Digital Storage

[darkerdreamer]

This thread is exactly what it is named. This is where I, and you if you'd so like, pull things from threads that are worth keeping and rethinking. Criticism and/or critique are not welcome here; this is a place for alpha versions, unpolished monsters, and jewel strewn garbage to be reworked (The Gymnasium is a great place if you want critique on your poetry).

(If you would so like, and this thread is populated enough to deem it necessary, I will make you a hotlink on this main post, so you can quickly find your post of work. For this, it is helpful to keep your poems to as few posts as possible, by editing and adding new poems to old posts.)

P.S.: For quick reference, it is highly recommended that you subscribe to this thread. Due to the nature of minimal posting, this thread will almost always be buried unless a new person joins or someone bumps it.

2d's trash can
wildsweetone's vault
loserstyx's dirty sheets
a freezer filled with bodies kept at 4degrees

.

 

[darkerdreamer]

Dr. Carter said I have a bad case of the Forget-Me-Nots,
"In every way you can mean something like that,"
he said over a clipboarded expression.
He admitted me, put me up in a five-star room
with two-star food and a cloudy day mural
that was more scenic than the view of the parking lot.

Somewhere between then and now
they got worse,
I'd take Forget-Me-Nows any day over these,
over this.

Dr. Carter said it's terminal, and his
hundred thousand dollar voodoo just can't cut it;
but, he said he was willing to try.
"Maybe the two hundred thousand dollar magic might to the trick?"

"Just give me that soma, Cart,
I need a handful of goodbye."

 

[wildsweetone]

okay i'm in.

24/10/07

It sits above the road
on a hill, an All Hallow's dream
house with its once white
paint peeled weatherboards,
and red corrugated tin roof
that lets in the stars
and the rain. I wonder
who lived there, a lonely spinster,
a family, children who bounced
on their beds and raced
around the rooms? And I wonder why
it sits, this house, a clump of barren bones
and boards that once kept love
and laughter within its walls.
There are lace curtains
in the windows, hiding the inside
from outsiders, keeping
the ghosts and their cries away
from passersby. The garden
holds no cheer, no false promises
of beauty to divert the eyes.
The paint seems to pause in its peel,
listens to the silent sounds within
and to the race of cars beyond its boundary.
Life continues.

~~

It sits above the road on a hill,
an All Hallow's dream house
with its once white weather boards
and red corrugated tin roof
that lets in the stars
and the rain. I wonder
who lived there, a lonely spinster,
a family with children who bounced
on their beds and raced
around the rooms? I wonder why
it sits empty, this house, a clump
of barren bones and boards
that once kept love and laughter
within its walls. Now the lace curtains
hide the inside from outsiders, keep
the ghosts and their cries away
from passersby. The garden
holds no cheer, no false promises
of beauty to divert the eyes.
Wall paint seems to pause in its peel,
listens to the silent sounds within
and to the race of cars beyond its boundary.
Life continues.

.

 

[loserstyx]

Hey Darkerdreamer, I'll also take a link in the first post, call mine Loserstyx's Dirty Sheets or something like that, because that's basically what all this is.

Peace!

Untitled

Awash with vile feelings of lust
I walk these empty people filled streets
I've seen her face, and I cruble
I fall into myself
Where putrid ideas and stagnant imagination dictate what could have been
The fractured castle of youthful ambition stands a monument
But it falls
And I am dust.

Untitled

I have looked upon the face of beauty,
A face of life.
That face has left me,
And now I live with
Memory, Sorrow, and Thorn
To give meaning to my misbegotten life

His Hands

His hand touched her
In that familiar way
That which only my hand may!

As anger seethes and boils and broods
I remember that she is not mine,
For she was mine but is not mine.

Anger will cool to sorrow of loss
And days that have been revealed
Will dwindle into night
As my soul cries out in pain!

 

[4degrees]

the worst movie, ever ever ever.

if mickey and mallory
were only gay lovers
than NBK would be
the best movie, evA

except for devil's rejects

or eraserhead


reel to reel
between my ears,
my own movie puts
me to sleep indefinately
i project through my eyes
onto a broad white wall, and
imagined images of some spattered
deathfuck medly starring you, well parts
of you anyway.

the worst, is titanic.
but i've never seen it.


----------------
3-13

winding my way through
dirty brickage, concreted
masses of low income and
broken glasses, bottles and
baggies and butts, i smile
knowing that i'm part of
a government project.

hope they get a good grade.

---------------------------
3-22
passion thread

fuck me so i can write a poem.
turn my head, looking back over
my right shoulder, knowing you'll not
hear my voice but perhaps intense
telepathic transmissions will
deliver my message.
the scent of ashes on sheets
you'll never notice, for my need
is strong like gasoline
lust fills nostrils leaving no room
for another smell, except the fake
sugar on my lips
but that's more flavor
than anything else
hit the spot, on the spot
an endorphine induced elavulation
no, reaffirmation of how you struck
the gold in me again
it stays buried deep but
you know where to dig...
triple x marks are all along
my spine, from where you kissed
last night, stating 'you are mine'
the power of choice vanished
long ago, with any lingering notion
of whether or not
you were anything less
than an angel sent to save me.

-------------------

3-23

every letter i could mentally write
to x, x and don't forget x
(never to be confused with ex)
has been written and re wre-written
enough times to make any number
of x's puke their fucking guts up
any statement of inspiration
has been stated, if not
shouted, growled, hissed and passioned
to death
and its a perpetual state of
catch-22
the death, the passion...
the puke and the guts
the constant fuck lust
and the occasional notation of
i love you Vs. i'm in love with you
keep this thing in motion
i am an ocean
of red and thick water
dull blades sunken in the muddy depth
under yes, an x
for easy retrieval
i bury the treasure of death
and keep eating all the love
i see or steal
wanting it in the most
mortal way.
----------------

from 3-04

ultra-unobtainable
and equally
conflicting
versions
of the
tale i tell
myself to
achieve
a restful night.

the astonishing
chronical
of all that
might have
been..
the mutated
dream of
something similar
to effective
existance.

yet mulling over
every last
reflection
takes a
considerable
amount of
time.
i end up
with no
rest-
regardless.

get a stronghold
on my substance-
it is my sustenance
-------------
poignant venting
amenable and
inviting
got me by
the jugular
jaws close
tight on me;
clinching
with
verbatum
makes for

blood-filled
flesh
and
spots of
wet

exposed and needing
to create a vertex
satisfaction
via
you.
----------

 

[wildsweetone]

bump because it took me 10 mins to find it.

 

[wildsweetone]

and bumping again...


Mods, is there any chance of this thread becoming a Sticky?

a) more poets might use it

b) it is a website space saver as poets use one post to work edits etc.

c) it's really handy

d) it would be easier/faster to find and thus to use more frequently and efficiently.

just asking.

 

[darkerdreamer]

Bump.

(hoping seeing this higher up on the board will inspire me to actually edit for once.)

 

[loserstyx]

bumping for the aforementioned reason

 

[wildsweetone]

and again