I am chained,
But their imprisonment I do not regret,

I reach forth,
I raise my gaze,
An unexplored country,
Lies before my days,
My judge of distance is all for naught,
10 years or 80,
I cannot tell,
But what lies ahead will come,
In time

My friend

Though there is distance between us
I’m always there with you
I send my thoughts and wishes
And all in me that’s true

I wish that I could be there
Just to hold your hand
Sit across and sip my tea
Perhaps there’d be some flan

Flan was really silly
It’s not what I want to say
But the word rhymed
And you know I’m just that way

Inside me is this space
I save just for us
And the only word I think that rhymes
Is gross; because it’s puss

And there I am being silly
When I really want to share
All my feelings for you
And how much I really care

So if this silly poem
Got to your heart at all
I hope it helped a little
And if we ever meet, lets go to the mall.

(cause you know I need help finding that dress)

Note that some of them were written when it wasn't snowing. That's not really the point. The point is that snow means i can stay at my mom's house all day and post the poems i have written and saved on this machine, moo ha ha ha.

Yeah.

Comments, etc, appreciated greatly as always. They make my little world spin on its axis.

in chronological order:

"zero g"

rocket to the moon
rocket out of this skin
i'm going to shoot it away
there's nothing left in
so then i'll be weightless
then i'll be free
among the stars among the dust
there'll be nothing
there'll be no me
there'll be no you
no failure, no challenge, no winning, no waste
no you, no you, no infinite debate
just nothing me, with
nothing face,
nothing but cool logic
and the slow spread of space.
(12/16/01 - the rest are from today)



"paraphrasia"

his diagnosis of me:

an unfortunate love
for endlessly asking questions
ceaseless movement of
elastic mouth and mind
ever manic baby
hypervigilant hands wringing out
all nascent drops
of an echolalic life

he adds, apologetical:

my paraphrasia praeceps,
i think may be
a girl ahead of her time.

"strand"

i guess it's settled now
that i dream in your own language
that before i knew anything
of your beard
i dreamed of it and of hope
and you

tied to my life
always resurfacing, my sweet secret
always magnetizing me
though i try to resist, i'm
tied to this winding life
and you

our divergent paths cross
yet again, my love
yet i cannot breathe a shadow
of what i see in fate, for fear
our kingdom will crumble back to the sea
and you

will somehow break the strand
that it will shatter with my speaking
that my utterance will unravel it
and finally you
will find a route away from
me

"muddle"

the first time
i sat down to rearrange words
into a bouquet of my choosing
was so long ago
not even the elephants remember

the last time
i sat down to pull myself together
with the aid of my vocabulary
was so recent past
that my hands are still shaking

seven years, five years, ten?
that is, since i first picked up
a book and pen

and wrote in my best life blood

it bothers me that i can't remember
our first time, love

and it irks me that even now

the pieces splinter further apart

too broken to follow to the origin

follow them

*back*

to my heart
which i must have left near the start.

"a call to silence"

i think i might be aphasic
that is, i mean nominally
it never seems that the right word
ever wants to come to me
it's okay baby, i know
we all just want to be free

free of the syntax,
free of the relapse,
free of the contracts
and the complex contractions

it seems

silence is the science
of satisfaction.

sweet sweet Aphonia
come on and set me free
because everybody knows that
everyone wants to be
free of violence of the noise
in the silence why won't the silence
ever claim me?

claim my reflux,
claim my dumbstruck,
claim my traction
and the unreasonable attractions

take me

into the deep silence
and satisfaction.

"malcontent"

what do you think of me?
a malcontent?
a trouble maker
who, like the say,
eats her men
like air?
you're not the first
to be here
not the first to be
scared
there's safety in numbers
true what you
have taught me
alone i count the days
til across the chasm
of our relations
i will be free
just to be alone
and tired
and angry
and unknown
so i'll go where no one
knows me there
and no one thinks
that i eat souls
like air
and no one there
is hell bent
on believing that i'm
a malcontent.

....
and because i think the number six is evil, here's uh, one from the top of my head:

"handholding Kelvin"

you make me so cold
my fingers grow so old
and stiff with this
emotional arthritis
it's hard to write what's real
hard to identify what i feel
difficult to find the keys
and make them work for me
will not this winter
end somewhere?

Iguana Eater
run over, left for roadkill
now known as Nathan.

Show me Poem.

Show me a couple in love.
Don't show me the ground and nothing above.

Show me anyone who has not been defeated.
Don't show me a loser, all tired and beaten.

Show me someone with a mind that does not need cleaning.
Don't show me the people dealing and hating.

Show me two friends with nothing in common.
Don't show the state of yearning and longing.

Show me beauty, unparralleled, free.
Don't show me symmetry, rigid and stale.

Show me a dance where the music stopped playing.
Don't show me the energy, not healing, sustaining.

Show me a world where crying is gone.
Don't show me a place where feelings are wrong.

Show me a heart that has not yet been broken.
Don't show me the world where nothing is spoken.

Show me a prison where justice was served.
Don't show me the time when no one was heard.

Show me one ideology that atually works.
Don't show me the crooks, and people who curse.

Show me a wasteland, teeming with life.
Don't show me a forest of anquish and strife.

Show me your mind, put up to the test.
Don't show me graphs, not even in jest.

Show me around, inside of your head.
Don't show me out, away too the dead.


Please show me somewhere where someone, is happy.
Please show me how in the world, that could be.
Please be my guide, my trust and my soulmate.
Please, show me and i'll show you...


---

:|

You've clearly made yer point,
It's tough for old guys to see,
Their way outta the joint.
I'm just glad to have him near,
It took the Pointy Stick,
You just wave that sucker all around,
It always does the trick.
But I fear that you're all wrong,
Lerk has a new vice,
He's joined the British Girl Power Group,
They call him Geriatric Spice.                                                    

(well, he's younger than Ginger is)                                                    

Cheers from the Land of Oz             

A tale
to make you
fret and frown
or is it just
underground
thinking I saw
the light
bleed and die
fade with the
color from your
eyes,
as you slipped
away to land never
the place were
souls flow for ever
existence is futile
but we fight it
but we fight it
because we fear
the lightless eyes
we always see
when a soul
leaves a body
cold once warm
told once harmed
and now you see
eternal sympathy
fits in another
universal ecstasy

Tastes Like Glass

It's just one of those days
Where everything goes wrong
When I break down
Will you come along
You'll get a front row seat
And a backstage pass
Champagne on ice
That tastes like glass

This morning I checked out
Of my old motel
She knew the wrong people
Got me a room in her hell
She said she knew a good time
I think I'll pass
She was cool as ice
But she tastes like glass

Sent invitations out
For the day I'd crack
The hours went by
But I never heard back
She said don't worry
She said it'd pass
Now I'm cool as ice
But I feel like glass

It's just one of those days
Where everything goes wrong
When I break down
She'll be coming along
With her a front row seat
And her backstage pass
Sipping champagne
That tastes like glass

When I look at this
Only one thought comes to mind
Why no limericks?

There once was a poor little redhead
Who fell for the tricks of a deadhead
She came like a dream
And left with a scream
Because someone was showing his *Edited*

The senility
It has finally crept in
It won't be long now

Inspired by Blue Cross
I, too, will write a Haiku
Just as meaningless.

Falls again
Standing at the top
Of the world in my mind

I see the falls before me
Shining, shining wall of water
Cascades down to erupt

Into spray upon hard rocks.

Life flows onward, unceasing
I scarce have time to enjoy it.

I see people living so fast
That they do not see their
Eventual destination, as they

Smash upon the hard rocks of life.

Maybe I'm a fool, for thinking so
My mind's not the best these days

I find myself comparing
My life to that shining waterfall
As it beats upon wet rocks

Which resist their flow eternal.


Note: there's a very small little waterfall, maybe 10 feet, near my house in a small park. There's a rock I sit on , surrounded by rosebushes and willow trees, where I think and write to the sound of rushing water. The thought just struck me , and it might be witless.

Perhaps the cages
We all inhabit
are not so
strong after all.
Or perhaps
They are the
strongest thing we know.
We make our own cages
And houses
And castles.
To share or not.
Someone else shares
or holds
the key
To our
cage, house, castle
Only by our own choice.

when forced to pick between the two,
it puts me rather deeply blue
for each has just the quality
to wish me shipwrecked out at sea

Ginger is the sailor's choice
with wiggled walk
and sultry voice

But Mary Ann, all fresh and scrub
Is never one
that I would snub

A stolen kiss from Farmer's daughter
is to a desert dweller, water
a calf-like nuzzle behind the ear
would make me blush, to be the steer

and gingham does more comfort give
than fancy silks or satin gold
and I would rather try and live
in kansas warmth than L.A. cold

oh, ginger's nice, and quite the snap
but I am not a fancy chap
I seek the heart and not the face
I gravitate toward homespun grace

you'll never top the joy, I think
of winsome smile and hearty wink
Not with the hips, or lips, or sips
from ginger's heady brew of drink

But might I ask a thing of you
on such a choice I hesitate
instead of choosing one of two
could I not rather vacilate?

Mary Ann's my choice, but brother!
my adolescent fantasy
is not the one or just the other
but hammocks built for three!

Lafite 82
Pecorino and Stilton
The spider beckons...

Vestibule dweller,
Wine and cheese shall not prevail
Over Village girls.

This one is very odd but none the less make no sence and perfect sence.
I sleep
Nothing
I wake
I dream

Thoughts overlap reality like sheets of paper,
sometimes the paper is so thin you can't distinguish the two,
I saw you smiling at me
But were you there?
I watched the children playing on the street,
yet the street was empty.

Is this real?
or am I dreaming?
I can tell reality from fantasy
Fantasy is more tangiable

I wear this personality like camouflage,
Hiding the real me,
A veneer,
A shell.

Underneath I am small and afraid,
Trembling that you will see,
Weak,
Timid.

But I put on this mask every day,
Blend in with those around,
Camouflage,
It’s all fake.

An empty forum...
Sad is the post unheeded,
Our tears fall unseen.

Echo

What do you see when you look at me ?
A General of Armies ?
A spy ?
A sorcerer with the gift of prophecy ?
A simple person,
Yourself ?

Everything is but an echo of another,
I have been all of these things,
Perhaps not in fact,
Not in reality,
But an illusion is enough,
An Echo,
A fraction of reality,

What we are,
Is what we are around,
Tap a wall,
Hear it reverberate,
That sound changes everything,
You,
Me,

Everything is cause and effect,
Every cause an effect of something else,
Everything an echo of another,
Like ripples in a pond,
An echo is circular,
It begins with it's end,
It ends with it's beginning,

Some may ask why I prefer to move second in chess,
Why I want to know what others would chose,
But I understand something,
Within my self is the echo of others,
What they are,
In part,
I become,

This is true of all things,
That which one begins,
All must complete,
In one form or another

Where Lerk Has Gone

He has been wooed by the siren's song,
He simply had to go,
For the alluring call can't be resisted,
Of the mighty Diablo.
Lerk is a righteous kinda bloke,
He likes to battle for right,
The thought of all those demons loose,
Stokes his urge to fight.
So, through the dungeons he crawls,
Many scalps he gets,
Laying waste to Diablo proper,
And his misshapen pets.
I also hear quite indirectly,
That he's been quite ill,
And his courageous dungeon exploration,
Is done at a force of will.
However, whether it be the tempting Diablo,
Or the fact he's sick,
I vote that we soon educate him,
With The Pointy Stick!                                                    

Cheers from the Land of Oz

550 Miles

Gonna lay down my love
Gonna use it to cross
The 550 miles
Between us

And if the water is deep
I'll build a bridge of my heart
Take the short route around
To get a head start

Gonna lay down my love
Gonna use it to cross
The 550 miles
Between us

And it isn't too far
With love leadin' the way
I'll just follow my heart
And I'll get there some day

Gonna lay down my love
Gonna use it to cross
The 550 miles
Between us

Gonna lay down my love
Gonna use it to cross
The 550 miles
Between us

To Know

I can't seem to find a way
To tell you all the things I can?t say
A burden I feel they may seem
A burden I never wish to be
Words fail in what I would say
The things my pen cannot convey
I'm afraid to trouble you
I just don't know what to do
I know what my heart says
But I feel my mind has lost its way
I feel so confused
I just don't know what to do

The Tale of the Unwashed Prom

Thought we could use a bit of gaiety today...here it is.
The Tale of the Unwashed Prom
Buffy wore a pink dress; Red of course wore red
Doomsie thought about yellow, but went with black instead
Thanatos, he was dashing, in matching scythe and cape
Toe wore something that looked an awful lot like an ancient kitchen drape
Doom and Owl were djs, they did a smashing job
Though their policy of ‘No Disco’ fair upsetted Bob.
BC sat by the punch bowl, lecturing passing villagers all night long
About how this younger generation was simply strange and wrong
They paid little mind to him, didn’t take his words to heart
For everyone knows that BC is the Fartiest Old Fart
Lerk was there with Jill and little baby Grok
Who looked quite debonair in his miniature prom frock
Ymir came with Charlie, with SEH in tow
And when asked about the coming arrival, their faces went all aglow
Everyone danced with Buffy, to make up for missing her dance
Her prom she would not go to, by an awful turn of chance
However, she had a fine night, as did all the Estrogen Brigade
They danced and danced with all the males while Doomsie’s Rio List played
At the end, though, someone decided it was time for something fun and hokey
Kaneda got up and grabbed Owl’s mike and shouted ‘It’s Karaoke!’
Toe got up first to sing a few;
She was first kicked off the stage, with an ale can and a Boo!
Next Hatchetman got up to wail, drunk and in a muddle
His set ended quickly with him landing in a vomitous puddle
Now Amish and Iggy got up to give a song a whirl
And in the process got booted, for trying to take over the world
The Karaoke ended when the Poetry Bastards got up
And said to themselves, hey, enough bad singing is enough!
To prompt us to get on the stage, and give it a go!
All throughout the UV prom, a hush did suddenly go
The Bastards took the stage, and recited poem and song
It was only just a shame that they took so damn long
‘We couldn’t remember the words, or was it the tune?”
By the time that they got started, it was closing in on June!
But the prom was quite a sucess, the whole UV did yell
And even though the we never heard BlueCross sing, it was probably just as well.

i want to make a poem
but all the words are used
no chance to be original
with my low-rent muse

i strive always for perfection
on this simple way of verse
managing on simple kilobytes
what i cannot do on earth

i will not use the proper
punctionation schemes
neihter will i draw habit on
our capitalisation meme

all the same i want to do
what few of us have done
i want to make a single poem
once, upon this time.

it will be as lenghty
as beautiful as dull
as horrendously malignant
like some steelworkers toil

it will be about a feeling
a great collection of them all
and it will show you
what it means to be alone

all the words i have are broken
all the thoughts i think are used
all the memories ive spoken
are not meant to be confused

but i disgress
and i linger on
trying to accomplish
what none of us has done
Now. Eradicate. Dismember.
All attention here, and forward.
Im pointing towords the simple line ahead

---> Alone. A single thought strikes resemblance in the banks of your brain.
It touches every part of life. Damping it, removing you, inch by inch. And all thats left if you. Tired, waiting. Longing.
Forever.

...

Never.

And there it is.
Word by word what you thought and what it is.
With nothing leftt to understand
I leave this on our grave.

*snap*
And all my words are broken.
You are free once more. 

Haiku

I don't get haikus
The syllables are too weird
And the words don't rhyme

Stressed Out

Anxious and uneasy
indeed, for certain queasy;

Stressed stressed, I cannot remember
ever being blessed;

Glance at the window, peer at the door
fear of the beast that is prowling on the floor.

I offer just desserts to slow it in its tracks.

as I flee
a chorus soars
of never-looking-backs.

Fortune hunters steal my thoughts
And carry away my dreams…

And somehow the music surrounding them
Makes them appear the heroes.

And you cheer them on.

K.A.Stryer December 11, 2001

A run through the leaves,
As innocent as,
The chilly night...
Fresh pumpkin pie,
Served with ice cream,
Running over your tongue...
The cool fresh air,
Flowing into your body,
Refreshing your lungs...
A cup of coffee,
At the local diner,
With someone you love...
A warm smile,
And a few hugs,
From your girlfriend...

Life is good...

Innocence

Karen,
A simple name,
Conjures the most important memories,
A time long ago,

Almost 12 years since,
And here I am writing this,
It's hard to believe, what do I say ?

So long ago,
No hormones to confuse things,
No fancy words,
Or catchy phrase,

Being with you was simple,
Natural as breathing,
I don't even remember what we said,
Just the memories of the emotions,
Made so faint by the etching of time,

I think of you,
Not day by day,
Not since we were split apart,

But now and then,
Yours is a memory I cannot shake,
I don't even know if I want to,
Something so long ago,
So Innocent,

Yet what we had,
What you gave me,
Last to this day,

Like a drug,
I cannot live without,
I've searched for something like what we had,

It was so long ago,
A lifetime in fact,
It seems like I was another person then,
Fear was a simple thing,
Loneliness just a word,
Despair but a concept,

So I think of you,
And I only wonder,
Do you think of me ?

Haiku

Popcorn and a Coke...
Hand in hand, watching TV.
Not so bad, really.

You might be a bastard if,
When driving near pedestrian huddles,
You swerve across the oncoing traffic,
To go through all the puddles.
Or when your ugly aunt come to visit,
You offer her a bed,
But that place of lodgings belongs to,
Your mangy dog instead.
Or when you're babysitting brats,
You get pizza delivery,
The time them up in front of you,
As you eat - misery!
Or before you go to the movies,
A laxative you strategically swallow,
And ask people to move aside,
Or in it that shall surely wallow.
Or when you want to play football,
And the football's flat,
You make do with the next best thing,
Your baby sister's cat.
Or when you go to the toilet,
You stretch plastic wrap across the seat,
The next one who uses it,
Gets a warm feeling on their feet.
Or when you go to the toilet,
You put shoe polish on the chair,
The next person upon the throne,
Has a circular dairyair.
Or when you're feeding someone grapes,
Getting them full of hope,
You casually change the food,
And slip them a bit of soap.
Or when you hose your front lawn,
And little kids come by,
You turn it up to its maximum,
And watch their shorts fly by.
Or make sure you drink lots of beer,
Whether boy or girl,
The take a new car for a drive,
And in it promptly hurl.
Or make sure you get the remote,
Then hog the TV,
Watch football or absolutely anything,
It matters not to me.
Or make sure to be a pig,
Leaving your clothes everywhere,
And never do any form of ironing,
And washing never prepare.
Don't ever cook any meal,
That's a nice thing to do,
Let your partner take care of that,
That's the thing to do.
Don't ever take the rubbish out,
Just leave it on the shelf,
When enough maggots are there,
It'll leave all by itself.
And those curtains over there,
That look so out of place,
Whenever you get some KFC,
Use them to wipe your face.
Make sure that you do the shopping,
And get the things you crave,
After all you're doing the shopping,
And you're a sort of slave.
Always hog the shared computer,
You've got important stuff to do,
Your partner will only waste some time,
It's better left to you.
But best of all join the Unwashed,
It's not so very hard,
Write yourself a two line poem,
And you're a Poetry Bastard!                                                    

Cheers from the Land of Oz

It was a dark and stormy night -or so the heralds say-
And lightning striking constantly transformed the night to day
The thunder roared the castle round -or thusly runs the tale-
And ringing from the NorthEast Tower there came a dreadful wail.

It was no beast or banshee that, the castle folk knew well,
Nor prisoner in agony, nor demon trapped by spell
No ghost that moaned in penance, nor a soul in mortal fright-
Twas just the Countess "Singing" - for she practiced every night.

The Countess was convinced that she should have been born a Bard
And thus she made the lives of those within her power hard.
For they must listen to her "Sing", and smile at what they heard
And swear she had a golden voice that rivaled any bird.

The Countess was convinced that she had wedded 'neath her state
And so the worst lot fell upon her meak and mild mate
Not only must the Count each night endure her every song
But suffer silent her abuse, be blamed for every wrong.

It was a dark and stormy night - or so the Dards aver -
And so perhaps that was the reason why there was no stir
When suddenly the "Music" ceased; so when dawn raised his head
Withen the Tower servants found the Countess stiff and dead

The Heralds came at once to judge if there had been foul play
They questioned all most carefully to hear what they would say
And one fact most astounding to them quikly came to light-
That EVERY moment of the Count was vouched for on that night.

The castle folk by ones and twos came formawrd on their own
To swear the Count had never once that night been all alone
So though the Tower had been locked tight, with two keys to the door
One his, one hers; the Count of guilt was plain absolved for sure.

At length the Heralds then pronounced her death as "Suicide"
And all withen the district voiced themselfs quite satisfied
It was a verditct, after al, that none wished to refute -
Though no one could imagine WHY she'd try to eat her lute....

Haiku

I am entertained
Very easily by fire
I don't have cable.

Napalm does smell good
Just after the dawn has broke
The gel sticks to kids

Haiku

Why does everything
have to burn in Slack's small world?
Reagan, now Mondays.
Karate Goldfish
My Days are so dull
I wish I had a girlfriend
...
Here are five more words.

Eyes:

Hey eyes are sad like that all the time,
Even when she is happy.

They say that eyes are the windows to your soul,
Does this mean her soul is sad?

Laughing and carefree, she dances through the trees,
A smile on her lovely lips, a song in her throat.

Love is inside of her, for the world,
She has so much to give.

And yet her eyes, if you ever looked,
Really looked, they are always sad.

Black inside and dying,
Alone inside and crying.

The windows to your soul they say,
Have you ever looked?

When you're gone
I feel so small
I'm nothing
Without you
And everything
With

Don't take the light
From my eyes
Don't let me fall
Into dispair
Just
Hold me

Tooth Sheaf

When sampling brew from other land 
I tried one once that weighed like sand 
Tooth Sheaf, it said, I swear with wink 
with hard consistency of grit 
I could almost swear when I took drink 
that I, instead, was drunk by it                 

(see, Jonesy, you inspired me)        

Lerk the watered-down bastard poet    

"Arabesque"

 Look deep into my eyes,
Can you see the thoughts
That dance like ballerinas,
Leaping and twirling
Through the passages of my mind?

As a child, i dreamed myself
A dancer, perched precariously
On my toes, atop the world,
Atop a spinning, whirring
World hellbent on self destruction.

But i realize these days
That i am not doomed to hell in a handbasket;
So i will not send myself flying
Into the abyss; Instead, i will prance
At the cliff's edge, falling only by careless mistakes

Like a child running with scissors,
It is all fun and games until someone loses an eye.
Speaking of which, don't bother looking
Into them; The thoughts have vanished,
Dancers fleeing quickly into the wings of my mind.

Poem! Poem!

Flee! Flee! The age is past,
where triumphant horses
gallop through fields of repression.

Run! Run! The time is now.
Make haste away from places of sollitude.

Come! Come! To the place of serenity.
The place in my heart is for you.

Away! Away!
And i will harbour your friendship inside.

Love, Love.
Love with me, and we shall harbour our friendship forever inside.

---

A bonus poem fragment! Alas my muse only supplied inspiration for the last part of what seems to be an interesting poem.

"Jump, not through a meadow on a green spring(day),
rather from a cold greyhearted tommorow.
So that but one piece if left.
And all of your heart may adore it."