Ophelia's Nun

FinsburyParkCarrots
FinsburyParkCarrots Seattle, WA Posts: 12,223
edited August 2004 in Poetry, Prose, Music & Art
Ophelia's nun runs the chessboard
clutching a red tomato
away from the banjaxed penguins
with pages of the Revelations curling about them
breezesounded conches
in a whirling blossom storm

perspectives bulbous
show earth like a green breast
and the mother grows tomatoes
and tells the nun to run
blushfaced, flappedyhabitted
out to the left of the frame

into a world where Queen Anne's ghost
is drinking Queen Anne whiskey
in the Queen Anne bar
where dogs are cats on the college lawn
and where bekilted men with impossible beards of ginger
toss cabers into dancing mountains of purple and red

and Ophelia's nun sits down
under the shade of a topiary pig
and smells the colours, tastes the shapes
and bites into her red tomato
joyously alligning the seeds on her lip
and giggling

giggling at the penguins in pursuit,
forever in the wrong direction.

:)
Post edited by Unknown User on
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Comments

  • ForeverAJammer
    ForeverAJammer Posts: 116
    wow u made nuns intresting....you must be talented:) good poem:)
    i miss you already...


  • rarghrargh-brownstar
    rarghrargh-brownstar Posts: 1,272
    Originally posted by ForeverAJammer
    wow u made nuns intresting....you must be talented:) good poem:)
    mandster
    welcome to the world of "finsbury"
    its a great one :D
    he takes u to some really amazing places :)
    Rarghstarfarian.
  • Buru
    Buru Posts: 8,473
    ha that was fun
    and as always very well written
    y la banda de Guille... cuando toca?
  • cicatrice
    cicatrice Posts: 20
    i'm not a poet... just write what's in my head.



    this bright red scream
    is not what it may seem
    i'm not crying for attention
    don't even want to mention
    you see, can't even seem to speak
    so i create this scarlet shriek
    hot blood runs red
    to cool my head
    it don't last long
    and i know it's wrong
    the pain it returns
    o fuck, and it burns
    the fear, the shame, the guilt, the hurt
    can drain it all with one crimson spurt
    then the ritual, to clean, to dress
    and back it comes, this jailor's stress
    cycle of violence
    just doesn't make sense
    hurts people i love
    below and above
    i do try to hide what's festering inside
    but the blood on the wall
    tells everyone all
    man i thought was a friend
    said "you're a bore, this must end"
    so it was that i flew
    to the Hell that i knew
    they call it bathroom
    to me it's my doom
    my razors i missed
    so i punched with my fist
    the pain i can stand
    is done with my hand
    trouble is my head's
    made me emotionally dead
    stabbed me to the hilt
    with shame and with guilt
    push away those who care
    'cause to love, i don't dare
    need to punish myself
    and damage my health
    'cause the thing i hate most
    is my body, my host
    brought up to be taught
    that i'm worth no good thoughts
    "you're ugly and stupid, you're fat and you're dumb"
    "shall break your spirit, keep you under my thumb"
    she once did relate
    with a look of pure hate
    that if i'd been aborted
    the world would be sorted
    to her i had one use
    a child to take abuse
    the taunts and the blows
    and she's the only one who knows
    exactly what went on
    see, my memory's gone
    i remember a scared, hurting child
    possibly defiled
    at seven years old
    i was told
    that the pain and the blood
    was the start of womanhood
    as far as i've seen
    there's a month in between
    i didn't remember
    'til last september
    a splash of rose in a night
    a six year gap?don't sound right
    and why did my mind
    take so long to find?
    and why only part?
    would the truth break my heart?
    i have fears that i clutch
    yet i'm too scared to touch
    are these hidden traumas
    the cause of all my dramas?
    yet more reasons for self hate?
    useless and pathetic, cait
    and so i cut and hit and burn
    lessons in life? i'll never learn
    i befriend all the users
    suck it up to the abusers
    and when i'm spent, and all is done
    i turn around and they are gone
    and so the cycle starts again
    the hate, disgust, the shame, the pain
    and god, i wish it were a dream
    but here we are the bright red scream

    cicatrice...july 6,2003
    "heaven doesn't want me
    and hell's afraid i'll take over"

    fear of death is gain

    scratching the walls of my glass coffin,scraping, raping my nails on the glass on the bottom..is there no end? when will this end? if i was u, i'd fucking hate me too

    rock bottom's safest place to be..
    ..you can't fall any further

    life aint a bitch..it's jeffrey dahmer
  • FinsburyParkCarrots
    FinsburyParkCarrots Seattle, WA Posts: 12,223
    I once saw a squirrel
    on St James's Park
    under a tree
    munching a quarter of hash.
    I saw him again,
    the same squirrel,
    about half an hour later,
    head bobbing,
    smiling to himself,
    letting his tail swish about him
    as he went up to say Hi
    to all the lovers in the grass
    making daisy chains
    and doing frisky things under the August sun
    of a London afternoon.
    I saw him meet his friend the pigeon
    whose eyes looked pretty glazed too
    and I saw him go over to the pigeon
    and I swear this to this day
    He said
    "Hey pigeon
    Hey man
    These tourists are beautiful
    They leave presents for us, man"
    and the pigeon said
    "Yeah, goddamn... makes ya wanna fly"
    and the squirrel said
    "Yeahhh, I know how you feel, pigeon"
    and he patted the pigeon's tail
    "Heyyy, yeahhh, hey pigeon mannn, cool"
    And he bobbled off over to Buckingham Palace
    to ask the hotdog sellers outside
    what munchees they had
    for a supersonic squirrel
    from Deltos Alpha Zeta.



    :)
  • FinsburyParkCarrots
    FinsburyParkCarrots Seattle, WA Posts: 12,223
    You are
    predawn birdsong

    the pulse
    gathering
    dawn's pink breast rising
    in cloudsearing gold


    You are
    my first taste of a strawberry's
    electric
    shiver in delicious dreams of June

    You are my blissweave
    a jewelled wave
    in meadowed sunlight

    You are the kiss
    that in the mystery of touch
    Unbuttons the cloak to my heart

    You are all
    Rise beautiful jewel
    Rise as dawn for all.

    :)
  • Buru
    Buru Posts: 8,473
    Originally posted by cicatrice
    i'm not a poet... just write what's in my head.



    this bright red scream
    is not what it may seem
    i'm not crying for attention
    don't even want to mention
    you see, can't even seem to speak
    so i create this scarlet shriek
    hot blood runs red
    to cool my head
    it don't last long
    and i know it's wrong
    the pain it returns
    o fuck, and it burns
    the fear, the shame, the guilt, the hurt
    can drain it all with one crimson spurt
    then the ritual, to clean, to dress
    and back it comes, this jailor's stress
    cycle of violence
    just doesn't make sense
    hurts people i love
    below and above
    i do try to hide what's festering inside
    but the blood on the wall
    tells everyone all
    man i thought was a friend
    said "you're a bore, this must end"
    so it was that i flew
    to the Hell that i knew
    they call it bathroom
    to me it's my doom
    my razors i missed
    so i punched with my fist
    the pain i can stand
    is done with my hand
    trouble is my head's
    made me emotionally dead
    stabbed me to the hilt
    with shame and with guilt
    push away those who care
    'cause to love, i don't dare
    need to punish myself
    and damage my health
    'cause the thing i hate most
    is my body, my host
    brought up to be taught
    that i'm worth no good thoughts
    "you're ugly and stupid, you're fat and you're dumb"
    "shall break your spirit, keep you under my thumb"
    she once did relate
    with a look of pure hate
    that if i'd been aborted
    the world would be sorted
    to her i had one use
    a child to take abuse
    the taunts and the blows
    and she's the only one who knows
    exactly what went on
    see, my memory's gone
    i remember a scared, hurting child
    possibly defiled
    at seven years old
    i was told
    that the pain and the blood
    was the start of womanhood
    as far as i've seen
    there's a month in between
    i didn't remember
    'til last september
    a splash of rose in a night
    a six year gap?don't sound right
    and why did my mind
    take so long to find?
    and why only part?
    would the truth break my heart?
    i have fears that i clutch
    yet i'm too scared to touch
    are these hidden traumas
    the cause of all my dramas?
    yet more reasons for self hate?
    useless and pathetic, cait
    and so i cut and hit and burn
    lessons in life? i'll never learn
    i befriend all the users
    suck it up to the abusers
    and when i'm spent, and all is done
    i turn around and they are gone
    and so the cycle starts again
    the hate, disgust, the shame, the pain
    and god, i wish it were a dream
    but here we are the bright red scream

    cicatrice...july 6,2003

    wow cicatrice...
    this poem has a brutal feel to it
    and really fast paced
    y la banda de Guille... cuando toca?
  • Buru
    Buru Posts: 8,473
    Originally posted by FinsburyParkCarrots
    I once saw a squirrel
    on St James's Park
    under a tree
    munching a quarter of hash.
    I saw him again,
    the same squirrel,
    about half an hour later,
    head bobbing,
    smiling to himself,
    letting his tail swish about him
    as he went up to say Hi
    to all the lovers in the grass
    making daisy chains
    and doing frisky things under the August sun
    of a London afternoon.
    I saw him meet his friend the pigeon
    whose eyes looked pretty glazed too
    and I saw him go over to the pigeon
    and I swear this to this day
    He said
    "Hey pigeon
    Hey man
    These tourists are beautiful
    They leave presents for us, man"
    and the pigeon said
    "Yeah, goddamn... makes ya wanna fly"
    and the squirrel said
    "Yeahhh, I know how you feel, pigeon"
    and he patted the pigeon's tail
    "Heyyy, yeahhh, hey pigeon mannn, cool"
    And he bobbled off over to Buckingham Palace
    to ask the hotdog sellers outside
    what munchees they had
    for a supersonic squirrel
    from Deltos Alpha Zeta.



    :)



    stoned squirrels and pigeons!!
    what is the world coming to? :D
    y la banda de Guille... cuando toca?
  • FinsburyParkCarrots
    FinsburyParkCarrots Seattle, WA Posts: 12,223
    Bob the parson
    Stuck his arse on
    the prong of a weathervane
    His hopes were all stunted
    For the prong was half blunted
    But he wasn't the type to complain.

    :)
  • ellamyles
    ellamyles Posts: 15
    That was excellent.
  • FinsburyParkCarrots
    FinsburyParkCarrots Seattle, WA Posts: 12,223
    Vaccination marks, signed noble birth
    upon the foundling's arm; those welted feet
    that hardly walked a step upon the earth
    speak of dungeoned years, though. Sure, the beat
    of sticks have pummelled at the thighs
    to make them puce and broken. When we squeeze
    Upon his sores he makes no sound, no ragged sighs
    or faces pain might make. We might seize
    His collar, ask his name, but still the stare
    within the blue sees past us: when the flame
    is passed before his eyes, we take care
    to coax his gaze to follow. But the same
    Far distant look from those pale jewels of his
    Sees through our time of fraught contigencies.

    But when's he handed paper and a quill
    the grunting mute will move with grace his hand,
    and roll the quill till looping cyphers fill
    the page. A name, now. "Kaspar Hauser". And
    as if by some compulsion, staring farther
    Out, he chimes these lonely words, slowspoken:
    "I want to be a rider like my father."
    He shuts his eyes. Our light is streaked and broken.
    The prison tower's deeper from inside
    Than walks around the outside might allow.
    The eyes flick open, blazing with a wide
    and wordless soul's incomparable glow.
    We see the way the space is, and we bow.
    Here, silence roars a soul no word can know.
  • FinsburyParkCarrots
    FinsburyParkCarrots Seattle, WA Posts: 12,223
    Ah'm a joyrider in a milkfloat
    Gonna fukkin' drive all night looooong
    Up dah highway of lurrrrrrrve like a milkgoat
    Wid mah bottles clinkin' out mah song
    Jinglejangledejonggggg

    You can't catch up wid me, speedcats,
    Ah'm dah stellar superhighway Sublime
    in mah floater of flamin' exceeeeedance
    an' mah cartons of pasteurised prime
    (Had tah git dat tah rhyme)

    An'
    Fukk fukk fukk fukk fukk
    I'm Joyrider in a milkfloat
    Oi oi oi oi oi oi
    Ah got orange cartons too
    Uhh uhh uhh uhh uhh
    She burns the night like a patrol boat
    Burnin' dah night
    all night long
    just like luuurve
    yass like lurrve
    in mah milkfloat of luuurve
    gotta burn dah milk baby
    Gotta churn it up
    WWWWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWW!!!!!!

    (guitar solo)

    An'
    Fukk fukk fukk fukk fukkkkkkkk
    etc etc


    :D:D:D
  • FinsburyParkCarrots
    FinsburyParkCarrots Seattle, WA Posts: 12,223
    Here's to the knave who would die for his lord
    Here's to the recusant true to his word
    Here's to the soldier who waits in the mud
    Here's to the worker who grafts till there's blood
    Here's to the lovers who give without snags
    Here's to the climbers of hills without crags
    Here's to the watchers of stars, never praised
    And here's to new poets, where truth's been erased.
  • cicatrice
    cicatrice Posts: 20
    Originally posted by Buru
    wow cicatrice...
    this poem has a brutal feel to it
    and really fast paced

    up 'til today, the only other person who read that was my ex (now friend), it was good to get an un biased view. and fast, brutal and in your face was the aim. so, thank you,oh first critic of mine.
    it would just be nice if everybody's autobiographical writings were about fluffy kittens and pretty flowers. boring, yes, but...
    "heaven doesn't want me
    and hell's afraid i'll take over"

    fear of death is gain

    scratching the walls of my glass coffin,scraping, raping my nails on the glass on the bottom..is there no end? when will this end? if i was u, i'd fucking hate me too

    rock bottom's safest place to be..
    ..you can't fall any further

    life aint a bitch..it's jeffrey dahmer
  • FinsburyParkCarrots
    FinsburyParkCarrots Seattle, WA Posts: 12,223
    Your poem's very powerful, cicatrice! The use of rhyme and rhythm makes the feeling of that emitted blood red "roar that lives on the other side of silence" relentless, searing, and immediate.


    Finsbury
  • FinsburyParkCarrots
    FinsburyParkCarrots Seattle, WA Posts: 12,223
    Give me a ladder to climb: I will then
    Take the treebranch one up from old Sweeney.
    Or, give me a shovel or give me a pen
    and I will dig deeper than Heaney.
    But I'll make of my time what it takes to make wonder -
    Some heavenglimpse! Sweating and toiling,
    or raving and burning, I'll work to make thunder
    for harvests droughtplundered and failing.
  • FinsburyParkCarrots
    FinsburyParkCarrots Seattle, WA Posts: 12,223
    That's enough improvised poetry from me for one night. I'm shagged out. More tomorrow, maybe!

    :)

    Feel free to write whatever you like on dah thread!!!!!!

    Love
    Fins
  • DopeBeastie
    DopeBeastie Posts: 2,513
    dang.... you must be whooped!
  • FinsburyParkCarrots
    FinsburyParkCarrots Seattle, WA Posts: 12,223
    The trick is to take the mundane
    And turn it all into high art,
    to write without style. Make it plain
    And resist the impulse of the heart
    To epicise feelings, when what
    Is epic in art is the way
    You capture the crux of the flat
    Hand to mouth gist of your day.
    Objective correlatives, right?
    Show, don't just state what you feel.
    For the emptiest statements that blight
    art are those that demand and appeal
    to barometise pain, prairie wide:
    "It's as wide and more deep than your load."
    Take a walk for ideas. Go outside
    and find history, space and a code
    for experience, then. Get in sync
    with the myths of those others who ride
    on the mangy mule, bearing the stink
    of its rotting flanks, barely in stride
    through the desert of soul for a life.
    The knack of conveying inside
    Is not just by taking a knife
    And spilling your guts on the page.
    No-one cares about that, once it's done.
    Find an argot for joy and for rage
    That's not merely written for one.
  • FinsburyParkCarrots
    FinsburyParkCarrots Seattle, WA Posts: 12,223
    Here's a great line I just read in George Gissing's "New Grub Street":

    " 'That man deserves penal servitude, in my opinion,' perused John. 'I'm not sure it isn't my duty to offer him a couple of hundred a year on condition that he writes no more.' "

    :D:D:D

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