By peebrain posted on 18 July 2006
One of those Maslov Needs
Soon enough,
the quarter mark will pass.
Until then, the seasons continue
their relentless passage, paid on orbital time.
Like ministrels, bent and crooked from their
travels down dusty, unpaved paths,
the soft blue tassels of their cherry lutes
singing, still, their slow sad songs,
their make and matter never-changing.
So long the sentience of slumbering plains,
their impermanence steadfast as the turn
of salted, faded sails,
blown and turned back by unweary winds.
It is easy to forget
the gentile slants of sloping hillocks
the stinging slap of well-worn words,
or the subtle flats of your soft, rounded bones.
It is easy to forget
the principal beauty behind your perfidious smile,
the principal that lies beneath your slender-hearted breath.
It is easy to forget,
It is easier to forget
and run, gliding on the rise of rend'ring waves,
away from pan-fluted memories, swelling and falling.
Oh, how have you stained this world,
sown seeds of fearing 'neath rock, moss and stone.
Maslow, his law long deceiving before his time,
the cunning old fool;
Upon his sly pyramid I weave
over devious sheens of your sacrificial skin:
the deluge of his blue, secretive scheme.
By Mirumoto posted on 23 July 2006
Loose ends 2
Your braying echoes off these hallowed walls
As your own castle is staked by pinheads
Blunt, crude , straight to the point that painful itch
Whitewash the smear off your cheek
So trade those nuts , bolts and washers
Attach and fasten , jobbing pirate!
Sweaty palms , the electric chair speaks
Ahoy!Ye be the next sweetcheeks.
Heart on the table,Thank ye .
Will whiter my flowers on your tombstone
After this little ride down sing song town
Down the plank ye go, trick or treat for ye.
Undermining your mind
"I think, therefore i am"
By Eidolon posted on 31 July 2006
Consumer
It's right there on
The TV -
The Buses
The Girl
The Flats.
All i gotta do is to
BUY IT.
Not the Goods,
But the CONCEPT.
But the COST
is too HIGH.
Soon as i get
THIS
I gotta have
THAT
and so forth
and so on....
In a PROGRESSIVE society
Sometimes
I wish i could just
STAND STILL.
The SINGAPORE DREAM
is a
Corporate Machine.
MY EYES ARE WIDE OPEN.
By Mirumoto posted on 31 July 2006
Kyler
Pricey tags in the musty room of hay with spices
Filled with little endless spirals of funny spiders
Maybe perhaps you could take a closer look
The magnified world of one eight legged crawler
Behold! meet Kyler. He squeaks (or thinks so) to you gleefully
Lunch is served , on the plate of his home
and he is content, for the next few hours is his world
Jingle. Sing . Dance with the coloured wings of the wind.
Then time flies, and Kyler grows lean.
Not a single catch in days, his mood grows mean
His thoughts wander afar. As he mends his home
Waiting for another meal to unfold.
Listening to the sound of the little creek (or so it seems to him)
as it drips and trickles down pipes of stoned grey
Gripped like fig to the pillars of which he makes his world
He tailors his web of thoughts to the drip. drip.drip.
And then. Like little insanities. He lets fly , and waits for the wind to catch him.
By Mirumoto posted on 31 July 2006
Little toys
When did they grow up to be themselves?
Lost in their selfless wonder of the world around them
In youth, we play them, as they did play us
what goes on in their story instead?
Or , as we put them aside and go to sleep,
They awake, and patch their own wounds
then, tilling their souls, they look to us and they brim with tears,
hoping tommorow, the bite marks go away, and we will treat them better.
In another world, love and affection. Growing up
Touch and tell, The child-like innocence, wide-eyed wonder
In their eyes, where has the story been told
Of their whispers in the dark, praying to be stronger.
So as we awake the next morning, so many years ago. We see them on the floor
"Hi! could we play together?"
By Mirumoto posted on 31 July 2006
Southern blend
Orange smoothies,
Are we awake yet?
Its morning already love!
But its already evening!
Shall i fix the coffee then, love?
Its getting late! why dont we get to bed. You had a long day.
Have a great day ahead! see you later after work okay?
Hmm? You ok Honey? The tummy ache wont wait till next morning!
Hi! how was your day?
Feeling better? Need a backrub?
Whats for dinner? * sniffs you instead*
you know....work could wait till tommorow.....
the funnies.
By Mirumoto posted on 9 August 2006
Factory dolls
wax lyrical darling.
And remind me of your listless mornings
where coffees and tabletop arguments reign
Amazing mondays and their missing miracles
Scent , perfume, memory.
So here we linger in our newfound glory
Juggling the fool and the hierophant with love
Freeze in the swealtering jungle heat - and breathe
Of noon showers , and naps
Funny how the sun tilts slightly
And froths in fits , undeveloped passion.
Your sewage of dreams
Evening. Lanky shadows. Loose silk.
Don't try too hard with the talking
Krall plays in the background. Hear. See
Serial drams , animes . sub-zero cameras to buy
Would you forgive me?
By fudgester posted on 12 August 2006
A Bowl of Herbal Stew
I'm hopeful about the future
The future of the human race
I'm not too worried about my stature
Or conquering outer space
We must count all our blessings
Even if they be but a few
We must add the seasonings
To a bowl of herbal stew
If you think your life is bad
Then take a tip or two
Just be happy and don't be sad
That's what you'll have to do
Life without love is suicide
Love without life is mad
You need someone to confide in
In times when you've been had.
Have you taken my advice...
... and learnt a tip or two?
You don't want to be one of the flies
Circling a bowl of herbal stew.
By The man who was death posted on 14 August 2006
He's Somebody
He is somebody
Not just someone with a machete
The hockey mask, the tattered cloth
Accesories for his undead body
Camping in the crystal lake
Where his watery grave awaits a lightning quake
He can't wait, for his resurrection is as great as hate
Or maybe he didn't need the sprites
As an unexpected ring from an unexpected bell
On the goat and it's horn he's still a kid to
Bring him to life, take him to elm street
"Let Jason have some fun", the satan decreed
A scapegoat for nightmares' doing
When it's over, guts will be spilling
Blood will be raining, raining on the devil's party
A deluge of flesh and gore
So much that it seems to drown jason's core
Oh Jason, haven't u heard of beauty and the beast?
Don't you know that beauty always kills the beast?
Your love for slaying now has to die
But your hate for campers lives
For as sure as the river reach the lake
Back in crystal lake is where u'll be.....
By Bluesky_Liz posted on 14 August 2006
Road Trip
We did not get a red car as promised
but it is fine, blue is our favorite color.
Navy blue, the color that children like
for stormy seas or heavy rain.
It is a good sign, you said. This day
everything is good. I do not
have to pretend to smile. You do not
have to pretend to be kind.
You turn the key, igniting the fuel for our escape;
I am in the passenger seat, sawing off chains
that bind me to a life across some great sea.
We burn the roads like the sun had burnt
our backs, breaking tarmac like the desert heat
that had crinkled our faces and cracked our lips.
If only our road trip can last forever;
just you in the driverÂ’s seat, and me,
enjoying the breeze, watching
the storm clouds close over the skies
as the last sun beams reach down
before they drown.
By Bluesky_Liz posted on 14 August 2006
First night running away
The blue mosaic floor is broken and stained;
the mirrors above the dripping taps advertise
names, sex stunts and phone numbers;
Orange light bulbs glow dim above each stall;
walls emit smells of human wastes and wet cigarettes.
The crone in street stained rags says
this place provides good shelter
from the December rains. You stare
out at the curtain of rain, undecided,
to go or to stay; her oily hands offer you
a red plastic bag of yellow noodles,
leftovers from the dumpster behind
the Chinese eating place. Eat. Eat.
“I’m not hungry.” but the stomach groans,
contradicting the tongue that too often
rushes to issue ultimatums and threats;
the tongue that waters to swallow regrets
or dries up to keep from admitting mistakes.
By Bluesky_Liz posted on 18 August 2006
The nature of crickets
The answer to the first question started it all
and the end of the last question marks
his entrance into silence; like Narcissus
who couldnÂ’t turn away from
the reflection of his own face, he bows
his head over a pool of his own doubts.
His faith in the things he believes refuse
to shake, but his mind is buzzing
like cricketsÂ’ constant mating calls:
what-if, what-if, what-if ; endless,
like how children go on asking “why?”
until it just echoes in an empty hall.
And if we ever figure out all the answers
and where each one leads to, will we begin
to understand why we are here
to ask ourselves
those questions in the first place?
The crickets continue till dawn.
By prayingbudda posted on 23 August 2006
The Greatest Rejection
It is more than wilted
flowers painfully placed
in a garden from one
(ex-)lover to another.
More than watching the
enjoyment and hearing
the laughter of people
as they point at you.
It surpasses the long
awaited ring of the
telephone, only to
realise it isn't for you
and goes further than
the laconic "no" that
little children stomp
their feet after.
It is when silence
becomes a familiar
colloquy and when
stillness is coaxed
into crushing
the earth.
Where "absence"
connotes more than
denotes and where
either and or are
forced to exist
asynchronously.
It first appears as the
forgotten story-teller,
and progresses to
the inscription of
"nonchalance" on
wet concrete left,
in the open, to dry.
It is when loss
is more than a
mere ache within,
encompassing the
demise of the man
subjected to its
most
Â…Â….sorry
...............fate.
By S-wordsman posted on 24 August 2006
Untitled
C these keys that line the board
D void of sound or life
E magine finger follow finger dancing
F fortless and brave, and
G nius in psychomotor, hand and eye coordinate
A tactile symphony of hand and elbow, shoulder, wrist and nail, do not
B moan the quiet monotone,
C these keys that line the board
By Mirumoto posted on 24 August 2006
Jonathan
With gangrenous tunes foraging for moods
the gentle silence jostles its way
Litany of questions best left on the shelf
Pause
And hear yourself think
And with the passing of time ,
The loose notes let themselves sink
Into the comfortable hues of colours
Fidget.
Stop it.
Stop shaking already.
Before the excuses set in
To visualise, a sudden spray of purplish green
Permeating the room with longing and unforgiving waves of...
Nausea.
Wake up!
Dont spill the coffee!
So whilst you stir in your sleep
As I might know - later on.
This strange song. This song of silence
The singing continues into the night
Nausea.
Sleep.
Dreams don't always lie.
By Bluesky_Liz posted on 25 August 2006
Sally dreams of broken teeth
falling from her mouth; others
pushed free from her gums.
Did she drink too much cola, or
was it the chocolates? Perhaps
it was the tub of Hagan Diaz
over Friday the 13th part II.
So when was the last time you saw a dentist?
Those teeth shot full of cavities
can no longer hold root; they die
like the way bones die, the flesh
holding them giving up and simply,
letting them fall out.
She let the phone fall to the floor
after he cut her off the third time,
said a hasty goodbye, said heÂ’ll call
tomorrow, maybe; and if not,
she should go on:
make her own plans.
So she turned on the TV,
and grabbed the ice cream;
and as Jason Voorhees went
on his birthday killing spree,
she silently cheered him on
as she gorged on vanilla rum & raisin.
By LazerLordz posted on 29 August 2006
Chasing Paradise
Behind the wall
lay a man, silent.
He used to smile
but the grins
have recently shrunk.
Intimidated by uncertainty,
stretched far by hope
unsung.
He drew his heart
perhaps she didn't see
he walked in front,
she walked the other way.
But the sky failed
the azure blue blotted
his sight, assumed.
Could it be,
I was only
a little boy
in yesterday's
wild sheep chase?
By OasisBlue posted on 29 August 2006
Piano Poem
Piano sleek and black
Doesn't make a sound of a screeching rat
Piano notes and keys
Compose the best of symphonies
As piano sings,
teasing my thoughts like a minx
Music produced as the piano key strikes
It's sound full of pride
Piano plays like a wind chime
It does really rhyme
It's sheen striking a gleam of light beam
Magical it does seem
By marque1999 posted on 31 August
Two Roads
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I--
I took the one less traveled by
and congratulate myself for being smart
untill a dozen others did the same
By sickeningblues- posted on 1 September 06
I stand in the middle of the road,
Drenched in the rain.
People pushing pass me,
I stand there,
Un-noticed.
I didn't know who I was waiting for,
There was no one I could trust.
I didn't believe in myself.
You came up to me,
And told me to believe in everything I see.
You said I wasn't Un-noticed.
You showed me my uniquness,
But who are you?
The question I wonder everyday,
Then I look into the mirror,
And saw you.
It had been me,
All along.
By LinYu posted on 1 September 06
I am but a tiny speck in the dark sky
for this I do not know why
but there upon the sky
many little tiny specks lies
just giving their little glows
to help brighten up the night.
By RaTtY8l posted on 1 September 06
I Am Here
Throughout my 25 years of living
Fear and lonely never separate me
I would always be forgotten
Like a shipwreck under the sea
One day someone said to me
Young man, this place is not for you to be
The whole world is under your feet
For you to stamp your authority
And so I gather my courage
To pursue my dreams and targets
Many times I had fallen down
But I always managed to pick myself up
Finally I am at the peak of my lifetime
Completed all my targets and obligations
I shouted out to the whole world
To let them know that I am here
