We're all fat and pathetic
Posted: Mon Feb 09, 2004 3:35 pm
Just the kind of mood I'm in when I write poetry, usually. I'm in an even worse mood when I'm sick, so I thought it'd be a time to type them all out.Quote:Playing The Same GameAre we copycatsYou and ICircling like tomcatsStruttin like queencatsFatcats, hatcatsAlleycats, sequined catsSinging the same songIn different notesWriting the same pomeIn different wordsDid we skim the Phelp’s fandangoToo early in the game to make the gradeAnd too self-absorbed in our allumin’ missionTo notice we were side by sideOr is it meant to be at allYou tell me, beautifulGrass – An Imperfect HaikuNounTo mean a bed of greenWave of hay as childFull of lifeAnd…When Did I EverWritin for you p’rapsYour aesthetic shock value riddingThe self-possession of meI don’t show them to you thoughFor fearLacing my mindLeaving the soul freeTo ply the old gameThe oldest gameSoul, rock, hard placeNinety-Eighth DegreeIt rotatesRound to face again the teethThe chain’s fangPositioned to it as the cap to the headThe cap about to leave its skyward perchSoon it may fall offBut then it would betrayIts oiled brethrenAnd no longer be spinnin, spinning in orbitAround to propel itself through spaceTo think I thought my life complexWhen something without oneHas so many.One And TwoTwo of them nowWho knows which way to turnThe already well-worn pathWhere heart-ache liesOr the new placeWhere the grass goes highAnd sleekFaces gone once forgottenVoices linger slight onlyMaybe they never wereAll known is that they both are hereIn the chamber of the fatal errorWould that I had more courageSister MotherThree I hadBefore away they wentTo the cool blue embraceOf him that takes allTwo I knewAnd one no-one ever knew, save himOne strick down by tragedyOne killed by that which would healThe first dead before she ever livedHow different would all our lives beIf that one had livedWould I know anotherWould my own know himself betterWith another little sisterClose to my age you’d beClose enough to God you are nowI’ll meet you before the endAnd the two others I shall have a kiss forAunts, smile upon the living.The Opposite Of That ThingIf there’s the sonnet and the serenadeFor the loving git with the luteAnd the cosy couple cuddling on the cardWhy isn’t there a song, and a card, and an idomFor what’s running through meIf that thing comes from the heartAnd overmasters the mindWhy isn’t there an organMisbelieved to contain my emotionIn between me and that thingThere’s an impassable gapMuch closer is the thing I hateWhy can’t I sing about itIf someone can figure out what Ninety-Eighth Degree is about, they can have a prize. Sun Bless, Earth KeepZirandorthel I of TreesiaThe Golden DarknessNiirus Tinenetuwar, Tivitha e'Taras