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  • exhale
    exhale 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.
  • exhale
    exhale 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.
  • FinsburyParkCarrots
    FinsburyParkCarrots 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)
  • exhale
    exhale 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.
  • Buru
    Buru 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?
  • exhale
    exhale 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.
  • tremors
    tremors 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
  • tremors
    tremors 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

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  • exhale
    exhale 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.
  • tremors
    tremors 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
  • piccolo
    piccolo Posts: 1
    that poem is good.did u ever read 2pac's poem called did u ever hear about the rose that grew from the concrtet
    my finger hurt....whats that....my fingers hurt...now ur back's going becuz u just pulled landscaping duty does anybody else fingers hurt?...that what i thought
  • exhale
    exhale Posts: 185
    Originally posted by tremors
    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


    if you were to choose between her and your own happiness, what would your choice be?
    people are creatures of habit, don´t make one out of your grievance... don´t deny, sing. if you understand, you´ll get over with it.

    i had no choice, i was forced to stay numb...
    i had to obey...
    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.
  • FinsburyParkCarrots
    FinsburyParkCarrots Seattle, WA Posts: 12,223
    Originally posted by exhale
    people are creatures of habit

    (Start on an EMajor7)

    Sylvie makes it plain
    that she'll never break her wing
    She's faced her trials alone
    Kept her mind through everything
    Still I ask her if she knows
    Why she keeps
    on
    breaking
    love
    down


    Sylvie works so hard
    To keep afloat her home
    And it's there she's shared her bread
    With the beggars and the lame
    Still I ask her if she knows
    Why they end
    up
    turning
    her
    down

    Sylvie, I can't say just where the crux lies
    Perhaps it started when you were small
    You had half the eyes on earth to grace your soft face
    But they'd be damned if you'd ever keep still


    Sylvie doesn't change
    She says you can never change
    You can try to change it all
    But you'd only fool your soul
    Still, I ask her, as she's turning
    Would she like
    to hold
    a stable
    love
    down ....


    1997
  • exhale
    exhale Posts: 185
    and you agree?
    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.
  • FinsburyParkCarrots
    FinsburyParkCarrots Seattle, WA Posts: 12,223
    I'm not the observer in the song. My personal opinions are irrelevant. I'm just the author. You'd have to ask the narrator whether he agrees.

    :)
  • tremors
    tremors Posts: 8,051
    Originally posted by exhale
    if you were to choose between her and your own happiness, what would your choice be?
    people are creatures of habit, don´t make one out of your grievance... don´t deny, sing. if you understand, you´ll get over with it.

    i had no choice, i was forced to stay numb...
    i had to obey...

    A hard question. At the time I chose her. What would I have done differently? No regrets, I'd make the same mistakes again. For what she showed me and what I've seen, though sinister has made me who I am today. No regrets, to see the truth of the world where light can come from the deepest darkness. Beauty I've learned shines from corruption twice as strong. Choice, obey, your enigmas call to me, set chains of memories cascading down my spine. Friendship may be the constant that eclipses all this pain
    Cancel my subscription to the Ressurection
    Send my credentials to the house of detention

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  • exhale
    exhale Posts: 185
    Some people say that it is a selfish act to depend your happiness upon another person; they say you cannot love if you possess.
    Too deep we have sunken to make a distinction and thus we much rather suffer and upset both parts, after the unit has broken apart.
    Only a few have understood, the rest of them write…

    Sometimes I believe, sometimes I doubt… regardless, I write too.
    In times of the darkest thoughts I remember –
    Cannot see good, if bad isn´t my best friend.

    :)
    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.
  • tremors
    tremors Posts: 8,051
    profound.

    I feel I need to quote this. For many reasons of my own!

    winded is the sailor...drifting by the storm...
    wounded is the organ he left all...bloodied on the shore...
    gorgeous was his savior, sees her...drowning in his wake...
    daily taste the salt of her tears, but...a chance blamed fate...
    little secrets, tremors...turned to quake...
    the smallest oceans still get...big, big waves...
    ransom paid the devil...he whispers pleasing words...
    triumphant are the angels if they can...a get there first...
    little secrets tremors...turned to quake...
    the smallest oceans still get...big, big waves...
    i'll decide...take the dive...
    take my time...not my life...
    wait for signs...believe in lies...
    to get by...it's divine...whoa...
    oh, you know what it's like...
    turns the bow back, tows and...drops the line...
    puts his faith in love and tremor christ...
    Cancel my subscription to the Ressurection
    Send my credentials to the house of detention

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  • exhale
    exhale Posts: 185
    Yes, I do get tired sometimes
    of man´s incapability to pass on the news.
    So fast is my life but so slow your sight…
    Discerning me from me, too much to ask?
    Frozen with stun
    no movement planned,
    changeless the surface of visible part,
    is it to reshape your present façade?
    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.
  • FinsburyParkCarrots
    FinsburyParkCarrots Seattle, WA Posts: 12,223
    Originally posted by exhale
    Some people say that it is a selfish act to depend your happiness upon another person; they say you cannot love if you possess.
    Too deep we have sunken to make a distinction and thus we much rather suffer and upset both parts, after the unit has broken apart.
    Only a few have understood, the rest of them write…

    Sometimes I believe, sometimes I doubt… regardless, I write too.
    In times of the darkest thoughts I remember –
    Cannot see good, if bad isn´t my best friend.

    :)

    "Laughter is the most poetic thing in life, that is the right kind of loving laughter. When, after a lifetime of struggle, we produce the quintessence of ourselves, it will be something free and young."

    Patrick Kavanagh (1904- 1967)

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