Ok nikelbee as promised more dreadful poetry/lyrics from an 80's adolescent.

could've been

couldve been a man i was never a child
couldve been anything but i was wild
couldve been a business man but i was smart
might have been a soldier coz im a tart

wasnt i a loner
lost in time
forgotten by society
was my only crime

couldve been a leader but i told the truth
couldve been a minion but i want my youth
couldve been a poet but im no fool
couldve been a tradesman but i lost my tools

wasnt i a loner
out on the path
wasnt i an alien
in an alien craft

whos that whos watching
he knows im lost
whos that whos waiting
like the sun before the frost

only to melt away
when the sun arrives
only to melt away
to melt away and die.

m4s

More to come, be afraid, be very afraid...Muuuhaha.

Hi Mojo

I actually kinda like this. Sure, there are a few lines that made me giggle: "couldve been a tradesman but i lost my tools." Sort of like Elton John's, "If I were a sculpter, but then again, no."

Huh Sir Elton? Did we interrupt you in mid thought again? What kind of lyric is that??

whos that whos watching
he knows im lost
whos that whos waiting
like the sun before the frost

only to melt away
when the sun arrives
only to melt away
to melt away and die.

This is really lovely and touching Mojo.

Sorry... but you are again disqualified with your non-bad poetry. Come back when you have something truly awful to share.

Actually I'm kidding... feel free to share what you perceive as bad and the rest of us will just enjoy it and shake our fists at you.

grrrrr!

Ok you asked for it, more from the tragic 80's adolescent.
Three Miles From My Island.

sometimes i wonder over attractions,
i wont be responsible for my actions
dont want to be a jester in that court
i dont want it anymore.

its just crazy how i feel for you
and you know its true
i just hope
you feel the same way too.

truly my reflection
aint so attractive
truly my feelings
are radioactive
theres a melt down at my core
three miles from your island

i could survive atomic wastelands
with you by my side
i can stand on the edge of a
crimson reality
and wait to become a man
three miles from my island.

I really like how this one says and does nothing. Actually quite hard to do.
My next effort will be from my Conan the Barbarian phase, i can see you cringing now.
You are forcing me to delve ever deeper into the box in the garage containing things better left in the dark after all these years.

I hate getting in on the end of things! OK, I never tried poetry in my angst years. Well, my teen angst years, but here's something I did when I first started trying. For some background, a friend and I were having a debate. Her stance was that there were never stripper's pasties in poetry, nor could it be poetry if there were (she was being facecious). Let alone camoflage colored pasties. This was my attempt to prove her wrong.

Ahem....


There Are No Camouflage Pasties in Poetry

The stripper stalked across the floor
Dominating the stage.
Two old men walked in the door
In defiance of their age.

“There’s something wrong with what I see,”
One old timer said.
“I saw it as well. I thought it was me,”
The other man shook his head.

“She has no nipples for heaven’s sake.”
His partner said, “C’est dommage.”
“Oh , wait,” the first said, “I’ve made a mistake.
Her pasties are camouflage!”

And they said no-one could find a rhyme for camouflage!

Great work guys. I did a reading and writing poetry course at university, I'll have to see if I can dig it up. My lecturer used to just look blankly at some of the stuff I produced. "But Will, that simply isn't poetry...". Well I thought it was good...

Wow hogtie i actually thought that was pretty good, but maybe that says more about me.

Thanks. Her respons was, "There still are no pasties in poetry." Ouch.

Reading everyones work is a real treat. I didn't know this thread existed. Its so strange how we all try to put the most difficult concepts (pasties excluded) down in a tangible form. Maybe to just get a taste on the air, like salt from the sea.

In 1982 aged 17 i was given a book, Conan of Cimmeria by Robert E Howard, over the next decade i collected every Conan book i could lay my hands on. In the midst of all this i tried to write epic poems inspired by the books, and failed miserably, though i think some parts have some merit.


Dust Devil's

From the hazy wastelands
emerged a figure bold and bright,
across his back a sword was slung
to protect him from the night.
While far back in the distance
three soldiers kept his pace,
underneath their hooded cloaks
no sign of any face.

For seven days and seven nights
he forged on through the waste,
until at last he stood his ground,
defiance plagued his face.
Three devils of the desert
studied the statue in the sand,
a bronzed and warlike figure
with a sword held in his hand.

No thoughts at all of bravery
did these devils understand,
no thoughts at all of mercy
but the matter now at hand.
Movement slow and easy
as the night time battled day,
blood red in the eastern sky
shone off the devils prey.

With quick and easy method
did one man fight the three,
be damned to you, you demons
youre never taking me.
On through the night
the battle raged,
until the dawn
was breached.

Now forever in the deserts
the wanderer stands his ground,
whilst the devils move in circles
never making any sound.
And to this day they battle on
the dust swirls all around,
and across the deserts suface
the battle rages on.


More to come from my Conan the Barbarian inspired poetry, you were warned!!

Originally posted by mojo4sale
Ok you asked for it, more from the tragic 80's adolescent.

theres a melt down at my core
three miles from your island

These lines are exactly what this thread is about! Thanks for making my morning. May I borrow this for a sig?

Originally posted by hogtie
Her stance was that there were never stripper's pasties in poetry, nor could it be poetry if there were (she was being facecious). Let alone camoflage colored pasties.

...His partner said, “C’est dommage.”
“Oh , wait,” the first said, “I’ve made a mistake.
Her pasties are camouflage!”

Dear Pasties Poet

Thank you for letting us read your work. However, I will have to side with your friend. There are NO pasties in poetry.

I too often wonder why we try to address the difficult questions in life in as few words as possible; sort of like philosophy being forced to wear a 'Cat on a Hot Tin Roof' negligee.

Speaking of brief, I've always had a great respect for haiku for that reason. Imagine being able to succesfully pack in the meaning of life into such a small structure and still evoke beauty.




[edit on 4-8-2006 by nikelbee]

Originally posted by nikelbee

Originally posted by mojo4sale
Ok you asked for it, more from the tragic 80's adolescent.

theres a melt down at my core
three miles from your island

These lines are exactly what this thread is about! Thanks for making my morning. May I borrow this for a sig?

Of course. God only knows what i was thinking at the time. Glad to have made your morning btw.

Originally posted by nikelbee
However, I will have to side with your friend. There are NO pasties in poetry.

So, it sucks right? Am I in?

mojo4sale,

I really liked Dust Devils. While reading it, I felt a rythm similar to The Highwayman. Maybe it was the solitary figure. I think you added something Arthurian to Conan.

Ok. Here's another one.

Rebel

Your dark eyes are a window
To a black granite wall,
Keeping the secrets sealed.

Suffering the illumination
Of life’s painful luster
You stand, fist raised, defiant.

But,

Your other hand feels blindly
For the hidden seams
Deep within the cold, slick rock.

Pulling away chip after chip,
You expose the growing cracks,
Now branching like mesa lightning.

It is rebellion.

For as you know,
The cracks are how
The light
Gets in.

Originally posted by hogtie
mojo4sale,

I really liked Dust Devils. While reading it, I felt a rythm similar to The Highwayman. Maybe it was the solitary figure. I think you added something Arthurian to Conan.

I agree. There is a quiet diginity about it - 'Dust Devils' the title however, made me think it was a poem about a vacuum cleaner.

How much does that suck? Ha. I'm witty today.



[edit on 4-8-2006 by nikelbee]

More from my attempts at writing an epic ode.

Legends of the Lost.

Tall thrones topple and kingdoms fall
and the shuddering dark envelops all,
but one rides forth on a hopeless quest
to a nameless fate in the dim red west.

Too soon the warrior meets his fate
though the demons he did decimate.
Locked in a cell aboard a ghostly ship
They sailed the styx on one last trip.

A long green galley from the unknown west,
the dread black kraken on her bow impressed.
In full sail hasten from the land untold
with hell's foul secret in her deep, dark hold.

From pits infernal whence she came,
manned by devils, walled with flame.
The lion breaks from the galleys spell
and rapes the treasure shipped from hell.

Dark secrets hold story's,
lost and left untold,
from primevil times,
and of hideous crimes,
the legends of the lost, unfold.

Hehe.

Originally posted by hogtie
So, it sucks right? Am I in?

Yep. You're in. Here is your official black beret and turtle neck. BTW... I liked your poem Rebel. I think you are going to have to do better - er, I mean worse. Thanks for contributing.




I have a quick over-easy one today


Silence

Why is your mouth sewn together
in complicit silence?

is it because you think you would
scream and never stop screaming
if given the chance?

Being with you is like standing
at the abyss of eternity

I listen for clues
but the mystery of the universe
will never be divulged
by your lips

Originally posted by nikelbee

Being with you is like standing
at the abyss of eternity

Hmmmm. I might need some more time to decipher this.

More from the box of mojo.

blood red sands

blood red sands
blood red sands
mark the passage of my hands

a liquid kiss from evil lips
a tender touch of leather whips
a brief glimpse of thigh and breast
a caress of steel across my neck

blood red sands
blood red sands
mark the passage of my hands

finger prints and lip sticks
print sticks and finger lips
lip prints and finger sticks
print fingers on sticky lips

blood red sands
blood red sands
mark the passage of my hands

a liquid kiss from evil lips
a tender touch of leather whips
a brief glimpse of thigh and breast
a caress of steel across my neck

blood red sands
blood red sands
mark the passage of my hands

Mojo

I think Maybelline might consider using this song on their next lipstick campaign. Makes a nice jaunty tune. Sing everyone.

a liquid kiss from evil lips
a tender touch of leather whips

Blood Red Sands - By Mayyyybelline.