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Thread: 2X2E5 Thread for his Poetry

  1. #1
    Registered User 2X2E5's Avatar
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    2X2E5 Thread for his Poetry

    Are they geniuses or “handicap-able”?
    Or are they the ones that bridge both?
    I've not been informed of the context
    in which I have enrolled.
    My language here is obsolete, and
    my passions fall forward on one-
    way streets – stuck, destroyed, and
    stopping to watch others go past me.
    Some inquisitively stare and I respond
    in my taught humanitarianism – smile.
    Others are not part of my Matrix experience.
    Are they my illusions? Of matter or of mind?
    How do I not know that I'm not naked
    on my desk with **** on my chest, jumping
    on my desk, while my open eyes are asleep?
    I lie to my civility.
    Desperate to use words like “lost”, “alone”,
    but “wanting” to be bilingual.
    Perhaps I'm Nietzsche?
    Why not feel so when absurdity melts
    covering every surface. May as well melt
    myself with my absurd offence.

    The weirdo beside me – commonly found
    and placed in High School Learning Centres,
    where I participated until the world no longer
    saw me – us – as special.
    This weirdo laughs through his smile, and
    is fidgeting with his solved crossword puzzle
    stabs my sanity and vanity.
    Does he understand I'm not a point on this
    class's line today?
    The Weirdo's kind and indifferent while
    his head is the centre of a sunflower.

    My professor senses my stillness through
    the classroom's dense air, dense and thick
    pulse of vanities, prejudices, ambitions,
    confusion, telepathic lusts and loves, and
    the whispers of frequencies – objects in love;
    still phones waiting in everyone's pocket.
    In my loss of gravity, he catapults words.
    I punch myself in the face for thinking I'm
    Nietzsche. Maybe I could be, but I'll only
    care or resist if behind the curtain of my eyes
    I'm standing on my desk. I'd rather be the
    bottle of bourbon of the homeless man outside.

    I want to act in poetic convention
    and look into the mirror
    looking for myself
    knowing
    that the appearance I'm looking for
    is the one I'm building to see
    and the other that
    will never
    be visible.
    I once had fun. It was awful. - Grumpy Cat

  2. #2
    Registered User 2X2E5's Avatar
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    I appreciate all feed back!
    I'm still in the process of self-discovery and discovering my voice and how to voice it...
    and hope to learn something about myself and my poetry through the eyes of an other...
    I once had fun. It was awful. - Grumpy Cat

  3. #3
    Registered User Delta40's Avatar
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    Omg Im tzping on a German kezboard!

    Lol. I enjoyed your poem. It struck me as a little wordy but for all that, you captured a fistful of stuff and squeezed it into a poem.

    I'm a poor critic btw but definitelz keep writing.
    Before sunlight can shine through a window, the blinds must be raised - American Proverb

  4. #4
    Registered User 2X2E5's Avatar
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    Thanks Delta40. I appreciate your support
    I once had fun. It was awful. - Grumpy Cat

  5. #5
    Registered User 2X2E5's Avatar
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    Through poems I escape my daily verse,
    not the one brought by Capitalism's curse.
    Every other day I walk out of my cave
    with a fresh, oiled, dusted, new beard.
    Ready to hear, collect, respect, my peers.
    What astounds my ticklish velvet nose,
    is how very good questions, beautiful prose,
    exits in ordinary mouth and in ordinary clothes.
    Laquishas and Alexanders singing poetic
    and philosophical whips into their phones,
    in the manner of groans, but somehow
    behind these battery mouths swims acid.
    They walk in white knitted mannerisms
    and dance in wine coloured words, but
    say a word against their blurs, and their unfickle
    hearts and capricious brains, will throw you
    in stupefied wasteland drains.
    How can beautiful questions be asked,
    and philosophical statements be made,
    by people who are uneducated and selfish,
    in conflicts that would make humanitarians
    lost their head, vomit, and rest in bed.
    I'm not growing tulips that sweat ignorance
    to those who find wisdom in booze or
    in picking up puzzle pieces in their blues.
    I'm sculpting the pages where complex
    bolts are in the hands of mindless herds.
    They throw paper planes today for they
    are content, but ask them a question to think
    or reflect and soon they will throw bombs
    at the sites where their words come fromz.
    Perhaps they are smart and more insane.
    Perhaps my words are coming from pain and vain.
    But given my odds - learned from nourishing pods -
    I'd likely believe their hearts run away from floods,
    rather than build bridges and branching trenches|
    to grow 21st Century bright meadows.
    I once had fun. It was awful. - Grumpy Cat

  6. #6
    Inexplicably Undiscovered
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    Welcome to the LitNet,2X2E5.

    You're off to a good start. You might find, as yours fooly has, that posting all your pieces in a single thread is a wise move.It will help you locate a specific poem quickly (rather than sifting through several threads), but more importantly it will allow you --as well as other LitNutters --observe your progress on a --it is to be hoped-- long-term basis.

    Your first posting, in the voice of a savant, is interesting and at times resonant, but as the great Delta noticed, you might want to cut down some of the wordiness. One of the many things that differentiates poetry from prose is judicious compressions. But on the other hand, you don't want to be overly-cryptic.

    I like the opening couplet in #5. It reminds me of the Robert Graves line: "There is no money in poetry, but on the other hand, there is no poetry in money."

    Hope you'll post some more pieces as well as weigh in on the works of your fellow LitNutters. I'm sure you'll do some copious reading in the works of other modern and contemporary poets.

    Good luck, and enjoy your experiences on the LitNet!

    Auntie

  7. #7
    Registered User 2X2E5's Avatar
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    Thanks AuntShecky, I'm glad to be participating and apart of the LitNet community
    Thank you for the feed back. I have to admit I rushed posting the first poem by a feeling/obligation
    to myself to just put it out...so I didn't edit it well. But thank you for raising my attention about over-cryptic, that's a problem I'm still challenging to overcome in other poems I try to write.

    Looking forward to reading LitNutters poems!

    Would you be able to recommend me a modern/contemporary author or two?

    All the best,
    2X2=5
    I once had fun. It was awful. - Grumpy Cat

  8. #8
    Registered User prendrelemick's Avatar
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    Ok, they're cryptic and wordy and that does hide the message, but you show an interesting turn of phrase that jumps out and impresses.
    ay up

  9. #9
    Registered User 2X2E5's Avatar
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    Thanks prendrelemick
    Are the phrases that jump out and impress ones that are cryptic and wordy but to a lesser degree?
    I once had fun. It was awful. - Grumpy Cat

  10. #10
    Registered User 2X2E5's Avatar
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    My imagination; my colourless book.
    Tries to step on streets and sidewalks,
    with every other step.
    Do you know what I mean?
    Can you feel what I feel?

    This circle with a line running across,
    the same one on which you can traverse,
    out of the whole or out of eye's focal spot,
    it splits your membrane and causes you
    to feel insane and rejoice in the mundane.

    Your verbal ejaculations begin to be
    taught a font. Bakeries grow your ears
    X-large; they endure the delusion of
    having flight (wings).
    Rolling down sweat falls into a Tetris box.
    Shameful.

    You judge your unsteady amplification,
    or tap your foot to your adolescent
    vibrations.
    Do you know what I mean?
    Can you deal with what I feel?

    Beware! For what I write is a curse;
    sometimes, when I'm stepping into
    a field of fresh grass to find verse,
    when my mind turns around to see
    if I've dropped a dime, my arm throws
    ahead of my feet a landmine.
    I have to apologize and claim I'm sick,
    because you are the feet and heart that
    will land on it...
    Your hearts are your deceivers,
    they've invested in your ears and eyes,
    and would love to see a black kite
    exploit the bleached-blue wet sky.

    I'll stop with my oxidation,
    and get back to my metaphyical
    masturbation.

    I'll say it here and say it twice,
    the circle never existed,
    twas defined by poetry,
    the sense defined as
    “obligation”.
    So let us stretch over a couple steps,
    feel guilty - for our dusty and cold friends,
    and slip back for no reason,
    well if you'd like one...
    at the top awaits circular treason.
    I once had fun. It was awful. - Grumpy Cat

  11. #11
    Registered User 2X2E5's Avatar
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    Danger, more danger.
    Dark eyes with light
    eyelids and red eyelashes.

    I built the cabin; so far in my head.
    Why have I built it in the middle of,
    in the middle of fear, and placed a bed.

    Romance and light projected from my eyes,
    this wooden structure around trees, bees, and
    mountains, and my blood's brother,
    who is more refined...what was I seeking in
    building nest of romanticized lies.

    Where I'm from the heat is hotter, and the cold
    shows a white to brown picturesque shoulder.
    Where my friends are dead,
    my hiding spots all come together, and
    where new dangers lie over my head.

    It's danger for I've never walked in boots,
    or given a glance at compass or interest
    to nature's roots.

    Danger, safety blanket,
    wool knitted, not built by I,
    at least we share the same sky.
    Last edited by 2X2E5; 03-17-2014 at 02:08 PM.
    I once had fun. It was awful. - Grumpy Cat

  12. #12
    Registered User 2X2E5's Avatar
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    What if I whispered a modern tale
    - or does it need to be shouted out?
    What you perceive and how you react,
    your not alone and you shouldn't feel whack.
    The baboons you hear and the gorillas you see,
    whether on the tele-frequency or the radio wave,
    is meant to kill that beautiful heart and powerful brain.
    The ladder is made such that while you climb and spend
    your valuable empathy made time, to reach its end,
    you actually have to descend. Quite far and quite lo,
    do not worry because a dignifying mattress awaits
    at the bottom of your manufacture empty soul.
    But take away the print and look under the foam pit;
    if you claim to care and your “soul” is ready to dare,
    and you will find unfilled and quivering (breathing)
    sacks, machine gunned tax, and cement vinyls playing
    on repeat the song of “Hegemony”.
    “It doesn't have to be so”, cry through cold tears,
    colder than American cold beers; and you should
    ask what it is they are trying to freeze, those who
    have grown beards. But that is them, and I nod my
    head to what they consistently have said, in our
    diaries through some of our mouths, but don't take it
    from me, instead listen to some: bearded cat, bearded dog,
    and bearded toad. As far as my first thirdly of my life goes,
    I would like to sing in a crying intonation.
    (Zizek, Dostoevsky, and Salecl)
    I once had fun. It was awful. - Grumpy Cat

  13. #13
    Registered User 2X2E5's Avatar
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    Have you noticed or have you thought,
    that when you tell a joke in a crowd, you
    have to maintain a facial expression, to
    validate the reason they are laughing,
    you host people's beliefs and capture
    their insanity – cruel and healthy.
    What if you keep an inexpressive face
    or intonation-less face?
    Last edited by 2X2E5; 03-19-2014 at 10:54 AM.
    I once had fun. It was awful. - Grumpy Cat

  14. #14
    Registered User 2X2E5's Avatar
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    It's winter, ankle high snow.
    Walking rather than driving
    today. Massive Bentley passes
    and I smirk. I shiver but am
    not sure if its from the wind
    or from my fear produced
    by the essence of the vehicle.
    My path is illuminated from
    behind and my shadow quickly
    shrinks. I turn with irritation
    to see the cause slowing me
    from reaching my destination.
    Out of the Bentley emerges
    a man whose age you can't
    prescribe, one who never
    seems to age, but his groomed
    beard and hair let you notice
    that his head is filled with air.
    “What the **** was that smile,
    punk? You think you're better?”
    I never know how to respond.
    My only friends are books,
    my girlfriend, and my heart.
    “I think I'm love, I think I am
    the good in people. I think I
    don't represent myself through
    shapes, but I am also what's
    worse about people. Got it?”
    It took some time, but my smirk
    was returned. “You're ****ing
    nuts. You must be poor, you
    must drive a car by my company
    Honda or poors-mobile? Are you
    even that valuable? You
    failure, you social tit sucker.”
    I have expected and I have
    hear this message expressed
    by caged birds and pigs.
    Over taken by a sudden shiver,
    my wordless intuition yells,
    “Who are the men behind you
    in black, one holds a trigger!”
    The poor Bentley man turns
    to ensure he is safe and I am
    insane. “What the **** you
    talking about punk? You...
    crazy? Poor and crazy is what
    you must be, stop pretending
    to be a tragedy.”
    My sweat turns to snow as it
    falls off my nose and gets
    carried away. “Please, all I
    want is a kiss, those men
    will hit and won't miss!
    One swing and my name
    will be crossed off the list.”
    The Bentley boy slid back
    into his leather and drove off
    and the snow buried me.
    I once had fun. It was awful. - Grumpy Cat

  15. #15
    Registered User 2X2E5's Avatar
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    Snorting you like a fat line of cocaine,
    I yearn and burn to sink my canines
    into your leg like its red meat.
    I am a cannibal to your genitals.
    Dodge your veins in my attack,
    **** you – grab and tear my sack.
    Ravage your body and tear it to shreds,
    limbs like candy – broken, wet, stick in bed.
    Shower you in cum, roll in the slum.
    Feelings - taste them inbetween your gums,
    ripping your clothes apart by threads,
    dripping adrenaline filled drool down off
    your erect ripened tits.
    No words just torn chestnut cheeks
    with wide pupils and a juicy pumping
    sweating heart; spitting out cold sex
    through your blushing skin.
    Last edited by 2X2E5; 04-01-2014 at 01:02 AM.
    I once had fun. It was awful. - Grumpy Cat

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