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written

exhaleexhale Posts: 185
edited May 2007 in Poetry, Prose, Music & Art
Holding only the emotion in my right hand;
shaking, trying to hide it.
It happened
in the room,
painted with a dark white colour,
talking to me, answering with short sentences
only...
The gaps between, filled with an extremely loud laugh; screaming?
The poems he wrote
in that moment, decorated with beautiful sounds;
beautiful only to his eyes.
And he
hasn´t even
read
the letters yet.
I´m loosing the trust in my words, or have they lost
their meaning?
I listen to the stones, paving their way through the air,
crying with pain before they hit the ground...
I disgust
the sound when they richochet.
Belief?
Anger ?
Utopia ?
Leaving
visible tracks, knowing that they will come up again,
one day...
!
Write. Wind each new thought upon the stream;
and in its contradiction of response,
Or seeming stagnance, see that rippled gleam
That might suggest true movement. If you sense
a hidden wave in what seems blanket still,
Write more, wind each desire, and you'll see
The willows nod and rustle, and you will
hear the rushing babble of the free
gush of water, brimming, charged with light
That is your reader's understanding heart.
Post edited by Unknown User on
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Comments

  • tremorstremors Posts: 8,051
    you've reminded me why I came back here

    thanks

    your words are strong - believe
    Cancel my subscription to the Ressurection
    Send my credentials to the house of detention

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  • exhaleexhale Posts: 185
    I stepped out of my body once more, despite the belief I won´t need to do it again.
    But then, people believe in bizarre things, why shouldn´t I do the same?
    Write. Wind each new thought upon the stream;
    and in its contradiction of response,
    Or seeming stagnance, see that rippled gleam
    That might suggest true movement. If you sense
    a hidden wave in what seems blanket still,
    Write more, wind each desire, and you'll see
    The willows nod and rustle, and you will
    hear the rushing babble of the free
    gush of water, brimming, charged with light
    That is your reader's understanding heart.
  • nailz100nailz100 Posts: 1,176
    Amazing Exhale.....Just..amazing
    Only with our eyes closed can we truly see
  • exhaleexhale Posts: 185
    It happened
    only...
    in that moment,
    And he
    read
    their meaning.
    I disgust
    Leaving
    one day...
    !
    Write. Wind each new thought upon the stream;
    and in its contradiction of response,
    Or seeming stagnance, see that rippled gleam
    That might suggest true movement. If you sense
    a hidden wave in what seems blanket still,
    Write more, wind each desire, and you'll see
    The willows nod and rustle, and you will
    hear the rushing babble of the free
    gush of water, brimming, charged with light
    That is your reader's understanding heart.
  • tremorstremors Posts: 8,051
    edited March 2010
    .
    Post edited by tremors on
    Cancel my subscription to the Ressurection
    Send my credentials to the house of detention

    lettherecordsplay1x.gif?t=1377796878
  • exhaleexhale Posts: 185
    from all the poems in the threads people wrote so far,
    none has upset my subconscious as much...

    the past...
    Write. Wind each new thought upon the stream;
    and in its contradiction of response,
    Or seeming stagnance, see that rippled gleam
    That might suggest true movement. If you sense
    a hidden wave in what seems blanket still,
    Write more, wind each desire, and you'll see
    The willows nod and rustle, and you will
    hear the rushing babble of the free
    gush of water, brimming, charged with light
    That is your reader's understanding heart.
  • exhaleexhale Posts: 185
    It was a dreadful night,
    filled with lies and fearful laughs.

    Shadows leaving,
    taking my light away.

    They´ve left me there lying,
    concealed with pledges.

    Should I be crying?
    If there is only crying left…
    Write. Wind each new thought upon the stream;
    and in its contradiction of response,
    Or seeming stagnance, see that rippled gleam
    That might suggest true movement. If you sense
    a hidden wave in what seems blanket still,
    Write more, wind each desire, and you'll see
    The willows nod and rustle, and you will
    hear the rushing babble of the free
    gush of water, brimming, charged with light
    That is your reader's understanding heart.
  • exhaleexhale Posts: 185
    Morning.
    Reading poems, rewriting thoughts
    of a restless mind.

    Morning.
    Smelling fear, counting noises
    of a restless time.

    Morning.
    Dripping words, listening to whispers
    of a restless breeze.

    Morning.
    So loud, collecting traces
    of a restless sea.

    Morning.
    Unaware, cannot see the face
    of a restless me.
    Write. Wind each new thought upon the stream;
    and in its contradiction of response,
    Or seeming stagnance, see that rippled gleam
    That might suggest true movement. If you sense
    a hidden wave in what seems blanket still,
    Write more, wind each desire, and you'll see
    The willows nod and rustle, and you will
    hear the rushing babble of the free
    gush of water, brimming, charged with light
    That is your reader's understanding heart.
  • FinsburyParkCarrotsFinsburyParkCarrots Seattle, WA Posts: 12,223
    Originally posted by exhale
    It was a dreadful night,
    filled with lies and fearful laughs.

    Shadows leaving,
    taking my light away.

    They´ve left me there lying,
    concealed with pledges.

    Should I be crying?
    If there is only crying left…

    You cried for night to come, now cry in darkness.
    You cried for night to come, now cry in darkness.

    A free tin of Pedigree Chum for naming the source of that dazzling quotation.

    I don't see why I should even care... it's not dark, but it's getting there.

    Yes, that one's Dylan. How about the first one, though?
  • exhaleexhale Posts: 185
    you must know,
    you know them all.

    but do they know you... ?
    Write. Wind each new thought upon the stream;
    and in its contradiction of response,
    Or seeming stagnance, see that rippled gleam
    That might suggest true movement. If you sense
    a hidden wave in what seems blanket still,
    Write more, wind each desire, and you'll see
    The willows nod and rustle, and you will
    hear the rushing babble of the free
    gush of water, brimming, charged with light
    That is your reader's understanding heart.
  • FinsburyParkCarrotsFinsburyParkCarrots Seattle, WA Posts: 12,223
    Originally posted by exhale
    you must know,
    you know them all.

    but do they know you... ?

    Fetishisation of the text. A word does not have a consciousness.
  • exhaleexhale Posts: 185
    you´re right,
    it´s up to you to give them life.
    Write. Wind each new thought upon the stream;
    and in its contradiction of response,
    Or seeming stagnance, see that rippled gleam
    That might suggest true movement. If you sense
    a hidden wave in what seems blanket still,
    Write more, wind each desire, and you'll see
    The willows nod and rustle, and you will
    hear the rushing babble of the free
    gush of water, brimming, charged with light
    That is your reader's understanding heart.
  • exhaleexhale Posts: 185
    I shall write letters no more;
    no anticipation interrupting the state of my mind.
    No worth praising the weak,
    the battle is lost once more.

    No change, no move,
    just a static riot.

    I shall say words no more;
    no voice interrupting the floatage of my sound.
    No power raising hands,
    we all have voted for death.

    No change, no move,
    just a static riot.

    I shall smile looking at your face no more;
    no emotion interrupting the rhythm of my day.
    No feeling expressing love,
    I´m back at the incipience.

    No change, no move,
    just a static riot.
    Write. Wind each new thought upon the stream;
    and in its contradiction of response,
    Or seeming stagnance, see that rippled gleam
    That might suggest true movement. If you sense
    a hidden wave in what seems blanket still,
    Write more, wind each desire, and you'll see
    The willows nod and rustle, and you will
    hear the rushing babble of the free
    gush of water, brimming, charged with light
    That is your reader's understanding heart.
  • exhaleexhale Posts: 185
    The reality cannot be sung or narrated because there is no fairy tale that would cause pain to the listener. It cannot be rhymed because there is no word that would rhyme with ´hurt´ in a lullaby.
    It seems to be an endless circle, spinning around the philosophy of life and nobody has even touched it yet. People say they know the truth when the truth itself doesn´t know what it is.
    All the lessons for life I was given by my ancestors are just plain and meaningless definitions of their ideas and summaries of old man´s wise words.

    So, don´t be scared,
    accept it...
    Write. Wind each new thought upon the stream;
    and in its contradiction of response,
    Or seeming stagnance, see that rippled gleam
    That might suggest true movement. If you sense
    a hidden wave in what seems blanket still,
    Write more, wind each desire, and you'll see
    The willows nod and rustle, and you will
    hear the rushing babble of the free
    gush of water, brimming, charged with light
    That is your reader's understanding heart.
  • exhaleexhale Posts: 185
    All I ask, is for the privilege for my masculine part, the poet in me (if any such you will allow me), to tread in those successful paths my predecessors have long thrived in...If I must not, because of my sex, have this freedom, but that you will usurp all to yourselves; I lay down my quill, and you shall hear no more of me [...]; for I am not content to write for a third day only. I value fame as much as if I had been born a hero; and if you rob me of that, I can retire from the ungrateful world, and scorn its fickle favors. -
    (Aphra Behn)
    Write. Wind each new thought upon the stream;
    and in its contradiction of response,
    Or seeming stagnance, see that rippled gleam
    That might suggest true movement. If you sense
    a hidden wave in what seems blanket still,
    Write more, wind each desire, and you'll see
    The willows nod and rustle, and you will
    hear the rushing babble of the free
    gush of water, brimming, charged with light
    That is your reader's understanding heart.
  • exhaleexhale Posts: 185
    joined to write,

    I don´t write to join;

    replete with titles and too many compliments,

    is he a poet, or is he a scum?
    Write. Wind each new thought upon the stream;
    and in its contradiction of response,
    Or seeming stagnance, see that rippled gleam
    That might suggest true movement. If you sense
    a hidden wave in what seems blanket still,
    Write more, wind each desire, and you'll see
    The willows nod and rustle, and you will
    hear the rushing babble of the free
    gush of water, brimming, charged with light
    That is your reader's understanding heart.
  • exhaleexhale Posts: 185
    To Sir

    Fear not,
    I´m not your enemy.
    Words have crossed,
    all happened unadvisedly.
    Praised is your thought,
    stroked your shoulders;
    can you accept –
    the war is over ?

    Word is a weapon,
    I use it a lot,
    even if wounded,
    I always forgot.
    Will leave your persona,
    no desire to know,
    a few lines of your wealth,
    I´ll learn and I´ll go.
    Write. Wind each new thought upon the stream;
    and in its contradiction of response,
    Or seeming stagnance, see that rippled gleam
    That might suggest true movement. If you sense
    a hidden wave in what seems blanket still,
    Write more, wind each desire, and you'll see
    The willows nod and rustle, and you will
    hear the rushing babble of the free
    gush of water, brimming, charged with light
    That is your reader's understanding heart.
  • FinsburyParkCarrotsFinsburyParkCarrots Seattle, WA Posts: 12,223
    Originally posted by exhale
    Is he a poet, or is he a scum?

    If he's any good, he'll be both.

    :)
  • exhaleexhale Posts: 185
    Too many lines on a plain piece of paper
    to be filled in, waiting in patience.
    Swarms of noises, my Muse is asleep,
    thoughts want to happen, reckon too carefully.

    (will be back soon)
    Write. Wind each new thought upon the stream;
    and in its contradiction of response,
    Or seeming stagnance, see that rippled gleam
    That might suggest true movement. If you sense
    a hidden wave in what seems blanket still,
    Write more, wind each desire, and you'll see
    The willows nod and rustle, and you will
    hear the rushing babble of the free
    gush of water, brimming, charged with light
    That is your reader's understanding heart.
  • FinsburyParkCarrotsFinsburyParkCarrots Seattle, WA Posts: 12,223
    Just share any thing you have. Don't be shy.

    :)
  • exhaleexhale Posts: 185
    How can love be punishment?
    if the committers are you and I
    to the plot composed so many times in so many ways.
    Living on a knife edge secretly,
    do not think my ordered style of verse
    comes from self-control.
    It is force I have to obey
    as well as the guise before your face.
    Does it ever alter in awareness to change?
    highly susceptible concealing mistakes.
    All in the game of innocent you-
    justification of feeling so fresh and new
    wait,
    past will hand you the news
    it´s not like today,
    it won´t be like today.
    Write. Wind each new thought upon the stream;
    and in its contradiction of response,
    Or seeming stagnance, see that rippled gleam
    That might suggest true movement. If you sense
    a hidden wave in what seems blanket still,
    Write more, wind each desire, and you'll see
    The willows nod and rustle, and you will
    hear the rushing babble of the free
    gush of water, brimming, charged with light
    That is your reader's understanding heart.
  • exhaleexhale Posts: 185
    In a classroom, cannot focus on the words floating through the atmosphere,
    bouncing from the walls, hitting each other in the middle.
    Just a great desire to write…write about words.
    Do they know I´m restless?
    Probably, but none would keep his eyes on my face for more than two seconds.
    Are they scared of me?
    Perhaps, but they don´t accept the feeling as a fear.
    Not sad, not angry, just sensitive about details,
    feeling trapped, locked in…somewhere.
    He´s trying to help me, he´s feeling even worse.
    All so loud, wish to scream,
    headache.
    Scratching faces into the wood with my pen.
    Who are they?
    Do I know them?
    Three of them now, starting on fourth.
    Seems to be different but same, I´ve seen it´s features somewhere
    but still so alien.
    Scratched the profile, focused on mouth…
    It is not smile, rather indifferent, numb.
    I helped it listen to be a witness of the rage in this room.
    It might want to refuse
    but it´s forced to do so. Have I seen that before?
    I pause for a moment to construct an idea of it´s eyes.
    Blank.
    Leaned over the table to observe it closely…I catch a reflection of my eyes.
    Move to the left to match them with the face –
    an incredible spasm in my lungs, unable to inhale,
    choking on fear, fighting the outbreak
    I see the face, I can see me…
    Irritated by every motion,
    disgusted by my creation,
    paralyzed by too many bodies,
    it´s time to go,
    I must go!
    Write. Wind each new thought upon the stream;
    and in its contradiction of response,
    Or seeming stagnance, see that rippled gleam
    That might suggest true movement. If you sense
    a hidden wave in what seems blanket still,
    Write more, wind each desire, and you'll see
    The willows nod and rustle, and you will
    hear the rushing babble of the free
    gush of water, brimming, charged with light
    That is your reader's understanding heart.
  • FinsburyParkCarrotsFinsburyParkCarrots Seattle, WA Posts: 12,223
    The theme of the 'double' has been very thoroughly treated by Otto Rank (1914). He has gone into the connections which the 'double' has with reflections in mirrors, with shadows, with guardian spirits, with the belief in the soul and with the fear of death; but he also lets in a flood of light on the surprising evolution of the idea. For the 'double' was originally an insurance against the destruction of the ego, an 'energetic denial of the power of death', as Rank says; and probably the 'immortal' soul was the first 'double' of the body. This invention of doubling as a preservation against extinction has its counterpart in the language of dreams, which is found of representing castration by a doubling or multiplication of a genital symbol. The same desire led the Ancient Egyptians to develop the art of making images of the dead in lasting materials. Such ideas, however, have sprung from the soil of unbounded self-love, from the primary narcissism which dominates the mind of the child and of primitive man. But when this stage has been surmounted, the 'double' reverses its aspect. From having been an assurance of immortality, it becomes the uncanny harbinger of death.

    From Sigmund Freud, "The Uncanny" (trans. Alix Strachey)
  • exhaleexhale Posts: 185
    spooky

    might not get to my MA after all

    ;)
    Write. Wind each new thought upon the stream;
    and in its contradiction of response,
    Or seeming stagnance, see that rippled gleam
    That might suggest true movement. If you sense
    a hidden wave in what seems blanket still,
    Write more, wind each desire, and you'll see
    The willows nod and rustle, and you will
    hear the rushing babble of the free
    gush of water, brimming, charged with light
    That is your reader's understanding heart.
  • BuruBuru Posts: 8,473
    love your style Exhale :)
    really enjoyed reading your stuff, and thought you should know it.
    y la banda de Guille... cuando toca?
  • exhaleexhale Posts: 185
    glad, if you could find parts of you among the lines in my texts.

    some think my poems are too dark (perhaps even suicidal) but I only capture a moment in my mind that shakes my subconscious the most and I have to get it out of there somehow; otherwise, it´ll make an even bigger mess.
    :)

    It´s not just me, there are many other, better writes like ´tremors´ or ´tenaciousA´ (if poetry is possible to measure), let alone Fins who I´m glad to be allowed to learn from.

    Good morning, everyone.
    let´s do some work today
    :)
    Write. Wind each new thought upon the stream;
    and in its contradiction of response,
    Or seeming stagnance, see that rippled gleam
    That might suggest true movement. If you sense
    a hidden wave in what seems blanket still,
    Write more, wind each desire, and you'll see
    The willows nod and rustle, and you will
    hear the rushing babble of the free
    gush of water, brimming, charged with light
    That is your reader's understanding heart.
  • tremorstremors Posts: 8,051
    Originally posted by exhale
    It´s not just me, there are many other, better writes like ´tremors´ or ´tenaciousA´ (if poetry is possible to measure), let alone Fins who I´m glad to be allowed to learn from.

    :)

    Why thanks, but I'm not so sure! Which is why I'm coming to your thread for some inspiration - seeking a path out of the void.

    Still, seeing as I found a compliment (bringing a smile to my frown) I'll see if I can find some inspiration and contribute some more words to the noble cause of this thread.

    Keep on exhaling !
    Cancel my subscription to the Ressurection
    Send my credentials to the house of detention

    lettherecordsplay1x.gif?t=1377796878
  • tremorstremors Posts: 8,051
    Where to start?
    Come, take my hand
    Let me whisper it to you

    Is it the time I threw stones
    At her window as the dawn broke?
    Woke her to drive to the sea
    Watch the sun rise over the weeks
    Of our tears

    Or the nights I cried myself to sleep
    With daughter on repeat?
    Easier to cry for someone else's pain
    Than my own
    Still yet more to come

    How about the night we tried to die
    I clearly saw the door through the darkness
    Nearly stepped through
    Only the thought of losing you
    On the other side
    Made me stay

    There's too much I could tell you
    To let you know I've been there
    Where you've been I've seen it too
    Many tears have these eyes seen
    For one lifetime

    I could tell you I look younger than my years
    Deceptive though, look deeper
    Through my eyes and you'll find
    The secrets that I carry in my heart
    Bring us close yet so far apart
    Presumptuous it may be
    But between your words
    Lines of familiar spirit I see
    Cancel my subscription to the Ressurection
    Send my credentials to the house of detention

    lettherecordsplay1x.gif?t=1377796878
  • exhaleexhale Posts: 185
    Originally posted by tremors

    Or the nights I cried myself to sleep
    With daughter on repeat?

    too many times,
    but it wasn´t for love...
    Write. Wind each new thought upon the stream;
    and in its contradiction of response,
    Or seeming stagnance, see that rippled gleam
    That might suggest true movement. If you sense
    a hidden wave in what seems blanket still,
    Write more, wind each desire, and you'll see
    The willows nod and rustle, and you will
    hear the rushing babble of the free
    gush of water, brimming, charged with light
    That is your reader's understanding heart.
  • tremorstremors Posts: 8,051
    for love
    yes but little did I know my tears spilt for her would come back and nearly drown me. Like some self-fulfilling prophecy I became the fucked up man she so desired. Makes me kind of laugh when I think how things turn out. Be careful what you wish for, for it could meet you half-way
    Cancel my subscription to the Ressurection
    Send my credentials to the house of detention

    lettherecordsplay1x.gif?t=1377796878
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