They wish to remember it all at once
I hate this poem. I hope it's the only time I recite it.
He was my north, my south, my east, my west
He was a poet that liked to vomit into grand pianos
then digested all my brains
one more strike and he'd be dead
our mountain home so dear
so be it when I grow old, dear tampon,
a spectre searching for souls to keep
a summer sound in a summer without end
in an unknown alphabet.
Compiled by Marianne Hales Harding
Thursday, November 12, 2015
Monday, November 9, 2015
Compilation Poem for November 5, 2015
You are
always going to have fun. Remember that.
Twisted rope of day
Swan beaks on chest of drawers
Box of Umbrellas.
When you are gone,
toiling and tiling the bathroom.
This is my song,My song in Hollywood.
I might be weird but... no you get to live your life
around me!
Hard act to follow, long dead monkey head.
Intense geometry, dance of geometry.
Tiny voices,
Tiny voices:
Wibble wable weeble a;lskdjf sa;l dflksajf sdlf;j
asdflkj....
Servant girl to the connection.
Servant girl to the world wide web.
Wise man knows this is a stencil.
Mix gene pool.
Next big thing- you have no value.
Detective for the wrong reasons.
Take the Snake.
Order is good.
Follow surf line, feel seaweed.
One must be careful. Why? Because experience teaches
me how vulnerable I am.
Which patterns should or shouldn't I wear?
Taught myself.
Cold shell.
Lungs work against me-
Try to understand-
It's chill... It's chill.
Washing fingerprints from walls.
Not one to slump under sentimentality.
Favorite dress with flats that match.
Smooth hair for shine.
Irregular flickers.
Knee deep in,
church bells....
I evaporate.
Be There.
Untitled now.
Sometimes I cry.
Come up short.
Too many actors are unemployed.
Self Image out of focus-
Burn it all!
Don't have a lot of learnin... I Do! I'm Smart!
You have to improve on the blank page,
And God says Yes, Yes, Yes!
Maze of tiny streets.
Lost without a navigator.
Deeper and Deeper in foreign territory,
But in the same church yard.
I want to...
I want to...
I want to...
There's an ocean of life in front of me.
Less awkwardly.
Sing to sleep not concert halls.
Songs save my heart and brain.
Song means I have something more to give.
Play me to be your friend.
Brain is running a marathon.
In 2,3,4, Out 6,7,8.
Everything is Fine. Everything is Fine!
Broken, broken, broken.
I don't have anything but frogs, but not enough frogs.
Why do we try so hard when this will end.
It doesn't matter if we win or loose.
Foot prints fade.
Take the challenge of Life.
You. Are. Beautiful.
Strive to be the best version of you.
I don't think it does. Funny story.
Ones you love drifting.
Chasing was too much.
Forget.
Fall out.
Over.
No confusion.
Compiled (and sung) by Elisa Black
Compilation Poem for October 15, 2015
Holy Lists of Home
before your very eyes
deep, dark like the ocean
nature's split book of erosion
through their own ever changing faces
found on aisle 9
we don't live anywhere near London
sometimes I cry my way through it
just a dream
I will still throw you a rope
Dennis, can you hear me?
he sacrificed the sacred
holy, holy, holy
magicians and black and white television shows
I lost a little bit of my blood and my dignity
and you said it was a blow to your ego
it felt odd to completely re-brand myself
breakups fucking suck
it kept me from seeing
stereoscopically
smoking out of that damn bong
before she started to swim upside down
perceive the world psychedelically
that was my first mistake
I had that dream about you again
I am somewhere you can't see me
I feel I should explain to you first
we will call that holy
because beauty was only in my dreams
the devil knew my name
in a place called Jackass Flats
slit by the peaks that shadow the valley
stripped of petals, deflowered
to find the same face, ever watching
with wings that never folded
so the applause continues
not silky pole dancers
my home is here with this mic
totally
just another day at the beach
always know your vehicles clearance
you miss meteors
in a gulf of emotions
Compiled by Father Sluggo
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