Setaside's Poetry.... if you like...

Amaterasu

+

FinsburyParkCarrots

Seta, my friend, I hope you don't mind
an explosion of squiggles and quinks.
I'm trying out firing posts from behind
While invisible through the links.
I rather enjoy the enigma one has
When browsers don't know I am there
and suddenly there's a new post of my verse
And everyone wonders from where!



My paperclip man doesn't like the word "pome." I've disabled the fecka. Twisted his aluminium bits off and sent him to recyclable obscurity. There shall be pomes abounding, yis! Yis!

DopeBeastie

LOL... i disabled MY paperclip fecka, too...

he gave me a look to say...

"oh alright you self-inflated, word-crafting bitch.... I'll go..."

FinsburyParkCarrots

He's at paperclips anonymous now, linking grips in a circle and seeking Windows closure....

DopeBeastie

Hi... My name is OfficeAssistant and I'm addicted to annoying writers.


Hi OfficeAssistant


let's all join points for serenity prayer...


BillGates, grant us the serentiy to accept the grammar they will not change, The courage to suggest where a change is needed (as defined by your most ridgid and wise programming), and the wisdom to know the difference.

Sharon_Hearts_PJ

You kids are FUN-knee.

Hi Seta. I wonder if this message may grab your attention, for I have failed in all other ways.

I MISS YOU!

Pennyroyal Tea

boy howdy
the things you do when you are desperate

You're such a trash can
I love trash
!
....
cherry koolaid kisses

DopeBeastie

(i thought'd i'd never find it...)

Originally posted by setaside2




...
THE NOTHINGS WHISPERED BY THE STATIC LINE MY ROMANTIC LENGUA AND DREAMATIC SWAY,
THESE DAYS GATHERED IN A DARKER CORNER AWAITING NOTICE.
SOMEHOW THE FUTURE YOU SEETH REMAINS THAT ONE STEP AHEAD AND THAT ONE CORNER TURNED.
I SEE THE GUTTERTRASH SWIRL IN YOUR WAKE,
YOUR WHIRLPOOLS AND EDDIES, YOUR MOTIVE FINGERPRINT IN THE BREEZE... I KNOW WHERE YOU'VE BEEN YOU SON OF A BITCH AND I HAVE GROWN QUITE BORED WITH THE FEELING OF TREADING WATER;
WAITING FOR THAT ONE THING TO OCCUR THAT IS SUPPOSED TO CHANGE MY LIFE FOREVER, SUPPOSED TO VERIFY MY NAME, MAKE ME WHOLE, MAKE ME REAL.

...
MAN, YOU TALK ABOUT YOUR SIGNAL TO NOISE AND I'LL TELL YOU TO SHUT YOUR MOUTH.
...




i hope you enjoy this silence so molasses.

now, i don't know firsthand,
but it seems somewhere amidst the crap my memory's collected
that there is a truth regarding low pressures,
a truth in fronts leaving no room for words...

it is the jaw dropped to the tile floor just before the exclaimed "om holy fg, you did not!!!"
which we all know is promptly followed by the "well, that's cool"

signal to noise
signal to noise
hmmm
<forefingers chin>



the seals press against the frames right before they're ripped to uselessness


write on, seta

setaside2

Now, I don't know how many times a carroted stick has led the poor and unsuspecting horse into the desert and presumably to its doom. Who can say what may go through its confused and clouded mind at the last? As it stares at the prize ever sought, diligently so, tirelessly so, drying and wasting away in the sand, its great and noble head resting upon the dune, what memories of its life as a foal free from shackle emerge?

You tell me the story of the lost palomino. I'll tell you of its rider.

There are endless waves upon waves of pavement and parchment before us all, a dream the water, the love a carrot, and youth the cool and starlit night that allows us to travel further than we had prepared for; each blatant blot of indigo tempered ink considered a footstep, a means to the end, to the edge of a page. The continuing story of man.

but today, his mind is cracking. it's shards are slipping to the floor as subtle snowflakes. Powdered and misted, and not for the barefooted, they continue to drift in ever increasing crystal depth as the dreams become ever worn.
Because the jail at night confines me, this dark and iron mask, i have cared more for this dream viewed for my window and these angelic notes sung than for any retribution earned for the stealing of the sun, it's been wholly tainted.
and the tincture has soured. the mind is sifting, silting, like the sands of a broken hourglass.
i see the last few drops of the christblood in what became the grail of holies... precious, priceless and drying in the desert wind. The only beings able to absorb such richness the first signs of silicon gritting the bottom like teeth in a sonic boom. And when the hail hailed vibration has absconded with the last of the soul driven huzzahs (the glass of the many shattered and fractaled window driven to gravel and fractured beads), these crushed seashells that pave our way shall show their lime in the rain and pothole crater after axle cracking crater.
My GOD, they cry. When has the wind carried the bloodlust of passion so far? Shall we follow the trail of tears, the collective pattern and shell shock of people staring at the other’s backs while the shirttails we grasp tear at an ever quickening pace? And if cut loose what then? To lose the focus? To quit the flow? Wherefore the carrot?

this obsidian in the sand, these blackstone mirrors that fluoresce as stars in the negative, why they merely lie... as dead and restless as the shearing desert. Useless pieces of igneous gem.
Pick one up as you walk by. Pocket that. Wonder why. Settle back.
Sooner or later my valley, your sea, his mountain, her "me,"
all these ephemeral and ethereal intangibilities nobody owns, a piece of personal glass having hence imprisoned the light by which we live, perhaps the road is all that is left to give...

struck by indecision, the backhanded blow of the unfinished thought staggers and brushes aside, a nest of whipporwills disturbed into flight whisper, voice and scream into the air. Watch them cry their love of all things grey and brown and thistle thrushed… say that your bottle of wine, 1869, is thrown glistening end to end, time to time, lancing the cherrywood brush, crushed; the marooned and reddening aftermath seemingly quickens the oncoming dusk.

And as our nightingales read the eddies and currents above, a life shall be self taken; the horse shall fall, the mind dissolved, the glass beads reverted. Who will dare to carry this burden to the end? To pick up and carry this equestrian bodice whose legs have failed so near, whose will has faltered and whose lips cry the fabled neigh to the dawn... The faithless master and his gun, his dreams spread across the white, shall wither in the drying age and become the atoms that travel the world, the seeds upon which clouds are formed.

all these things so much greater than he was, so much further apart.
remember his thoughts as they are, all now upon the thermal rise.

Whither goest the wind, goeth the mind, goeth the we, goeth I.

lifeisworth

very nicely done, setamarc...

i especially like this:

"There are endless waves upon waves of pavement and parchment before us all, a dream the water, the love a carrot, and youth the cool and starlit night that allows us to travel further than we had prepared for; each blatant blot of indigo tempered ink considered a footstep, a means to the end, to the edge of a page. The continuing story of man."


and:

"this obsidian in the sand, these blackstone mirrors that fluoresce as stars in the negative, why they merely lie... as dead and restless as the shearing desert. Useless pieces of igneous gem.
Pick one up as you walk by. Pocket that. Wonder why. Settle back.
Sooner or later my valley, your sea, his mountain, her "me,"
all these ephemeral and ethereal intangibilities nobody owns, a piece of personal glass having hence imprisoned the light by which we live, perhaps the road is all that is left to give..."





there's more, of course, the faithless owner, and that...

seems a deeply pensive piece of reflection in personal glass, but personally I've no doubt the sands will shift for you again.

setaside2

I had said to myself:

if one were to have the moment of human weakness and commit suicide on paper, how would it look, how would it translate, what textures would there be in the final pulped granularity of college ruled 3M standard line?

and I sought the answer, or at least one answer. Tomorrow who knows?

And that really is the point. That there is a tomorrow, despite the ionization and atomization of any given mind. Despite these vortices that whirl us about in unsuspecting ways.

See you all soon, eh?

perhaps perhaps perhaps.

Sharon_Hearts_PJ

Hi.

DopeBeastie

Originally posted by 13PJ13
Hi.

HI!!!

:D:D:D:D

setaside2

this is my tag on to buttersidedown's tremendous piece on page one... though I suppose this will take all this right back to that page as well. If I could add to this without getting into everyone's way, I would. I am sorry about that.

seta


BARREN

indeed chess matches set with blade
their games over before they're bade
good day to you, sir, madam, take the spade
we'll bury our bones, our love, our sensual shade
take them all, packed up, paid.

no burial at sea more than flotation
the earth's edge serration rotation
with all false, I say FALSE, martyrs preaching location, location, location

sully the elocution of the thought
bring about the execution and the sieving of the soul
settle your anticipation and your burdened cot
counter and demand and counter and parlay and counter and ripost
the sword and defamation, the castration of the prostrate blindsided and sideswiped before the bowl.

beckon with torn tears
bring the hand in the come to me defiance
salute, tap that blade to forehead,
and begin your twin bladed enchant
meant to prove and to bend
to move and to rend
to tear apart all who may satiate your fears

and if your ferocity and your passion may be swayed by a pierced lung
air escaping from two places and blood the one
may your operatic cry splinter wood, crack the glass and send their minds reeling
fractured and unknowing heatstroked in the ovening sun.

there will lie the hero, the martyr,
remains in pieces, in whole, upon the fertilized loam
fossilization, mineralization, your face will turn to stone.
may it be an opal that sets your eyes
and may it be the gypsum that stole your breath
and may the silver that flees your veins keep the werewolves at bay
while within the last secret room within the heart, the sapphire is kept.

strange how love appears so human when clad in armor while splayed in the shade of the waxing evening, leaking its innards into the mound

I shall take up the sword, the shield, and tenderly foot this softening ground
and one day I shall catch up to those who committed this act upon my love
my blade shall flit and fly, my shield, my dove...

one by one they will fall without a cry

without sense, without fire

and without a sound.

Bound.

DopeBeastie

it is beautiful
thank you so much for sharing

even flow?

Very nice seta! I think you should throw one in (or copy and paste) to the April thread. If we could get BE, Radar, CranM and a few others to join in, it would almost be like old times.

Buru

this post:

directionless, mystified, timeless, desensitized: how to commit suicide on paper.


absolutely beautiful!!! Beautiful writing


Oh and I've given up on re-reading all your stuff, will have to wait to read them in your book when you publish one!

Sharon_Hearts_PJ

Originally posted by Buru

Oh and I've given up on re-reading all your stuff, will have to wait to read them in your book when you publish one!

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

setaside2

One Way, Two Lines, Two Lives


See the car
as it barrels on past
Feel this wave
of roadmuck and rainwash as it causes you to cower,
this bus stop post tempest with chipped paint and settled concrete
Hear the hiss
as the second home pulls up and delivers a stream of replacements
Watch them
as they never look up around nowhere but the ground
Consider
that they never make a sound until they arrive home
Turn your head
and gaze at the one with the slight limp and the paper bag
Narrow your vision
to understand the gait and the carriage and the rolling lilt in her voice
Step off the bus
again to find yourself suddenly beside this stumbling creature
Carry her load
without pride, in silence, with honor
Understand
that these 26 blocks upon which she walks spell adventure and pain
Where she goes
in all this stormy weather and down this grated walk in the slashing rain
And when her azure eyes
look upon you, the sole time within which you are noticed beyond your feet,
Widened and dilated in this dampening light
the evening dimming beneath the oppressive outlet of nature's depression's leavings
See the streetlamps cut
the only swaths of luz drenched gape
And tear at
the ever deepening shadows.
The both of you
consider the other, a stranger, momentarily
So warm
with a sudden embrace and secret shared
So alone
this chance meeting parts its way, somebody's care set to sift in the sheets...
So home
bound and determined to make the day and its singular pace seem kept
Please it you
to sleep within the rain
To see your own way
to tilt thy head to drink and to take that one look
Back to the intersection
where you met, barely believing
Crossing the ever roving parkway
with its fleeting reds and whites and oncoming roars... on and on and on
Evaporating into the caressed and satin urban night

Sharon_Hearts_PJ

The very same people who deal with your B.S. modesty and difficult-to-read color schemes on a near-daily basis.