Posted: 10/31/2002, 6:41 pm
I'm a poet, and I didn't even realize it.
I'm a poet
and I didn't even know it
my feet show it
they're Longfellows...
Page 10 of 14
Posted: 10/31/2002, 6:42 pm
Posted: 10/31/2002, 6:44 pm
bahaha.....?
Posted: 10/31/2002, 6:45 pm
sorry. My mother used to say that all the time. 
Posted: 10/31/2002, 8:48 pm
i have a lamp.
Posted: 11/18/2002, 7:52 pm
Here's an unfinished poem. I don't know how to finish it. grr.
She lives in a world of emotionless faces,
a litany of broken promises, disillusioned dreams,
violently crumble beneath her feet,
grinding deeper into the moist ground,
like the fallen leaves on a crisp autumn day.
The biting wit of the blustering wind,
curses and calls her name.
As frigid bursts of air melancholically juxtapose
the warm tears steadily flowing down her wayward face,
Her thoughts rise farther than the heat of her breath.
She lives in a world of emotionless faces,
a litany of broken promises, disillusioned dreams,
violently crumble beneath her feet,
grinding deeper into the moist ground,
like the fallen leaves on a crisp autumn day.
The biting wit of the blustering wind,
curses and calls her name.
As frigid bursts of air melancholically juxtapose
the warm tears steadily flowing down her wayward face,
Her thoughts rise farther than the heat of her breath.
Posted: 11/18/2002, 8:50 pm
that freaked me out, it was good, but the image i got in my head was somewhat weird, if you've ever seen the movie forces of nature where the big storm is going on and all the stuff is swirling around them and then you said friged then all those things swirling aruond them were refridgerators... i'm a strange boy...
Posted: 11/18/2002, 9:25 pm
Posted: 11/18/2002, 9:30 pm
i like it so far, very vivid. great job 
plus the word 'juxtapose' is just awesome 
plus the word 'juxtapose' is just awesome Posted: 11/18/2002, 9:32 pm
What's juxtapose mean?
Posted: 11/18/2002, 11:07 pm
Me like, Beth. 
--------
I
I must have told the story a hundred times
About how, when we were young, five or six,
You decided to wash a pair of shorts.
You put them in the washer, and, not knowing how much detergent to add,
Dumped in half the box.
When we checked on the shorts, fifteen minutes later, the washer had overflowed;
And a landslide of suds was spreading slowly across the garage floor.
I would tell this story, smiling at the memory,
Remembering how this was just the sort of thing you would do.
My listeners, 2500 miles from ever meeting you, would smile politely.
They’d heard it before, and, to their chagrin, knew they’d hear it again.
Any novelty or humor in the story had long since worn off.
I kept telling it, though, not for my uninterested audience but as a way of telling myself:
“I lived this! I have a past! This happened!”
Trying, as always, to bridge the 2500-mile, six-year chasm
Between that life and this.
II
Last summer, in an eerie reenactment of my hometown,
I sat in the passenger seat of your car.
You were there, driving, a flesh-and-bone apparition of my childhood memories,
Six years older, but the same profile, same voice, same stance.
As we headed out of the neighborhood
I felt out-of-place, artificial, unwanted,
trying to slide effortlessly back into a role I’d voided in a former life.
“Hey,” I said to break the silence, “remember the time you tried to do laundry?”
The question hung awkwardly between us, an unexpected, personal remark between strangers,
until an eternal second later we both began to laugh, and we were friends.
I told the story again, the hundred-and-first time
And you filled in the other half, your side, details I’d forgotten.
And we laughed, because I was there, and you were there,
and together we could witness our shared past, each knowing because the other confirmed it
that it happened.
--------
I
I must have told the story a hundred times
About how, when we were young, five or six,
You decided to wash a pair of shorts.
You put them in the washer, and, not knowing how much detergent to add,
Dumped in half the box.
When we checked on the shorts, fifteen minutes later, the washer had overflowed;
And a landslide of suds was spreading slowly across the garage floor.
I would tell this story, smiling at the memory,
Remembering how this was just the sort of thing you would do.
My listeners, 2500 miles from ever meeting you, would smile politely.
They’d heard it before, and, to their chagrin, knew they’d hear it again.
Any novelty or humor in the story had long since worn off.
I kept telling it, though, not for my uninterested audience but as a way of telling myself:
“I lived this! I have a past! This happened!”
Trying, as always, to bridge the 2500-mile, six-year chasm
Between that life and this.
II
Last summer, in an eerie reenactment of my hometown,
I sat in the passenger seat of your car.
You were there, driving, a flesh-and-bone apparition of my childhood memories,
Six years older, but the same profile, same voice, same stance.
As we headed out of the neighborhood
I felt out-of-place, artificial, unwanted,
trying to slide effortlessly back into a role I’d voided in a former life.
“Hey,” I said to break the silence, “remember the time you tried to do laundry?”
The question hung awkwardly between us, an unexpected, personal remark between strangers,
until an eternal second later we both began to laugh, and we were friends.
I told the story again, the hundred-and-first time
And you filled in the other half, your side, details I’d forgotten.
And we laughed, because I was there, and you were there,
and together we could witness our shared past, each knowing because the other confirmed it
that it happened.
Posted: 11/19/2002, 1:40 pm
Xavier870 wrote:What's juxtapose mean?
like to compare or contrast something with something else
Posted: 11/19/2002, 1:40 pm
Xavier870 wrote:What's juxtapose mean?
like to compare or contrast something with something else
Posted: 11/19/2002, 6:08 pm
an 11 year old driving a car?
Posted: 11/19/2002, 7:01 pm
We moved when I was eleven. So we were 17.
Posted: 11/19/2002, 7:02 pm
Understood.
Posted: 11/19/2002, 7:51 pm
Aerin! your poem makes me want to cry!
*sigh* childhood, how I miss thee.
*sigh* childhood, how I miss thee.
Posted: 11/19/2002, 9:27 pm
I wrote this this afternoon and it is still in the *suck* stage, having barely risen above the *major suck* stage. but what do you think, is it too simplistic? is it dumb the way it doesnt rhyme in the beginning, does in the middle, and then not at the end?
One glance under the withered brown brim
Reveals creased, dark eyes weakly gaping back.
Comprehension, fear, and incapability
Sparkle dimly, wisely in those sockets.
For how many years have I hated you?
And all you ever wanted to do
Was mow up a last few rotten leaves
Before you fell upon your knees,
Your memory all but gone.
One glance under the withered brown brim
Reveals creased, dark eyes weakly gaping back.
Comprehension, fear, and incapability
Sparkle dimly, wisely in those sockets.
For how many years have I hated you?
And all you ever wanted to do
Was mow up a last few rotten leaves
Before you fell upon your knees,
Your memory all but gone.
Posted: 11/21/2002, 4:19 pm
this is my ode to high school kids.
the choice
standing on a cross roads
looking down one path, and then the other
trying to decide which suits your needs
one road is all shiny
you think that maybe it's been paved with gold
and it has a silver sign that reads:
"if you walk down this road
don't be so sure that you'll ever return"
while the other road is dark and wet
that one has a sign too
it's made of rotting wood and stale pitch
and it reads "this way is your best bet"
you must decide quickly
make up your mind and live with the results
the ground beneath your feet is giving
your instinct may guide you
or it may leave your mind to do the job
choose now whether life is worth living
the choice
standing on a cross roads
looking down one path, and then the other
trying to decide which suits your needs
one road is all shiny
you think that maybe it's been paved with gold
and it has a silver sign that reads:
"if you walk down this road
don't be so sure that you'll ever return"
while the other road is dark and wet
that one has a sign too
it's made of rotting wood and stale pitch
and it reads "this way is your best bet"
you must decide quickly
make up your mind and live with the results
the ground beneath your feet is giving
your instinct may guide you
or it may leave your mind to do the job
choose now whether life is worth living
Posted: 11/28/2002, 6:20 pm
wow, no one reads this thread anymore, eh?