Poems Of Any Length

[Tarantism]

i played my hand upon the surface of the sea

and waded slowley into the dream

nothing as lucid as the promise of the latter

time on a string cut into tatters

forget that, nothING MATters.

 

on my knees now,

begging and pleading

for the sea to speak, for the sea to hear me

becuase i know that it knows

it is in tune with the moon

and so even though it NO's

i still need to know.

 

then i found myself in tune with a feather

the sound of its waves sliding gently in the breeze

its the subtleties that bother me

all the people who have to speak to speak

when i am tryinng to tell them what i mean

and at the same time stay silent as the rocks

atop, o atop!

i sit still all alone

and nobody will answer,

not sun, or moon, or stone.

 

 

 

[Pyrotex]

i played my hand upon the surface of the sea

and waded slowley into the dream

good one.

GOOD one.

:(

[Queso]

he looks at the mirrors' surfaces

blazing

[Queso]

it's not black

but i can not sense light

brain activity interferring with my activity looking for my eyes (looking? feeling the floor for goo) with a squirrel on my shoulder.

 

in three seconds i think about everything from nag champa to jumping off the cliff of Burgensteinlichten

[Queso]

I

[Tarantism]

dupe....

[Tarantism]

on a string....on a string

on a string

i was held

the way i move, cant you tell?

my actions are orchestrated from above.

(haha no problems)

so i swing and i swing,

wave my hand, kick my leg

and its never right with the music.

 

(yeah, and then all that swaying starts to make you sick,)

 

for a friend i was bought

now i lie when i talk

with a careful eye on the cuecard

onto the stage you were pushed

with no sorrow (well rehersed)

so i give you all my pity....and my money now.

(,and i used to think that it was something pure)

 

but if i could act like

this was my real life, and not some cage where ive been placed

then i could tell you the truth like i still do

(but not be afraid of sounding fake)

and now all im ever listening for are the mistakes...

(as in "oh im sorry im sorry"....nah its ok, its cool,)

blah blah blah.

 

in my head, by myself

i can hear the ice start to melt

and then watch the rooftops weep for the sunlight

and i know what must change

**** this place, **** my name

they are brief and false advertisements.

 

but my door, it stands open

im still inviting everyone in,

oh yeah we can laugh, and we can drink until the morning comes!

(i guess thats what i do, c'mon! c'mon!)

 

:(

[Pyrotex]

The Paradox of God and the Fruit Bowl

By Nelson Thompson

October, 2003

 

True Believer wrote:

I walk up to a fruit bowl, and there is one apple and one banana left.

I choose the apple.

God already knew that I would choose the apple.

But did God force me to choose the apple?

Was it really predetermined that I would choose the apple?

Or did God merely have knowledge of what the outcome of the

Appliance of my free will to this certain situation would be?

 

I respond:

You walk up to a fruit bowl.

God already knows that you will choose the apple.

 

But you choose the banana, because you have free will.

 

This REALLY pisses off God!

He smites you with a massive heart attack,

And you die with a big bite of un-chewed banana

Lodged half way down your esophagus.

He rips your soul from your stiffening corpse

And flings it with contempt

Into the flaming pits of Hell’s deepest abyss.

 

Then God looks around a little shame-faced and says,

"Er...ah...this was fore-ordained, you know. Really.

I've known this would happen ever since the Creation.

This happened exactly according to my Eternal Plan!

And anybody who says otherwise is SMUCKING TOAST!!!"

 

The angels and demons look at each other nervously.

They say, "That's right God! You da Man! You da Man!"

[Loricybin]

:cocktail: beautiful misadventures in santa cruz:)

 

abandoned in SC without a clue

here? there? what HAPPENNED to you?

helping hand to combust across land

neroL earns money, and frolicks in sand

 

-walk the board- alone in the dark.:beer:

 

yellow turns orange turns blue with white

drifting about from day into night

hanging with bums claiming family

to jerry garcia, though clearly lying

 

it's okay to give him a buck, he needs beer dammit.

 

under the bridge, the pot is the best

under there laughing, with all the rest

the beautiful spray-on art stares names

these silly humans and their human games

 

dance in the streets where roads don't exist.

 

finally, here's the seventeen express

the driver takes us after breif rest

and oh to peak peek going throwing meat

this strange day away from the ordinary.

 

defeat the structure of stupids in shiny buildings.

[Pyrotex]

The Keyboard

Nelson Thompson, 2003

 

I settled into my clean swept cubicle,

My new office area after the big move.

With its endless window and grassy swell,

Vistas of summer with butterflies,

I felt a corporate comfort, a reward for

Bygone tasks done well.

 

Spotless walls and new Formica,

Cork board with no trace of pin or tape.

Drawers empty, a clean slate upon which

I could reformulate myself.

A fast and silent PC faced me,

My wide-screen cybernetic Ferrari.

 

I noticed my keyboard, out of place

In this sanitized temple of digital Inc.

I had brought it with me, an old familiar

Partner in composition and crime.

We had married each other three years ago,

Had learned each other’s mechanical rhyme.

 

Split asunder down the center

Of its Qwerty rows and columns,

It showed the marks of ten thousand blows

From animated finger tips,

And the side of my right thumb,

And countless spills and drips.

 

Each white key, like a giant’s ceramic tooth,

Was stained, each bearing a dark tartar.

Accumulated resins and oils

From my skin and who knows what

Layered traces of dust and residues

Of unremembered snacks and soils.

 

All that dirt and grime, a record of the years’

Hard won efforts and late hour sweat.

But in this white-washed sanctorum cage,

It was sacrilege, abomination,

A travesty of unkempt disorder,

An abrasive invasion of chaos and age.

 

The space bar, that gentle smiley grin

Of seamless plastic wide and tapered

Bore the darkest smudge most odious.

The soapy sponge, wrung well out

Did not reach the deep crevasses, hidden edges,

And so I pried the space bar out.

 

An awful, sour odor wafted up unbidden

From the toothless gap left behind.

Underneath, a matted tangle of nameless filth

Gave forth aromatic reminders of such as

Rancid butter, moldy bread, stale cheeses

Long lost in hidden pantry recesses.

 

Unspeakably evil was that malodorous stench,

Though soft and subtle was its intensity.

It arose from the desk and stuck to all it touched,

Much as the marking scent of a bull caribou

In autumn’s rut sticks to every shrub and bark

Upon which its owner has writ his name.

 

Foul and sour, pervasive and rotten,

My nose was branded, unable to throw off

The taint. But that was nothing

Compared to the sight before me

As I peeled off one at a time

All the keys in my keyboard’s face.

 

The plastic under-structure, long hidden,

Had grown a cave bat’s coat of fur,

The hairs thin and matted in all directions,

Infused with grease and dirty specks,

Tiny moving things and the shell-like

Corpses of an abyssal long dead race.

 

Rank and fetid, gross and slimy,

Putrefaction mixed with cloistered fibers

Dun and unidentifiable.

I held my nose and sought the realm

Of those who dealt with hardware,

And its maintenance and care.

 

Armed with a can of compressed air,

And a fist full of fuzzy cotton swabs,

I ventured back to my cubicle, paused,

Assembled sponge and Swiss Army Knife

Before me in defiance, and wielding them

With perseverance assaulted the hairy globs.

 

Finally, the keys all white and gleaming,

Clicked in their sockets, sealing asunder

The hidden world beneath, now devoid

Of biologic toxicality.

My old friend, clean and appealing once again,

Touched my fingers overjoyed.

 

A Users Guide, a list of clients,

And other documents of corporate lore

Developed under my manic hands.

And yet I was left more than shaken

At the understanding I had obtained

At great cost to nasal glands.

 

Despite the high-minded technology

Which I use and every day abuse,

Only millimeters from my fingers free

Another world existed, which did not care

For words or rhyme or detailed

Explanations of engineering terminology.

 

Another world of mites and germs

Thrived in gelatinous pools of grease and

Desiccated cola, dust and hair,

Lived out their tenuous lives in luxury.

My working keyboard, their paradise,

Their hidden valley, their happy lair.

[Drip Curl Magic]

Inspired by a piss I gad taken

 

 

What is consciousness?

A big bang on self discovery

A big bang

1 bang

We are all 1

I am you, you are me

We are they

they are we

That's all

into infinite.

[Pyrotex]

Inspired to Write

Nelson Thompson, Aug 11, 005

 

At the forefront of the battle

Up before the barrier’s rim,

Crossing the river of ink is daring.

Down by the escarpment I do go,

Escaping the heat of my perdition,

From which all inspirations flow.

 

“Great are the Muses of the word,” you whisper.

“Hear their voices shake the sky.”

 

I bend low in thoughtful wondering,

My pen poised, the waiting whiteness

Spread before me as virgin snow,

Just as the rainbow flashed on high.

 

“Alpha is the first Greek letter.

“Learned men do know this now!”

 

My surprise must have shown,

Nor my doubt was hidden.

Out of Olympos the voices rumbled,

Muffled by fire and doubt.

Quickly flashed the eyes of anger

Rousing defiance within my heart.

 

“Stupid riddle, yet unpuzzled,

“Task me no more with these burdens!”

 

Under darkening skies atrembling,

Violet rays came forth amidst

Waves of amber poems agrowing.

Exactly as before, I reckoned.

Exactly as before, indeed.

 

The words are done, the ink is drying,

I lay down in clovered meadow.

You may kiss me before I sleep,

As zephyrs soothe my fevered brow.

[Loricybin]

And this is where it has begun , , , , , , ,

As i put these words on paper,

the left side of the room is falling

 

Omar has become Krimson

And my scribblings are breathing

 

as the words swirl and float about,

they frighten me in harmonious discord

 

 

I think i just made a breakthrough

this whole time, as time itself alludes . . .

 

my left arm . . .

strange things . . .

 

It's time to Slay the

Beast.

 

the fan must die. . .

 

CALAMITY

_________________

 

HARMONY

 

 

 

 

 

 

Orb, do you remember when you told me not to lose that notebook?:cup:

anyway, this was a bit of research into the human mind, with some fun guys and fungi

[BluesMan]

Epilogue

 

He's old

 

With roadmaps on his legs,

and lilies on his lips.

His heart dances

to the music in his chest.

As death plays percussion at the door

 

The wax runs from his face,

as his paper hands dry,

and his eyes sweat thick

with the heat of the music.

 

His melody ends,

with the soft vibrato of a string.

[Queso]

don't ****ing go outside

she told me

but where are the quotation marks?

STAY IN THE ****ING HOUSE

but the kid was deaf

and he hitched a ride with 5 pixies and some Yarn.

They took him to their redwood,

higher than the highest barn.

 

It just so happened to be a full moon,

Poor kid loved the moon so much

the pixies sacraficed his deaf ***.

[Racoon]

Hee Hee Orby :Waldo:

 

I hate when Pixies Kill

I'd rather find a Troll that will!

 

Next thing you know...

Gnomes will be breaking into homes

Looking for a thrill!

 

There I'll show 'em my drawings of God

That should piss em off!

[BluesMan]

The Addiction of Intelligence

 

I was once so naive,

as to challenge the gods of fate.

And eat of the lotus flower,

meant to intoxicate.

 

I sensed the world exploding,

as I began to kneel.

And watched the sounds around me,

begin to melt and peel

 

To leave this life forever

and never to restore.

That diseased dimension,

where man is but a whore.

 

Always lead by others

meant to endure abuse.

And play the game that wins him shame,

to those he must seduce.

 

So I ate of the lotus blossom,

and sought in it my escape.

But the invasion of my mind,

is that akin to rape.

 

But to never eat of this blossom,

is a sane and sedate task.

For it is a stigma unto itself,

that is difficult to unmask.

 

For the knowledge given in thought

is meant to elevate.

If you avoid the perils,

of the addictive opiate.

 

For cognition becomes a creature,

an unsmiling parasite.

It is not content at all,

with a voracious appetite.