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wanting and conflicted

my piece of claymy piece of clay Posts: 116
edited September 2008 in Poetry, Prose, Music & Art
rushing to silence water effects
waiting at the deep end of a saline pool
I am with tired eyes, hear that?
Do birds sing at night?
I hear texture in square notes and grit
I hear their faint feather necks call out
its beautiful and still
hanging in heavy summers air
back here, in my head
I spit it out
as red is the color of wine
"Let's talk about God!"
I spit it out...
hope is my constant and a slippery slope
like the love in my ink
pushed to far and swollen
or as charcoal is a like a chokehold
around my thraot...
Ezekiel, I read
my sin is,
I think my faith
and peace a destiny belief
about plum colored pillows shared
his and mine how, ohh, it felt
to be the recieving lips to a bee's
in a soft black dream kiss,
that he crept into me with love
Beaded and awkward prayers
I had rubbed the roses
into pebbles bare stones
looking to tawdry to flower
a cross idea in my head
to share in shame
I am scared of looking
down into empty hands
histories of pain and error
The purpose felt now
and awkward
twice I exclaim this
again I am to my own
thoughts and half smiles
knowing something
a scribbled child or an uncertain
_over or survivalist
spirit or just the evil
grasping at this notion
of purpose,to be intended
to be an answer
I answer you...
with the internal upheavel
of my being to God
Post edited by Unknown User on
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Comments

  • my piece of claymy piece of clay Posts: 116
    Dreamt of a shadow in the shape of a man, on the wall. I was trying to find the words.

    Wanting and Conflicted, I was working on about a week ago, late at night, I threw the bird songs line into the poem cause I could actually hear them. Then, of course, I later learned of the synchronicty of it. You had to be there, perhaps you were...
  • my piece of claymy piece of clay Posts: 116
    All I want is for him to find me... -wrote this down a lot
    Find me, find me
  • my piece of claymy piece of clay Posts: 116
    I have no one to talk to about POETRY, I try to with friends and family they look at me like I fucking lost my mind. I get so many weird things that happen revolving around poetry, and I am left to bouncing these "happenings" around my head. Its maddening and frustrating.

    There you have it and it needed to be said, there is total lack of creative people and mind in my day to day interactions.
  • justamjustam Posts: 21,410
    What kind of weird things happen to you that revolve around poetry? :eek:
    &&&&&&&&&&&&&&
  • my piece of claymy piece of clay Posts: 116
    I have learned to watch what I write and or the mood I am in when I write poetry because they have tendencies of becoming true or real not once or in one way they, the words come true sometimes in several different ways.

    You should play the dictionary game when you are creating or in a writing mood and see what page you turn to and what word you point to with you eyes closed of coursen you can also do this with any book...

    It goes on and on with the dreams to.. Is it intuitive shit or the universe nodding her head at me or
    Hypersensitivity to my enviroment?

    I thank you for askingn I am pretty normal otherwise...
  • bluejourneymanbluejourneyman Posts: 421
    "there is total lack of creative people and mind in my day to day interactions."
    This statement is so true!
    Can't you see that there's light in the dark.
    Nothing's quite what it seems in the city of dreams.
    (Wolfmother)
    ~~~~~~~~~~~~
    Grand Rapids 2006
  • my piece of claymy piece of clay Posts: 116
    The octave breeze is horizontally teased, the sounds of all eight transportations surround me overhead with what's between me and the sun and those plum pillows I mentioned before they are reminders... Of us as one convulsive beauty like a hose spraying the concrete lawn.

    Ponder my surroundings
    Silver maestro's focus
    pan flutes are sounding a song I could barely hear...octave
    floated out of my coffee cup and I looked around and near
    for someone to quiet them the marvelous mental crickets but they keep on fanning the flaps of a cardboard box
  • my piece of claymy piece of clay Posts: 116
    Breton defines this term "convulsive beauty" not as motion proper but as the very moment at which movement stops, motion in suspension or in repose...

    Quoted from Pg. 17, Poems of Andre Breton, A Bilingual Anthology

    Just curious if anyone heard that term before, a new one for me thought it would be a cool concept to share..
  • my piece of claymy piece of clay Posts: 116
    Ode to your former employer

    Hell ya! Life happens, real life fucking happens... And PJ, Nirvana, SP whatever ya listen too, those lyrics chime in your head the poetry you write echoes, the CHARACTER you want to be uphold and emulate projects out of you, out of those lyrics rebelling in these moments!!! ONLY in clarity and a sudden surreal recognition of these ideals can I object to the motherfucker who blindsided me that I will not take your bullshit of "make money for me or else" attitude... No more... No one is my pimp, asshole, you can't fire me cause I quit!!! Fuck you greedy assholes ps my kids know where you live...
  • my piece of claymy piece of clay Posts: 116
    I said it before "hope is my constant" and I'll say it again!!

    Cain, able says not in this life...

    OkAaaaay it was chEeesy rhetoric, but I am all about Obama so is wisconsin... I so don't live in wis but people I know of from there are cool!
  • CHANGEinWAVESCHANGEinWAVES Posts: 10,169
    my piece of clay wrote:
    I said it before "hope is my constant" and I'll say it again!!

    Cain, able says not in this life...

    OkAaaaay it was chEeesy rhetoric, but I am all about Obama so is wisconsin... I so don't live in wis but people I know of from there are cool!
    hey cheesy or not I liked it:)
    "I'm not present, I'm a drug that makes you dream"
  • my piece of claymy piece of clay Posts: 116
    I quit my job yesterday afternoon, of course I couldn't leave without giving the mgr a letter, ha! So I was knee deep in wine last night when I posted my rants :Hahaha of course have to have cheese with your wine!

    I feel strong this morning!
  • my piece of claymy piece of clay Posts: 116
    Earphones on and on the sheets I crawl into your songs, the sad and sweet in the dark so we can finally be alone
    So I can cry with you
    about all that is fucked
    ...We pray
    And someday I want you seeing me smile back at you in the joy of lights promise
    That I get up to every day
    So what happens in the hours between the messes and minutes.
    Moments happen, reminders of you always exist around me, your love and that encouragement is almost like an airmail kiss, and motion proves to me, it suspends..
  • my piece of claymy piece of clay Posts: 116
    Concept Me
    .My impressions of plaster
    Is an assembly of metropolis'
    Exaggerations pushing out expanding universal divinations
    Egos battlements of primary and metallic puzzle pieced temptations
    In the jagged crayon licking a mallot of politic
    Running through a canvas of horse and mad cats
    No portage at winters beach of still waters
    Spinning back and forth (on tvs) under lanterns dance
    Angels commence to land and all we can do is step away in a slow sashay into willful ignorance
    I want you to look at a winged iris
    Sleeping off her cast away
    On an isle of He
    The sunshine throws a fit
    Laughing at the placement of things and the washer woman
    Can you sculpt her naked and bronzed
    Would you sculpt a soldiers last breath
    A collected face finally at peace
    Will you sculpt the eyes in the trees in a bag of blue owls staring back at me?
  • my piece of claymy piece of clay Posts: 116
    I want you to look at a winged iris
  • my piece of claymy piece of clay Posts: 116
    I am a weather channel addict. I just freaking love it.
  • my piece of claymy piece of clay Posts: 116
    ?Possible that back in the day... a group of arcane and surrealist artists, writers, believers, got together to attempt and experiment the notion of reincarntion. Maybe a pact was made with the aid of hypnosis to reunite with eachother in the next life again as creatives.
  • walden freemanwalden freeman Posts: 511
    I dunno how I missed this piece before but, it is really excellent.
  • my piece of claymy piece of clay Posts: 116
    The static energy in the air today has added to my heightened state of anxiety.
    I have been researching Bretons life and work the last couple of days. He hosted hypnosis enmasse writing parties in the early 1920s in Paris. Then he travelled to .Mexico City and met up with Trotsky, Diego Rivera, Kahlo, and their clique so who knows what went on their. All of it makes my mind wonder and wander and imagine.
  • my piece of claymy piece of clay Posts: 116
    I'm just some fukhead poetry nut, please if your some fukhead poetry nuthead join me in the eye of now!

    Go to:
    ollner.kund.dalnet.se/AbstractEng.htm

    Or google andre breton and hypnosis
  • my piece of claymy piece of clay Posts: 116
    Aria shivers me for my travellers
    Its a long way for flowers to speak out of the box,transcendent stages, intended...
    Sundays reach,
    blooms atone, be a breath of blue silk to strings,
    recoil the romantics return, memory of mythos wrists, the cramped and crying flute is found...
    Connected crude and woodcut gripped,
    pencil floats with fish. :
    How do I scrawl
    to thee itinerants, whose urges are the seas
    and the lures the lands around.
    With a turn in the sun
    my place in the day I
    s sounds
    of agitators slow nudes
    as I sit in clouded gowns and the grass conversed with dirty paths
    chewing the agates
    of my darlings strewn on and on and...
  • chadwickchadwick Posts: 21,157
    my piece of clay wrote:
    I have no one to talk to about POETRY, I try to with friends and family they look at me like I fucking lost my mind. I get so many weird things that happen revolving around poetry, and I am left to bouncing these "happenings" around my head. Its maddening and frustrating.

    There you have it and it needed to be said, there is total lack of creative people and mind in my day to day interactions.

    you're a good writer
    this poem of yours will have to be read a few times for me to totally grasp it fully

    it is talent
    as you are


    btw: join us friend
    we all are misunderstood at some point
    for poetry through the ceiling. ISBN: 1 4241 8840 7

    "Hear me, my chiefs!
    I am tired; my heart is
    sick and sad. From where
    the sun stands I will fight
    no more forever."
    Chief Joseph - Nez Perce
  • my piece of claymy piece of clay Posts: 116
    Recipe for s'mores

    A graham cracker
    A marshmallow
    Piece of chocolate
    And 20 seconds in the microwave on a paper plate

    Oh yeah!
  • DangDangDangDang Posts: 1,551
    my piece of clay wrote:
    ago, late at night, I threw the bird songs line into the poem cause I could actually hear them. Then, of course, I later learned of the synchronicty of it. You had to be there, perhaps you were...

    Whenever I ask for divine intervention, I get sent a bird.
  • my piece of claymy piece of clay Posts: 116
    Just the other day, and then I see this guy waving a sign "Got Wings" and I just smiled, and yep,
    I always see the hawks flying around!
  • my piece of claymy piece of clay Posts: 116
    Billboards! I meant to spell it correctly... Sometimes I ask the Imagine God for Billboards... You know routine can get distracting.
    And I pray for cool inspiring dreams tonite!
  • my piece of claymy piece of clay Posts: 116
    Wishing to know ho I fit into your world
  • my piece of claymy piece of clay Posts: 116
    Oops blackberry thumb
    Let's try this again
  • my piece of claymy piece of clay Posts: 116
    Wishing to know how I fit into your world
    Sundays aria shivers me the arrangement, still life blooms and I flew into new beginnings
    Hush poetry for my travellers
    Its a long way for flowers to speak out of the box, transcendent stages,
    night moths glimmer a show
    "Wings beat to a Golden Age" the intended reach, to be read, these pages, rouge and wet, how do romantics find brilliance,
    for him, may I be a breath to blue strings,
    a sound serene
    to the mythos wrists
    the cramped and crying flute is found...connected crude and woodcut gripped
    the pencil
    floats in pond with fish
    How do I scrawl to thee itinerants,
    whose urges are the sea and lures the lands around
    with a turn in the sun
    I am found dressed in clouded gowns...
    and grass conversed with dirty paths chewing the agates of my darlings,
    the agitators of
    slow nudes.
  • my piece of claymy piece of clay Posts: 116
    Rock On!
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