[x]

Litterdiscarded news
maybe the paperboy
has exploded

Rehearsal. Dance, and maybe bow.
(and how!) Entrance the sycophants.
Universal trance demands romance-

subsequent shroud that deflects
the crowd genuflects arrogant nod
to God. (Defiantly. Disquietly.)

Membranes are broken. My black-wrapped
legs, distract some pain unspoken
thrown to dregs, notions of broken powder kegs.

Soviet source of choreographed terminus
"Exterminus? So be it," laughed coarse
and hoarse contorting marionette.

Regret?

MidnightI remember my first geisha sighting…
Falling from the night, her robes were
splashed with ochre, and periwinkles.

Pink chrysanthemums
in jet black hair.
A fleeting, imperfect,
accidental beauty.

I am giddy.
We start with a gentle hello
then comes the dance
low slung in her hips
moving her arms in a studied grace

It is hard not to pay attention
to the small stuff
the secret gardens
rain is in the air

We’re not a literal people,
but I lose myself.
We write in
ritualistic cadence
and she becomes
the dark, naked grapevines
of early spring.

Every morning
I open my eyes.
It is a Zen notion
A reflection

Here i

drowning out west

It has not been so bad here -- warmer than home and they call the place differently than we do. You know how we always said Mizzery?
They call it Mizzera.

~

Dear Daniel,
Auntie J and Uncle Agner have made the attic comfortable for me. From my window I can see hills fattening in the distance and the river veins away from them -- winds right through the pasture.

Tell mother I wear the cardigan she crocheted and no one can tell yet. Auntie looks hard, cause she knows I should be blowing up, but she's disappointed. She tells me eat right cause she wants her new baby healthy and she heaps enough food for two grown-ups on my plate; I eat as

himBefore I lose my life in this town, I'm looking for a pebble
that smells like anything - the ocean, soil, you - that shit.
Symptoms include an obsession with clocks and a dismissive anything
towards her, the bleak old buzzard who watches with gauze-eyed cataracts
as we walk by, - -we- menacing in white sneakers and suntan lotion - - she -
has been so long above it all that there is no longer any difference between the declaration of independence
and a newspaper article that goes:

Everything was terrible and the people died,
but really she was just having a bad dream.
Really she's okay.
And it was all just make-believe,
and you fe

Amphiprion

AMPHIPRION

I have been a bloodless fish tossed about
with wild blank eyes -- whiter than the foam that smashed me
into rocks that flaked my scales and sent them scattering
gold vermillion flashing at the knees of stinking fishermen
that bent to taste me,
one hand in the folds of their trousers where they started to stiffen
and the edges of their boots all caked with guts.

With salt crust forming in the corners of their lips they turned
to face each other, to shake hands or
compare rod size -- I made this community!
A limp queen rotting into water where I lay with seagull shit and algae scum
that floated and coated the mouths o

in apartment b16I throw you as I hear the widow cry
beneath us. I imagine
her to have a veil of make-up running
down her face, or maybe she is bent
in the shadow
of a crucifix or a sun catcher,
starving for some light.

I heard she once went bicycling
over the dry dirt
roads of Italy, and chased the man
she loved into a private
landing.

Then in Boston, or New Haven,
she would laugh, throwing
her stockings to the wind
as she watched them parachute
down where the children
played.

They would smile ,
and life would begin.

But, really, as we drag and pull, she
is gone. She has moved past Amber
Street, and has taken
to baking bre

If I Were A LineIf I were a line
I think I’d be curled,
billowed and swirled,
and slowly unfurled.
I’d sweep over a page,
if I were a line,
with the wind in my hair,
and my heart laid bare.
That’s what I’d be,
if I were a line.

If I were a spot
I’d be round and fat
(now how about that?)
like an old, well-fed cat.
I’d have drizzled and dropped,
if I were a spot,
pittering and pattering
with a slight hint of smattering.
That’s what I’d be,
if I were a spot.

If I were a colour
I’d be a rich red,
like a painted deathbed
or a sword to the head.
I’d lunge for macabre,
if I were a colour,
m

Eclipsemoon guides me
on its voyage,
night wind
goes deep,
insinuating bones

fingers as white,
tonguing
the marrow of me-
I can't shiver the
chill from my soul

as intense as
everything I feel
while there's life,
who could
sustain it

a sadness
adrift,
where it takes me
I don't know,
I don't wonder

too numb
to feel the course
moon steers-
eyes soft focus,
total eclipse

Today's Lesson Is Topography

Hey, tonight's lecture is on topography. Lie back and let me navigate, I've got all the maps. I will lead you down a course, discoursing as we go about those damn fool nights of two shots too many. Tonight's lecture is no story, song, or rhyme but a lesson in math of the wildest kind. The geometry in our curves bends like so. Watch your footing.

Now, I've got some graphs for your ears which require closer examination.

I knew a dead girl once. Upon meeting her in that dark corner of Serengatto's (it means something in one of those love languages of romance lands) she said

"Do you remember dying?"

and I said

"First I'd like to remember liv

puzzel piecesAnd it's ridiculous
how they're both crazy for every word the other breaths,
every night the other dreams.
And its insanity
how they're just not getting anywhere.

Some say its just not right,
how love isn't seeming to conquer their painstaking absence.
But there's something that's just standing there,
obstinate in making the reality of invisibility nothing better than hell.

So shell sit and hope,
and fight for the cause.
While he sits confused,
working to figure it all.

And they just keep waiting it out.
And it just doesn't seem to be taking them anywhere.

Nigh

The Other Place: Chapter Four As they walked along the narrow footpath that passed underneath the railway bridge, John felt a sense of security in the presence of the buildings and civilisation. He knew the area like the back of his hand, but although the houses looked the same except for the shabby condition of their exteriors, major differences were becoming apparent to him. For such a big city, they were very few cars on the street, and the ones that were visible looked like they hadn’t been used in a very long time. He walked along the footpath, past the train station on his left and stood looking over the hedge where the supermarket was situated, but to his ama

The Other Place: Chapter One "Do you have to do that?" The acerbic tone in Mary Foster's voice accentuated the third word in her sentence to the point of bitter hostility.
John Foster glanced up from his plate and peered through his eyebrows at the stern-looking woman seated opposite him. He sat leaning forward with his elbows resting on the dinner table, which seemed to irk his wife even more, the tines of the fork he was holding creating a perfect line with his forearm.
“Do what?” he replied timidly, swallowing the remainder of the food in his mouth before answering.
“Bite your fork when you eat, it’s extremel

The Rutland Hotel “Mr Rowland?” the smartly dressed man asked as he stopped in the centre of the lobby, setting down the suitcases he carried in each hand and firmly meeting the hotel owner’s grasp.
“Please, call me Paul,” he replied hospitably. “How can I help you?”
Leon Turner shut one eye as his hand fumbled around inside the inside pocket of his jacket and produced a small, tatty business card, slightly creased and dog-eared around the edges, which he promptly handed to the hotel owner. Mr Rowland eyed the small print carefully, then raised his eyebrows and re-established eye contact

The Birdsi. sparrows dance
in hospital's courtyard
cheering patients

ii. crows gather
heads bowed
a roadside funeral

iii. crow in dumpster
man in McDonald's
both eat garbage

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Whole Thing

DREAM IN WHICH THE AUTHOR HAS A CONVERSATION WITH JOSLYN AND REALIZES THAT JOSLYN IS BECOMING ANOREXIC TO MAKE HER BOYFRIEND IAN HAPPY, AND SO THE AUTHOR IN AN ATTEMPT TO BE IRONIC WRITES AN IRONIC POEM AND THEM CRIES AND IT IS NOT ROMANTIC, THERE IS SNOT AND IT IS DISGUSTING, AND THE AUTHOR SAYS IN AN ACCUSATORY TONE:

You farm your brain. Oh surrealist chickadoodle,
I could write about your bony wrist bird
hands troweling seeds into your limbic system.
You watch me with parched eyes,
a sunburst of mascara perching in your skull.
What vampire bit you, that you shrink? Assaulted curves cower
under that flannel shirt. Your thighs like

See It Coming

It's strange to think of how I am built.
Sliding, fluttering organs with their
shy ways- Then my sloping vine
muscles shrink, grow young and weak
to hang on my bo
nes, my deceptive earthquake bones
which like december are upon me suddenly
in arthritis- arid, splitting ground, they are silent
silent silent oh what now silent as
the desert earth beneath. They never breathed a word-
and oncoming decay, like a sleeper tide
took from me my joints.
I know my role. In this war I am french
I am I am- I know my role, in this war
I surrender. Bones now! Tomorrow my spine
like an insect, flies away, taking with it
high heels,

Death is a Soviet Ballerina

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Submitted: April 25, 2005
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Sometimes I, Like Other Women

by ~adahplatha, Apr 25, 2005, 12:38:13 AM
Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Traditional Fixed Forms

Sometimes I, Like Other Women of My Generation, Wish I Were A Man So I Could Pee Standing Up and Smack Bitches

Hippie chicks with bouncing tits and mediocre dope
emo boys with lacerations, hanging from a rope
Pretty girls on hardwood floors took just a little toke
Nothing nest, the gloomy girls whose eyes bleed when they smoke

and the line I had for breakfast is congealing in my veins
and when I sneeze from pollen, flowers splatter with my brains
but the same fucked up translations of my patterns all remain
In a furry hat, I shoot my eye and blink at how it's strange
that a box of scented kleenex is what sends my pain away
seven minutes, it's the third time that I've woken up today
and the sand I had for breakfast's how I'll get to be okay
from the hourglass of God, it paints by numbers of my days

a painting of my soul is like Da Vinci's first T-rex,
the Mona Lisa's retinas have socket-sucking sex
with sun, keep up that cutting and you know you'll never rest
have to leave the locker room to try to get undressed
and the knives I had for breakfast are the gills upon my arms
and the scars I built my house of are a part of quirky charm
to chase away the boogieman and keep me far from harm
till I go looking for a lover at the local prison farm

I keep my favorite memories in plastic ziploc bags
Good Time! my home phone number's every local gangster's tag
what's been pickled in my pussy could make Prozac Polly sad
cut my tits off, learn to spit and all I need is a do-rag

and the AIDS I had for dinner's chicken soup for someone's soul
and the news I had for teatime's just a kind of mind control
and the toilet bowl's new contents are sex drugs and rock and roll
so I puked up thorns in Eden, violating my parole
I was reading the james bible, and it vibed like an emcee
I was throbbing like a gangster spitting lines on MTV
If you take me back, I fucking swear I'll never disagree
I'd rather make mistakes like you than make mistakes like me

Sometimes I, Like Other Womenby ~adahplatha

Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Traditional Fixed Forms

Mature Content

spoken word.

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Given 2006-05-08

Sometimes I, Like Other Women of My Generation, Wish I Were A Man So I Could Pee Standing Up and Smack Bitches is a bloody fantastic title for a poem. =adahplatha brings us a spoken word piece that's controlled by a strong rhyme scheme and a rhythm that makes you want to slam. ( Suggested by ~Mexy and Featured by `imperfect )

~Sinnerhowl Aug 17, 2010

wow this is kickass

~Hands-Down Jul 20, 2009 Writer

it's quirky, and hard hitting, and the rythem is superb!

It sounds so good to speak out loud, you wanna shout it from the rooftops.

~ThatHippyChick Apr 1, 2009

I loved reading this. Amazing... It just sounds amazing.

~GlitzyGitsie Oct 12, 2008 Writer

Holy fuck.
That rocked my world.

!Darcy-Killed-Them Jul 21, 2008

i love your 'offbeat' feel
(even though it isn't)
your poem
should become a
well known prototype.

~whathefuckdoumean Jun 2, 2008

haha
i dont know what the fuck that was about
but i liked it
ok
i did know what it was about
but ill have to reread it to really get it

~XxCarnationxX Apr 20, 2008

I love this.
It kind of reminds me of The Beer by Kimya Dawson.
A definite favorite.

~RavenBaraq Mar 25, 2008 Hobbyist Writer

I love it. It's powerful, it's elegant, it's natural, and it's hilarious. Good job.

!samosanervosa Mar 9, 2008

I like this a lot, although I do wish it wouldn't rhyme. but, of course, that's just my opinion. every girl wishes to be able to pee standing up every now and then, but I'd do it regardless.

~Desertlion Mar 2, 2008 Writer

I have good things to learn in you, my lady.

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Sometimes I, Like Other Womenby ~adahplatha

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