Best Dunno Poems
Motionless as time fleets,
finding a purpose to grow,
sewn my heart tight,
for too long,
there's a bloke i know, who keeps going on
about his bowels
but besides that, i am attempting a poem
which uses meter effectively
you know, so it has rhythm and stuff
and subtle 'feminines' at the end of iambic pentameter
so that it creates something
but i haven't got the time for this
like watching a peter jackson movie, sitting
there
in the cinema, thinking..."i've got stuff to be getting on with."
gently
before me
on a desk, or a table
rests the means to enable
me to craft a new fable
to run and leap like the sable
a squirrel scampering upon a gable
to perch on high
level with the treetops
even with the dew drops
before they appear on leaves and grass
and as the moments pass
above the uncouth, the crass, with aplomb and class
to perch on high
not a computer, monitor, or screen
but a single piece of white paper, pristine, clean
and a pencil, or a pen
this is one of my favorite things, always available again
for me to clutter up with poetry, it's a religeous experience, maybe a sin
to perch on high, and then, to fly
above this work of still life, a pregnant moment, this glory
how do i get across to a mere animal like many of we
the potential, the opportunity, the act of creation
the pantheon of art, intellect, and creativity, the nearly divine relation
of a pencil, or pen, and one single piece of paper, the correlation
of inspiration, asperation, imagination, an elations flirtation
with all of creation, and even with the Creater, all the world and history
all possible, sometimes, probable, once in a while, we'll get to Be,
creatively
this mere human being, this mammal, this fallable and maelable man
may one day be as close to God, as, say, a squirrel, a sable, a dog or a cat
created as perfect as God intended, then staying that way
us? this world is sick and evil, faded, jaded, and peopled with egos based
entirely on waste, differences of taste
being better than, largely by plan, and lies, by intention and ignorance, like flies
i was perched on high, minutes ago, almost
(computers, phah!)
there is a certain amount of gratification in crumbling up a piece of paper
when faced with the fact, that what i've created is trash
getting another one
setting it down
setting a pencil or pen on it
and starting over. perfectly. gently. what is that moment?
to fly
perfection, and me, trying to be, to become, to create,
really, it seems everything i write or draw is a waste of time
it was perfect before i picked up the pen, now look what i've done!
delete?
phah! can you think of a title, a word that defines the moment described?
p.s. i am ussually surrounded by malevolent cretins, nobody on this site is a mere animal,
my apologies if you are!
I don’t know why,
Tears fall of my eyes?
I life,
Many people came and many went away,
Some loved me,
Some were loved by me,
Some respected me,
Some were respected by me.
Today when I sit and think,
I wonder,
Why did I respect them?
Why did I love them?
Who left me,
While I was really needful of a smile.
I don’t know why did I need them,
When nothing was in fame?
I don’t know why did I trust them,
When they had no crust?
I don’t know why did I make them smile,
When they made my smile go miles,
I don’t know why did I never leave them,
When they left me,
I don’t even know why did I love them,
When I knew they had to hate me,
I don’t know,
I really don’t know why,
Tears fall of my eyes!
As the tears well up in her eyes she begins to choke them back,
For she doesn't know why they are building like a flood. If she doesn't hold them
back she's afraid they may not stop for they have been locked behind walls for far
too long.
Walls of pride, fear of not knowing if it's going to be okay, and knowing the tears
may be the admittance that she is too weak to handle everything that is flying at
her.
Her world is a whirlwind, maybe that's why she's always on the move, to keep up
with the things going on. If she stops it may all catch up with her.
Could she handle that? Could she handle the reality of what seems to be
spinning out of control?
Then she realizes … it is out of her control, all she can do is pray and believe that
it will all be okay. She knows that's the only thing to do.
She's handling it okay, but the weight is becoming a little overwhelming, she
wants to help, wants to fix things, but doesn't know how. If she can't fix them
she's afraid she's letting everyone down.
Why is it she feels so responsible?
Her heart feels so heavy.
Do people see that sometimes she trembles with each breath because she
doesn't know how much longer she can hold?
She's about to break under the pressure of all that is going on.
Maybe it's because she wants everyone to be okay, everyone to be happy. She
doesn't want anyone to suffer or hurt.
What can she do to fix that? Is it even possible?
Her thoughts are spinning in a million directions
She holds on to what she knows is true for that's what helps to be bring her
through things like this.
But now, all she wants to do is sleep, for when she is sleeping, her world is at
rest.and her heart is light, for in her sleep are dreams of a life where everything is
okay.
11/30/06
what's it for?
speechless
i will ask the bus driver on the
number 24
drammach and
heat magazine gupshup
facejuice
the office slurp
my mum believes
chris tarrant invented
the choc ice
on a stick
"father, can i be of help?"
"you go back to bed."
slapnuts