
               F U C K E D  U P  C O L L E G E  K I D S
	-------------------------------------------------------	
                - t h e  p o e t r y  v e n t u r e -
	-------------------------------------------------------

        Today is the fifth anniversary of the zine. The poetry
        side has been around for a couple months now. I curse
        myself.. why did I wait so long to start this? Freedom
        of expression in any form was one of the goals, and I
        managed to overlook this form. It is remedied now.

	-------------------------------------------------------

        Flippant!

        This quiet night,
        wind parting summer's slumbered loneliness.
        Shadows of light,
        simple is the sorrow of days once had.

        Laughing nor crying, taste salty bitterness;
        sadness employs this heart of a madman.
        Does this, then that, question reality today;
        aggressing the fortune of history, of tales untrue!

        Does develop this division;
        forces sacrifice and delusion!
        Clearest path - thou holiest markedness now jagged,
        found still, mind's pounding.
        
        Greet sorrow with freedom;
        stay severed, simple comfort.
        Be proud like lion, non resolving;
        into my heart - this mind, non resolving.
        
        Of days which darkness severs the temptress,
        of closeness forbidding and evils enduring.
        Does shadows remove with time, take comfort;
        neither him nor thou may stake such preference.
        
        Has this portrait faded, or been tainted,
        by time; for true enemies does create,
        or the love once binding now unfounded,
        dissolve as time does work upon colours.
        
        Quick encounters, liquid eyes - tears inducing.
        For fear, for heart, for LOVE!
        make conversation, severed temptress
        shadows removed are until then not coming.

        Myself excused, but time does not;
        this slow stabbing takes from me my life!
        Exhausting, everlasting tournament;
        desperate days turn to memories faded.
        
        Quick is the path of diversion;
        hearts parting and memories diluting.
        Awaiting unreality, in reality awaiting perfection.
        Seems in another lifetime exists our togetherness.
        
        Retrieve from me my blood,
        which upon my sleeve does stain.
        And bring forward to me my love,
        Pour la peur, pour le coeur, pour l'AMOUR!
        
        Dodger          Finished 13.12.97



        KEYBOARD LOVERS

        "Hey" a voice called out one night
        while the moon was dark and the
        stars had nearly disappeared, 
        "Ya gonna stand all night long?"
        "Or ya gonna say something back?"
        it sneered and then began to laugh.
        And later, the voice began a song,
        hidden there among the night and lit
        up by the lights only he could see.
        And the song was oh so familiar
        and the words all seems so real 
        and yet I'd heard them not before
        and yet I wasn't sure.
        "And now I have a lover"
        started out the song,
        and now I am alone.
        And now I have keyboard
        that sends no songs aloud.
        But the world stands outside
        my door and pays to hear 
        the silence and applauds afterwards.
        And so by their one-hand claps
        I must be successful
        and I guess I guess I am
        cause I have a lover and
        a keyboard.
        
        And later the song sung
        so long ago came back
        to haunt me just a little more.
        Sitting there within 
        the safety of the crowd
        and listening to the screams
        that came from high above,
        the words had a kind of
        surrealism that hid away
        the hurt and the anger
        of the song.
        "Don't dream it!
        Be it!!" he cried
        and we all applauded
        at the wisdom of his words.
        And at that he finally
        turned away, in despair
        and in confusion. 
        And as the crowd found
        their way from the stage,
        only a dimly heard voice
        could be heard crying.
        
        Looking back upon that night
        and wondering 'bout the song,
        it seemed so very real to me
        and oh so very good.
        But the audience didn't 
        want to hear and none
        of us were all 
        we might have been.
        We listened to the words
        he sang and mixed it with
        a drink of gin...
        But still the song has
        stayed with me
        and oft times plays
        at night.
        What ever happened to
        that man? And why
        did we not care
        about his words?
        Or did we, without
        listening, sing a
        soft refrain and
        never heard the song?
        So the future then
        is now the past
        and he is gone somewhere
        not here. 
        And yet I still remain,
        second row, left, 
        listening to the song
        of life and love
        and pain and never
        wanting to go home
        to the keyboard that
        doesn't sing and the
        lover that isn't and
        reality.
        
        - FTF
        


        FINGERTIP CHORDS

        feelings fill the throat
        to try to form words
        but after being trounced
        by the larynx mafia
        they shoot out fingertips

        - Indiana Poet          Dec. 27, 1997



        748.2153
        
        seven days a week, we were one
        four eyes saw the purity between
        eight months we shared our souls
        two times a day, we shared our bodies                     
        one bad night to bring it down
        five cuts remembering the pain
        three years to rid myself of your memory
        
        dis

	-------------------------------------------------------
        E D I T O R S:   jericho@dim.com   &   demonika@dim.com
	-------------------------------------------------------
        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. 
	-------------------------------------------------------
	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         
	-------------------------------------------------------
        (c) Copyright. All poems copyright by original author.     
        -------------------------------------------------------
        F O U N D E D:                         October 30, 1997


