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Post by anirbas on Mar 11, 2007 21:51:34 GMT -6
~Never Fails...
It never fails, that's how it goes...
One minute you're up and running...
Singing songs you love,
putting the last, deft
finishing touches
on a portrait
painting
of your
chosen
beloved...
Enjoying
the idealistic
fantasy and finer
things in your own
individual world...
Just minding
your own
business...
The next minute...
You're not running
with the scissors of benign,
naive joy, anymore...
You're being bashed and beaten
to the floor, left bloody and broken
by thugs with issues you didn't breed...
That havn't any right to be in your private "Idaho"...
It never fails, that's how it goes...
One minute your house is a cosmos
beaming with illusionistic brightness...
The next, it's an abyss of blinding pain and darkness...
~Sabrina.
*footnote: inspired by a scene from the movie,
As Good as It Gets.*
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Post by anirbas on Mar 11, 2007 22:00:47 GMT -6
~Happy Place
It's always good advice
from anyone to find a happy place,
within yourself...A closet, a corner
not marked with the piss of dogs that refuse
to sleep, but still lie; blighted with the mildew
of the spotted past; the gamey stench of old
forgotten tennis shoes
and skid marked
underwear,
left to gather
dust and rot
in the floor.
~Sabrina.
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Post by anirbas on Mar 11, 2007 22:17:01 GMT -6
~Guilty
Beyond the lie
of the warp and woof
of the veneered exterior...
I over turn rocks and stones,
accidently releasing scorpions and toads
to skitter from the darkness
and into the lightness...
Guilty of looking
for humanity...
The human,
in everyone...
Sometimes,
there just isn't anyone
or anything at home,
under the heavy
shadows
of rocks
and stones...
Not even a scorpion
or a toad...
Just another crack
in the exterior of the dirt,
the skin of the earth...
~*~
I Couldn't Hear You, Anymore...
I've cried so much...
I've cried over everything...
From the loss of children I birthed,
to the loss of beloved family and friends,
from the third dimension...Shades of souls,
I couldn't save...Dogs and cats and birds...
The loss of a poem, I accidently deleted,
can bring me to tears...
Even the loss
of the last and best,
still life canvas I did years back,
can still make me misty-eyed...
And I murdered it, myself...
With a butcher knife...
Slashing the soft
hues of saffron,
salmon, peach, teal,
russet and sepia to colorful
ribbons of nothingness...
I've cried a lot in my life...
And still do, from time to time...
But, you...I'm not crying over
anymore...I havn't for years...
I stopped crying when you crammed
the garden shears of your hatred
into my right ear...
Because, after that...
I couldn't hear you, anymore...
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Post by anirbas on Mar 11, 2007 22:58:21 GMT -6
~The Throne
I am the queen
of a vastly hectared
land of mentally,
emotionally and spiritually
bereft nothingness...
This earthbound vessel
wanders the fenced perimeters
of this vast nothingness...
A shade of what it was...
A husk filled and plumped
with the emptiness
of sawdust and splinters...
The mind, the heart, the soul long gone...
Having abdicated the throne
of this relationship,
long, long ago...
~Sabrina.
*footnote: inspired by a line Amy threw at me, somewhere; and by
Nirland adventures and quests, so to speak*
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Post by anirbas on Mar 13, 2007 21:36:32 GMT -6
~A Toast...
To life...
And dancing on one's tippy-toes, spewing glowing words
of kindnesses and laughter I don't feel,
as though one's inner shores are lit
only with the blandness of goodness and lightness from within...
To life, and learning to pretend I'm somebody I'm not...
A happy person with my head screwed on straight
tripping through a happy life because I say it's hap, hap, happy...
And denying the honest truth that it's not, not, not
no matter what, what, what I say...
To life...And being a character
in an awfully scripted screenplay
where I am the monster.
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Post by anirbas on Mar 13, 2007 23:49:17 GMT -6
~My Friend
Nights made for howling
used to make me think of you...And times...
Times...When the stars were tricked out and falling
and we used to run the streets partying together, momacita...
In awe, I used to watch you flirt up everything having,
and claiming to have a cock, coming and going...
Fascinated...Wishing I had one ounce
of your feminine mystique and confidence...
Watching you, was like watching Mae West
strut her stuff across the invisiblely
flipping page of the book of the stage...
With distance from the glory days of it all...
I see things, clearer...Less hazed with the film
of the old sentimentality...I remember, how you always
mysteriously left me alone in the crowd...Hanging
in the wind, time and again...But, upon your
dramatic, pagentic returns, you'd always
demand, I come a running, to hang by your side...
Keep you company as you bayed at your lonliness...
I remember you making sure I understood
who was off limits to me...Earmarked as your future
property...Funny...The one you pointed out,
was the least of your worries of having me as your
unworthy competition...He was a boy, a kid...
Twenty years or more, my junior...Gross...
While you bragged in my ear, repeatedly...
Of hooking up with this one and that one in conversation...
I remember being fascinated by your feminine mystique
and confidence...Wishing I had one ounce, one iota
of that draught in even my little finger...Until the day
you sent my boyfriend a picture of yourself,
all dolled up and lolling by a pool,
like a mermaid, as soon as you
had his mailing address in your
hot, little hand...
I remember...
The feel and taste
of betrayal, that day...
It didn't feel to good...
Made me sick...So sick...
It changed me...
I've changed...
Nothing, will ever be the same...
And I don't want it to, like I used to...
I'm not anyone's shot in the arm, anymore...
Much less yours...That one action, killed
my fascination...When I realized,
you just needed EVERY man
in any given room,
to think you
were
beautiful...
Hot...Sexy...
Desirable...
Even mine...
Nights made for howling
used to make me think of you...And times...
Times...When the stars were tricked out and falling
and we used to run the streets partying together, momacita...
Until I realized you were a persona, a lie, a fairytale...
That you were never my friend...But, me? I was always yours...
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Post by Sam on Mar 14, 2007 7:31:04 GMT -6
Hello there, honey..... Just Old Sammy here, sweetie.....creaking in to say, "Who the ___you calling old, Sista???  I resemble that remark!!! Hold tight, Soul. Think positive, good, healthy thoughts (for Sabrina) and youself. hahahaha Things will be ok!! We are just still hiding in the Christmas depression mode !!! Time to stick our heads out (from you know where) and breathe in some fresh air...... ___ Standing over this cauldron spilling toads butts and newts eyeballs and powdered dragon testicles into the bubbling brew... *Yum! Yum!! Sam (the Old woman with the mean left hook) ha ha ha |
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Post by anirbas on Mar 14, 2007 10:44:01 GMT -6
Just Old Sammy here, sweetie.....creaking in to say, "Who the ___you calling old, Sista??? I resemble that remark!!!
*gigglegiggle...jk...trying to bring a grin to your face...I called Dawn old right along with you...t-hehe...between the three of us, we're the Lavender Hill gang...LOL...remember that old western abou a bunch of old codgers knocking over banks? Or was it trains, or both? Hmmmmmm....
Hold tight, Soul. Think positive, good, healthy thoughts (for Sabrina) and youself. hahahahaThings will be ok!! We are just still hiding in the Christmas depression mode !!! Time to stick our heads out (from you know where) and breathe in some fresh air......
*I totally agree...But, I think mine is more than X'ms depression...
It's a case of the unvarnished truth catching up with me...LOL...
You ever notice the more you try to ignore things, the more they jump out of corners you're poking around in and bite you?
Guess I should stay out of corners...Stop acting like Pandora and opening boxes best left closed...Or that you think are closed...
I'm being obtuse and so now, I'm ending your misery and cutting you loose...LOL...I sound like a goose...Or worse, a moose!
An old one, with a beard hanging from it's chin to it's knobby knees! LOL
___
Standing over this cauldron spilling toads butts
and newts eyeballs and powdered dragon
testicles into the bubbling brew...
*Yum! Yum!!
Sam (the Old woman with the mean left hook) ha ha ha
____
LOL...Would ya do me a favor, galpal? And hit me hard enough
to knock me out and put me out of my misery? You wouldn't have to hit me hard to put me out...After what this head has been through, it wouldn't take but a tap to turn it off...ggglgggl...
Or some such near rot and polyglot...
Take care and don't forget to blessed be, folks! Nir.
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Post by Sam on Mar 14, 2007 11:21:22 GMT -6
Lighten up on yourself!!! You make me feel better about my poor old life. ha
It is all going to be ok!!! You will see, have faith and keep thinking positvely.
Love to all,
Sam
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Post by anirbas on Mar 14, 2007 13:30:19 GMT -6
I am being light...Light with satire...LOL...But, it's good to know I make you feel better
about your poor life. I'd still like the chance to paper a certain house down the street, abit from me, just for you, sweetie...
Faith, can you have to much of that? CAuse sometimes, I think that's my problem and half of what gets me into so much trouble...I believe in and trust the wrong people over and over...
LOL...Just so you know, not talking about present company or anything here...Just, been doing some real looking at my life the past couple of weeks and the things I've done and others have done and all the things, I realize I'm still ignoring...Does that make sense, or did I just stray near left field on you? LOL
Anyway, on that note, here's our horrorscope for the day, Sammy...
I thought it was kind of funny given my state of mind and what's happened to you
the past week or so...In different ways, it sounds like us...LOL...Sabs.
March 14, 2007 Daily Cancer horoscope:
Make sure that you are living your life consciously at this time, dear Cancer. It could be that you are going through a great deal of denial in which you simply refuse to see the truth of the situation. Open your eyes up to the world around you so that you may invite in joy and compassion. Don't let yourself be satisfied with superficial interactions that don't really fill you up.
Now, gotta run...The kids, Jason and a friend are here and I was just passing the entity and realized it was still running...Wonderful Wednesdaying, folks!
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Post by anirbas on Mar 15, 2007 1:04:23 GMT -6
By concensus or definition, I'm not as dull as I might seem... Believe it or not, I know exactly what's wrong with me... Irreligious, irrerverant humanist me, has finally lost faith in humankind... It's ability, including mine, to right itself, to change... To free itself, [i.e., me] from the mire of what is and what isn't. But, today, I looked at me...Eyes puffed by allergies, tired, beaten down ready to say fuck it all, me... And I asked myself, staring into the mirror... All the cynical shit aside, Self...Me... Do you still believe in all possibility? So you still believe in miracles, Me? Not much changed in my expression staring back at me, but a light glimmered, a spark glowed from my eyes, that hadn't been there before... And I realized, deep down, I still do... Believe in all possibility and miracles... And then I started grinning...Realizing, I might be down, but I'm not out and I'm not licked yet, afterall... ~*~ But, I'm still full of meloncholic pissedness and sadness! It's the Irish in me! LOL ;D *He told her, like a warning, "I'm prone to meloncholy." Not realizing, he was preaching to the choir with his statement*  |
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Post by anirbas on Mar 16, 2007 23:41:52 GMT -6
Darker Side of Life Tales...
i.
This environment,
traps me in it's
miasma of dead
endedness...
I am overwhelmed
with the orbital
and aurical images,
coming at me,
left and right,
sometimes...
To the point,
I flee outside...
Just to be able
to catch my breath;
continue breathing...
The roar and purr
of motor after motor
growling up and down
the city streets;
installed in cars,
trucks and buses;
is a welcome sound,
to hearing the word
f*ck, spoken over
and over and over...
ii.
I am trapped, even outside...
Cut-off from the congress of the street
and the world in general; seated on concrete
bench, writing furiously, behind a head-high fence,
of wrought iron bars...Destitution, aft of me,
ensconced in the grey concrete building...
Destitution, in front of me...
Men, in uniforms, with guns and badges,
walk the premises. They smile at no one,
save one another, in the reflection
of their mirror lensed, aviator frames.
The creak of the leather of their
shoes and gunbelts, distracts me.
Distracts me from watching,
life unraveling in front of me,
on the other side of the iron fence.
I am silent and small as I can be, in this setting.
While in my head, behind the iron bars surrounding
me, I just want to scream...Scream and scream...
Scream with their pain, society's outcast...
Scream with their pain, my pain, the pain
of my son...I am inundated and drowned
in the bitterness, destitution
and hopelessness, of the people
inside the grey concrete building;
I've ran outside to escape from...
And yet, I find nothing less outside...
Behind or in front of these dratted iron bars.
iii.
Lost and surrounded,
in a sea of men,
two-thirds of which
are twenty-one or under;
I listen as they all complain-
background noise to the book,
I'm reading-complain
to one another, and outloud,
to the world in general;
about their need to piss...
Their words, not mine...
Some even need to f*cking piss...
Black, brown or white, all need to urinate...
From the sounds of it...I guess it must be...
The dreaded urinalysis day of the week...
iv.
I read...I write...I appear to be
in my own world, deaf and dumb...
But, all the while, I am listening
and looking, from beneathe my lashes.
Appear to be in my own world, and am...
Donna Tartt is quite the author.
But, even she cannot compete,
with the susurrus of voices,
complaining about the need
to piss, to just f*cking piss...
No, I will not bring my ten year
old daughter, into this atmosphere...
It's bad enough, I am here.
At least I'm a street wise,
well seasoned, old mare...
No, I will not bring her
bright, shining innocence, here.
But, someone has, I see...
And she's hearing everything,
I'm hearing...And I just want
to stand up and say...Hey, guys!
Are you blind? Do you not see
the little girl, in your midst?
v.
But, the tension is already
thick enough in here, as it is...
One of their number, has been decimated.
Sitting in handcuffs, behind a glass wall
for all to see...A grim reminder...
Of where they to, could be heading...
Back to jail, do not pass go...
My own son, is white as a sheet...
Dripping with perspiration,
in a hermetically chilled room...
Leading me to speculate...
Perhaps he knows something I don't?
That he will not pass this urinanalysis?
Several names are called, of which he is one...
More than one is heard to utter, "'Bout f*ckin' time!
I've got to f*ckin' piss!" A Mexican male,
in the group, looks jauntily back at his entourage,
still seated next to me; smiles a beautific smile,
and says, with one thumb up, "Yo', homes!
We're all going to jail!"
vi.
Oh my...Oh my...
The tension in the crowded
room and within me breaks...
Laughter ripples, across the crowd still seated...
I hold my breath...I hold my ribs...I bite my tongue.
Working to keep from cracking up giggling...
And then, I just do...I just do...
Until my eyes land again, on the little girl
in the room...And I wonder, how she sees this mess...
All of them...the probationers and the rest of us...
I wish for the thousandth time, she wasn't there...
As someone says aloud, in reply to the cocky
Mexican boy, "I know that's f*ckin' right."
~Sabrina.
11/2005
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Post by anirbas on Mar 18, 2007 21:24:30 GMT -6
I'm saying hey wake up, you, on the other side of the world... I know you hear me calling you, sister... Doncha be hiding from me in that corner... Just because you're an Aurorian being... One 'goddess' to another, sister... Doesn't mean I can't see you... I see you with my heart, head and spirit... Forget that stiff upper lip...Bring yourself right over here, closer to near...This realm is for those moments... We think we need to hide...Come dance with this gypsy across the dark sky, we'll make our own northern lights... From where the tips of our toes strike the stars... We'll play tag and gotcha in the Dungeon... We'll ascend into lightness and write of our spirituality... We'll chase one another with spontaneous combustion through the halls of the Word Games board... We'll write of the generalities of life, kids, jobs, chores and things on the general board... We'll write of romance, both real and imagined on the sappy board...We can gin and spin heartache, there or here, in a corner of the darkness... Where all that can hurt one and go bump in the night, does... Frequently, I might add and did....LOL... Rise, you sweetly countenanced Aurorian being... Arise, I say...Sing sweet lullabies of lightness or dirges of dire, equally lyrical darkness... Just bring it on...All is beautiful and it's all good... I thought you already knew that, like you should... Doncha wallow or weep alone...Not when you've got me and the other sisters, and not a few misters to hand you tissues, or darts to throw at a picture hanging on a far wall...So, wake up, sunshine, I say... I know you hear this call...Come and play... The Dark board for a screamfest... Screaming is good for us...Metaphorically, or otherwise...Or so I've read... Scream...Scream...Screaming... It's really fun when it's a carload of gals of all ages, screaming in a car after midnight, with the windows rolled down in the moonlight... Pulling up to the traffic light, still in scream mode... And looking sideways, to see the lone guy by himself rolling up his window and locking his door, with a terrified look on his face... Like, "oh my god...Their species has finally lost it and is rising up against us and I'm the first casualty...!" I'm sure the myriad bras of various colors and cup sizes tied and hanging from the radio antenna did nothing to alleviate his fears...Now, if that neartale, didn't make you laugh and make you want to let it all out with a primal female scream I just don't know what will...And it's not a tall tale, it's a short tale and we're all very lucky a policeman didn't see us with our colors flying... Or we'd of all gone to jail for being drunker than Cooter Brown, Bukowski, or some such character... footnote: our bras were tied to the antenna... but we weren't topless so get that visual out of your head... we weren't getting that far back into the primal feminine mystiquezone...ggglgggl...but, we were braless, screaming, having fun and enjoying it...scaring the heck out of that guy was the icing on the cake, though... at that point, we were laughing so hard, we couldn't scream, anymore...Screaming...the flipside of Laughter... or some such near rot. Now, join me in running to dream, dear, ya hear? Nir.  |
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Post by anirbas on Mar 20, 2007 8:27:39 GMT -6
This individual demon of mine...
It and I are about to throw down...
Yes, we're fixing to go to town...
We're going to Fist City...
And it's going to get ugly
before it get's pretty...
My nose will run,
like a faucet turned on...
My head will hurt and throb...
My hands will shake...My moods
will plummet down, then up, up, up...
I may tear out handfuls of my hair,
then someone else's when I stand bald...
But, I'm going to do it...Yes, I am...I've got to...
I'm taking this one
eyed, red eyed
son of a beast on!
It's on, I'm telling you!
Get yourself a ticket,
this battle is one to see...
Me, at war with me...
Doing the best I can
to kick the ass of my addiction
to nic-nic-nic-o-tine...
I crave clean lungs...
I imagine having them, again...
Every hour of every day and evening...
I've got the mindset...I don't want to smoke
anymore, and I know I don't need, too...
Now, I've just got to do it...As I hate smoking!
Hate, hate, hate, double dog hate it, I do!
I keep trying trick after trick that worked before...
Except that one trick...Where when I did reach for a ciggie,
I broke it in two, instead of lighting it up, threw it over my shoulder and chanted...
"Get thee behind me, cigarette." Can't afford to do that trick anymore...
Five bucks a pack is awful expensive...But, I can't afford to keep
smoking, either...My lover doesn't want a corpse bride...
And I can't abide nor afford to keep smoking, anymore...
It's on, I tell you...It's about to get ugly...So, grab a front row seat...
And see something really neat and scary...Me, punching the crap out of myself...
Wrestling me over a pack of smokes to keep from killing myself, one drag at a time...
And to not smell like an ashtray or taste like one either, would be so sublime...
Get thee, get thee, get thee behind me and do it quick to boot!
Get thee behind me, cigarette. I'm sick of being your bitch
and that's the bottom dollar...Get thee, get thee,
get thee...BEHIND...ME!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
LOL...Ya'll have a nice day...Don't smoke, it ain't a joke it will you choke.
Not to mention making you stink and look like an idiotic bloke
writing throw away poeming about not smoking at nine in the morning...Sabrina.
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Post by anirbas on Mar 20, 2007 21:26:41 GMT -6
~poetical musings on mis-interpretation
you read past, not present tense, in the moment...
from the invisibility of the darkness beyond the lightness
perusing my poems, stories, my very comments
for hidden meaning, symbolism, subliminal messages
or simply searching for inspiration yourself...
all you will ever find within my words
is your own interpretation...
the reflection you wish to see...
even if it wasn't yours...
you will see you reflected...but...
all you will ever find within my words
is your own interpretation...
not and never mine, or my original intention,
or subject when writing any given poem...
ah, but that's the beauty and the fluidity of poetry...
it's always open to abstract interpretationism...
and that's the way it will always be...
as a poet, I'd far rather be mis-interpreted...wouldn't you?
from my experience, it's better than being mis-judged,
mis-labeled, mis-guided or mis-informed...
and I can handle being touched invisibly
like an unholy lodestone for inspirationing...
as it's always better to be an indirect inspirator
than to be a poetaster, anytime...
you read past, not present tense, in the moment...
from the invisibility of the darkness beyond the lightness
perusing my poems, stories, my very comments
for hidden meaning, symbolism, subliminal messages
or simply searching for inspiration yourself...
all you will ever find within my words
is your own interpretation...
not and never mine...
just an occupational
hazard of dancing
with the rhyme
and chime
of the written
word...
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Post by anirbas on Mar 20, 2007 22:10:33 GMT -6
footnote: the above has no basis in this reality...
based on a Nirlandic eventual issue and nothing more...kapeesh?
nothing here...just in the here of Nir, so to speak...LOL...poem on, creative crew!
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Post by dawness on Mar 21, 2007 11:50:19 GMT -6
pitch black... charcoal that is you, sabs!!!! dear me, it's great that darkness can be released this way; thanks for making me you ally in this department. and me, shoots, i ain't done yet with the shadow, the stink, the scum!!!
abd i try to spit the venom from the
cool waters of march
still, the puss lingers
my anger undefined
my big bed samller than a mite
as i exorcise a love that did not
want to die.
the pain, the torture chambers
waiting for more crucifixions
and right after,
need i glorify my own ressurection?
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Post by anirbas on Mar 21, 2007 22:40:33 GMT -6
Voluptuously surrealistic...Agonizingly beautiful offering, Dawn.
Thanks for honoring this thread and sharing it here...
B-b-b-b-ut, that first word, did you mean, and?
And fifth line down, did you mean smaller?
Not samller? ggglgggl...Did your poet's
sixth finger start hitting keys? Mine,
does, too...I think poets all have a sixth
finger...But, it's not always there...Just
when we least expect it to be...LOL...
Glorious epigramatical gem! I so admire
those of you whom can so say much with
so few words...I have a hard time doing that...LOL...
Or I have to write alot first and then chop, chop, chop
to get it to that elegant epigramatical sculpture size...
See...I'm digressing now...When all I meant to say was...
Voluptuously surrealistic...Agonizingly beautiful offering, Dawn!
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Post by anirbas on Mar 21, 2007 22:42:59 GMT -6
oh...oh...and thanks on what you said about my brain gases...
loved those adjectives as much as I do the colors...pitch black and charcoal...LOL...Nir.
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Post by anirbas on Mar 21, 2007 22:54:08 GMT -6
I say to you, Aurorian being...
Shall we administer a blood eagle, unto him?
All we need is a hatchet...To break the breastbone
and spread him wide and open, Sister dear...
Then we could reach into his chest cavity...
Rip out his beating heart along with his lungs...
Throw it upon the ground beside him...
And make a blood eagle, as the Vikings'
called it, of his innards...Now, that's a dark
sense of humor...And it sure would teach him
a thing or two...But, unless that's what you really
wish to do...I'd just as soon sit back and hand you darts,
to throw at his picture I pinned on the wall over there, just for you...
[ggglgggl]...Or just as well, hand you this platinum case of vermillion lipstick
to paint smoochies and hearts all over his picture...And then throw darts at it...
As that's what girls with broken hearts do and that's our dratted perogative...
Or some such nir rot and philosophy...Let's put Sam's heartpang's picture up there, too...
SAMMY! Your darts are waiting for you...LOL...I'll hand ya'll darts...Or adminster
the blood eagle for one and toilet paper the yard of the other, for her...
I'm flexible...gigglegiggle...Now, that lifesize poster of Himself, over there...
No, darts do I throw at it...But, occasionally, I've been known,
to defiantly throw flowers and popcorn, at it...ggglgggl...
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Post by anirbas on Mar 22, 2007 8:35:12 GMT -6
~Stretched, Per Se... Sometimes- I feel stretched, thin as a piece of bubblegum, pulled from the mouth of a dirty faced kid, wrapped around the tip of an equally dirty, index finger. Sometimes- I feel like there isn't enough of me to go around... And other times, like there is just to much of me... For me to even be able to stand being around... Sometimes- I know I've missed the mark, when my actions or words, have been misperceived... And in those times, my heart has bled. Sometimes- I'm sure, I'm nothing more, than an unraveled thread, hanging from the hem, of a ragged coat... Sometimes- I'm not sure who I am... Or if anything I do, makes any sense, or does any good, in the scheme of things... Sometimes- I feel stretched, thin as a piece of bubblegum, pulled from the mouth of a dirty faced kid, wrapped around the tip of an equally dirty, index finger. Sometimes- I just want to cry, even when I'm giggling. -Sabrina. 5/2005 Ya know, when I initially wrote this piece...It sounded right...Now, the word "sometimes" seems over used...?  Input, pretty please, gals...Or anyone...Thanks a million! ;D |
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Post by anirbas on Mar 25, 2007 9:16:57 GMT -6
~Miss Congeniality Has Died
I prepare to let go of everything...
My mind, heart and spirit,
as weary as my arms with the strain
of holding it all, together...
In vistas filled with greed, envy and false joy
whispers of Miss Congeniality has died,
will soon reverberate and echo...
And somewhere a man will asks his neighbors,
have you seen my bitch? The dog seems to have
broken her chain and all she left
was this ring I shoved in her nose.
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Post by anirbas on Mar 25, 2007 21:02:26 GMT -6
I look at the shade,
the shade continues to haunt me...
I ask the shade...Do you not understand?
I've lost my blithering mind, one to many times?
I'm not the person you knew or I knew,
I am no one you wish to know, now...
I am no one you need to be near...
I've let go of so many and so many things...
Including all that I once and many times believed of us...
I have transmorgriphed...Accepted my own mistakes
and sins...I have transcended...I cannot go back...
I'm into letting go and letting it all go...
I've left the beaten path and the lash
of lathered leather across
my metaphorical back...
The symbolic ballgag
has been spit from my mouth...
I've made this mistake to many times in this go round--
This reincarnation of my wastreled, weary spirit...
I hide my feelings for the needs of the many,
even the few, over my own...No more...
I feel the way I feel...That won't change
with my silence...Best to say what I feel...
Forsoothe, I blame no one...Tis best this way...
Closure in this good-bye...To some that is imperative...
For everyone's sake...Most importantly your's and mine...
Let it go...Let it be...Go forth, prosper and blessed be...
I look at the shade,
the shade continues to haunt me...
I ask the shade...Do you not understand?
I've lost my blithering mind, one to many times?
I'm not the person you knew or I knew,
I am no one you wish to know, now...
I am no one you need to be near...
I've let go of so many and so many things...
Including all that I once and many times believed of us...
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Post by anirbas on Mar 25, 2007 21:44:39 GMT -6
*reposting here, so I can "keep" up with it...i'll forget
where I put it, tomorrow...LOL*
~*~
odd, or not, how even when
it's all shot to hell and bad...
some small part of us wishes
someone would have listened to us...
usually someone of the other "species"...
when it could have mattered...
when it might have made a difference...
sad, how when it no longer matters
whether they listen or not...
that is when they wish most
to hear that voice
of feminine reasoning...
the one that said...
look before you leap...
think before you speak...
feel with your heart
before you shout
with the lancet
of your tongue...
lashing the innocent...
and Cronos fashion
eating each infant alive that ever grew
from the seed of a god's spent jism or mankind's...
Cronos style, ingesting each infant...
mentally, emotionally and spiritually...
some, faster than others...
odd, or not, how even when
it's all shot to hell and bad...
some small part of us wishes
someone would have listened to us...
usually someone of the other "species"...
when it could have mattered...
when it might have made a difference...
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Post by anirbas on Mar 25, 2007 22:17:29 GMT -6
~Thank You...
I hold this favor of yours to me
with the highest of esteem...
You know who you are
when this I say...
Thank you...
May you always
dance in beauty
on the Blessing Way...
And ever, may you blessed be...
This for you, I have and shall always, pray...
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Post by anirbas on Mar 27, 2007 12:41:02 GMT -6
~Click!
Windows is shutting down...
Even as does another day...
Nothing left to do...
But, push the button
and turn off the computer
screen...Click! Wish it was equally
as easy, to turn off my mind...
[If I could heal that mile wide
and fathoms deep gash someone
else left behind, inside your convoluted,
narrow mind...Even now, after all that has passed
and transpired--I would if I could--
but, it wouldn't change what is to come
to pass and be...There is no me, in this reality...]
Turning off my mind, as easy and as hard
as accepting this crooknecked path, once more...
Finding what happiness and joy still abounds
around the potholes and the rocks...
Did I say rocks? I meant mountains....
[I take responsibility for many things...
This, your attitude, I will take not one iota
of responsibility for...I didn't mess you up--
Rip your noggin off your shoulders and "headslam"
it back on sideways, with one of your ears in your throat...]
Mountains of acceptance is what I must practice...
Accepting is where I must be, for now...
No amount of kicking the walls in my head,
pouting, or hissy fitting is going to change that...
But, this acceptance will not alter this course I'm on...
Taking further charge of my life,
one mountain of sh*t,
at a time...
Windows is shutting down...
Even as does another day...
Nothing left to do...
But, push the button
and turn off the computer
screen...Click! Wish it was equally
as easy, to turn off my mind...
Click! .................................................................*
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Post by anirbas on Apr 4, 2007 19:02:56 GMT -6
~Same Old Song
The real thing
is a different illusion
for each and every being...
It's like "Dr. Pepper,
soooo misunderstood"
to coin
a commercialized
jingoic phrase...
It's like showing
up for a family reunion...
Seeing everyone is still the same...
Locked in the same old illusions...
Where thoughts of freedom are intrusions...
And everyone is still arguing
about the same old things...
A third of the related flock
is drunk, a third is shooting
up bunk and the rest are an equal mess--
wolfing down prescribed anti-depressants,
mood elevators and mood killers;
all vociferously debating
who's got it right
and who's got it wrong...
Ever and always the same old song...
The real thing
is a different illusion
for each and every being...
It's like "Dr. Pepper,
soooo misunderstood"
to coin
a commercialized
jingoic phrase...
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Post by anirbas on Apr 7, 2007 0:06:08 GMT -6
One wonders, how much more one doesn't know...
Beyond the bitter beauty is in the soul and so much more...
Running backwards and forwards is a tiresome race...
I find myself wearying of the archival chase...
And being the butt of the joke
everyone gets except me...
To believe one is ever special, different...
Is to be a sychophant kissing at the ass of illusion...
One wonders how much more one doesn't know...
How stupid and gullible one really is...
How many more secrets can one's
self avowed friends keep from one?
And I ever the blind,
leading no on one, but myself...
How funny...How appropriately ironic...
~*~
I look at the present...
The present looks at me...
History and secrets rise on the wrinkled
legs of an elephant, unforgiving, never forgetting...
I grin like a fool with the teeth of a dog...
I feel like the chillblain on the skin
of a rooting, rutting, hairy boar...
But, I smile, anyway...
No matter the shatters of ice
pricking my tiredly gritted eyes...
Ah, how the once pre-supposed
mighty worthy have fallen...
Always a commoner, never a queen...
Feels like a good day, for two goodbyes...
No sighes...No liquidic backsliding...
No hassels...No worry...Be happy...
You are not the fool...The fool is I...
Ah, deception and lies, to you, I say, goodbye...
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Post by anirbas on Apr 7, 2007 8:50:59 GMT -6
Method to my perceived madness...Changed "run to dream" thread title
and initial poem title as I just realized it sounds far to much like Tom Petty
and the Heartbreakers, Running Down a Dream song title...Nir.
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Post by anirbas on Apr 7, 2007 10:24:41 GMT -6
tired of holding a rose between my teeth,
dancing around like an angel on the head of a pin,
this rose has thorns of truth that rip my torn lips...
time to admit to myself, I am the village idiot...
here for show and tell and nothing more...
i choose to be more normal, less angelically
retarded, naive and gullible...
holding inane demons of lies between my lips...
just like everyone else I shall lie, lie, lie
but I shall lie no more, to myself...
I'm letting go of the dreams, ever just out of reach
of my thorn abused and ripped fingers...
Confessing, to myself..
there is no honesty or truth,
to be found anywhere...
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