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Author Topic: F**k it... I'm writing a poem  (Read 19754 times)

ivan

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Re: F**k it... I'm writing a poem
« Reply #50 on: September 19, 2012, 03:38:27 PM »



Holding



This is good.

I mean, they're all good, but this is really good.
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"I TYPE 120 WORDS PER MINUTE, BUT IT'S IN MY OWN LANGUAGE!"  -Detta

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W_Kind

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Re: F**k it... I'm writing a poem
« Reply #51 on: October 06, 2012, 10:29:15 PM »

They told me once when I was young,
Write drunk
Edit sober.
Honesty in a glass and liquid courage,
Ask her out
Ask her over.
Nectar of life, nectar of the gods,
Lay her down
Love her gently.
Little green fairy in the bottle,
Come kiss me
Come love me.
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W_Kind

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Re: F**k it... I'm writing a poem
« Reply #52 on: October 16, 2012, 10:38:50 PM »

I Think of Death Fondly

I am not a liar.

It is a freely flowing movement to others, but to me it is as difficult as climbing mountains.

Not like the quiet trails about the base, but like the climber, clinging to the very pinnacle by rope and stake, there I am amidst the tide of strangers.

I often feel as though I do not belong anywhere.

Stumbling on shores so distant from anywhere that is familiar, I am cast away on strange tides.

Not in the brave and intrepid traveler's footsteps, but as a terrified child who is cast out in the storm and now must find a way forward because there is no way home.

I am not as you are.

We are different in almost every way, the winds as they sweep across the earth speak to us in very alternate ways.

Not poorly, for we are all of us gifted, but I see not what you see there, and I speak languages you do not dare, and I cross borders that ought not be crossed, and I think of death fondly.

~R.A. Fialkiewicz
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W_Kind

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Re: F**k it... I'm writing a poem
« Reply #53 on: December 17, 2012, 09:26:38 PM »

Over Shoulder

Don’t look over your shoulder, she said.

I am moving. I am movement.
Don’t look into the past except to see the sorrow
Don’t look into the past except to see the future
As it comes over the hill.

I am moving. I am movement
I am made of bones and teeth, blood and thunder.
I am made of bones and teeth, fire and light.
I shine, not burn.

I am moving. I am movement.
Collide, catastrophe, everything you came out of
Is hate and pain, roll on into hope and peace, new thing.
Be strange.

I am moving. I am movement.
Run, run, run, roll up that hill
Meet the new, meet the end, meet the beginning
Dance a strange dance

Strange child, she said
Don’t look over your shoulder
Don’t look over your past
Just keep running ahead.

I’ll be right behind you.
The past is always right behind you.
The past is always at your heels.
She said.

Leave it behind, leave it in the wind,
Rise above the kings, rise up on the wings.
She said,
Don’t look over shoulders.

~ R.A.Fialkiewicz
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W_Kind

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Re: F**k it... I'm writing a poem
« Reply #54 on: January 25, 2013, 11:25:14 PM »

paint to painter

you used your fingertips like paint brushes

dripping water onto the cracked, barren surfaces of my skin

I was still until you came with your fingertips

hardened and resolved carefully reserved under the surface of my skin

out of the harshest desert world you must’ve come

to not fear me, to not fear my dry terrain

and then touch me with your water dipped paintbrushes

I am like the flower both needing and fearing the rain

your paintbrush fingertips spread me out

you push my colors everywhere

carrying me out to new places and onto surfaces strange

you paint with me all manner of things fair

I do not need to be convinced of your artistry

I am not the one in the midst of cosmic doubt

I am only the dry paint you dripped with water

and with fingertips turned and spread me out

you are the river in the midst of the wastelands

carrying out the colors of the earthen debris

and painting them on other shores with shells from other shores

painting them with colors from outside and inside of me

~R.A. Fialkiewicz
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Wunderkind

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Re: F**k it... I'm writing a poem
« Reply #55 on: November 07, 2016, 10:38:02 PM »

I can appreciate the difficulties of your past,
The turn and twist and flow of your first,
Your middle, your crisis, escalation, resolution, last,
Your reason, logic, and I even understand your curse.

We've come to some kind of terms,
An unspoken agreement that we should
Just stay this far apart to avoid hurt,
Just avoid connecting even if we could.

You gave me some really good things.
You gave me waves and balance and hope.
You gave me money for the cinema and
an appreciation for the broader scope.

You gave me some really good things.
You gave me an inherit mistrust of smiles,
of the lies that are told to keep up appearances.
You gave me the discerning eye and all the while,

You taught me really important things.
I learned to stand up because of you.
I spoke up, I raised my fist, I stiffened my upper lip,
I held my head high, all because of you.

You were the resistance that sharpened my edge.
You were the wind that strengthened my roots.
You were the precipice upon which I learned to cling to a ledge.
You were the forced words when I was rendered mute.

I have you to thank for who I am.
Only you, no one else, for shaping me,
Into the warrior who looks at the sand
and thinks, sure, it's not the worst it could be.

But I would have liked to be weak.
I would have liked to rest against you.
I would have liked shelter and a break.
I would have liked to know what love looks like too.

And in the end, I'm okay, I get it.
The final resolution, I didn't turn out that bad.
And hey, it's over.
But really, fuck you dad.
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Because you either live life - bruises, skinned knees and all - or you turn your back on it and start dying. -- Captain Pike
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