Worth His Weight in Words - Freeverse/Lyrics

8/22/2008 1:06:58

.::oDrew
Member

WorTh His weight In WoRdS

..::: First of all, cherished reader, hello and welcome. It is you, and you alone, who ensures me that my efforts and toils have not been completely in vain; ironic as it may be, I can find no words to express my gratitude.

..::: As you may or may not be aware, my reputation amongst the authors and poets here is founded upon my skill in lyricism. While the distinctions between poetry and lyricism are faint, I have chosen to mark myself as a disciple of the latter; I am first and foremost a musician, and as such, I am supremely aware that each and every verse spawned by my pen will invariably find its way into a melody.

..::: At any rate, I take great pride in my work. I strive to reveal a glimpse of my very essence, the very fiber of my existence, each time I write. Of course, I know myself better than anyone, so I do not expect you to necessarily understand or comprehend each and every line - and neither should you, the reader.

..::: Nevertheless, it is my sincerest hope that the following linguistic exercises might touch, affect, astound, or perplex you in some way; I hope that if I am, indeed, "worth my weight in words," you might find me at least somewhat valuable. Once again, you have my deepest thanks. Now, at long last, I present to you the products of my imagination. Enjoy.

oh,sweet lunacy

The darkest nights beget the brightest stars.
And, God, it feels so good to cry -
Each tear brings sweet release,
As they bear my troubles to the floor;
Within the tiny oceans they form
Reside the unholy graves of my pain and sorrow.
Rest in peace.

My soul is a prison.
All these innocent, pure emotions
Locked away.
I gave my mind control of my heart -
Reason's a blind and foolish judge.

Who says it has to make sense to feel good?
Fallacies taste so sweet.
I flirt with insanity;
I would never take her home.

And yet, as I prolong my filthy, twisted self-medication,
The closer I come to holding her hand,
Pressing her close,
Tasting her lips.
No, I would never take her home -
But I'm not myself today.

Everything's beautiful in the dark.
It's - honestly - ironic
How the purest, brightest light
Only serves to exploit our deformities.
True beauty isn't as simple as colors and lines -
It must be felt, understood, confessed.
Nobody's ever seen an angel.
Touch me, touch me, touch me!
You're so uniquely gorgeous,
And I've gone so long without your warmth.
I need to know that you're still here.

It feels so beautiful to be illogical,
Until you open your eyes
And see what sunrise has revealed.

..::: Conversations Regarding The Preceding Verses :::..

< Message edited by .::oDrew -- 5/5/2010 20:25:49 >

Post #: 1

8/28/2008 3:18:34

.::oDrew
Member

madame

you touched my arm.
and by the way your skin felt;
i knew my life had changed.

something in the way you spoke,
the words you said,
the smile you wore,
caught me off-guard.

destiny; an unexpected opportunity.
i was unprepared for the consequences.

oh, sweet irony.
who could have guessed,
that you -
the very entity causing my psycho-emotional distress -
would pour forth
the soft, pleasant words i needed to hear.

you calmed me down.

reminded me

to breathe,

slowly,

slowly,

oh,

so

slow.

so

now i feel your eyes burning into me.
i sense the obligation
to be more perfect than myself.
for you - my captive audience -
i'll perform all my charades.

i try, in vain, to steal a glimpse of your reaction
without making my intentions known.
the guilt of my petty thievery
is as clear as the knowing sparkle in your eye.

and yet, despite my short, short, shortcomings, you reward me
with a few more priceless, precious moments.
the loftiest thespians of glor'ous stage
could hardly dream of such an honor.

you speak,
and i am overcome with terror
at the very prospect of formulating a fitting response.
my linguistic muses - ignoring how vainly they toil -
tirelessly labor at concocting a sentence
as grand and mighty as Babel's tower of ancient lore.

my foolish tongue, impatient as always,
flings their incomplete creation out my gaping jaw.
the words leave behind them the bitter taste of sabotage.
too late have i realized that my tongue has betrayed me once again.

horrified at my utter failure as a conversationalist,
i hastily imprison the traitorous slug behind ivory bars;
my other members, far more merciful, act as my voice in its place.

my eyes beg you for mercy,
my lips express my penitence,
my brew displays my stern expectation of your rebuke.

you return my wordless cries and moans
with silence of your own -
your smile confides unconditional admiration,
your eyes tell me you understand.

perhaps, someday, i'll read you like a novel -
your hands are filled with secrets that you've yet to share with me,
your hips exhibit mysteries i could never hope to solve;
the beauty of your cover cannot compare to the poetry it holds.

you seem as curious of me as i am of you;
we both seem to comprehend the intertwining of our destinies.
promises and plans are made,
our collective futures laid out.

we shared a long, lasting, lingering smile.

and then you disappeared.

much like a certain glass-shod damsel,
you vanished as the midnight chimes rang forth.
i was left with nothing to find you by,
save memories and a name.

hours, days, weeks of searching passed by
fruitlessly.

they say lightning never strikes twice;
so why should i hope to be so lucky
as to find you once again?

my eyelids grow increasingly weary,
too heavy for me to bear.

i dream of finding you.

and i curse the light of dawn.

perhaps that's all you are;
a dream, a fantasy, a euphoric fragment of my imagination.

after all,

why should i be so blessed

as to catch an angel?

..::: Conversations Regarding The Preceding Verses :::..

< Message edited by TEH RAWRZ -- 9/5/2008 1:22:06 >

Post #: 2

9/2/2008 20:39:26

.::oDrew
Member

on the pAsSing oF days

what is "tomorrow?"
surely, no man has ever seen it.
some mysterious place, familiar to all, known by none.
every time i awaken, i expect to find it;
try as i might, i cannot escape the present.

as i lay on my bed, i often wonder what we would find in "tomorrow."
words yet unspoken? emotions yet unfelt? visions yet undreamed?
would we watch over the future like angels in heaven?
or would we merely find a blank, endless void -
a day's destiny yet unrealized?

perhaps "tomorrow" is nothing more than a myth -
a legend we perpetuate, simply to remind us that the world isn't ending.

this consideration stops me dead in my tracks.
is it possible that we've all been fooling ourselves for so long?
making promises to ourselves and each other,
that "tomorrow"
we would take control.
but what do we know about "tomorrow?"
it's never been any other day but today.

how pompous we are!
we assume that merely speaking the word "tomorrow" guarantees its existence,
as if we were the gods and oracles of times to come.

the future promises nothing.
how could it? it does not exist.

all you are given is this very moment.
the universe could collapse in the blink of an eye.
every pause, every hesitation,
is a sliver of precious time wasted.

"tomorrow."
a single word,
nearly meaningless,
yet we are all so willing to trust it with our hopes and dreams.
this is insanity; this is foolishness.

the resolution has been made.
no longer will i place trust my trust in "tomorrow."
this day, this hour, this minute, this moment,
is all i'll ever know.

weigh your options carefully;
live each moment as if it were your last.
you'll never know what the future holds,
until it's come and passed.

..::: Conversations Regarding The Preceding Verses :::..

Post #: 3

9/3/2008 20:52:52

.::oDrew
Member

thyself

an epic tale in four parts;
of a world in which society, conformity, and commonality
have overcome the very core of what makes us human.

[the prelude to our psychological suicide.]

who are we?
can we truly be "ourselves,"
or are we irrevocably destined to be the witless products of the social mold?

[part one - she bares her skin, she bares her soul]

she was stunningly gorgeous.
each hair, each curve, each and every stitch of everything she wore
was always perfectly in place.
she dressed to impress the other girls she knew;
of course, the boys may have been unintentionally - though unavoidably - effected.

ev'ry time she reads her magazine,
she churns a gear of the machine;
as deeper her perfection seems,
her dreams fade further from the scene.

her soul's been shrink-wrapped and serialized.
soon, she'll be nothing more than a plastic shell,
filled with white lies and self-rationalization.

ah, perfection.

[part two - i, the minority]

the masses idolize the gold-plated standard,
blinded by the spotlight shining upon its polished skin.
chiseled features - quite truly so - provide its deceptively heroic profile.
a rock-hard body - again, so true! - evokes wonderment and awe.
a smile that could sell the sky, eyes that shine like diamonds
serve to hypnotize the crowd, make them believe in what they see.

but i,
i alone

i turned my face away,
breaking free and from the crowd.

for i would rather die as myself, alone,
than die a nobody among nobodies.

with my mind and will thus aligned, i fled
from this prison with no walls, no floors, no cells - aside from those inside.
at long last, i fervently tore the name-brand jail-rags from my dirty skin.

i was free.

free! i was free. thank god, thank god, thank god, i was free.

with a primitive roar, i proclaimed my victory to the world.

[part three - exile]

and then i was alone.

alone in flesh,
alone in spirit,
alone in mind.

even my shadow, my only protege, crept away under the cover of night.

neither loved nor hated; simply ignored.
how i crave the amicable smile of a true friend!
i thirst for acknowledgment, hunger for acceptance;
i am refused satisfaction.

long have i wept,
wept tears of pity for the ignorant.
i found the path to freedom and joy,
uncovered such euphoric secrets.
but when i returned to proclaim these glories -
like a prophet of ancient times -
they shunned me, shoved me aside, cast me out.

too caught up in their witless worship to concern themselves with a grim reality.

they left me to die.
but i was left to live.

for in conforming, the very fiber of our existence withers away.

it is only when we fully embrace our weaknesses that we unlock the full strength of our potential.

[part four - the key to immortality is discovered; reactions are largely indifferent.]

nobody remembers the conformists.

how could they?
they're all so sickeningly similar,
wearing masks of makeup and fake smiles.

but the outcasts! the radicals!
their images are firmly lodged into our eternal, collective memory.
they explode like fireworks onto the scene - beautiful, burning masses.
everything they touch catches fire, scorching their impressions deep into the social subconscious.

by their guiding light, we are forever reborn.

and so, beloved, broken people,
boldly raise your fists to the midnight sky;
swear by the stars shining above you.
pray that until they all fall from their places,
you shall have the strength to stand alone.

no longer are we weak,
no longer are we secrets self-contained.
confess yourself to the world.
let the moonlight guide your way,
as you fly from the monster you've become;
claim, as heir, your rightful place
as thyself;
nothing more so,
nothing less than

thyself.

..::: Conversations Regarding The Preceding Verses :::..

< Message edited by TEH RAWRZ -- 9/4/2008 19:44:36 >

Post #: 4

9/9/2008 17:03:39

.::oDrew
Member

If wishes Were

time for some vintage RAWRZ!
i wrote this poem several months back at the request of our very own Eukara. enjoy!

Pen leaves the paper, and leaves behind
A dreamlike world, I wish was mine.
Within these inken realms I find
Euphoria divine.

Utensil deft stains purest white,
As I decide what's wrong or right.
Not limited by sound or sight,
Am I when I write.

I often pine for legend-land,
Crafted by my humble hand.
Not as king, but god I'd stand,
Over legend-land.

And soon this tale, once my own
Becomes my flesh, one with my bone.
Through powers that no mortal's known
We two are one alone.

My pen an artery becomes,
Its flowing ink, my blood.
Every word, an act of love,
Emotion overcomes.

I've poured myself onto the page.
All my ecstacy and rage,
Players on my complex stage,
Forever rearrange.

'Tis now some playful fantasy
That beckons me to sleep.
Calling me to rest and dream,
Fondest poem, of thee.

..::: Conversations Regarding The Preceding Verses :::..

< Message edited by .::oDrew -- 12/24/2008 21:22:15 >

Post #: 5

9/9/2008 17:13:27

.::oDrew
Member

more vintage poems

i had completely forgotten about all my old poems.
i'll repost them all at once here. some are recognizably RAWRZ, others are quite different.
personally, it's quite interesting to read these and realize how far i've come as a poet.
enjoy!

..::: ['tis_better_to_have_never_loved]

this poem comes from my "classicist" period, during which i hoped to challenge myself by composing poems using "classic" structure and vocabulary.
apparently, i used to be a much more melancholy sort of fellow. still, i'd like to think it's a rather thought-provoking observation.

"'Tis better to have loved and lost,
Than never loved at all."
That's what they say, at very least,
When broken heart befalls.
But truly, who are we to judge
Love and life's strange ways?
When once young sir sought maiden fair,
But now he spends his days
Cursing that same maiden there,
For thieving half his heart.
He is not glad that they once were,
Yet mourns that they must part.
This contradiction in itself
Oft fails to explain,
Do our lovers bring us health,
Or cause us mortal pain?

..::: - :::..

..::: [eyes_half_shut]

another "classicist" poem, and an early example of my "poet as social activist" train of thought. clearly, though, i've improved. still into the dark subject matter, obviously - but at least we're moving away from the whole "love is a tragic thing" theme. regardless, my vocabulary has improved; i've taken on a more difficult structure and still managed to execute it fairly well; the poem has decent imagery and does a pretty good job of capturing emotion. i like this poem.

He lived with fate upon his mind, destiny forever presn't. ("present")
A soul forever intertwined with plan by heaven sent.
An iron vice around his heart, his story was his prison.
The life-blood coursing through his veins, as toxic as fou'** poison. ("foul")

Every time he'd turn the page, another chapter closed.
He knew how soon his book would end, his harrowed death fortold.
What gastly author penned this tale? In moments, he would know.
Listen now, a chorus sounds, calling him below.

The glow of life now growing dim, sinking deeper into shade.
One last scream clawed up his throat, but fear and pain forbade;
A single word shan't pass his lips, nor syllable escape,
Save but one: death's mortal moan, sealing vilest fate.

Oh, how he grievously wished no prophecy had told,
The secrets and the horrid sorrows that his future holds.
Soothsayer's tongue condemned his life, a day not long ago,
Cursing him for all his days, to drown in all his sorrow.

So close your eyes and ears, dear mortals, to the end of days.
When you see grim reaper come, good people, turn away!
Partake of present chores and duty, with naught but a frown.
Dwell not upon your final hour, let not it weight thee down.

The man who keeps his eyes fix'd on the grave is half-dead already.

..::: - :::..

..::: [love's_fragility]

now we're really starting to see the roots of my current "signature" style. obviously, i don't quite know what i'm doing yet. doesn't have very good rhythm or vocabulary - i think i was focusing solely on dramatically capturing the emotions found within the poem. pretty weird choices of sentence length and line break placement at this stage. and what do you know? the poem deals with - get ready - tragic love! shocking!!

It takes both hands to count the friendships I've lost.
Lost because I thought I found love.
Beating another poetic idiom to death.
Why not?
I'm not the first.
It happens daily.
However, all too suddenly I realize what love has destroyed.

Can love destroy?

Is it not the very essence of anti-war, anti-hurt, anti-hate?
I shake these thoughts off.
So deep, so profound, so unimportant, so irrelevant.
All that matters know is that those who I thought I loved most,
are now those whose hearts I have most difficulty touching.

I hate myself for it sometimes.

Hate for love.
Love for hate.

Is that all I deserve?

To plunge, naively, into the promises made by my own rationalization,
groping for a fair hand,
finding only the thin air of my own fragility.

Such is love unreturned.

..::: Conversations Regarding The Preceding Verses :::..

< Message edited by TEH RAWRZ -- 9/9/2008 17:31:14 >

Post #: 6

9/22/2008 12:38:57

.::oDrew
Member

galatea

an ocean.

endless waves, eternally crashing upon the shore.
so surely does the tide rise and fall,
like the slow, steady breathing of an aquatic soul.

her vast, fragile surface;
an identity dependant on the colors of the sun.
she greets the dawn with brilliant radience;
her robe, rust-red as dusk, she dons,
as daylight fades away.

the sun soon bids the world farewell, the sky turns dim and dark.
the stars fall from the sky, as snowflakes fall to earth;
shining, shimmering, crystalline shards
bejewel her gown of midnight's hue.

for ages, men have fawned and marveled at her mysterious beauty.
and yet, no man has ever mastered her;
she cannot be grasped

elusive
swift

constantly observed, perpetually studied, meticulously researched, over-exhaustively
analyzed,
(a flood of information, far, far, too much to say)

yet never understood.

her emotions are far too unpredictable.
benevolence, kindness, generosity;
become, at the blink of an eye,
vengence, wrath, stone-hearted ire,
fueling storms that haunt the sailor-widow's morbid dreams.

children often frolic in her shallows.
she gently caresses their carefree feet as they dance.
they adore her, yet they fear her;
a smiling, secretive stranger.

an ocean.

Galatea is the name of a famous Nereid, or sea nymph, from Greek mythology.

..::: Conversations Regarding The Preceding Verses :::..

< Message edited by TEH RAWRZ -- 9/22/2008 12:48:27 >

Post #: 7

9/29/2008 14:18:28

.::oDrew
Member

a life twice LosT

every morning, he woke up at 4:45, just before the dawn.
he owned an alarm clock, but it needed him more than he needed it.

every morning, he rubbed the sleep from his eyes and groped for his slippers.
they were worn and ragged, but he was comfortable with nothing else.

every morning, he slowly made his way down the stairs to the kitchen.
his wife was always there before him, preparing his coffee and bacon.

every morning, he sat ate and his breakfast in silence.
his quiet chewing and swallowing were the only audible sounds.

every morning, he zipped up his uniform and strapped on his boots.
his uniform was blue and faded, his boots were brown and sturdy.

every morning, he grabbed his keys and strode out the door at exactly 5:13.
he performed his entire morning routine without speaking a single word.

every morning, he drove his beat-up pickup truck down the dusty gravel road.
he knew the road and route so well, he could've driven it in his sleep.

every morning, he arrived at work at 5:40, punched his card, and began.
he'd worked at that factory for fourty-nine years, never met a soul.

every morning, he lived his life; he woke, he ate, he worked, he slept.
the day, the week, the month, the year, made no difference to him.

every morning, he was still the same, as the man he was before.
a dead and decomposing corpse changed more often than the man.

and one morning, die he did. he passed away in sleep.
his wife, the only one that knew him,
had nothing to say at his funeral.
how could she?
how could she find the words?
how could she describe his silence?
silence only merits silence.
a fitting obituary for a man whose life was void.
they lowered him into his quiet grave.

every morning, his alarm clock cried out at 4:45, just before the dawn.
its pitiful chirping mourned the man, its master, who had given it purpose.

every morning, his slippers sadly sat, unused, beside his bead.
they knew that they were old and useless, and feared their looming fate.

every morning, his wife still prepared his coffee and bacon.
she didn't mean to, but somehow she couldn't bear to stop.

every morning, his wife sat alone, she couldn't bear to eat.
her quiet weeping and moaning were the only audible sounds.

every morning, his boots and uniform waited expectantly in the closet.
they wondered why it had been so long since they had been to work.

every morning, his keys and door stood ready for their duties.
5:13 would come and pass, and they were once again neglected.

every morning, his beat-up pickup truck longed for the gravel road.
it loved the way its tires would feel as they sped along the turns.

every morning, his time-card sat in its slot, without a punch for once.
it had depended on 5:40, but now that meant nothing more than the time of day.

every morning, he had lived his life; he woke, he ate, he worked, he slept.
the day, the week, the month, the year, made no difference to him now.

but every morning he was not there,
the life that lived him every morning - began to die away.

..::: Conversations Regarding The Preceding Verses :::..

< Message edited by TEH RAWRZ -- 9/29/2008 16:33:19 >

Post #: 8

10/3/2008 16:48:17

.::oDrew
Member

identity

Written on the back of a paper menu from my school cafeteria.

i sit silently, a quiet watchman, at my place near the window.
idly observant as a mass of humanity slowly passes by.
rather in awe of the seemingly endless stream of souls;
i had heard the statistics time and time again, but this experience was strange and new.
in a few short hours, hundreds of lives had come and gone before me.
at times, they all seemed very much the same.

a heart, a mind, a soul,
encapsulated in skin -
a face, a body, flesh and bone.

they varied, of course, in size and shade, in tone of voice, in wit, in strength.
yet none have ever escaped nor overcome what made them just another man.
i could not tell you the names or stories of a single one;
nor could even one among them count me as their friend.

from my detached perspective, i reflected on their habits.
you would think each one would flock with those most like themselves;
brown-haired boys to brown-haired boys,
blue-eyed girls to blue-eyed girls.
but rarely is this their intention or desire.

no, although it is physical things that make them one, this is not what melds them together.
something deep, something intangible, connects them in companionship.
what force is this?
who can explain?
why should two souls so different
cling to each other so desperately, as if for life?

perhaps - i think to myself - the answer cannot be seen so simply.
the sharpest set of eyes could not perceive the cause of this phenomenon.
the source, instead, is found within,
where the senses cannot see.
fingers cannot grasp this truth, nor can it be tasted by the tongue.

and so, i cast away these useless sensations.
i close my eyes and see.
these indescribable feelings are within my spirit's reach.

i take no heed of physical things, i am a ghost among the dead.
the finest meals fail to fill me, my thirst cannot be quenched by drink.

i ignore all things of earth, and yearn for that which cannot be contained.
slowly, surely, an understanding creeps into my mind.
my consciousness is awakened.
and for once, i feel.

finally, i am for the first time fulfilled,
my riddle has been solved.
emotions cannot be sought and embraced;
i lay still, and they will find me.

i look to heaven, and i can feel its endless love rain down.

i am renewed.
i am whole.
i am loved.

..::: Conversations Regarding The Preceding Verses :::..

Post #: 9

10/7/2008 2:45:31

.::oDrew
Member

want/need

i was lonely.
so i was glad to let her use me.
i became an object, a slave, less than human.

she didn't really matter to me.
just someone who could fulfill the desires
i so desperately sought to quench.
it could have been anyone.
i never knew her middle name.
i told her i was falling in love with her.

i lied.
she knew it.
it just seemed like the right thing to say at the time,
i may as well have been reading off a script.
i spoke the words, but i did not mean them.

her lips were like alcohol, and she made me a drunkard.
each taste only elicited my thirst;
addicted almost instantly,
each sip from her seductive glass further impaired my better judgment.

our conversations were like cheap cigarettes.
quick, meaningless, bland.
each one exactly like the last.
choking on my words as i exhaled them.
they left behind a bitter taste.
but once again, i could not bear to stop.
the craving had burrowed deep into my subconciousness.
i was drifting slowly, peacefully, towards death.

morning came, after an uneasy night.
the sunrise made my eyes sting with unusual severity.
i arose,
and took a moment to consider the day's endless possibilities as i lingered in bed.
stumped, i left my fate to chance;
i dressed myself in my finest rags and boarded a bus full of strangers.

yet of them all, once face seemed less strange to me.
it was mysterious, yet somehow familiar.
my inquisitive nature urged me onward,
my common sense informed me otherwise.

out of the blue, unexpectedly,
she smiled, and made the first move.
i was stunned, awed, shocked.
words escaped me.

so instead of speaking, i gawked like a speechless fool,
as if a vision of god himself with all his angels appeared before me.
graciously overlooking my laconic stupor,
she poured her soul into mine, as i looked on in wide-eyed amazement.

suddenly, it seem to me that i had met her once before,
in another world, another lifetime.
i knew what she would say before she said it.
i had been waiting for her my entire life,
but failed to recognize as such until that breathtaking moment of realization.

falling in love in an odd thing.
it seems so simple, in theory,
but in practice is absolute torture.

i quite simply could not get her out of my head.
deep down, i wasn't quite sure if i wanted to.
i convinced myself that she was worth so many sleepless nights -
i would surely just be dreaming of her anyway.

she was a perplexing riddle,
which threatens to drive you insane 'til you solve it.
i became a broken man, and only she could fix me.

the toxic mistress i had once preoccupied myself with having been cast aside,
my focus and intent were singular.
my only aim was to unlock the complex web of secrets and paradox wrapped around her.

she holds the key just out of arm's reach.
i am a man dying of hunger, who has caught the vague scent of food.

i hate her, because i love her.
because she loves me, she loves me not.

such madness! such impossibilities!
what cruel world have our hands wrought?

all of my love songs become elegies.

time has never passed so slowly as when i wait for her to heal me.

good god.

why can't anyone love me?

..::: Conversations Regarding The Preceding Verses :::..

Post #: 10

10/22/2008 0:36:07

.::oDrew
Member

an announcement

attention, world:
i am very disappointed in you.

..::: Conversations Regarding The Preceding Verses :::..

Post #: 11

11/7/2008 0:52:40

.::oDrew
Member

rave

the bulbs shone bright like searchlights,
clarifying the faces of the throbbing mass of youth.
burning, blinding beacons of color and heat.
rhythms, melodies, lyrics and bass
pulsed like blood through their beating hearts.
shockwave after wave of sweet vibration
reverberate through your brain, take away your breath.

the deejay, prophet of the musical muse,
lets her use him, move through him, solicit which disks to spin.
he scratches the vinyl, he cues the tracks.
the destiny of the dance is held in his hands.

the floor has seen more than its fair share of moves,
shiny and smooth from countless steps and shoes.
a sanctuary for sinners, a haven for hot shots.
the kinetic energy it generates fuels their fates.
made up of memories of motion and mood -
which will remain long after the boards come unglued.
it anxiously waits through the dawn and day.
when the sun goes down, the faithful make their way back once again.

they gather as one to forget their stress,
fill their emptiness,
live out their dreams.
they overwhelm their senses with imagery and noise.
pressing together close, they let the snare drum guide them and surrender control.

as the night rolls by, everything begins to blend.
songs, sensations, men, women, and boys,
become so stunningly close, it's like symbiosis.
the tracks, dancers, and deejay share a single soul,
a spiritual experience in some respects.
they've grown together in just a few short hours,
and yet remain perfect strangers when they part ways.

night after night, the cycle repeats.
nobody knows where it begins, or if it ever ends.

we live, we die. we dance, we fly.

..::: Conversations Regarding The Preceding Verses :::..

Post #: 12

11/21/2008 16:16:28

.::oDrew
Member

ace

Bright neon lights are ignited,
shining into the night.
The timing is just right -
you can't fight it.
Those invited, incited by excitement, reunite.
I take a place at the table,
unable to stay away -
it's more than just a game when we all pay to play.
I contemplate the display,
survey the way the spades lay -
ain't complainin' 'bout the latest arrangement.
Got to know when to hold 'em and when to fold,
I told you I'm bold with an ace in the hole.
Lock and load, rock and roll,
show that you can hold your own.
I gamble and bet, on statistics and chance -
I'm all in like a hopeless romantic.
I scramble, attack, and take on the tall stack.
I pack a firecracker, now there's no looking back.
Take heed, your fear is as clear as the beads
of sweat seeping, like tears, from somewhere beneath.
There's no need to feed me lines, I already see,
that these here chips will soon belong to me.
So flip the river and reveal the winner,
I'm the best 'cause I'm better and you know that it's fo' sure.
Don't be a sore loser, don't be a player hater,
you know that by nature I'm just a motivator.
Another hand dealt, two cards on the felt,
the flop is in my favor and that can't be helped.
I'll burn 'til you melt, I'll sting 'til you welt,
will I walk away a winner? Only time will tell.

..::: Conversations Regarding The Preceding Verses :::..

Post #: 13

1/21/2009 15:06:39

.::oDrew
Member

the soNgbiRd

a songbird perched its hollow, weightless body outside my window this morning,
its naively cheerful song, fanfaring sol's arrival, effortlessly floated
above the fog.
the avian minstrel's melody was light, airy, wispy -
the cold, tired hands of the world's convulsions could not ensnare it,
vigorously, yet feebly, they reached to trap its harmonic joy
within their grasp, to drown it in the smog.

yet like an angel soaring skyward into the heavens
did his chirps and whistles fly;
a minuscule messenger of hope
on my windowsill.

..::: Conversations Regarding The Preceding Verses :::..

< Message edited by .::oDrew -- 1/21/2009 15:17:33 >

Post #: 14

1/24/2009 3:53:02

.::oDrew
Member

sQaure 1

what in god's name is wrong with me?
this isn't me, i'm not myself.
some alien soul has invaded my body, my brain, my all.
these words are the last remnants of my ego
with the strength to claw their way out
of my mind's deepest crevice.
the residue of last month's chemical spill
clings to each and every empty vein.
i'm toxic. radioactive. a ticking time bomb.
defuse me, i'm begging you.
you're the only one who knows what makes me tick;
the only one who understands the way i'm wired.
you know which colors need to be cut,
which ties need to be severed.
i don't understand why you're hesitating.
life isn't meant to be lived this way -
why not plunge headfirst into the fantastic unknown?
i don't what to know what i know.
i want to know what i don't know.
for god's sake, just kiss me once before i die.

..::: Conversations Regarding The Preceding Verses :::..

Post #: 15

2/4/2009 14:53:34

.::oDrew
Member

shadows

it follows me wherever i go,
without explanation or invitation.
a silent, speechless reflection.
it's witnessed all my fiery passion,
mocking and mimicking every motion,
my mind's a stage, he sits front-row.

he's only seen when the sun shines;
lightbeams pass through flesh and bone
revealing what was once unknown.
with my unwilled recompense shown,
i cursed the sun for having shone
so bright and radiant upon my crimes.

at night, at last, we are as one;
'til then, "he" and "I", but now, "we,"
as tortured hyde and Jekyll, M.D.
my skin takes on a darkness eery;
with a gander at the mirror i see
the shadow who i have become.

..::: Conversations Regarding The Preceding Verses :::..

Post #: 16

2/12/2009 1:50:31

.::oDrew
Member

up

within this silent cell,
i consider you.

you strike me as someone i could pass the time with,
conversing lazily
about some passing fancy;
savoring the quiet moment
when we run out of things to say.

i stare at your shoes, as if
they could tell me where you’ve been
and where you’re going to.
we live on the forth floor,
they might say,
and always go out for coffee on thursday afternoons.
be there.

your perfume caresses me
like a subtle clue
in a two-bit mystery novel,
the ones they sell in the street
outside the thrift store on summer afternoons;
full of melodramatic intrigue
and hints of passion.
the fragrance of a woman
who wants to fall in love
but isn’t quite sure how to go about it.

you seem out of place somehow,
a soft, vibrant figure,
trapped within a cage of dirty metal,
dim lights,
cheap, drab carpet.
i squint at your smudged reflection in the door.
are you as beautiful as you feel?
as beautiful as i imagine?

my palms are damp, mouth dry.
my spine is cold, breath hot.
is this love, or fear?

without warning, the door flies open.
did you hear my silent goodbye?
will you remember me when we pass in the hall?
i descend into the hellish unknown.
perhaps in three days I’ll rise again,
to heaven – forth floor.

..::: Conversations Regarding The Preceding Verses :::..

< Message edited by .::oDrew -- 2/17/2009 12:53:20 >

Post #: 17

3/2/2009 18:02:43

.::oDrew
Member

past

i can hear the words i never spoke,
see the smile i never wore.

i am impossible. i am paradox.

i am a private autobiography; recorded,
played back, over and over and over again;
struggling, simultaneously,
to understand and make understood:
my skull is a cathedral dome
lined with mirrors and prophecy.
thoughts contained - inescapably - therein
cast their reflection on the soul.

i am the echoes of the hopeless hymn
the choir will someday sing.
easter morning (yea, holiest of days)
and i am dying
lying
dead
upon the street.

i am impossible.

..::: Conversations Regarding The Preceding Verses :::..

< Message edited by .::oDrew -- 3/30/2009 19:03:25 >

Post #: 18

3/11/2009 13:41:59

.::oDrew
Member

"in the immaculate moment."

in the immaculate moment
when the first bright rays of love
have just begun to break the mind's horizon
we indulge in the timeless sense of otherworldliness
each fresh, young, experimental kiss
lifts us into the infinite
away from time
away from this place
into a realm of naive discovery
where we find ourselves
with hands and lips pressed against each other
bodies held
so desperately
drawn together by some soulful magnetism
who is this beautiful creature
that has found its way into my arms?
kiss me in the morning
so i may know this was no dream.

Post #: 19

3/30/2009 18:55:56

.::oDrew
Member

"caffeine girl"

just one more cup -
oh drug, sweet and vile -
i raise thee to my lips.

i tremble,
with fear/anticipation,
as your scent invades my skull.

how quickly you run through my veins
and warm me from within;
a tingling in my fingertips

reminds me you are near.
they tell me that you're killing me,
you slowly steal away

precious breaths and beats. and yet,
my heart pounds faster, harder, more
as you ensnare my chest.

addiction - grips,
tightly, like your hand in mine;
with gentle, constant strain. i

am drowning in
a desolate dream; decay
eats at my nerves but spent.

and yet, i feel;
as if i could live on
through the night, or at least

as long as you will stay.
keep me awake, i beg you.
the stars will pass us by if i'm asleep.

Post #: 20

3/30/2009 18:57:19

.::oDrew
Member

"obituaries"

another tragic headline
greets him as he sips his mud-brown joe.
found dead; cause unknown; prayer service.
obituary forthcoming.
death,
as it were,
is nothing new to him.
day after day,
wake after wake.
funerals
confound him so;
what good is it
to gather there,
say all the things you wish you said;
to them, at least -
it's too late now.
pontificate away.

donate yourself to science,
he thought,
'twas the only practical thing.
an example
of what could go wrong
to prod, and study, and cringe.
take me to my resting place,
my final home,
the lab.
take your scalpel to my heart.
collect my spirits in a jar.

he laid,
alone, cold,
and dead
wondering if this is all.
watched with otherworldly eyes
as they wheeled his corpse away.
the surgeons were irreverent
as they tore his skin in two.

how he wished he'd had a funeral.
a burial, at least.
deceased and mute,
resigned to fate;
he observes his quick decay.

Post #: 21

3/30/2009 18:58:26

.::oDrew
Member

"an observation"

i will never be
a skilled enough perfectionist
that i am worthy to be called one.
instead i am a sinner;
an expert in the craft -
none are more worthy
of the name
than i.

Post #: 22

5/5/2010 21:51:47

.::oDrew
Member

INCOGNITO

there are times when for months
i cannot find my face.
my eyeballs drop from their sockets
like spitballs from a straw;
my lips peel off like scabs
from a horrific facial injury.
i think my nose felt unappreciated
and ran with a perfume salesman.
but my ears! devilish ba****ds
stay glued on. all i hear are
behind-my-back mumbles of disbelief,
things they would never say to my face.
i hope that wherever he is,
they're saying nicer things about him.

MOCK MOCK ORANGE
to louise gluck

It is not the sun, I tell you.
It is these fireflies
singeing the yard.

I love them.
I love them as I love cigars,
the tobacco’s smoke
filling my mouth, the leaves’
tantalizing scent --

and the ash that always escapes,
the luminous, glowing
signal of warmth --

On my yard tonight
I see the stars and living lights
united in one sky
that stretches and stretches and then
is hidden behind the dark horizon,
the globe’s eyelid. Do you see?
We are only a speck.
And the last rays of light
fall into their resting place.

How can I see?
How can I be led
when there is no
sun to guide my way?

Post #: 23

5/18/2010 0:25:35

.::oDrew
Member

RESOLUTION

the second hand slowed
with each wishful glance at your passing
by. a blue-eyed book
wont to be read.

you appeared,
days later,
unexpectedly in the produce isle.
surrounded by citrus,
emboldened by what i called coincidence,
i gently touched your shoulder
and began to know you.
we were never more content.

long ago:
eighth grade.
a blackboard.
the teacher relishes
the sophistic smoke
exhaled as he fashions
powdery pale diagrams.
“and what comes
after the climax?”

i want to live forever
in that moment:
before you became a friend instead of stranger,
before i knew too much to bask in pleasant mystery.
but we began, and so we end.
we were a story.

Post #: 24

5/18/2010 0:33:04

.::oDrew
Member

SALT SHAKER

white sparks,
offspring of age-old rock,
cluster within their tiny tower:
bright as the virgin’s lily-robes.

and yet, as all things pure, they are released –
torn away from
the security of their glass shelter -
to dissolve into the iron heat, now nothing
but flavor for the burning carnal strip
upon the stove.
blindly consumed for the sake of satisfaction.

Post #: 25