I feel like rewriting it again, but I will spare you all....I like this last one. I would have changed the last line to:

I was already dead and eternally on fire in this unholy funeral pyre



Thought if it too late but better that way...this one's a keeper!

The dawn mumbles to
itself out loud.
Silence plays like
a banjo, strummed
by the dummy.
An old drunk
renames the vegetables,
five ancient men
sing a love song to
death remembered.

These people have
their rituals,
breaking their
long fast of the senses,
in bright synthetic
shrouds of fear
and loathing.

Are you washed
in the blood?

I once washed with blood
Or the blood entered the bath water
I was bleeding with the aches of life
Some day you will ache like I ache
Soapy pink bubbles enveloped me
Hiding my retched flesh
Hiding my retched waste of a body
Twisted and torn with life's tears
I couldn't get the dirt off
As I washed it off, more appeared
Dirty, bloody water of death




[edit on 4-7-2009 by Excitable_Boy]

That last one was very uplifting.....



The wife and I
Are getting in the tub
A little rub a dub dub
Me and the wife in the tub
Me with a chub
No longer just a nub
She complaining she's a blub
Men and women...give me a club






[edit on 24-7-2009 by Excitable_Boy]

I am the black
prince cherry pie.
The star is spangled
and banned.
When serious art
dies in America,
all that's left
are pitiful children
and clowns.

I gave up art because
Art is lewd
Art is immoral
Art is useless
Art is temporal
Art is lost

Nay...you're an artist
So your point is pointless
Art is the only thing real I have
Everything else is a bad dream
Diving into my art is like diving into a great dream
You never want it to end
And when it does
You forget how great it was
That's why art should never end
Until the artist dies
But hopefully the artist inspired others to create
Or be creative
But to understand that art is real
Life is surreal



[edit on 25-7-2009 by Excitable_Boy]

Aside from being denied
The bride cried when her bouquet dried
It didn't belie his desire had died

The handsome groom gave her room...thus her doom

It neither belied her desire to die
She had no foolish pride or red tide

She just wanted to be...loved









[edit on 25-8-2009 by Excitable_Boy]

There have been
many tests that
children may be
born talented
or stupid as posts.
Some may have
kindly natures and
others may be
sour and mean.
Some may like the
tomatoes and some
may like the bean,
but if you want
to raise a pretty
girl,
Keep your engine
clean.
Shine up the manifold
untangle the sparking wires
crank up the generator
and air up the tires.

He tried and tried and couldn't take the ride
Lost his stride and couldn't kiss the bride
And he lied...had no pride

Life was becoming a tomb....no room like mother's womb

She cried and cried...then died
Shot herself in the head...blasting brain and bone out the other side

She didn't have the strength to try again





[edit on 29-8-2009 by Excitable_Boy]

Wanker
Spank the shank like a crank
Yank and yank like you're flipping nickels at the bank

Campground Clambake
With fried turkeys and beefs jerky
There's horse shoes for the lads
And wines and whining for the ladies
Dancing and contests Karaoke
The kids are smoking...the adults are jacked
Bonfires ablaze anywhere the eye can see
It's amazing that campground has never burned down






[edit on 16-9-2009 by Excitable_Boy]

Dirt is growing in
my mind.
Songs from the
black land
curl my blind
poetry.
Skull drums
Ho San the
traveler,
waits behind
the curtain.

I now live
in my small self,
no date, no flair
no care.
Grey before time.
My sordid brain
don't work right



[edit on 17-9-2009 by whaaa]

Campground whores
Doing some chores for the men
While the kids make s'mores
Uncle Bill is drunk again

A little farther down
Is the trailer of little Father Down
The ass clown from the church downtown
He often entertains the whores

The crank skanks usually rise by two
Get a buzz on by three and out the door by four
They smell and have those red faces
Dirty pants, dirty knees and dirty places

There is a street ,it has the rain the sun the grey nothing of death

I walked along one day and into a record shop I did stray

There amongst the dross was a record that stood out at a cost

Closer by Joy Division, I took it home and listened.

Thirty years later I still know the sound and the New Order.

What is fate ? just a word for the merry go round.

Dr. Conspire...hello. Writing about Joy Division. Very nice. Here's one for you:


Atmosphere

Walk in silence
Don't walk away, in silence
See the danger
Always danger
Endless talking
Life rebuilding
Don't walk away
Walk in silence
Don't turn away, in silence
Your confusion
My illusion
Worn like a mask of self-hate
Confronts and then dies
Don't walk away
People like you find it easy
Naked to see
Walking on air
Hunting by the rivers
Through the streets
Every corner abandoned too soon
Set down with due care
Don't walk away in silence
Don't walk away

- Ian Curtis

Excitable boy you are talking to a Joy division/New Order fanatic from way back,adolescent angst go to the Cure , but Joy Division are something else and New Order progressed from th etragedy of the suicide.
"I put my trust in you" is perhaps the most chilling line that obtusely describes the world of Ian Curis and everyone of us Human Beings?
We have all been victims and perpertrators of Trusts Betrayal, all of us.
Joy Division were a once in a lifetime meeting of souls in a once in a lifetime supportive environment for acutely sensititive individuals who wanted to communicate the unseen.
Iam new here and noticed your avatar obviously, but you need as a individual need to let go of Ian as perhaps a prop?
But then again I do not know you, and the melancholy of Closer,Unknown Pleasures, Movement, and in general New Order to the present has ensured I feel not a complete alien on Earth.
David Bowie was another when I was a teenager that expressed the underneath soul that the world of commerce and gain tried to suppress.
If you can listen to David Bowies "Early albums such as The Man Who Sold The World,Hunky Dory, Space Oddity(Album is brilliant) we all as youth cannot fathom the satan spawn that spits at us every waking moment, but there are many many many who keep a silent prayer, and none of us a re alone if we trust we are not solitary in our quest for the door out of Hell.

[edit on 29-9-2009 by Dr Conspire]

Sorry to hear you lost your brother so young, sick of New Order?
Blasphemy young man.
New Order perhaps still aplly a lot of art, but they have grown older and have spent a lot of artistic spirit in their lives , we all wear out perhaps.

Anyway keep on writing.