MEMBERS VERSE

[OrwellThatEndsWell]

I've got a poem:

'My House Is Sinking'

My house is slowly sinking.
I understand it's built on sand, and everyday,
It leans a little further over.

I can hardly push the open door,
To even stand up on the floor,
Is all uneven to one side,
I think it's just the sin of pride,
That stops me from just moving out,
Instead I lean a little further over.

It seems that every other day,
That people stop, who pass this way,
And puzzle at the strange decision,
Made by one whose house is sinking,
Cheerful, waving, leaning over ever further.

I know the day draws ever near,
My house (and I) will disappear,
Another house may be built here,
Or maybe just a little further over.

[Pashernate_Lover]

[chicken]

[OrwellThatEndsWell]

[chicken]

[OrwellThatEndsWell]

[chicken]

my apologies, my sinking house friend.
you should know i am quite silly by nature, if not innately tilting.

so i saw a documentary today on the fallout from the Rwandan genocide........... ..........omg.
it was a true kick in the tender spots (with steel-toed boots, no less )
suddenly every penny counts.

my apologies if this one offends:
a ) any americans
b ) any generation Y folks
c ) those who don't like thinly-veiled angry poetry


<!--quoteo--><div class='quotetop'>QUOTE</div><div class='quotemain'><!--quotec-->Lady
(“Liberty”)

“…Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore…”(Emma Lazurus, 1883)

These worthy words
this splendid sentiment
while we drive by in SUVs
with iPods and Blackberrys
where our (carbon) footprints dwarf those of the Yeti himself.

My friend, he’s all “spiritual”
earns 80K and wants more—
while a Rwandan woman, genocidal relic,
feeds 14 adopted war orphans
for a month
in selling one hand-made basket.

Tired and poor:
you must wait seven years
to know our Lady.
(Why can’t you respect our wall? Hasta luego.)
Wretched refuse:
don’t come a-knockin’,
we’re not in your war.
(How many Jews heard that before ‘41?)

Oh Generation Y,
will you know who needs to breathe free?
Or addict yourselves to free pr0n,
hours chatting with live performers
trying to tease out
a free tit and ass show,
the flash of some dude’s junk?
Oh Fragile Generation,
will you live up to liberty?
Or cry because you’re not the next Idol?
And please don’t be fooled if you are
because you’re not;
us huddled masses carry our idol in wallet and purse.
Oh Anti-Boomers,
it’s up to you:
make us worthy of our Lady.<!--QuoteEnd--></div><!--QuoteEEnd-->


edit: the italicized poetry by emma is from an engraved plaque inside the statue of liberty.
all of this is factual, no poetic license involved.

[OrwellThatEndsWell]

Not pretty, Chicken old son. Not in the slightest. Pretty brutal. I often look at the same thing. You know it's not healthy; but it's CONSISTENT and you get no surprises. Everything's the same all over.

I worry, though, chicken. I do. I don't like it when you're desolate. Are you getting all your vitamins? Go for some nice walks and keep yerself busy. I'm sending some of my soup over.

[chicken]

[yandee]

[OrwellThatEndsWell]

[yandee]

Wrote this one yesterday in the evening out of a pathetic thought and a blood red sky. Really creepy, but nonetheless it's the first fully rhyming poem I've written in English in my life. Please excuse it's quality

The sky is turning blood red now
And there is nowhere to be safe
Take me in your arms right now
Cause tomorrow it’s too late

The earth is trembling with silence now
And the birds don’t sing no more
Let me rest on your shoulders now
Go on and lock the door

The water’s turning from wine to blood
The wind has stopped to take breath
Let me hug you, one last time before the flood
The yellow air it smells like death

And when the clouds start to shape
Please for once just kiss me
In a few minutes it’s too late
You can easily forget me

And if the world should end now
There was nothing to achieve
In a senseless life ‘till now
It’s just this farewell kiss for me

If the sky turns black start running
And would you please tell me you love me?
Cause hell is nearly coming
If I know one thing it’s that I love thee

The world is ending on Good Friday
The storm it has aroused
God I can’t hear what you say
As it tears down the house

The world is ending on Good Friday
With an empty bottle in my hand
I still can’t hear what you say
This should now be the fierce last stand

The world is ending in a few seconds time
And still I didn’t hear what you said
As the four winds and the seven angels align
And I’m closing in on death

[chicken]

this coming Saturday our uni is hosting our annual open house. it's a nice gig for us as we draw in many people.

this year i'm involved in two events, one is for the student video gaming club on campus wherein we take over one of the computer labs on campus, install one game on all the computers, and invite the public to play.
the other is what i'm most excited over. we have a student club called: "the high noon tea club" who aims to "bring culture" onto campus. from 1-3 pm there will be a public reading from three authors: two ladies who have published novels and me! woot!

in preparation, today i printed off copies of poems who have not met the public ear. i didn't print off everything in this category, only the ones i think are worthwhile or at least nearly so. thus far, the list includes:
-where's the snow?
-up, down, and inside
-This Gentle Autumn II (the uncut version)
-the great awakening
-the apologetic comma
-"Sell Your Cleverness And Buy Bewilderment"
-my pet kismet
-mother nature needs some prozac
-little thoughts
-gravel
-5:24 AM on a saturday
-rabbits
-history
-body
-one call
-infection
-hornbill chick
-2220
-Neptune's Katrina
-Neptune: Toccata
-Neptune: Prelude
-Neptune: Dirge of Low Tide
-Weathering Neptune (ever unfinished)

now i just need to put them into categories of what should be read, what could be read, and what the audience can muster.
gad, i just need the right break to get a book out!!
(just for the record, nothing i write is rhyme, i'm all about free-verse!)

also, "revolution", the one inspired by TC's picture, is also on the list--probably going on "should be read." if i indeed do read it, TC you're going to be mentioned/credited for the inspiration behind it.

[rubygirl]

<!--quoteo--><div class='quotetop'>QUOTE</div><div class='quotemain'><!--quotec--> the other is what i'm most excited over. we have a student club called: "the high noon tea club" who aims to "bring culture" onto campus. from 1-3 pm there will be a public reading from three authors: two ladies who have published novels and me! woot!<!--QuoteEnd--></div><!--QuoteEEnd-->

wow.

this sounds very good.
and kind of ésoteric'- 'for the initiated'. this made me remember 'the dead poets' society'

It's a very good idea, I hope all of you, the authoers - and your audience - share memorable experiences. :rolleyes:

[OrwellThatEndsWell]

"Alt. Equivalent"

There's no substitute for confidence. There's no substitute for experience. There's no substitute for cubic inches, there's no substitute for pounds, shillings and pence. There's no substitute for The Rolling Stones. There's no substitute for Iggy Pop And The Stooges, there's no substitute for The Velvet Underground. There's no substitute for a good 9 iron. There's no substitute for a good, old fashioned epidural. There's no substitute for a proper cooked breakfast. There's no substitute for a travel rep who lives there. There's no substitute for a striker who's as likely to get you a goal in the ninetieth minute as he is to get you a goal in the first. There's no substitute for made-to-measure, there's no substitute for a factory fit. There's no substitute for a full service history, there's no substitute for a manufacturer's warranty. There's no substitute for a no quibble guarantee. There's no substitute for time spent behind the wheel. There's no substitute for The Who. There's no substitute for Hollywood, there's no substitute for Bollywood. There's no substitute for Pollok. There's no substitute for Sony, there's no substitute for JVC. There's no substitute for the Rover 820 Vitesse. There's no substitute for the Bible, there's no substitute for the Quoran. There's no substitute for air conditioning. There's no substitute for earning an honest living, there's no substitute for exercising your right to vote. There's no substitute for Diana Ross And The Supremes. There's no substitute for haggis, there's no substitute for Coca Cola. There's no substitute for the Ford Escort RS2000 Mark One, there's no substitute for the Ford Escort RS2000 Mark Two. There's no substitute for a good safety shot. There's no substitute for working on your short game. There's no substitute for the World Cup, there's no substitute for the European Cup. There's no substitute for a well stocked public library. There's no substitute for Blackpool. There's no substitute for the Gibson Les Paul. There's no substitute for home.