Fag Poetry

[Audioslave]

I've been really interested in writing poetry lately, which makes me gay. Numbers, guys? Third one is the best.

Quilt

Fish-head streets lined my path
Storefronts stripped to the nude in front of me
Their luscious breasts waving around
They spewed out factory workers and disgruntled house wives
All clutching Uzis and Glocks
They tapped their fingers on the cold steel
of their deadly mistresses
Probing their tongues deep in a long embrace
I skipped steps
Nearly falling to my knees
and they sharpened their eyes
On my faltering and alter-ego
Congregating in an encompassing circle to trap me there
In the street
As nuns with rifles walked by
They delved into my every orifice with the butts of machine guns
revolvers
semi automatics
As I stood in relative disarmament
clutching only my groceries and bus ticket
Without the intention of using my only possessions to deliver a life
to any man in cloak or cape
Without giving one sidelong glance
intended for disrespect or rape
Yet they raised their weapons to take from me
The one thing I wished not to give
and fired to their lord above
Their bullets criss-crossing like bits of yarn
Woven to make a perfect quilt
of blood instead of love
----------------

Home Furnishing Skyscrapers

You died on a Monday
Buried you on a Tuesday
Smoked all Wednesday
a soft suicide I felt comfortable in
Drank for Thursday
Into Friday
Began to move on Saturday
brought the table first
Took the washing machine on Sunday
Haunting spectral through the suburban building
empty and crying without you
Monday I took the wood stove
the beating heart of a cold home
Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday
the chairs, breadbox, vases followed
And the appliances on Friday
Saturday I sat amongst the towers
of teetering belongings
Your books fell over on Sunday
So I shelved them on Monday
I remembered the Sabbath and slept on Tuesday
on your favorite painting
Wednesday I wore your favorite sweatshirt of mine
watched the microwave clock
Thursday I fell asleep to the hum of the freezer
Friday I forgot where the door belonged
now rusted shut and blocked by home furnishing skyscrapers
Saturday I felt it all buckle and shake
Sunday it all fell down

----------------
The National

Height of two thousand dreams
Fulfilled and brought abruptly down
to the ground below with a thud
and a ripple of liquid bone
and shocked expressions
Of guests leaving and coming to and from indiscretions on a grand scale
Continuing sins of the flesh and selling flesh
Taken from unconscious men and the like
while lonely wives cry in the bathroom
engulfing minibars and starting towards the piano bar downstairs
to find a quick infusion of alcohol and the careless love of a stranger

The National stands, unwavering
Ignorant to petty protests by cheated Johns
and by living men
Nooses wrapped loosely around their necks

Carpets sewn by Indian shamans
Stained by disgruntled salespeople
looking for a quick off
Cheap, dirty and ruthlessly effective
The perfect American dream born
from careless advertising
Allowing hope for two kids and a garden
Instead of culture-infested hotel rooms
Invaded by the sounds of hungry station wagons outside
Full of all the fatherless children and bad dreams

Coke scatters and falls onto the table
Quiet, polite snowfall
Noses espouse blood
Onto the unsuspecting room
Onto the widowed housekeepers
Onto the black and white T.Vs
Showing loops of Vietnamese conflicts

Sits quietly
one man
Committing self immolation to the tune of The Internationale
In the name of Uncle Lenin and Poppa Doc
for the sake of the workers
In the vein of the class struggle

Quickly, it spreads
Sadly it goes
Excuseless on its way
into the mouths of innocent and guilty men and women
who only come in search of their manifest destiny
An Easter Egg hunt for freedom
for the sake of self-satisfaction
Mass gratification
How easily their dreams become flammable
Their hair flies away in smoke
Their teeth blacken from the soft caress of sensual flames

One man stands casually aware
Unflinching in the face of the white-hot American dream

[Godly]

I never have any idea what your poetry means, but I always like to read it. It's like a dream in literary form to me, amusing while you're in it, but once it's passed then it's gone from my mind.

[SizzlingNickel]

I did my best to notice
When the call came down the line
Up to the platform of surrender
I was brought but I was kind
And sometimes I get nervous
When I see an open door
Close your eyes
Clear your heart...
Cut the cord
Are we human?
Or are we dancer?
My sign is vital
My hands are cold
And I'm on my knees
Looking for the answer
Are we human?
Or are we dancer?

Pay my respects to grace and virtue
Send my condolences to good
Give my regards to soul and romance,
They always did the best they could
And so long to devotion
You taught me everything I know
Wave goodbye
Wish me well..
You've gotta let me go

Will your system be alright
When you dream of home tonight?
There is no message we're receiving
Let me know is your heart still beating


I didn't make this but i think its cool.

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[Audioslave]

Okay you can go away. This is myyy fucking thread, and you didn't even write it.

[Dodger]

lol u r a fag


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Reason:

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Reason: Come back :3

[SizzlingNickel]

Okay you can go away. This is myyy fucking thread, and you didn't even write it.

Somebody doesn't like me I wonder who?:think:

[timbot]

I liked the second one best.
Poetry is not my forte. To really get into it and understand it, I have to have it on paper in front of me. I have to take notes and talk to someone and work out ideas. Well, not all poetry, but stuff like yours.
When I read your poems, I feel like nothing is what it is. Everything seems to be a metaphor or symbol for something else. For me, it's too much. Station wagons are hungry, guns are mistresses, stores have breasts, a hotel room is "culture-infested," and what the hell is a "fish-head street?" Everything seems so tangled and so metaphorical that all meaning is lost. There's nothing concrete to hang a metaphor on if that makes sense.
But, I'd still rather struggle through one of your poems than a lot of the junk I've seen on here.

Edit: Somebody doesn't like me I wonder who?
No, you moron. You posted "your" poem on another person's thread. This is not a "post your own poem thread" and even if it were, it's not even your poem.

Edit 2: Oh,and Audio, I sent you my number privately :heya:

[Audioslave]

I liked the second one best.
Poetry is not my forte. To really get into it and understand it, I have to have it on paper in front of me. I have to take notes and talk to someone and work out ideas. Well, not all poetry, but stuff like yours.
When I read your poems, I feel like nothing is what it is. Everything seems to be a metaphor or symbol for something else. For me, it's too much. Station wagons are hungry, guns are mistresses, stores have breasts, a hotel room is "culture-infested," and what the hell is a "fish-head street?" Everything seems so tangled and so metaphorical that all meaning is lost. There's nothing concrete to hang a metaphor on if that makes sense.
But, I'd still rather struggle through one of your poems than a lot of the junk I've seen on here.

Well, not to defelect criticism (something I probably do too much), but that's more of Western education's fault. We've been taught to be way too over analytical, to think every thing means something else. As Freud once said (in a different context) "Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar"

But to address this; some of this were metaphors or implied meanings. Is most of it important? No. That can be said of poetry as a whole. There is definitely an overt and implied meaning, but for the case of the third one (probably the most in-depth) the meaning is the last line. The second is...probably more muddled. The second is intended to be really accessible and intended to evoke emotion instead of analysis.

Anyway, I appreciate the feedback. I love it when people get sort of into my poetry.

[VenoM666]

u shoud try this http://www.gamerzneeds.net/forums/ thers a poetry event there and u could get cash prizes excuse my bad english and btw hi all :P

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[SourChicken]

u shoud try this http://www.gamerzneeds.net/forums/ thers a poetry event there and u could get cash prizes excuse my bad english and btw hi all :P

What.

By the way none of these poems rhyme...so....get on that.

[Stealth Prawn]

What.

By the way none of these poems rhyme...so....get on that.

Ever heard of free verse?

I really like the second and third poems. Something about them is just, well, I don't even know. But I like them.

The first one is a bit too trippy for my tastes, but not particularly bad.