a circuitous blossoming

DopeBeastieDopeBeastie Posts: 2,513
edited September 2007 in Poetry, Prose, Music & Art
a beautiful life
curling up
into the air
like smoke
expanding, thinning

inhaled by your raw sense
associating this jasmine with that
sulfur, this love with a lie that became true
because time is an asshole

time is the sonofabitch
that stole your words
and ran away to your woman's house,
showing them to her knowing she would be sad

time can push against the pain
healing the lie of your truth
in that moment

time turns trinkets into treasures
and treasures into trash

time is a fire
and silence,
a good strong wind

a beautiful life
curling up
into the air
like smoke
expanding, thinning
Post edited by Unknown User on

Comments

  • gue_bariumgue_barium Posts: 5,515
    Not too bad at all. A little flowery. It could have used a sound reference.

    Shoot me.

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  • oh... this poem kinda sucks it.
    it doesn't convey what i want it to
    the idea is clear in my head
    it just got sidetracked

    scrap it!

    :)
  • gue_bariumgue_barium Posts: 5,515
    PastaNazi wrote:
    oh... this poem kinda sucks it.
    it doesn't convey what i want it to
    the idea is clear in my head
    it just got sidetracked

    scrap it!

    :)

    No!

    Its got a lot of potential.

    I think. :)

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    except by express written permission of ©gue_barium, the author.
  • maybe... i might do better to start over and let this one stand as yet another addition to the victim-file


    there's supposed to be more beauty in this
    i don't know why it went the way it did
    it started out pretty nice, but went south in the edit
  • gue_bariumgue_barium Posts: 5,515
    sound byte: (hehee) I know I suck.


    time is a crackling fire
    and silence,
    a good strong wind

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  • gue_bariumgue_barium Posts: 5,515
    or even,

    time is a crackiling fire
    and silence,
    the howling wind

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  • how bout

    time is a bic lighter


    no no no... not going there
  • here... Neruda says it better than I ever will


    Past



    We have to discard the past

    and, as one builds

    floor by floor, window by window,

    and the building rises,

    so do we go on throwing down

    first, broken tiles,

    then pompous doors,

    until out of the past

    dust rises

    as if to crash

    against the floor,

    smoke rises

    as if to catch fire,

    and each new day

    it gleams

    like an empty

    plate.

    There is nothing, there is always nothing.

    It has to be filled

    with a new, fruitful

    space,

    then downward

    tumbles yesterday

    as in a well

    falls yesterday's water,

    into the cistern

    of all still without voice or fire.

    It is difficult to teach bones

    to disappear,

    to teach eyes

    to close

    but

    we do it

    unrealizing.

    It was all alive,

    alive, alive, alive

    like a scarlet fish

    but time

    passed over its dark cloth

    and the flash of the fish

    drowned and disappeared.

    Water water water

    the past goes on falling

    still a tangle

    of bones

    and of roots;

    it has been, it has been, and now

    memories mean nothing.

    Now the heavy eyelid

    covers the light of the eye

    and what was once living

    now no longer lives;

    what we were, we are not.

    And with words, although the letters

    still have transparency and sound,

    they change, and the mouth changes;

    the same mouth is now another mouth;

    they change, lips, skin, circulation;

    another being has occupied our skeleton;

    what once was in us now is not.

    It has gone, but if the call, we reply;

    "I am here," knowing we are not,

    that what once was, was and is lost,

    is lost in the past, and now will not return.
  • gue_bariumgue_barium Posts: 5,515
    A bit melodramatic for my tastes.

    I like yours better.

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  • gue_barium wrote:
    or even,

    time is a crackiling fire
    and silence,
    the howling wind

    I'm with gue here, Pasta. I like this piece. Yes, Neruda is lovely but, we're talking about you here, your touch, your feel so, fuck Neruda! :D

    It feels like the weakest part when you read it is the part that gue_barium has picked out. So, my suggestion, as I do believe I have an idea where this one is coming from (<3), is to expand that one stanza. Here's my stab at it:

    Time is the eternal flame,
    and silence,
    steals the breath from within

    Don't give up on it, Rache. :)
    Forget your perfect offering, there is a crack in everything, that's how the light gets in. - Leonard Cohen
  • gue_bariumgue_barium Posts: 5,515
    I'm with gue here, Pasta. I like this piece. Yes, Neruda is lovely but, we're talking about you here, your touch, your feel so, fuck Neruda! :D

    It feels like the weakest part when you read it is the part that gue_barium has picked out. So, my suggestion, as I do believe I have an idea where this one is coming from (<3), is to expand that one stanza. Here's my stab at it:

    Time is the eternal flame,
    and silence,
    steals the breath from within

    Don't give up on it, Rache. :)

    No offense, but I think the Bic lighter would be better than that.

    all posts by ©gue_barium are protected under US copyright law and are not to be reproduced, exchanged or sold
    except by express written permission of ©gue_barium, the author.
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