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___|text file # 010|___-[ C R A C K E R S ]-______________!___________________
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*  "poetry archive 1"                                                       |`.
*______________________________________[ brian : 31st of October, 2002 c.e. ] *
                                         ŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻ * *
i went back to my parent's house and copied my old files from my old computer
onto a disc and uncovered some old poetry i wrote :


Steal This Poem_________________
ŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻFor Abbie Hoffman 

Never before had I met an orphan of Amerika,
Glued to the idea of fixing his nation and
All of its inhabitants,
All of its problems,
All of me.
Here I am, a generation later,
Another orphan of Amerika, seeking parentship.
Dressed in your blue jeans,
Button-up shirt of this country's flag,
And a head band,
You stepped forward.
Anita, stop those tears, stop those tears from a-pouring.

Gentle hands through frizzy hair,
Cradling me like I was your own son,
Let alone a person at all.
I was on your shoulders
When you marched into Lincoln Park,
Your voice commanding the Yippies as though
You were their leader,
But you are no pig.

I was one of your acid trips,
Festering in your mind, your imagination,
Dying forty-two times,
But experiencing a rebirth after each demise.

Jerry jaywalked,
That Yippie gone Yuppie,
And was fatally hit,
The secret being:
It was all predestined, anyhow. . .

. . . Abbie's up to his old tricks again, eh?

Anita, stop those tears, stop those tears from a-pouring.

The system says, "Ten years for two joints."
You say, "One problem, it ain't fucking workin'!"
John, I spoke to Abbott,
So don't worry, he's not upset about
Your reluctance to play with MC5
Back in '68.
"We all have our problems."

"Burn, baby, burn," Barry Freed states,
As a thesis, perhaps, and
Reagan congratulates him for a
Job well done.
"Barry," he says, "thanks to you, I
Can say that the '60s are over."
Barry giggles; must be the new nose.
Abbie explodes with triumph.
Just another orphan of Amerika
Taking on the world.


Roses Are Red And Poets Are Gay 
ŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻ
Poetry is for those faggots
It's just a bunch of sad art gurus
Upset over some chick that fucked their brother
And broke their stupid little hearts
It means nothing and
The only way it will ever be good
Is when it is in a kickass rock song
By those real poets like Alice Cooper or Axl Rose
They sang about real stuff
Axl is a real man
He knows how to treat an unloyal woman just fine
But then you got those fags brooding
In the gay district of downtown
Parading around the sidewalks and
Infesting all the coffeehouses
With their bongos and espresso cock cups
They need to get laid
Those poets
And just remember that life's a bitch
Then you die
There ain't nothing worth writing about, anyhow
Because it ain't gonna do shit in the long run
Not if you think about it


Today Is My Day Of Dreaming
ŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻ
Flowers in the drip-drops of summer dew;
Flood me until I suffocate
On felicity fallen from fate's gentle threads;
Lying dead, my corpse meaningless,

Catching the drip-drops of carnage and bloodshed,
Gasping for a dying man's breath:
        "Here we go again,
        Let me die, gentle soldiers,
        Let me die, my angel,
        My friends, my family,
        Let me die, God, for
        I am finally going home;
        My traveling is over."

Phosphorescence in the drip-drops of winter waters;
Surreptitiously, we crawl to the surface,
Engulfed by the tiny worlds
Of that which lies beneath, who're asking,
        "Why must thee be accursed by those
        In which thee does not understand?"

In reply, I scream, thick seaweed trickling from my lips,
        "Every odious day we need that
        Little longing that links our souls together,
        And if it means to die,
        I admit I will make the sacrifice!"

There I tumble, crimson and heather,
Scraping the edifice,
Realizing I convey to suffice.


His Love Killed Him___________
ŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻ(via poetry) 

Screaming kids drown out my worries of the punk
Standing in front of me.
Anti-Flag.
Anti-America?
Naw, man, anti-what-the-flag-fuckin-stands-for.
Freedom, man?
Not this time.

"Hey, buddy, you alright?" I ask the punk
Standing in front of me,
As his lifeless doll of a body
Is hunched over the stage
Resembling a priest worshipping a diety
That I can't quite understand;
Who was this freak?

Standing, branded by these crazy cats,
Demanding, commanding his friend to
"Get [his] ass over here!"
Now he's gone done himself canned,
That punk kid,
Gone done himself damned;
What if I ran?
I could forget this whole shit started,
But this boy, man, this boy's passed out,
Drooling from the mouth,
And we need some help.

I'd bet my concert ticket
That this punk
Standing in front of me
Has a love/hate relationship with his dad
Hate 'em 'cause he makes you love 'em,
Know what I mean?
He doesn't get out much, this punk
Standing in front of me,
'Cause he ain't a people person.
"I'm gonna jump on that fuckin' stage and
Take their fuckin' guitar!"
He screams in my face.
"Yeah, good luck, buddy," I wanna say,
But I'm too hesitant,
I try to avoid the skinheads.

This boy, man, this boy is passed out on the stage,
What happened to him?
Joe, dude, you know what the fuck happened to him?
"Hold on. . .
Hey buddy, you alright?"
No answer and Joe looks at me,
I look at him,
This kid needs some medical attention,
This punk
Standing in front of me,
He needs some help.

Get this boy some help,
'Cause he ain't standin' anymore,
Not in front of me.


Choose I The Universe
ŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻ 
I'll pick me them stars way up high
Like little copper fireflies in the pruned-up grass
Of Tennessee
Where I grew up
Spittin' watermelon seeds and sneakin' into the drive-in
Felt kinda dangerous, but it felt good,
Like takin' some of mama's syrup
On them Tuesday mornings when she was tendin' ta' Alex.

I'll pick me that sun way up high
Like lemons I used ta' snatch off Eddie's tree
But he didn't know
Lord, if he did, I just might as well be dead
'Cause he ain't really right
Not since his daughter got drowned and all.

I'll pick me that blackness way up high
Like the quilt mama made me before she left
With little blue ducks on it and twinklin' little frogs
I use ta' tell her, "Mama, mama, I saw me a blue duck today!"
And she'd tell me, "Bobby, you didn't see no blue duck."
But, sure as a horse's hoof, I did see one
It waddled past me and asked which way was the gas station.

I'll pick me that moon way up high
Like the baseball I used to throw at papa
When we played catch
We don't really do that no more and I want to tell you
That's all fine and peaches with me
'Cept it ain't
And some things we just can't have.


Choose I The Universe__________
ŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻVersion II 

I'd like to take everything I ever learned,
Wrap it up in a blanket of dust,
And devour it,
Let it settle,
Then jam my fingers down my throat
And regurgitate it all over a red carpet with gold fringes.

I'll pick it apart, piece by piece,
And save only the valuable memories
Like that time
When I choked and nearly died
Or that time when I went to France
And had a conversation with an American pedophile;
He was nice enough to invite me
To pray with him right there on the bluffs
In Biarritz,
The sun stuck in the sky like a lemon,
Squeezing its juice on the nape of our necks.

Those valuable memories,
I will hold in my hand,
Shove them into my mouth,
Swish them around a little,
Chomp here,
Chomp there,
And spit them into the air,
But not as a solid goo,
Maybe more like a spray
So that each particle will disintegrate into the ground
And touch the feet of a young child
That passes by today,
Or tomorrow,
Or after I die,
And he, too, will learn that
There are some things we just can't have
But we learn to accept that
And be content with a lovely sigh.


Solar Eclipse Serenity
ŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻ
Sunshine, shine your light down on me,
Take away my puddles and rain,
Muddled pain and feelings-feigned,
Sweep me off the floor and
Soak me up with your golden rays
And let me taste heavenjust one taste
So that I may live these happy days
Under this sky of drawn-out haste.

Sunshine, shine your light down on me,
Take away my clouds of despair,
Shrouded heart tear and afoullèd air,
Burn away my mask and show within me
This tucked-away affinity
That keeps my sunshine shining her flare.
 

Washed Ashore
ŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻ
I thought I knew you,
Starfish-self-absorbance.
Never mistake this
Twice,
But thrice it has
Awaken my fondness
Of scales, five-tips,
And sea-side ice.
Sugar-sweeten the bitter
Flakes--
Starfish-self-absorbance,
Release yourself to
Duty calls deep within.
Long night droll of
The Starfish-self-
Absorbance.

You are taken in easily,
Starfish-know-yourself.
Whispers and jest, everything
Else.
Course of time, a whim
Of innocence
Lost through the eyes
Of your reflection.

I thought I knew you,
Starfish-know-yourself.
Never mistake this
Thrice.
I shudder; the
Shapes continue
Transformation.


Paris Mourn
ŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻ
Every alley way looks the same,
Reminding me of the reason
For my absense.
I'm left cold--O! How cold!--
Under the streets.
Je ne me déteste pas,
But I still sense each one of a flaw,
Flowing through my veins,
Begging me not to fall
Below the society,
And with the rain.


Headhunter Of The Crimson Dawn
ŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻ
The slow-roasted turn of the flesh
Left her with fun-filled games she
Never thought imaginable. Once
Locked up inside a fortress of
Fear that can never--and will
Never--be left with a Virgin
Touch.

"For why do you weep in this
Garden of Enchantment, Young
One?" the Cannibal statue said to His
Daughter, who has yet to reach
The sadistic age of her maturity.

The glaze of the sky has fallen
Upon the ground with a Crimson
Mask belittling the Giants--small
Giants!--and their land.

"Cannibal, wherefore hast thou
Vanished?" I squawk with my
Diminishing cries, for the Cannibal
Has been buried in the depths of
A fire--a fire not just external--
For a mistaken face.

The face of His daughter.

The fault has been laid to rest
Beneath my name--
Nothing more,
Nothing less.


Anna Never Knew
ŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻ
An evening star was born on a fearful morning,
Where the light was shear--too shear.
Lost perils leave the wee men sprouting,
Lest one's confusion leaves him behind.
'Twas only five of us,
Venturing into perils unbelievable by
Two of us.

Sacred doors stab at our spirit.

An evening star was born on a fearful morning,
Where the light was shear--but, not too shear.
Insecurity shot through what we thought was
An evening of peace.
Naïve little boys fell inside of themselves,
Realizing they left to no where.

Congealed in a generation not lived.

An evening star was born on a fearful morning,
Where the light was shear--but, not shear enough.
Shackled up in the pins of endearment.
Lost by what she thought was happiness,
She mistook it and laughed with clarity.
We all knew. 

But, we never told.


Fuck A Title
ŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻ
You spoiled this fun I used to thrive on.
I need to water the plants,
But, I don't feel like it tonight.

Fuck that.

You will whither away, old friend.
You will die and, yes,
My vengeance may lie awry,
But, I will try whatever it takes
Not to cry.

Fuck you.

I pray you will be shent.
Not unlike the earth
Where i wish you banished.

You will be banished, old friend.

Sent into exile like no other.

If our paths meet once more,
You will know what I swore.


Confide In Me  
ŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻ
The lands of one-thousand winds
Presented to me a Gift from
The Heavens upturned inside.

Prosperous as I was, I yelled,
"To my voice, You must come!
To my voice, You must see!
To my voice, You must pray!"

Blessings blinded the youth
As He came to my side and
Told me to cease my ideas.

They don't comply with Your's,
Making You and I different.

We never got along.


Heaven 
ŻŻŻŻŻŻ
Lightning strikes a rose,
A delicate rose;
Petals torn like paper,
Charred leaves break apart.

Like water on the rocks
By an old house on the
Beach.

Children played on the field,
And Rose caught up
With her friends.

The flower grew up,
With obstacles, nonetheless.

But, for a second,
It felt the spotlight.
I simply watched over
The sky.

I let those things
Happen.
People adapt
To what they see.

What they know.

What they fear.


Reflections
ŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻ
The camera plays...

What it sees reflects
On my emotions.

You speak to me
Without releasing
One word from your
Lips.

Without one
Breath.

The camera plays...

I lost myself in
A line of bushes
Amid the corn field.

Named Pink Sky,
The pale bird
Sings to me.

The camera plays...

And I let it play.
And I let it record.

I never learned how
To stop it.


Sonnet Of The Dead Poet
ŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻ
Kiss the grey skies above thy empty heads;
Feel the pressure of easy mind traps.
Groping the ground, doth the see the loose threads?
Going insane, thy can't help but relapse.

Shackled by endless, internal burdens,
Mercy will never see the light of day.
Locked inside, draw the secretive curtains.
Overcome the pressure: an easy slay.

Thy oblvious thoughts will do not good.
Ante off thee, risk thy fate in a duel.
Touched by a Saint that drew His gothic hood,
Thee cackled, and took his small, curséd tool.

Scream like a hawk, thinking we must know it.
Lay by his grave, thanking the dead poet.


One Gemmed Day
ŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻ
Gentle days flowas it is a river
Feasting on my serene breeze,
Carrying with it my barriers.
I see in her eyes safety,
A frozen world that I want to
Stand on top of and melt,
Like boiling gold dripping,
Crawling, down all degrees.
I want to glow,
Float,
Fly up into the sky,
Leaving paradise behind.
Set me back in this river,
Feeding love back to my mind,
Knowing truly I will never die.


naturally, there's plenty more where that came from, and i'll type up some more
later, but honestly, how much archived poetry can one handle?
_______________________________________________________________________________
                                    http://www.bubblemonkey.org/cheesencrackers
                             
                                                   cnc-010.txt written by brian
                                                       <brian@bubblemonkey.org>
                             
                         
                         copyright (c) 2002, your mom.