mindless ramblings of a 16 year-old kid

movingfingermovingfinger Posts: 117
I am home on a break, went through some old documents and found an old automatic poem that i wrote, it is kind of funny to look back, thought i would share.


Call my name
Go there, don’t forget
The home you left behind.
People’s faces
And the horizon--
Without recollection and due process.
Slaying like a fox
In the chink’in coop,
You are one with your plane,
Diving down
Kamikazes flying by
Fuck them
Fight them
Balls of fire
Crashing into the blood
Dead dead dead dead
Countless by their hands
And yet they are dead
Warriors without souls
Relinquished and insane
Call my name
When you fly
Into the blood


Hit me
Hit me
Then you’ll be ok
Slap me
Slap me
With your tongue
Is it worth the bruises?
To ease your conscience
Fuck me
Fuck me
Please ooh please
Without humility
Torture me without guilt
Just a stick
A bag of bones
Hit me
With your metaphors
Then with your hand
I want my blood on your fist
So you can lick it off
Eternal nectar
My weapon is an idea
When you club me
It hits you
Superiority fights you
When I sit and lie
And take the hits
You can do nothing
But cry
And beat me some more

Passion without pain
Is impossible
Without guilt
A thought
Brought upon by the drugs that they feed us
Without them we would die
Drowned in the conscience that plagues mankind
We are at war
To forget the crap
Listening to the red
There is no more white
Only the words of our sins
AAAAAAAAAAAA
It hurts to try
Thinking about what to write
Cannot stop this fountain
Word after word
Key after key
Never stopping
Cannot stop
Then it goes again
The words that are placed
Upon my heart
Are not my views
Not my beliefs
I must write only what I see
Through my eyes
Please accept this
Only metaphors
Of what are behind the images
What the hell that means?
No clue
An exercise
In the placement of phrases
I am only reading this too myself
While I sit and listen to some music
Pissed off at my computer
A bitchy fucking family
That loves me
Loves me
Loves me
And I can’t stand them
I find myself stewing
In resentment
Fucking hormones
And I sigh
And sigh
Never stopping
These words are a sigh
And when I yawn
I yawn with periods
There have been none
And I yawn
………………………………..
and I sigh once again
and once again I collect my thoughts
into a specified poem
or so I think
lets just see
if I can transcend the boundaries that I place on myself

Only to see you again
A joy to see
A joy to be
With you

Fuck
Wasn’t that fun
Back to the rambling
And
And
And
And
We’ll see I guess
Please don’t read any farther
I hope your not reading this at all
The anger inside me is burning
Flames fueled by an unknown oxygen supply
Must be the fucking hormones again
What is up with that word
FUCK
I seem to want to use it a lot
Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck
How about shit
Does shit sound right
Does it possess the feelings I am trying to portray
Feces
Verses
Copulation
Shit
Fuck doesn’t really work either
I’ll make up a word
Naw
That probably wouldn’t work either
Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
Why
Why
Why w
Hyw
H
Wthwehrtwkjrhf;aklsdhfk’as
I am done
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
The Moving Finger writes; and, having writ,
Moves on: nor all your Piety nor Wit
Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line,
Nor all your Tears wash out a Word of it

-- Omar Khayyam
Post edited by Unknown User on

Comments

  • Whats AN AUTOMATIC poem ?
    - munko man -
  • movingfingermovingfinger Posts: 117
    it is when you start writing and dont stop to think about what you are going to write next, kind of like a constant flow, just allow whatever to come out. It was developed in the latter part of the 19th century by the frenchmen breton and souplat
    - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
    The Moving Finger writes; and, having writ,
    Moves on: nor all your Piety nor Wit
    Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line,
    Nor all your Tears wash out a Word of it

    -- Omar Khayyam
  • pearlmuttpearlmutt Posts: 392
    thanks moving finger, the sixteen year old kid, i think i'd rather be automatic for the people than anything else, so i went to this great used bookstore yesterday and bought my copy of the bible, the outlaw bible of american poetry that is

    Anne Sexton said all my pretty ones
    And LC said all my uglies
    Now all my poets
    Who tatooed p-o-e-m
    On your mouths so that you would never forget
    And ingenious
    On your backs
    So they would never forget how much
    You struggled
    to make them eat your words
    They are breaking your backs
    And raping your mouths
    And we, your lovers, should be outraged
    I am a tattle tale on the shelf of lies
    And they are fucking you in your mouth!

    Your children are failing
    To create because
    They are stealing your words
    To make empty speeches
    And mediocre moments
    And tests
    They are testing all your pretty ones
    on you
    how can they do anything but fail!

    Sonia!
    Nikkiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii!
    Pedro!
    Jack, Jack, Jack
    Don’t you ever get back
    Hey, Jack!
    Walt and William
    They have stolen your names.
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