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Collaberative POETRY! Poets NEEDED!

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posted on Feb, 29 2008 @ 06:12 PM
All over America the edges are frayed

Mothers are afraid
Aint no holy mother's going to help them
But some "mothers" may try to mess them up
Shaft was a bad mother
Shut your mouth!
Just talkin' bout Shaft.

Mothers get the shaft
In two ways or is it three?

posted on Mar, 3 2008 @ 11:23 PM
Three ways to get there
three ways back
One way takes the yellow trail
two ways are black

Before you start your journy
Make sure your hands are clean
you may encounter a railroad man
you may travel alone
No matter how you travel
which black road leads home?

posted on Mar, 4 2008 @ 06:29 PM
Black roads don't lead home
They lead to death
One painless and one
Tortured and slow

I will take the exploding chest
I will take the hundred
Mile per hour crash and burn
You can take the cancer

No one gets out alive
No one gives a crap about you
Unless you have plenty of insurance
Then you are a loved one

Leave them nothing and
They will be calling you an asshole
For the rest of their lives
Leave them plenty and they will forget you

posted on Mar, 6 2008 @ 01:27 PM
funny you should speak of death
as I wait for the hospiss truck
to take the old gal
to die in a place with
carpet and cappiccino
for the grieving.

I am numb now
brain dead myself
no grief, it may come,
probably not.

The American way
of dying is so ugly
the patronizing by
the poor bastards
that make their living
from the suffering
of others.

I don't really blame
them, America needs
hightech eaters of

Time to gather up
all her **** and
head up I25 to the
crying place.

The surrealness of
the moment is astonishing
for the electrons to replace
yellow paper and a bic.
comforting in a way
that I can't even
begin to describe.

posted on Mar, 6 2008 @ 01:32 PM
I am the Michael Corleone fallen from the chair of time,
The Don of extreme,
on the dim morn of calm calamity's blinding fog,
The timid pursuit, not the grand finale.
Love is a tunnel through the soul,
Connecting the void to the barren,
My guess is it's the visions moving fast that pass my window,
That 'maiden's gentle touch' to a callussed worker's grip,
A shovel in the back of loyal traitors and royal haters,
An axe handle in the grave of treacherous kin,
Now let us begin-
Any ghost that makes his sand castles in the shallow pools of life,
Needn't anticipate defensive wins when wind confuses night,
Percistance is a brittle key unlocking many vaults,
for instance; plant a little tree and watch it's plenty rot,
For samurai, it's suicide in glory, valor and in honor,
Abortion clinic's fallen fruit still feeds the reaper and her father,
Trapped inside a portrait that I didn't paint,
Encased in fabric ashes that I didn't sew,
Escaped from human zoos I didn't build,
Above the canyon lies the future floating thanks to smoke and mirrors,
Suffercating on the beauty, envigorating are the fears.

posted on Mar, 6 2008 @ 06:18 PM
reply to post by whaaa

The surrealness of
the moment is astonishing
for the electrons to replace
yellow paper and a bic.
comforting in a way
that I can't even
begin to describe.

I feel your pain
I have been there
Too many times
Brother, father, mother
My mother's mother died
Of the old timer's disease
Once larger than life
She ended up in the position
Of a fetus
There is serious trouble
With the lack of grace
The truly sick and elderly
Are given by care givers
Care givers?
They could not care less

Let us die young or
Let us live forever

Mother died on the couch
About three hours
Before I found her
I made the mistake
Of calling 911 instead of
The funeral home
They came in and took over
They attempted to revive her?
I guess if you call 911
They have to try
But, they pulled over
To the side of the road
On the way to the hosptal
And used my mother's body
As an education tool
I drove by the ambulance
On my way to the hospital
Didn't put it together
That it was hers
When I got to the hospital
Before that ambulance
It hit me
I flipped out
I lost it all over that place
I sued the ambulance company
The town she lived in
And the hospital
You watch Grey's Anatomy
You see this crap does happen
Pretty God damned horrible
I had a good lawyer
A family friend
An Italian not a Jew

So, if you find someone dead
And it's been a long time
You know they're not coming back
And you're in your home
Call the funeral parlor
Do your loved one a favor

[edit on 7-3-2008 by Excitable_Boy]

posted on Mar, 7 2008 @ 08:27 PM
Nurture love and bury hate, hurry quick the time draws late. Eyes wide shut and watch your back, another evil in silence hatch. Open your eyes and open your mind, peace and joy only you can find. Swallow lies and profit loss, no thought of eternal cost, the magic lies inside of you,as long as you hold to what you know is true. False prophets spew thier sermons of fear, and we are all too blind to hear, the ones who now in control, have already sold your eternal soul?

posted on Mar, 18 2008 @ 04:54 PM
No, it was made in Bavaria
I told her about the
Wire and wood that
sometimes masquerades
as my soul,
that bottom feeding
rubber footed
Brass keyed,
strung up,
strung out,
yellow shrine I
hide behind
and worship

posted on Mar, 18 2008 @ 05:45 PM
When I see like-minded thoughts,
My soul polarizes 'within'.
The many that present all these thoughts
Realizing and reaching
Never, to have caught
But 'polarizing' outward to reach out with my kin.


posted on Mar, 18 2008 @ 06:05 PM
I am your kin and thats a fact yet today I must resist, for in the light of change upon us I must for now just rest, but know this my sister, I will I will be back.

posted on Mar, 18 2008 @ 06:18 PM
reply to post by antar

Don't you leave my sister, whom I've come to adore
Your light is a beacon to others I share
For with each passing, our time is but short
You leave with these thoughts...not cort
Presenting your soul in ways, but aware.


posted on Mar, 25 2008 @ 12:17 AM
presenting your soul on a platter letting
its butter drip over onto the tearful whispering
those lips of your sister, scorned and scarred
like a mirror of shattered skittles - the reds
and yellows mostly allowing her breathe
to be my death - or at least my undoing

i know her words, the daggers that draw
pictures of red playgrounds - the metal
things that go round round round and i
vomit out reds yellows and this time green,
the grass has caught me, my soul and essence
out-of-body spinning to your ecstasy.

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