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Array ( [sid] => 75092 [catid] => 1 [aid] => mick [title] => inspired to write [time] => 2004-12-09 19:07:15 [hometext] => [bodytext] => Inspired to write. I will write a song.
Maybe a tragedy. These always sell millions.
I could be famous!
And maybe when I win my first grammy,
I'll slip on the floor and crack my skull.

I'd laugh at the memory.

More likely, no one will ever read these words,
except blind widows
who imagine their husband's face on these pages.
I'll never be famous. I don't even want to.
I'm not even a musician.

Who said you could write in this book?
You're full of republican elephant fat,
it's seeping through your pours.
You stink.

Who do you think you are?
I'm only a silent voice who tries to write down the bones of forgotten dreamers.
Dreameers who swept the floors of entire mountains,
all without a complaint.
Dreamers who wept when the radiation in their bones,
crept through the cracks in their feet,
and their skin, sulked in disgust.

There is not much left to write anymore.
My memory is failing.
What did I learn in my poetry class?
I must be senile.
I've never taken a poetry class.

I am a self taught monk,
who looks at his watch every 30 seconds,
waiting to see where the next minute hand will strike.
Wondering if time will fix the uncertain problems
of life and death, waiting to scream
.....................
only 30 seconds have passed.

I am a self taught monk who learns through failed attempts
to capture the meaning of these poems.
Ha! Meaning?
The only explanation is a lie.
The true explanation lies in the bottom of your chest,
and resonates with a..................thump thump.......................thump thump.

The next wave curdles up through your throat,
and a sound echos a thounderous squeak,
speaking in toungues and leaving the ears with
confused notions of truth.

It all will fall and shatter,
when you tighten the grip of your sanities desires
as it slips through the cracks,
leaving your palms open and sweaty [comments] => 6 [counter] => 1633 [topic] => 43 [informant] => zenmind [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 5 [ratings] => 1 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => oops )
inspired to write

Contributed by zenmind on Thursday, 9th December 2004 @ 07:07:15 PM in AEST
Topic: oops



Inspired to write. I will write a song.
Maybe a tragedy. These always sell millions.
I could be famous!
And maybe when I win my first grammy,
I'll slip on the floor and crack my skull.

I'd laugh at the memory.

More likely, no one will ever read these words,
except blind widows
who imagine their husband's face on these pages.
I'll never be famous. I don't even want to.
I'm not even a musician.

Who said you could write in this book?
You're full of republican elephant fat,
it's seeping through your pours.
You stink.

Who do you think you are?
I'm only a silent voice who tries to write down the bones of forgotten dreamers.
Dreameers who swept the floors of entire mountains,
all without a complaint.
Dreamers who wept when the radiation in their bones,
crept through the cracks in their feet,
and their skin, sulked in disgust.

There is not much left to write anymore.
My memory is failing.
What did I learn in my poetry class?
I must be senile.
I've never taken a poetry class.

I am a self taught monk,
who looks at his watch every 30 seconds,
waiting to see where the next minute hand will strike.
Wondering if time will fix the uncertain problems
of life and death, waiting to scream
.....................
only 30 seconds have passed.

I am a self taught monk who learns through failed attempts
to capture the meaning of these poems.
Ha! Meaning?
The only explanation is a lie.
The true explanation lies in the bottom of your chest,
and resonates with a..................thump thump.......................thump thump.

The next wave curdles up through your throat,
and a sound echos a thounderous squeak,
speaking in toungues and leaving the ears with
confused notions of truth.

It all will fall and shatter,
when you tighten the grip of your sanities desires
as it slips through the cracks,
leaving your palms open and sweaty




Copyright © zenmind ... [ 2004-12-09 19:07:15]
(Date/Time posted on site)





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Re: inspired to write (User Rating: 1 )
by Former_Member on Thursday, 9th December 2004 @ 07:17:49 PM AEST
(User Info | Send a Message)
This is cool. It has some great amd interesting points in it, parts made me laugh while others made me think. A great alla round poem that I hope many will enjoy. Keep up the good work.


Re: inspired to write (User Rating: 1 )
by Essentially9 on Thursday, 9th December 2004 @ 09:29:42 PM AEST
(User Info | Send a Message)
i agree with orphy. excellent write.


Re: inspired to write (User Rating: 1 )
by Ina on Saturday, 11th December 2004 @ 01:46:37 AM AEST
(User Info | Send a Message)
Hey inspired poet you. I made up my own name for these kinds of poem, like this one. News Poems. Because you are the newscaster of your brain. You are basicly informing people of the tragedy that YOU consider tragedy. Hmm...doesnt make a lot of sense but it fits nicely in my head.

"Who said you could write in this book?
You're full of republican elephant fat,
it's seeping through your pours.
You stink."----this stanza confused me and well...didnt fit...hey you will let me get away with some criticism, right?

"Dreameers who swept the floors of entire mountains"---wow, copyright this line!

"Dreamers who wept when the radiation in their bones,
crept through the cracks in their feet,
and their skin, sulked in disgust."---while you are at it copyright this one too.

"I am a self taught monk,
who looks at his watch every 30 seconds,
waiting to see where the next minute hand will strike"---you know what would be funny, if the monk(you) had one fo those huge digital waches, 50 k gold, with diamonds etched inside...


"and resonates with a..................thump thump.......................thump thump"---i love word noises, what is that called anomanapia (ha spelling genius herE)

nice ending. open sweaty hands...as you say "gritty"
nice word. copyright it. haha. oh i am so cold.

shattered all bounderies with this poem.









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