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reincarnation

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A pop-up book of flowers from grade 4 are driving her insane...

reincarnation

Postby Axtech » 11/10/2005, 11:55 am

Alex's old thread for poetry and other wonderful creations has broken. So here's a new thread for her to share her work.

If you're not familiar with what she's written check out the old thread here.

Also, here are the poems that got cut off by the mysterious collapse of the thread:

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

Long Distance Love

(a sonnet for my dearest lady wife, Bethany)

Though far from here, within a distant land
With foreign people, far removed from me,
My love is close. She never fears to be
forgotten or abused; I hold her hand
from miles away, reminding her to stand
A little taller than the tallest tree.
And though there is a man in Tennessee
Who thinks that she will love him on command,
My love for you is of a different sort.
Mere distance has no pull. For what is love
but closeness of my heart to yours? Right here,
Or twenty thousand miles- these are but
The arbitrary sums of men, my love.
In other realms, our hearts are always near.

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

i wanted to write a rime royal and sand let me use him as my subject :D

In Second Cup – amid Toronto’s noise
and night, and young and restless populace
I spied my Sand – the brownest of the boys –
astride a little chair. He saw my face
and knew me – sweetly, gave me his embrace –
and for the drinks in him, he offered me
his love. Those drinks, I vouch, were not coffee.

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

με ρώτησε κάποιος τι σκεφτόμουν-
την είπα, «αγάπη μου,
δεν σκέφτομαι-
αφήνω μόνο το μυαλό μου να περιπλανηθεί
και κάπως, οι σκέψεις μου έρχονται»

...όπως μουσική στον αέρα
υπάρχει παντού
αλλά πουθενά εντελώς,
μέχρι κάποιος του έχει αυτιά

...όπως τη βροχή που πέφτει
χωρίς οποιοδήποτε σκοπό
όμως μερικοί, κατά τύχη,
βρίσκουν το πρόσωπό σας.

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

*sigh* I was going to leave you to the mercy of the babelfish translator, but apparently it's a language mangling piece of crap, so here's my best try. unfortunately the translation sort of ruins the piece- sorry :/

someone asked me what i was thinking-
i told her, "my dear,
i don't think-
i just let my mind wander
and somehow, thoughts come to me"

...like music in the air
existing everywhere
but nowhere at all,
until someone has ears for it

...like rain that falls
without any plan
until some, by fortune,
finds your face.

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

um um um
may i please pull
tug your focus look look
here. i point to my belly
you are confused
i am full of smoke
like clouds. i ate them.
the sky is too big for my insides
so i am inside
out and outside
and outside in
make way for me!

----------------------
- -
Image
Every now and then I fall out into open air just to feel the wind, rain and everything.
And though the hum and sway gets me down
, I'll find the way to peace and openness.

Image
"Robbo" - © Alex (happeningfish)...^5 ^5 v v
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Postby happening fish » 11/10/2005, 12:20 pm

8O :love:
omg.. robbo.. thank you :cry:
awkward is the new cool
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Postby Axtech » 11/10/2005, 12:22 pm

:love:
- -
Image
Every now and then I fall out into open air just to feel the wind, rain and everything.
And though the hum and sway gets me down
, I'll find the way to peace and openness.

Image
"Robbo" - © Alex (happeningfish)...^5 ^5 v v
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Postby happening fish » 11/10/2005, 12:24 pm

:happytears:


and yay, finally, my poem about my family history!

"Tsara"

Shall I call for more?
The man is out for today
But in his place is hired help
She breaks my teacups and cries
She bows nervously
I think I will ask my aunt
How to avoid stolen laundry
And peasant lies.

In the afternoon we find our dog
Lying where the neighbours poisoned him
And explain to the children
About God and community
About family first and minding your studies
And when the neighbours invade
And we become the barking dog
We take a secret holiday.

She clutches her cross
Untrusting after years of automobiles
And in her eyes is the priest
Scheming in vague detail
Of friends and flight, of aeroplanes
Below the mural of a large man
She is standing by her son
And long-haired daughter.

The lights are dim and orange
We watch the people circle
And push into God’s house
Past the grapevine doors
Father becomes Father to them all
And our house is alive with fire
We speak of the Country
Like she is dead or an angel.

I have liquors if you like
Or a freezer of meats
For the hungry mouths I left in the dirt
Watered with my mother’s tears
And stained with rooster blood
The neighbours once pulled us over the fence
In our own backyard, mind
From soldiers decorated with theft
Numbed with drink and dead glory.
awkward is the new cool
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Postby trentm32 » 11/14/2005, 1:52 pm

yus! I LOOOOVE every incarnation of this thread!!
"When looking up there, I just felt whole, like I belonged. Like one day I too would shine my most brilliant. Sitting there also made me think about sitting through services at my little country church back home. About that never-changing congregation of the same sixty-seven people and everyone has known you since before you were born. Now, out here in the real world, everything just seemed more vivid than when I used to sit in that little pew. That pew that was now so, so far away from where I was. I feared I had somehow left God behind there, too. I feared he was somehow just sitting there, saving my seat on the fifth pew from the front row, just waiting on me to come back. I left so quickly, I worried that he may not have noticed I was gone. And, now, I’m just too far away to find. So he’s just sitting there, patiently waiting on me to come back. I closed my eyes and prayed a moment. I hoped more than anything that he could still hear me." -an excerpt from my novella, A Sea of Fallen Leaves.

<a href="http://www.soundthesirens.com">SoundTheSirens.com</a>
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Postby happening fish » 11/26/2005, 12:23 am

I took the stairs two at a time to the body at the bottom.

Her hair was alive under my hands as I brushed it away and looked into her
eyes. Something of their light seemed to linger around the edges, hinting
at the heartbreak that had burned there. I remembered damp lashes
clinging together in fear, begging desperate questions of me. How I had
known, then, that my heart had hardened against reply. It gave way now,
ran with a red trickle around her temple towards the arc of her ear, escaping
my absent ministrations.

Three steps up lay an empty shoe. It burned my fingers as I read the
ripples in its sole, scanning stops and pebbles from its frequent journeys.
Tracing the heeled curve, letting its pitted edges teach my fingers, I read
the message it had left me. The twin had cut deeply into the soft
underbelly of the floor, three steps down, five seconds ahead. It held no
sign of remorse for its insane departure, violating the deepest bonds of
right and left. No stockinged foot had abandoned it; the separation was justified.

Under my nails I noticed some of the living hair that had crept along with
me, unnoticed, flashing its coy smiles in my direction. Unable to resist such
promise, I rejoined its sisters in the carpet and we spoke to each other in
lover’s whispers. One laughed of a tickling brush against her cheek,
another of a windblown sting to her eye. Several spoke of how they had
intertwined with impassioned fingers and felt the exquisite pain of their
pull. For days we whispered back and forth, until I swam with their secrets.

Alive then with this golden glow, I stepped carefully over shapely leg, past
immodestly hiked skirts. Delicate fingers beckoned to me to return, but I
knew them well, knew how they had lain curled around neck and shoulders,
grasping flesh as if possessed. Having finally gained that sweetest of
silences, feeling the lick of it coil expectantly through me, I raised myself
up, up, and flung shut the door.
awkward is the new cool
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Postby Axtech » 11/26/2005, 10:00 am

Wow. That's absolutely outstanding. I'd pick a particular line or paragraph, but it's so full of imagery. Well done! :D
- -
Image
Every now and then I fall out into open air just to feel the wind, rain and everything.
And though the hum and sway gets me down
, I'll find the way to peace and openness.

Image
"Robbo" - © Alex (happeningfish)...^5 ^5 v v
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Postby AnnieDreams » 11/26/2005, 11:22 am

wait, did this thread just change names, or am I very confused?
-Annie (Whee! boring signature!)
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Postby Axtech » 11/26/2005, 12:03 pm

Everything is in a state of flux.
- -
Image
Every now and then I fall out into open air just to feel the wind, rain and everything.
And though the hum and sway gets me down
, I'll find the way to peace and openness.

Image
"Robbo" - © Alex (happeningfish)...^5 ^5 v v
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Postby AnnieDreams » 11/26/2005, 2:56 pm

like a flux capacitator?
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Postby happening fish » 11/26/2005, 11:36 pm

In retrospect the sunlight wrecked
my eye as I did stare upon
the burning sun with fingers run
ning through my nerves until ere long
it hit my brain like boiling rain
the sparks fell through my sight until
I knew not where but you were there
in blindness I could feel you still.
awkward is the new cool
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Postby I AM ME » 11/28/2005, 1:33 am

amazing poetry Alex, ever thought of sending some of your works to publishers?
"How can we justify spending so much on destruction and so little on life?" Matthew Good

"The white dove is gone, the one world has come down hard, so why not share the pain of our problems, when all around are wrong ways, when all around is hurt, i'll roll up in an odd shape and wait, untill the tide has turned.....with anger, i'm dead weight, i'm anchored"- IME, God Rocket (Into the Heart of Las Vegas) ^ Some say this song is about a terrorists thoughts before 911

"Pray for the sheep" Matt Good
"But it's alright, take the world and make it yours again" Matt Good

I felt it in the wind, and i saw it in the sky, i thought it was the end, i thought it was the 4th of July.

"Hold on, hold on children, your mother and father are leaving, hold on, hold on children your best freind's parents are leaving, leaving,.......*AHHH*! " - Death From Above - Black History Month
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Postby happening fish » 11/28/2005, 1:48 pm

I have no idea how I would go about doing that. But perhaps I will look into it?
awkward is the new cool
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Postby thirdhour » 11/28/2005, 2:03 pm

happening fish wrote:I have no idea how I would go about doing that. But perhaps I will look into it?


Lit/Creative Writing/English in general professers are aaaaaall about getting their students published. Talk to one of them, guarenteed they'll know about a student writing journal or two.
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Postby happening fish » 11/28/2005, 11:00 pm

I am going to ask the instructor of the poetry workshop i'm in next term. I mean, she selected me for the class, so she must see something in me.
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Postby happening fish » 12/1/2005, 12:50 pm

In this place there are walls of juice
I stare at them indecisively, but learn nothing
So I move on, empty-carted
To the Arctic of the supermarket
Where explorer's flags flash prices
And the animals are caught for you!
I hope the steak will roar at me
Until I remember that cows don't roar
But then again the Arctic is far far away
From green fields and red rooves
So maybe they roar when they're this lonely
Anyway, if the steak did roar
It might scare those old ladies
And they would drop their All-Bran
And I would laugh and laugh.
awkward is the new cool
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Postby happening fish » 12/18/2005, 6:27 pm

The cold air bites our faces as he tries to light his cigarette. “Come on,
Prometheus,” he mumbles to his reluctant lighter. I follow instructions and
cup my hands around his, trying to save the flame from the night wind. He
looks more tired than I remember him.

In the park, we pass a woman with bags on her feet and a yoga mat of
cardboard. She tells us that the CIA is after her, and we give her the half-
finished smoke. The gravel path leads us over a frozen stream and out to
the square.

We’re at the Cenotaph, and I can just make out the Price Chopper in the
distance. I turn my face up towards the closest angel, mid-fall, sword
dropping. I want to know what’s going on and tells me, “we’re just hanging
out… catching up…” I meant the angel, and the way his twin is standing
across from him, so triumphant, sword held high. I didn’t mean us. Maybe
we should keep walking, away from this place.

This man laughs less now, and smokes more. There is a hardness around
his face and in the way he speaks to me that seems forced and unfamiliar.
I can’t tell if it is because he is so far from his home, or because this new
place is home now. This scares me, so instead of watching where we are
going or listening to his words, I start thinking about myself and how I have
become someone different, maybe. Perhaps my face is the same, not my
hair though, or my clothes. Perhaps I seem harder and farther away, and
trying harder to defend my lies.

I can’t stop thinking about myself and before I know it I am sitting in
someone’s living room, and the women are too friendly, and the men have
gone out back for a cig. I don’t know who these girls are but they give me
a pumpkin muffin and a joint, and play a television show that I like, and
there is a small dog wrapped up like a Christmas present that pukes in
your shoes if you feed it muffin.

I pull in smoke and stab myself on the wire that is sticking out, and
suddenly he’s sitting beside me again and every time I move I can feel the
blood moving around in my head like a bathtub. For some reason I start
to recall being so young and sitting in the sun with him and laughing at
other people the way they always deserve to be laughed at. Then we grew
up and dug through the forest at night, just a flashlight, to a hidden
embankment with the whole city at our feet. This time there was a fire and
a guitar, and cheap beer bottles all around us.

He shakes my shoulder and I remember where I am, with the strangers
and the television and the dog, and it is time to go. I do up my whole boot
before I realize it is on the wrong foot. On the way home it has gotten
colder, so much colder, and when I complain he gets angry with me.
Everyone is cold. In the middle of the flat streets and sunken buildings we
stop and stare at how Jesus Saves and Heals All Sicknesses, and for a
moment we’re back to teasing other people instead of each other. I laugh
at how he got kicked out of a church and then became an ordained minister
over the internet, maybe as revenge.

Once, we walked out to the lake in the dark and sat way out on a rock. He
told me it was his favourite spot in the city. All I could see was dark water.
But this is a different city, and the only water we pass is that same frozen
stream, back through the park, past the cardboard woman, out the other
side. The whole way home I don’t say much, and I listen to the gravel
under my feet while he tells me stories of this new life. I don’t know these
people or these streets or these parties. I don’t care for these stories.

His kitchen smells like macaroni and Batman watches me from on top of
the television while I drink my whiskey under the Whiskey Is Awesome
poster. Tonight I will watch a movie in bed and sleep on the couch and
tomorrow he will drop me off at the bus station and leave before I’m even
out of sight.
Last edited by happening fish on 12/19/2005, 10:56 am, edited 3 times in total.
awkward is the new cool
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Postby don't ask why » 12/18/2005, 6:37 pm

:clap: :freak: :drool:

shades of 1984.
When the consequence of rage comes through the living room floor.
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Postby happening fish » 12/18/2005, 8:32 pm

If I could remember your name I would probably call you and ask if you
want to go see a movie, get some drinks, waste some hours. But you were
born far away and I can’t understand anything the people say there and
maybe this is why I can’t understand you either, when you touch my hair
like that and inflict your eyes on me.

I’m trying to sort through the white t-shirts but there are just too damn
many of them and that dog keeps staring at me like it’s going to eat me
next, now that it is done with your only pair of winter shoes. Something
feels crazy in my head and it laughs and laughs at the idea of the dog
throwing up chunks of me in your room and how maybe that way you’ll
think of me sometimes when I’m not there.

If I try really hard I can remember that place I first saw you, the one with
dirty couches and abysmally slow service where everyone was outside
anyway and the customers kept forgetting to pay their bills.

These days I’m a little less than what you expect of me, and when I get
too close to you your hip bone stabs me and mother is going to kill you for
getting too skinny. I’ve got nothing to feed you, and I’m no mother.

If you yell at that girl any more about the money owed and the rotten
attitude you might trick me into believing you’re not sleeping with her and
that would be a stupid tragedy, so pay her for God’s sake, and put up with
the bitchy comments like everyone else does.

Once, she walked into the women’s bathroom at a gay club and found you
doing drugs in there.

She told me so.

I can picture you in that bathroom, bathed in the blue light that makes you
think that maybe your veins have disappeared so you can’t use them for
anything but blood, not that it matters to you because the light can be as
blue as it wants but you can still see the pills and still feel them exploding
your brain inside of its head. Hours will pass and you’ll realize that
everything is so much more beautiful than you knew, and then you will pray
for sleep but it will never come.

Sometimes my brain does that thing, too, just like she said, where it just
won’t make any of the chemicals it’s supposed to, not a single drop.

When the year turns over on its side and spits out bloody teeth and
wheezes its last, you’ll find me on the floor of her room with a head full of
lost thoughts that keep bumping into each other but never seem to connect
in any meaningful way. The walls will be brown instead of blue, and the
faces will be mostly different, although if we’re lucky that one girl with the
sandwiches might show up and sing Danke Schoen at us again. Or maybe
she will be back to living in a tent in the wilderness and we will be left to
make our own music.

In the dim light of the lamp turned towards the wall and the grimacing alley
behind the photographs taped to your window I can see her and you and
I’m there too and she doesn’t know it but I don’t not belong anymore, not
really, or at least that’s how I choose to understand it.
awkward is the new cool
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Postby happening fish » 12/19/2005, 6:55 pm

The streets were damp and we didn't know where we were going so much as trying to be
somewhere other than where we started. When the right door seemed to be there we pushed
through it and got swallowed up by all these people who had been in the dark and the smoke
long enough that they owned it and we were theirs to stare at.

The noise seeped out of the black and into our raging minds, and echoed all the whimpers of
doubt and desperation at finding yourself in a room in the dark with your clothes on the
floor and the realization that the body next to you is a stranger's who you'd been tricked
into thinking you knew. With all of this pushing back against the restraint of limbs and
movements there was nothing for it but to quell the night and the awkward diction with a
beer and another and whatever else they told you was the thing to drink but moreso to speak of.

We didn't want to waste that beginning so I pulled out my red tin, once meant for a rush of
caffeine and sugar but now a trip in a different direction. There wasn't a lot but it was
better than our everlasting nothing so I followed you into the cramped washroom while
everyone else imagined of us the fuck that dare not speak its name. My mouth was dry with
booze and nerves and even though we knew it was stupid and useless and juvenile it was still
funny, and it was still us, and damned if that didn't mean that nothing else mattered. I
chewed and was thankful that water didn't matter and when we came back out the ceiling was
motion and silver and that was news to me.
awkward is the new cool
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