
               F U C K E D  U P  C O L L E G E  K I D S
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                - t h e  p o e t r y  v e n t u r e -
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        in a word, poetry is celebration.  of your thoughts,
        of your emotions, of your life.  or of nothing.  sometimes
        it is pure unmoderated venting while at times it is a
        very efficient means for outburst. one piece can mean
        everything to one, and nothing to the rest. odd, that
        sometimes in those cases, it isn't the author that it
        means something to.

        to keep writing in a field that will never be explained.

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        fuck poetry

        poetry
        defines who and what you feel
        its content should be interpreted
        by the reader and what 
        they 
        get 
        out 
        of 
        it.
        not because of someone
        else's say so.
        
        poetry is never 
        done 
        just right.
        it 
        just 
        is.
        
        simunye         11-14-97



        chosen paths

        I glance to the side.
        There walks a man, 
        His smile tentative, unsure.
        He trudges alongside me,
        On this path we've shared
        For what seems like
        Forever.
        The embodiment of stability,
        Of steadfastness,
        I meet his eyes,
        Where I glimpse occasional
        Understanding.
        I grasp his hand,
        So as to keep him in step with me.
        I know this man,
        The nurturing, the dependability,
        The weaknesses, the doubts.
        Comfort is his name.
        I glance to the side.
        There walks a boy,
        A sensual smile, that come hither look
        Of seduction gleaming.
        He dances alongside me,
        On a path all his own,
        Hands reaching to entice,
        Eyes daring, mocking, beckoning
        Me to share his path but offering
        No guarantees.
        I reach for his hand,
        So as not to lose sight
        Of something so potentially precious.
        I know this boy,
        The sensuality, the desire.
        Lust is his name.
        I glance behind me,
        Three sets of footsteps angling
        Ever closer,
        Sure, in time, to meet.
        I glance ahead of me.
        My vision blurs.
        
        krystalia



        when you look upon your rose bush and take a deep sigh
        when you look across the mountains and rivers in your back yard
        when you look through the face of the valley                 you say
                my god
                        why is the world so beautiful
        and
        
        when i wake up in an alley with trash cans piled on top of me
        when i wake up with the view of my druggie friends   one dead
        when i wake up and look out onto the street                  i say
                my god
                        why is the world so beautiful
        
        rage



        Delusions

        Looking around, and reaching upward,
        I finally have found that I have been contained,
        captured in a delusion.

        A delusion that you actually cared,
        and that I mattered to you.
        Delusions that I would be missed,
        or wondered about at all.

        Looking around, and reaching upward,
        I pull myself out and look about.
        The sun is shining bright.
        Funny, how I got used to such darkness.

        Now reaching out, I begin to realize,
        that the days that are now a daze,
        no longer matter, because,
        The delusional walls, are coming down.

        A delusion that you actually wanted me,
        or cared that I lived or died.
        Friendship supposedly stronger, 
        that was a delusion that I believed, too.

        Pulling myself up, I am leaving you behind,
        wishing things could have turned out non-delusional,
        but, before I drown in a room of illusions, 
        I now walk out the door, knowing you never cared at all, or no more.

        Delusions now known,
        the game is over,
        and I am no longer a pawn to be tossed astray.
        You have written me off, but now I write you out.

        Kamira          September 7th, 1997



        as i am

        quite simply
        take me
        as i am
        make me not a
        burgeoning butterfly
        dressed up in mother's
        theater gown
        touch me not with
        fingertips velvet
        too shyly to meet
        with fleshly notice
        speak to me not with
        words too light to
        crush a sparrow wing
        instead,merely
        allow me to be me
        loving you

	demonika


        where there's a WILL...

        crime

        once, and you are lucky
                        twice - talented
        the third time is charm
        four times - a legend
                five times?
                fucking invulnerable.
        or not. you're just a gambler's dream
        
        dis.            (dedication to sensai voyager)

        
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        E D I T O R S:   jericho@dim.com   &   demonika@dim.com
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        to receive new issues via e-mail, send mail to
        jericho@dimensional.com with "subscribe poetry".  if
        you do not have FTP access and would like back issues,
        send a list of missing issues and they will be sent. 
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	A V A I L A B I L I T Y:
        AnonFTP:    FTP.DIMENSIONAL.COM/users/jericho/FUCK/POETRY
        WWW:        http://www.dimensional.com/~jericho         
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        (c) Copyright. All poems copyright by original author.     
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        F O U N D E D:                         October 30, 1997



