Poetry

[Einherjar86]

I is fucked by physics, wrought in many
Visions, the aleatory weighs as cosmic mass
Upon a fragile perceptivity, warping
System into chaos of a clattered set,
Beyond the measure of Cantor’s finitude.
Think of singing math! Sounds of numbers,
Lumped quantities and secular parishes
Chanting cruel maxims at the false sun,
A dying star, heaving lustful for collapse.
Sing of thinking math, and numbers bored
By time, impatient with the constancy
Of that decked heaven, wrenched from wider dreams
Beneath the cyclone, purring silent, treelike,
Where old roots petrify, dipped in the cold
And thickest oil of universal blood.

The I is fucked by physics, torn apart
Within the gears of vast, tormented motors,
And then discharged – sprayed – emulsified
So that the engined patterns may repeat.
Thing of sinking math, this algorithmic
Thing of entropy, recycling tooth and skin
To dust and back again, not unlike clockwork
Without circles, peeled-out serpent’s skin
Along a track below the lights, and sinking,
Sink of thing-ing math, hard like sinking things
Made rapid in the course of solar heat
So that the engined patterns may repeat.
Repeat.
So that the patterned engines may repeat.

 

[Dak]

Endless recursion
I in me exists for me
but for which version

 

[Jimmy... Dead.]

A secret gay boy
Penis in the mouth
Bleeding from the rectum
Cum guzzling, ass eater

 

[-CC-]

An ode to Konerak Sinthasomphone?

 

[Einherjar86]

Endless recursion
I in me exists for me
but for which version

Hate to break it to you, but if you wanted to craft a poetic homage to the individual subject, you chose the wrong form. A fundamental component of haiku is that it ignores subjectivity and perceptivity.

But way to be revolutionary.

 

[Dak]

Is an implicit statement about the emptiness of tradition revolutionary? I enjoy the formatting constraints haiku introduces, but everything is optional.

 

[Einherjar86]

I like the rhyme of "recursion" and "version." Haiku is fun, I just don't often restrict myself to such short length.

This is a haiku I wrote recently:

Might life be nothing
But a dream within the womb
Forgotten at birth?

 

[Master_Yoda77]

I wrote these shitty sonnets recently. Let know what you guys thinks.

Ithaca

I’ve stood on cobbles of great kings of old
Deep with history of blood and long strife.
Home to the tombs of authors wise who sold
Their soaring spirits to everlasting life.
Ascending the steps up to the divine
I look upon the city’s vast fashion.
Behold! What greatness lies ahead. I pine
To witness again that gift of passion.
Yet those are pale to your grisly beauty
Endless prairies littered with mounds of crud
That even his rocky isle mighty
Would fall at the site of such hallowed mud.
And when I gazed on those tear filled smiles
The pains of grief released down the miles.

The Gates

The doors shut and you give me that deep stare
Of longings past and the burning flame of
Lust. As I lean towards you and your dare
The moment engraves itself as the dove.
My trembling hands glide down your naked hips
Feeling the warmth of your silky surface
Oblivious to the risk of this trip
So enraptured in each other’s embrace.
But what about when those gates open wide?
Who gazes on such display of passion
A child and a single mother beside
Or an Aged man of supreme fashion?
No one but the winds of those high above
Corrupted by our in tense form of love.

 

[JontRevolting]

That last one gave me a stiffy.

 

[Dak]

Battlefield

T'is here the blood of nameless passings
Fed the grasses of the plain
A theater with open casting
Cleansed only by endless rain
Tombstones for the bones outlasting
The memories of those once slain

 

[Master_Yoda77]

That last one gave me a stiffy.

Good.

 

[Carpe Mortem]

Wasabi Up My Ass

Ripping, burning, a strong acidic churning,And somewhere deep inside an evil mass
And through this hellish torment it seems I'm finally learning....Not to put wasabi up my ass.

It started off with Mexican, enchiladas, spicy sauce!Going from the mild to the hottest
I felt myself preparing for a heavy, solemn lossAnd proceeded with a shit quite far from modest

But the burning, oh, the wretching! The squeeeze felt rather fetching! And it wasn't long before I wanted more
A fool for the flame and a sucker for the stretching, My eating habits made of me a whore.

Next I tried some Thai and motherfuck, oh my! What a spicy treat for someone's anus
I'd soon have what I cherished, and happily would die... But until it reached my asshole, it was painless!

I lamented the fire, twas BURNING I desire!The stretching didn't show to me my soul
And with such fateful thoughts, a situation dire,I vowed I would plug up my hungry hole.

Wasabi in my sphincter! Wasabi up my ass! Wasabi was a food that had some sass!
And I shoved it deep inside, so it could always hide, And bring to me a newfound peace at last.

Gallons of wasabi, hardening within me, Crumbling from burning anus membranes
Every night a fire, every shit I took, it singed me! And every day, a greeting from new bloodstains.

But then the burning stopped, after lengthy joy.And a sickly smell erupted from behind
'Good fuck!' The doctor told me, 'What suicidal ploy?!? Leave my clinic, you're out your fuckin mind.'

I've been here quite awhile, trying not to cry, Sitting on a stove to no avail
God, I fucking pray that soon I'll finally die! Lament, my friends, this foodie's bitter tale.

 

[Carpe Mortem]

Undervalued Metamorphosi

Webs spun of blood and spiders of ilk, legs spread of kinship and treason,
Embedded with flies, and the dire moth cries as the brethren embrace a new season.
For should the web fall and the spiders recall that their kinsfolk lay weeping and battered,
They will seek verity, and merciful charity, as wisdom from dust wings most tattered.

But should this moth perish with knowledge they cherish, silent and still on the blood line,
The spiders won't waver or see bold disfavor to construct yet another dark mud shrine.
A funeral, a prayer, a forbidden care, for the chrysalis burst into flames;
And another blank grave with none that would save in the corpse yard of unwritten names.

Thus the web quivers as the dying tree shivers in a wind wrought with sorrowful ghosts,
And a ruby drop streams like viscous screams from the delicate legs of its hosts;
Another truth gone, another dead pawn, a smokescreen to any outsiders-
All mavericks die while butterflies cry, free spirits the prey of the spiders.

 

[Carpe Mortem]

I wrote these shitty sonnets recently. Let know what you guys thinks.

Ithaca

I’ve stood on cobbles of great kings of old
Deep with history of blood and long strife.
Home to the tombs of authors wise who sold
Their soaring spirits to everlasting life.
Ascending the steps up to the divine
I look upon the city’s vast fashion.
Behold! What greatness lies ahead. I pine
To witness again that gift of passion.
Yet those are pale to your grisly beauty
Endless prairies littered with mounds of crud
That even his rocky isle mighty
Would fall at the site of such hallowed mud.
And when I gazed on those tear filled smiles
The pains of grief released down the miles.

The Gates

The doors shut and you give me that deep stare
Of longings past and the burning flame of
Lust. As I lean towards you and your dare
The moment engraves itself as the dove.
My trembling hands glide down your naked hips
Feeling the warmth of your silky surface
Oblivious to the risk of this trip
So enraptured in each other’s embrace.
But what about when those gates open wide?
Who gazes on such display of passion
A child and a single mother beside
Or an Aged man of supreme fashion?
No one but the winds of those high above
Corrupted by our in tense form of love.

I dug Ithaca, surprise ending with 'miles'

 

[Master_Yoda77]

I've got two voltas in that one. One in the 3rd quatrain and again in the couplet.

 

[viewerfromnihil]

What is there to do
When a paper is soon due?
Ultimate Metal.

 

[The Ozzman]

What is there to do
When a paper is soon due?
Ultimate Metal.

What is there to do
Projects number more than two
Ultimate Metal

 

[CiG]

"Into my heart an air that kills
From yon far country blows:
What are those blue remembered hills,
What spires, what farms are those?

That is the land of lost content,
I see it shining plain,
The happy highways where I went
And cannot come again"

~ A. E. Housman

 

[Master_Yoda77]

New sonnet by Schmidty here. Not my best but whatever.

In the darkness I seek to embrace you,
My hand slithers around your soft belly,
Your hair suffocates me but I won’t sue,
No stench of flowers but sweat heavenly.
Our hearts beat together like these false lines,
Yours not trusting and mine plagued with a hole.
Happy I am, but more! And she declines,
But our warmth combines creating one soul.
Now I alone feel no softness or beat
Those dreams of you linger I beg, release.
Sleep eludes me while these thoughts are meat
Ready for slaughter so I can get peace.
I know not how much more my mind can stand
While you aloof slumber without my hand.

 

[Omni]

You didn't have to write that for me. I said we could be friends.