Unquiet Desperation
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 21 
 on: May 18, 2013, 02:15:24 AM 
Started by Pater - Last post by Pater
That Greek goddess
the people claim as their own,
in marble or alabaster sheen,
keeps her laurel wreath for me,
my dream to save her from
the cannon and marauding horde.
There is an iron in her eyes
and her people I adore.
My blood all red I will lay down,
kiss her pale lips into life.

I have a soul and fire to leave
should death wear my night-gown,
I have a musket and a speech,
a lyric for a lyre to follow me
if it is the rubble at her feet
I am found; with other men,
reddened handkerchiefs gripped
in rigoured hands. My army,
my own army for Aphrodite.

by Pater

 22 
 on: May 02, 2013, 01:49:03 AM 
Started by salvagemydream - Last post by salvagemydream
Jumble stagnant swallow breathe
Out dissolve reflect inhale
Hole beneath bury tracks
Hazy lazy loser love
Utter unproducted
Loose as fuck
Second guessed second best
Math, preparation
Paint the face all red, say
I'll second guess it anyway
Playback payback
And discount all as null
Unemergency, say
Its just a phase
Its just a phase

 23 
 on: April 20, 2013, 12:39:32 PM 
Started by pease-smith - Last post by pease-smith
The goodbye,
Directions,
Liberations.

Sip the forever,
Lubrications,
Extinctions.

 24 
 on: April 06, 2013, 11:00:04 AM 
Started by Pater - Last post by Pater
This poem was written by someone, a lass, I've recently got to know. It's a reflection on her experience of a long time, many years, in a shit run care home for children.


Wherever you seek your soul,
the sanctuaries
when lost the stations
of the cross you bear it may be,
out of the corner of your eye
a stranger yet not a stranger
for you know these things,
a little Hitler
is what you will see.
 
No room for you with a view,
just the thoughts behind the barbed wire
these guards of what you never were
have strung, the gate they lock each night,
for they are righteous and at each corner
of each street you are retaken;
freedom is not even physical
when the electrified mind is bleached white.
 

Written on their page the stanzas
and the rage; you are defined,
even the prettiest of your mind rhymes.
Destroyed wherever you go;
time after time; till time ends.

by A Girl Unknown

 25 
 on: March 26, 2013, 07:17:58 PM 
Started by Pater - Last post by Pater
Oh, kidneys, why don't you get how I feel,
in a mind that like you grew with me,
the good health in your molecules
having turned on its heels.
Why make my pee so red,
me up and down from my bed.
The lowness of the pressure in my veins
is driving me insane; you don't feel a thing.
Why not disintegrate when I die
instead of giving me this living pain.
Together as in life we should fade away,
not have both of you slain by the surgeon's knife
just so I can rise sometime again.

My mind's nerves are nervous
at what tomorrow morning will bring.
When your cousin takes over inside of me,
we will part together for forever.
Your suicide though my pain,
your death though my novacaine.

by Pater

 26 
 on: March 19, 2013, 01:22:41 AM 
Started by Pater - Last post by Pater
Tell me a story of the early day,
in the present or let your imagination
drift on history's first breeze; it will know
when to set you down for a while.

Tell of the moon sliding away,
that slow sinking unmeasured
by the naked eye; it will disappear
as the raincloud arrives.

Sell me morning's glory, then stay
if the moon is a crescent as our earth
tilts on its axis to beings unknown;
doffs its icecap to the lord of sunrise.

Tell me things like this before the night plays,
for I slumber in the dusk of my old age,
let me dream like the child all those years ago;
touch my face when you say goodbye.

by Pater

 27 
 on: March 14, 2013, 06:54:41 PM 
Started by Pater - Last post by Pater
Four dreams for everyone.
Untouched, unblemished, unknown,
one ticks and tocks for him, for her,
somewhere out there.

An atom shivers in the cold,
it is so old, absolute zero.
Just above, just enough, never below.
Him and her imagine it.

Ping to boom making room,
corridors where there were none,
they sink and swirl, leave behind
their dream of nothingness; come alive.

These dreams orbit our minds
when we sleep; never solid, ever deep.
It is where we travelled from
bound by the curvature of Einstein.

It is time and space, it is old
and cold, unfeeling is its grace.
And we forgive it for it sired us;
in the name of something we must die for it.

by Pater

 28 
 on: February 06, 2013, 05:29:06 PM 
Started by Pater - Last post by Pater
Old Jesu and Jerusalem
he taketh on the plan,
the script from scripture,
the epistles of John.
From Templars and tourneys,
a sir and a gallant with lance
he had taken the handkerchief
as victor from her lady's hand.

From ship across green and dusty plains,
sunburnt deserts, the glint of things unknown
reflected in visor, and silver suit
his sole bodyguard; night fires
when the cold set in, his steed would win
the next day. As brave as he in chivalry;
seeking fortune and hollow fame
in faraway and bloody lands.
Old scars his only memory of home.

by Pater

 29 
 on: January 24, 2013, 02:14:11 AM 
Started by Pater - Last post by Pater
Five-past midnight,
who gives a fuck?
Sleeping partners lie
together just as
they've always done.
For years.

I tidy my mind
at times like this,
rerun the dreams
awake I had last night.
Pieces revisit through the day.
Like forebears.

Freud-haters talk shite
about electrical shunts,
that folk dream only
as a process of files.
Computer-like as an index
in a life book. Yet a thought
is a feeling attached to something,
reaching miles and miles inside.
All those in dreamscapes right now
don't know it. As if they cared.

Someone I know and meet
tomorrow will push anger back
to be civilised, smile and bare
their grand piano teeth,
shuffle their pretty feet
and wish they were elsewhere.

Living dreams while awake,
single paths to solid things,
automobiles, and latte-filled plastic cups,
make them gape wide-eyed until
they make their way home again.
While on the roof of a tower block,
the sandman only stares. And waits.

The evening clock ticks on
for everyone. The wind whistles
out there, and memories of childhood
filter through the mind of someone,
Freud's ghost stirs in his grave. My own dreams
from yesterday are now complete.
I will read my own book before I go to sleep.

by Pater

 30 
 on: January 22, 2013, 03:47:47 PM 
Started by Pater - Last post by Pater
Children, as we were,
often walked along the river shore;
Summer hols, bird calls,
ducks 'n' drakes,
testing swear words out.
That kind of thing.
A private starting point
for who we would be,
back then what did we really know?

Where do we go
when the slow light goes dim.
Where do we go
when the cold night folds in.
When do we know anything.

Susan was one of us,
I liked to make her blush
when all our teenage thoughts
demand we deal with how we feel.
She didn't mind, blossomed anyway.

But the illness came,
it's odd how things can change.
Like the seasons do, yet
not to order, like a grey day
and that coolness out of place,
warm breezes elsewhere.
It is the shadow still to form
fully in someone's eyes;
you see it though they are the same,
as ever they were.
They are unaware.

Where do we go
when the slow light goes dim.
Where do we go
when the cold night folds in.
When do we know anything.

Susan talked a lot,
forgiven for this way;
rum things she'd gathered
in her short life.
Was it the patience
of us all, or her smile?
No-one really knows now,
or would venture to say.

We heard she'd walked alone
along the river shore one day,
something she'd last done
as a child.
Was it the latent comfort
that held her mind?
No-one really knows now,
but then she didn't say.

Susan often joked
of living for today,
plumping for last chances,
not styles.
Was it the latent in us all,
she could find?
No-one really knows now,
but then she went away.

Where do we go
when the slow light goes dim.
Where do we go
when the cold night folds in.
When do we know anything.

On a winter's day
the twilight carried her song,
delivered it to the grave.
Something she had known
for a while.
From that day she walked
along the riverside.
We all miss her even now,
more than ever we could say.

Sometimes anythings
mean everything.

by Pater

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