# some poems



## slightlybatty (Dec 12, 2008)

*Like a Brick. *

Anger is solid. 
The amount varies. 

Chocolate shavings, 
pebbles, 
sometimes cannon balls. 

Kept in a flimsy 
white 
hospital box. 

Never opened 
tightly packed 
the bottom will fall out. 

Lucky ones find the will 
and duct tape it back together again.


*no title no done*

its been eight months of work 
living near you 
and i was nearly giddy when i heard they don’t know my name 

i continued through my day 
working in my cage loving the silent spots 
writing the numbers of someone’s life 

i wanted to laugh into pieces as i continued to think 
wondering how people would pick up a black finger nail 
and sow it like a patch on their uniforms 

im so blessed they dont know me 
all my life i have waited to not just be heard but known 
just like furniture doing its one purpose 

leaving tonight i feel accomplished 
by no one knowing me no one can miss me or care 
if i never came back or stayed there forever


*Funeral Birds * 
You are there again 
Perched on the heading of this empty bed 
The elements in front of you all turned and removed 
A perfect hole for my dead body to be placed 

I am here alas 
Trying to find some peace for my reckless soul 
Hoping to discover the beauty in mature roses 
And to let their scent drift me to sleep 

You are beckoning air 
Moving about to take flight pleading me to come 
Images of our bodies soaring and wet drops on my face 
Entice desire but my soul bids me to remain earth covered and impotent 

I am breaking self 
Dissolving into the material never saying a word 
Trying to see your cabalistic features 
Only to lose sight within a moment of shriveled blindness 

We are finally bidding farewell 
Because the night has given you to rest 
And I am driven me to a cold place called home 
Maybe in the morning if our bodies can recover we will meet again 


notta poem
The grave sght of babble
Once upon a time… I fell in love with the music. 
I could feel every note and melodies would grip me. 
And the bass line would break me and flow it would throw me. 
Because the sheet was my master and its biddings were so easy. 

My sore body would take it, late hours of tuning… late hours of making something just beautiful. 
For my eyes just craved another verse… another bar… another repeat to repeat. 
Anything to take me to that oneness of everything. 
To lead me to that simple easy world. 

But like so many lovely things that go threw time and tragedy the emotions slowly grew cold. 
I long for those days of bliss and just fantasy. 
I ache for the knowing of knowing that I can do anything. 
But never again can I return… 

So maybe its better that I let it all fall in the grown. 
Let the grave swallow the memory. 
Cover it with empty white leafs. 
Let the tombstone read nothing so I can never return to that place. 

Strange how some memories can make you. 
Remind you of who you really are. 
Even if its just plain dots on a couple straight lines. 
Leave now it is the end… but as much as I will miss you to keep will kill you…please don’t struggle just let me go. 

Rest in peace my old friend.


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## Happy (Oct 10, 2008)

*claps*


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## Morpheus83 (Oct 17, 2008)

Nice! The poems become even more intriguing with each reading. Here are some revised thoughts on the first poem, as I wasn't satisfied with my brief reflections in chat: 

Like a Brick
While anger is objectified and rendered dispassionately, the persona's repression of the emotional experience betrays its unconscious, forceful expression.

"Chocolate shavings, pebbles and sometimes cannon balls" 'quantify' and ultimately 'constrain' isolated experiences of anger in the emotional spectrum. However, the unopened, "tightly-packed" yet "flimsy white hospital box" embodying repression eventually results in the bottom 'falling out'. The accumulated latent anger becomes rage: an overwhelming force escaping from superficial psychic boundaries.

The final stanza reinforces the idealized repression of anger. The "lucky ones" who "duct tape it [the hospital box] together again" subjugate anger to their intrinsic 'will', invoking the traditional artificial dichotomies of emotion versus reason, weakness versus strength and helplessness versus control to dissociate the experience of anger from the self. Ultimately, this creates an illusory sense of 'mastery' which the persona has idealized.

(I wrote all of this on a whim! I'll probably post separate reflections for each poem whenever the urge strikes me.)


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## Surreal Breakfast (Oct 24, 2008)

I really like The grave sght of babble


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## Aurora Fire (Oct 13, 2008)

Very good


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## slightlybatty (Dec 12, 2008)

thank you everyone! any suggestion are always welcomed.


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