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circastes
Big Questions Small Head



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Re: The Official Post Your Own Poetry Thread. [Re: Amzy]
#12724262 - 06/11/10 01:03 AM (13 years, 7 months ago) |
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Big Questions Small Head



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Re: The Official Post Your Own Poetry Thread. [Re: Doe Eyed]
#12728018 - 06/11/10 07:01 PM (13 years, 7 months ago) |
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Big Questions Small Head


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Re: The Official Post Your Own Poetry Thread. [Re: HappyTrippin] 1
#12755958 - 06/17/10 12:00 AM (13 years, 7 months ago) |
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http://noise-distillery.deviantart.com/art/Two-167948253
wrote these two on a really low dose (like threshold effects) of mushrooms, enjoy?
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Big Questions Small Head


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Re: The Official Post Your Own Poetry Thread. [Re: circastes] 1
#12765886 - 06/18/10 08:40 PM (13 years, 7 months ago) |
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circastes
Big Questions Small Head


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Re: The Official Post Your Own Poetry Thread. [Re: circastes] 1
#12767656 - 06/19/10 04:09 AM (13 years, 7 months ago) |
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Big Questions Small Head


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Re: The Official Post Your Own Poetry Thread. [Re: Rocker232] 1
#12798766 - 06/24/10 07:14 PM (13 years, 7 months ago) |
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^Cool! You should try free verse (no rhyming or very little/subtle), you might be able to express those excellent images even better.
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Big Questions Small Head


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Re: The Official Post Your Own Poetry Thread. [Re: introspector] 1
#12858040 - 07/06/10 06:10 PM (13 years, 6 months ago) |
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Quote:
introspector said: Something I just whipped up An open mind is what I seek To see without judging, to infuse this bleak And dreary world with colour, life and vibrancy The kind of naked perception that is unattainable To the unwilling eye
But to the third eye it comes as easy As flight to the bird, As swimming to the fish Who weave among the streams As we waver between streams of consciousness And unconsciousness
Hue changes, Blue flanges, Red emerges, Orange turgid Violet streaks across the clouds
The inner world spirals towards my Center Reverting to an initial state, suffused with noetic placenta Unknowing, all-seeing with fresh eyes At last the veil dissipates! And the world is without disguise
Striking blue A brilliant hue The emerald green of a thriving tree Reaching up, outward, eternally
I rikey.
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Big Questions Small Head


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Re: Man in the Box [Re: Crumpet] 1
#13011231 - 08/06/10 08:27 AM (13 years, 5 months ago) |
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Big Questions Small Head


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Re: sow ya felt [Re: thoughts] 1
#13134408 - 09/01/10 03:41 PM (13 years, 4 months ago) |
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Nice.
Here's one I wrote last night:
GRAVES OF THE LIARS
Crawling through the forest on all fours again In a desperate rush to find my pen I dropped it when I wrote my name onto a tree "Alpha and Omega – The Finality – Me"
Metal-suited men seek my immediate presence They are distasteful of what I said to the peasants "You are free – You are me – We are forever" And off I ran with an ink-soaked white feather
Those who uttered such things before me Battled the same government of thieves hastened to deplore thee Now into the soil of justice the truth must be sown And my words scribed onto the wood must be known Or into blackened history will all attempts be thrown
Their crimes against my comrades are twofold False accusations and the murder of Leopold Scripted onto that tree over there And when the rigged gate crushed my child Something unnatural in my hate veins reviled
So I shall see to it that every one of them is buried In the forest of truth that my friend trees have ferried After I burn them alive for treason Against the one true self-government – Reason
Their steeples will become smoke stacks Their wives will endure the most deplorable of acts Everywhere the villagers will hear of my tale A chapter in which the spirit of revenge did not fail
So here I am hunted while I search to scribble the truth Remembering my son and his stolen youth Burning inside, igniting a pit of inhuman strength To see them fall I go to no end of length
And so it begins, one of them spots me A knife in his side, a dead stare into his eye He will be the first funeral of a long line a of liars Into the air will be smelt flesh from a salutation of fires
http://noise-distillery.deviantart.com/#/d2xroni
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Big Questions Small Head


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Re: The Official Post Your Own Poetry Thread. [Re: apprentice.five] 1
#13247552 - 09/26/10 12:47 AM (13 years, 4 months ago) |
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Quote:
apprentice.five said: I really like 'Graves of the Liars': I'm reading about the reign of Henry VIII right now and it reminds me much of it. You guys are all very good.
Thanks. I think some of the rhymes are a bit of a stretch... someone else commented that as well... but I like it very much.
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Big Questions Small Head


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Re: The Official Post Your Own Poetry Thread. [Re: Amzy] 1
#13305478 - 10/07/10 07:10 PM (13 years, 3 months ago) |
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Good stuff Amzy
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Big Questions Small Head


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Re: Hothouse blooms [Re: thoughts]
#13798083 - 01/16/11 05:39 PM (13 years, 14 days ago) |
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I was having a bit of fun the other night:
Quickly now, the night grew with filling foxholes, filling with the enemy of darkness, and piercing green eyes. Stronger, it flexed its muscles – behold, light's bane – the decay of the sun! Rotting in the solar system beyond sight, while the creatures of the night take heed to the cool black blanket. It is time for the reign of the supernal, of the beings of dusk and darkness. The sky has descended to Earth. The toothless wanderers; the spider-kind, the moth, the beetle – their jaws are clawed, hideous beings they are... and yet so perfect in their hideousness. From whence do they come? From the fountain of nature, which cares not for the subjects in its great dream. Merely springing forth the victims and the victors into a fray formed of day's decay. Mingling, matching, and some unmatched. Such a powerful disgrace. But alas, can't you see it is just my human eye contorting the picture? These creatures, spinning their webs, scurrying to and fro, ultimately are so sublime – almost impossible. Nature, the mother of the impossible plays with its figurines. And this night a tear drop falls from the edge of a leaf, to stream down the cheek of a precipice. How Nature loves to keep its subjects on edge! This play, this terrible, evil play, will spill over into a mammalian day, but these words are so human! The forest has its own language. It speaks in something far exquisite to the human tongue, and all in all, it has its fun. What can I say? I pray on my porch for the cry of day, but here I miss the sleeping beauty. What really happens out there? It's not mine to be sure, but it is of my essence, man is made but from clay. Slither me this! A bite of preposterous pain, all in vain, shrieks the cell in my vein. Wreaking havoc, reeking of bacterial pestilence, oh my, can't you see, I am divided the matter of Nature, it is such a mess, my guess, really, but what say THEE?
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Big Questions Small Head


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Quote:
junkyardgod said:
Quote:
circastes said: I was having a bit of fun the other night:
Quickly now, the night grew with filling foxholes, filling with the enemy of darkness, and piercing green eyes. Stronger, it flexed its muscles – behold, light's bane – the decay of the sun! Rotting in the solar system beyond sight, while the creatures of the night take heed to the cool black blanket. It is time for the reign of the supernal, of the beings of dusk and darkness. The sky has descended to Earth. The toothless wanderers; the spider-kind, the moth, the beetle – their jaws are clawed, hideous beings they are... and yet so perfect in their hideousness. From whence do they come? From the fountain of nature, which cares not for the subjects in its great dream. Merely springing forth the victims and the victors into a fray formed of day's decay. Mingling, matching, and some unmatched. Such a powerful disgrace. But alas, can't you see it is just my human eye contorting the picture? These creatures, spinning their webs, scurrying to and fro, ultimately are so sublime – almost impossible. Nature, the mother of the impossible plays with its figurines. And this night a tear drop falls from the edge of a leaf, to stream down the cheek of a precipice. How Nature loves to keep its subjects on edge! This play, this terrible, evil play, will spill over into a mammalian day, but these words are so human! The forest has its own language. It speaks in something far exquisite to the human tongue, and all in all, it has its fun. What can I say? I pray on my porch for the cry of day, but here I miss the sleeping beauty. What really happens out there? It's not mine to be sure, but it is of my essence, man is made but from clay. Slither me this! A bite of preposterous pain, all in vain, shrieks the cell in my vein. Wreaking havoc, reeking of bacterial pestilence, oh my, can't you see, I am divided the matter of Nature, it is such a mess, my guess, really, but what say THEE?
That's fucking beautiful man. Delicious writing!
Thanks dude! I love it when I get good feedback like that. 
Sometimes I think I could do better if I went back over it and fixed the structure up, but it feels fradulent then, like there's no flow or life to correcting mistakes as there is to writing the whole thing at once.
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Big Questions Small Head


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Re: The Official Post Your Own Poetry Thread. [Re: junkyardgod]
#14021288 - 02/24/11 05:41 PM (12 years, 10 months ago) |
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Quote:
junkyardgod said: CidneyIndole, you inspired this one with your use of the word 'sepulchre' - hail! It doesn't have a name yet...
when i sleep, dripping forth deadly dreams of primordial pagan lust, my archaic insanity ascends the tomb, the sepulchre of the moon
when i deteriorate, corrode and bloodily inflate towards the ashen atmosphere, my ancient insanity ascends the stars, the throne of mighty mars
when i die, swallowed by the midnight sky, embraced by transient nighttime, my aching insanity ascends the sun, the heart of my beloved one
Good stuffs.
I typed up this really intense stuff that sort of expands on what I did in that last poem, but it's on a laptop that I don't think is in the house at the moment. When I get it back, I'll touch 'em up and share them.
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circastes
Big Questions Small Head


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Re: The Official Post Your Own Poetry Thread. [Re: circastes]
#14023680 - 02/25/11 01:21 AM (12 years, 10 months ago) |
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II
Rearrange the hearty spoon, face it broth-ward, leave alone the mystical tunes. Down goes the dial next to the table, in your ears rings a new fable. The waiter's eyes are from the future, deep inside some drug in her has sutured, wound of unlit modern days and finding pint in due deluge. Figure the spectrum like some unscientific instrument, bleed the frequency through your veins, let the spill mop up the fantastic skyward march to Heavenmore, make it chore and never bore. Hell's reach comes with the icy grip of depression, saluting the slipped pride from your jaw. Speak no more. Candle-lits and beauty-winds face the darkness like it was your past attempting to rendezvous with the present, seeing your headlights, and running off into the growing night. Big is he now! Ten feet tall, a man of mysterious hair length and dark boots unable to really control his terror at being Blackness. But there he goes with your foes and laughs drunkenly to day's death throes.
III
Free-seeking frog legs compartment the stellar huts on High Hill Way, sending shivers down the spine of Death and rusting its scythe to mere dust blown in Death's eyes, but He does not scream. Wasteful words seep down the megalith in the dusty sun and leave auxiliary light sources to behold the monument, one dedicated to planet Birth. The mind's eye grasps a gallery so lost within the psyche that beggars follow the thinker out, and coin drops from your mouth to speak them away. Consciousness is not key, but lock. The key is unknown, formless, somewhere lost in an estate behind a gnarling gate, locked again once by rust, twice by wind. The key melts in the presence of delusion, and drips away into the sewers of mind – the true culprit, the mutiny tool. The evil You can grasp with its deformed paws at the sewer's cover but never will delusion not send the key into the wretch.
V
Forcibly night came spinning down the spider's web, and in a flash she said, “Oh not the kingdom come of my kill be done, seven as it is eight my curse.” For she had not spun the criss-cross pattern of silky pearls, one by one strung around the flies hunting dung. It was not her fault she walked the Earth, only it seemed she has gleamed her loaf of bitter bites to unearth the stormy mankind. Nay, it is impossible to leave innocent, but on her cloak stains see the day and blood lay on the hay. Guilty, of a crime of consciousness-cremation. Desolation of the inward mouth swallowing her uncertain thrill, choking. Find me this: a kiss not conceivable, a dress not worth its weight in mould, and two dozen angles of the Rapture never before seen by human oculars, then begins and ends your frivolous play of running away. Welcome back, to a world of flesh-walking decay!
---
The numbers that are missing are just the ones I left out because they weren't really that good I thought.
Either you'll see some magic or you'll see a bunch of jibberish. Up to you.
I'm kind of experimenting with a new way of writing I guess, I love packing in as many images and ideas into a sentence as possible. Hope it's worked...
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Re: The Official Post Your Own Poetry Thread. [Re: shadowman-x]
#14127837 - 03/15/11 10:30 PM (12 years, 10 months ago) |
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I'm just sorting through some stuff I typed and never finished. Here's some...
Where will you find peace of mind? Seekers beware: it's in you, right next to the darkest pit of despair. Get off the treadmill, this mental cardio has exhausted you through. Wanting nothing is not the end of the line, but it is contained in the answer, do this and feel fine. There's nothing in it for you, this running towards your mind.
All your objects of lust are nothing but your own creation, thrown into the darkness with a fine string attached, and you observe under your hood in the candlelight a viciously frayed end; hunger. That's all you find out there. You look ahead to barely make out a sign: Do Not Feed the Human. A clone of you drools in front, looks up at you, hisses and flees out into the night. The mirror shatters and leaves a winding path behind it leading to a pool.
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Big Questions Small Head


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Re: The Official Post Your Own Poetry Thread. [Re: circastes]
#14127854 - 03/15/11 10:32 PM (12 years, 10 months ago) |
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Fish lay barren in a tank of cracked glass Fishermen are dead around the circumference A neon light pulses, barely alive The light is blue and green and the scene obscene What happened here? Nothing happened, it seems to merely be a figment of someone's imagination. Is it yours? No, surely something happened here. An earthquake, sending men sailing and fish off the hook. But really, how odd it all looks. The dead bodies all look like they're waiting to come back alive in this flickering blue light. Just then, a fish slaps its tail against the bottom of its grave A hopeless act of oceanic despair, or the final fight of the brave? Needless to say the ocean is nowhere near to save This place is underground somewhere and I take it we're not getting out either But I don't remember how we got here Which is why I asked...
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Big Questions Small Head


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Re: The Official Post Your Own Poetry Thread. [Re: Grapefruit] 1
#14136922 - 03/17/11 01:53 PM (12 years, 10 months ago) |
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Some ramblings here that never got finished:
Wait and see what's to come Take the pill and down that rabbit hole run Then tumble, let the experience remake you humble
And fall all the way back with an ocular sparkle And mysterious tones to your idling hum
Fortitude is a blessing in a locker room with your mind provocatively undressing Without a care in the world or a word in a mouth
To ourselves we sit facing the corner in a cornerless room, freely confessing
One thing at a time just as you hear the cuckoo clock chime Hitting the sides all the way down, try to ignore Alice's mocking frown She doesn't like intruders, but we're the new wave of mystical deluders Set on course for infinite seas of mystery in which we wade far out and drown
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Slowly getting there Despite my ass being glued to a chair At least I no longer live in my underwear Less and less I seem to care And more and more I seem to dare
Evolution seems like madness Saying the dream was an accident Such thinking brings only sadness Surely such a thing is not what was meant
A dream you say? I thought it was just another day Maybe we can just agree that it's not real Who really cares from where comes our next meal
Then again, maybe this inner quaking is a kind of security Running from day to day in the race to fulfill our self-ordained needs It's kind of fun, right? Personally I just can't wait until night The dreams that beseech me seem to remind me all's alright Really, what am I worried about? I got used to it Thinking it's all going to shit Going down the drain With the dying cells of my macular-degenerate brain
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Big Questions Small Head


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Re: The Official Post Your Own Poetry Thread. [Re: timelapses]
#14140125 - 03/17/11 10:29 PM (12 years, 10 months ago) |
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Good stuff
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circastes
Big Questions Small Head


Registered: 01/14/10
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Re: The Official Post Your Own Poetry Thread. [Re: Soluminia]
#14529600 - 05/29/11 06:48 AM (12 years, 7 months ago) |
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Turntables the onion graph as I wither the slither hither and tither rhyming the weather with my ink stained feather and biting leather, shiver me never, as I grasp the highest of the high and wonder why I ever tried, why I ever tried, why I ever tried. Life will pass none by but surely it is time to wonder why I ever tried. In in lies the bin it lies the way to win it but there is no sure way to see past me as I am me and you are me and together we are you, so this is all I can do just sit here and play God, play God, play God. Play.
God.
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