Poems you make up on the spot

Hi Jack.

Don't say that on an airplane.

Good.

Your writing is good my friend.

As for me, weak these days, though I'm oddly proud of "Don't go back on your normal hard."

Quote:

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Originally Posted by osho

can I express myself through poems
This imprisons me into nonsense
Life is not a poem
Neither dry prosaic stuff
We love mimicking
In a world of arrogance

If mimics defines my aptitude
I get crippled
Since I rise a little above
And beyond these cocoons
I neither write poetic stuff
Nor anything dulling like prosaic nonsense

I hail from a different territory
You can call it magical
I write to conjure up your mind
And fire your dull senses
You can call me poet
Not in the usual sense

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This made me feel bad. I felt like a handicapped dude in a chair. Was that your intent? It was good writing. I just wonder what was the intended effect.

I Want You

I want you to take it all way from me,
strip me down of all those dirty memories,
broken inside, I need the touch of your hands
to reconstruct me as I begin to fall apart.
May the brush of your lips hold me together,
tear away these conflicted emotions,
haunted by faces of a time long past, but now
I desire it may be only you and I crave
you to crash into me like a tidal wave,
pulled asunder in the tides of your violent passion,
rip me out of this world into your unrelenting embrace.
If you allow me to turn back I fear I will shatter where I stand,
broken shards of glass, reflections of my soul,
I want only for you to hold me together with the
force of your presence, and hungry need
and I will bury myself inside of you,
devour me completely and let me hold you
until you begin to bleed.

swiflty you leave,
the door's ajar
ready for you
to make your way
out of this place
exit is signed,
the door's has sighed
your steps afar
a shadow lane
a road appear
rubbles and stones
are there to turn
while you walk up
your time ahead
be quick to cross
or else it's dust
you may unturn!

Am I to be broken again?

This I cannot allow
for I am formed of
stronger stuff than that.

My mind is titanium
and hot iron pumps
through my blood

forging steel in my bones
if looks could kill
I would have laser eyes
and even still like Medusa
I can stop you in your tracks.

Frozen in your dirty cage
there is mercury dripping
from my lips ready to pulse
through your veins.

I know this all must be
a mistake but no longer
shall I be content to sit
in glass towers waiting
for the walls to crumble
leaving me exposed.

So if I must see your death
to preserve this running insanity
which keeps me alive,
than we shall play our black widow
games.

For I am too strong to die
and throw myself away
I have not the weakness to
grant nor beg forgiveness
so instead we shall impale
ourselves upon wrath
and vengeance.

You make it as you go, and is that not so?
Is that not how the world flies?
They fly, and they don't know a thing.
We do this, every damn day.
And you know it.

Every god damn day.

Make it up as you go.

all formulas dissolve
in the the carbonation of your fears
holed up with vodka
and a keyboard
you thought the world was at your fingertips
but when you stepped out upon it
it closed up around you
like a venus flytrap
or night springing up around you
or a nightmare drawn from the recesses
of ancient creataceous mass
prayer dies on your lips
but unbeknowst to you
the tools of your hands and
the calculations of your heart
will see you through
this mucky swamp

Qimissung
12/10/2011

the traitor's gate
shouted a voice
could it be real?
the Tour of kings
slender and fit
refrain from sins
traitors are nought
passed and away
the gates are strength
free from the lires
stainless is steel
brass handled keys
guard this attire
kingdom is throne!

And so she fell down, she fell, like a rock that dropped from the sky,
like a word that stayed too long and broke your heart.
It was painful, because you cared too much.
You'll pay for that, the caring too much.

One of the things this reader likes about your poems is that they don't sound like anybody else. But many of them read like a tired man.






J

We all wore each other as wine-glasses
And broke the shatters of shards upon
Our heads when the liquor seemed to cease,
Drinking the iron-wine of our veined casks;
If only to live a while longer,
If only to whelter in the drunken tree
For a star’s moment while the
Universe spun on in pyre

And gyre.

I looked around and learned my part,
then looked around again
and saw so much ignorance
that I learned not my part.

I saw,
I tried,
and
I spoke.
the truth was,
never easy.

Quote:

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Originally Posted by Jack of Hearts

One of the things this reader likes about your poems is that they don't sound like anybody else. But many of them read like a tired man.
J

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Hey jack if that's towards me, yeah you may be right.

Jack, he speaks like violence.
But he is without ideals.
He does not need ideals.
He knows too much to argue or judge.