poetry
I've enjoyed poetry class probably the most out of all of my classes. It's fun to hear what all kinds of different people have to say, and I don't feel like I have much to say, but I thoroughly enjoy writing for all kinds of reasons. Recently I was browsing around and I saw that people had commented on my live journal. The best was Lizzy Cupcake all like, who are you? Your identity is vital information. I found that to be funny, and also there was a comment from Keving saying he'd like to see some of my poetry for class. I thought that was cool that he was interested so here is some of it, I'm sorry if you find it to be cheesey, but I kind of am (that's not vegan):
The most recent poems we wrote were Haikus and Sonnets, so here are the ones that the few people I showed liked, and I apologize because they are really cheesey, but I can't write like this:
Haikus:
As turtle ducks back
into its shell, I wonder
is it personal?
Sun yields sweaty hands.
I hide them in my pockets,
and you seek them out.
Pretty girls in skirts
sway side to side like the wind
in its absence.
Rain seems permanent.
You almost never see the
coming of its bow.
Why wait for the bus
when you can walk? Otherwise,
you may miss the view.
Submachine gunfire
lulls me to sleep tonight, yet
the silence wakes me.
You smiled at me once.
I forget while near your corpse:
swelled, bloated, blue... still.
Sonnets:
If a couple of kids ever ask you
if they can pet your snake,
never pass up the chance to
let them touch it and you, and take
the time to meet each other.
For you might just end up smoking a spliff
in people's park, and if you really get to know one another,
who know if
you might just end up with matching fuzzy hats-
green and orange, with ears and puff balls.
For it would be lying to say that that's
not reason enough to stall,
to stop on a crowded city street,
and give yourself a chance to meet, a friend.
That was the most recent stuff I've written for class, and now here are some poems from the rest of the year, and i guess that's it, okay here goes:
Jonicris (the three-part R&B sensation) By Mary Davis and Matt Dostal
Penetrating ringworm living in my belly,
That's you girl
Scary balls ferry scraping
You guessed it baby, that's me.
Hairy food corrosion
is the love we make together.
Please honey, broomstick my Shintoism claws
so that the penis pump may elongate my poop
puffing scales, ooh yeah.
Bumpy slicing toofs, yeah that's right sugar.
Your gargantuan Shiva belly
along with my
bulbous slimy warts cutting rheumatoid arthritis.
Grinding bloated demonic peasants,
star tattoos haunting,
testicles, Boo! Tentacles taunting to the touch.
I'm a
Monster, screaming, violating
and you're ready for my
jagged bile injection.
With my silly spooky nose ring huffing
boils and barf,
ending in one hell of a satisfying
napalm death.
Women's Issues
"I walk into a room and think, look how great she looks. All my friends talk about weight."
Makeover, dissemination of celebrity information.
"Don't play with my ass, put it in my ass." You missed. Where studette?
Celebrity magazines. Weight, does it make me look fat?
Melancholy embarrassment.
"I don't feel comfortable in my body at this weight."
Pimp slap, dresses, fatty silicone dick, Benifer, nuclear physicist's whore-factory,
Strike-a-pose, swimsuit. Does your clit hang low, Pussy cat?
TomKat, sugary sweet, measurements, feet, gay male prostitute, flashy,
DISORDER.
"I can't stand the idea of wearing a swimsuit. I don't want to gross everyone out."
Women eating, thin body, heroine dinner,
"sugary sweet something or other sucked down by a craving Britney Spears"
household, putrid sex goddess, suck stomach, eyeballs, vomit."
"I saw a photo of myself onstage with my stomach sticking out and was horrified."
Vaginal heroine trackmark, hot chocolate!
Under forty and women, happy? Pretty questionable, Yuck!
Holla, penis head! Cute, despite pussy.
"I don't know if my last 10 pounds is really correct. It might be the last fifteen! Yuck!"
Great ass, rich and famous, clothes, shave, tasting puke, barf, expires, emaciated, sad,
surgery, hate, hair, fat disgusting slut, beauty fake, compulsive, lips, ass, niche market,
Brangelina, children, COMPULSIVE!
"I'm so mad at my thighs--they never grew up with the rest of me."
Feelings, skinny arms, female magazine ethics slick, slap-a-ho, workout,
Chicks with dicks choke, ugly carbon hoe, hey girl, marriage.
"I weigh myself every day. I'll see how much my food weighs, then I weigh myself after I eat it."
Emotion bitches, height bitch, image assessment, whore, love, cunt star, hot sexy people,
media prostitute.
"All models are my height--I should look like Elle MacPherson."
Drinking wench, make-up celebrity, feminism bitch,
She-he gross targeting pregnant lesbian, death gas, starve hot.
"At ten pounds less, I'd have more confidence, more energy, and my clothes would fit better."
Shit, at ten pounds less, I'd be fucking Brad Pitt, Ben Affleck, AND Tom Cruise. And their girlfriends, oh sorry, I seem to have forgotten their names... Oh yeah, Angelina, Jennifer, and Katie, yeah, they'd be sooooo jealous of my hot body. Fuck I'd probably fuck them too, and with my boob job, they'd never be able to resist me. Yeah! We'd all be fucking and having a great time because we're rich and famous and fabulous, and oh I'm so happy. I'd be so happy then, so happy, I'D BE SO FUCKING HAPPY!
"Food and television became my friends after my son died."
I.D.
Name: She had a little lamb, quite contrary was she, called hairy fairy, never understood the connection, though Jesus she bore and married as well, a different one that is, but the same name, so many of them, so common, so many songs, so many associations, rhymes with so much, doesn't say shit about who she is, but her grandmother was called by the same.
Address: up on a hill with a skyline view she rests, head in hands, surrounded by the houses that swallow up the hillsides, each day spitting out their inhabitants and their machines. Wild are the deer, roosters, foxes, coyotes, boars, rats, and insects that also inhabit these ever fading hillsides, wild like her heart. Behind a fence may be found other living creatures like the dogs that talk to each other in the day time or the horses that stand silent behind, or in a box can be found reptiles and insects and rodents, and the soul of the one laying observant of it all identifies mostly with them, like a turtle hiding in its shell.
Sex: no name-calling necessary, it knows what it is. It's told so every day, in how to dress and act and feel. It covers up good to avoid any unwanted confrontation that showing a little skin entails. Sex and sexual frustration prevalent in the air, on tv, on billboards and in magazines, everyone looking, lusting, envying, practically grabbing and grappling with this need, lonely, craving to feed this hunger, deesire, it cowers in shame of its association with any of this, wanting to free itself of this unwanted pressure, bearing down. But it will never be able to hide the knowledge of its vagina. It can only try to blend in or disgust.
Hair: Many colors on top, why be boring? Although boring is nice, one can blend in, sit quietly, but one can do so and still express one's self. So why not? Shaving it's unnecessary though many like her find it repulsive. The shock in one's glare when so much as an arm is raised is laughable, even on the faces of some friends at times, though they try to hide their disgust out of respect. Thanks, but she's not ashamed to be natural. What are they trying to hide she wonders, for she knows why she used to do it but because everyone does things for different reasons, she stays curious.
Eyeballs: Always watching and observing her surroundings. Many respond with frightened fleeting glances, fear. She has a staring problem and she's not ashamed. Why can't people look each other in the eyes, she wonders? Other animals don't have the same problem, she's shared many a long silence with horses on the sides of roads, and dogs on the streets. She's fascinated with this and wants to find out if it's simply something contained within her gaze, that causes people to look away.
DOB: The day her soul started its quest to free itself from the confines of the body and this world, and the day her eyeballs started wandering , and she was spat out and all of it began as far as she can remember, and it will be much like her last day, the day when she will know again what everything means. She wishes to go back to the wisdom of this day.
Untitled
Trace the metal in my mouth
To find waves of... has it hit me?
Mind plays tricks
Knows my desire to
TRIP... oh shit i got my wish
For I can't help but watch
Trees as they sway stretching
To swirl about in geometric patterns
On the backdrop sky
One reaches
Consumes the space between my eyes.
I grab for it--gone,
nothing...
nothing but pulsing pelvises
remain manipulative minds, reality.
"If I imagine it, is it explicitly illusion?"
I ask the goddess in the sky.
No answer she gives no pause.
Just swallows sky whole,
BLACK
All but for the tiny hole that glows-
Her mouth--the only light left.
Trees stretch to it, as if asking for a bite
to be taken, her tongue taunting,
she sits oblivious,
mouth wide.
Branches penetrate light,
cracks of it
torn through the black sky illuminate
as they jab and tear,
the sky begins to fall.
Thinking trees have turned,
No shelter,
I run.
Beneath swift feet the ground trembles
as if anticipating-
I slip.
I'm sliding down muddy slopes.
Time to glane ahead
as earth's edge approaches.
Quickly gasping,
hold my breath,
as if about to hit the ocean,
the end closing in on me,
I look up.
The sky is back...
Goddess smiles.
Trees done having their way,
With her should I have stayed?
I wonder while
LAUNCHED
out and into
eyes shut...
The most recent poems we wrote were Haikus and Sonnets, so here are the ones that the few people I showed liked, and I apologize because they are really cheesey, but I can't write like this:
Haikus:
As turtle ducks back
into its shell, I wonder
is it personal?
Sun yields sweaty hands.
I hide them in my pockets,
and you seek them out.
Pretty girls in skirts
sway side to side like the wind
in its absence.
Rain seems permanent.
You almost never see the
coming of its bow.
Why wait for the bus
when you can walk? Otherwise,
you may miss the view.
Submachine gunfire
lulls me to sleep tonight, yet
the silence wakes me.
You smiled at me once.
I forget while near your corpse:
swelled, bloated, blue... still.
Sonnets:
If a couple of kids ever ask you
if they can pet your snake,
never pass up the chance to
let them touch it and you, and take
the time to meet each other.
For you might just end up smoking a spliff
in people's park, and if you really get to know one another,
who know if
you might just end up with matching fuzzy hats-
green and orange, with ears and puff balls.
For it would be lying to say that that's
not reason enough to stall,
to stop on a crowded city street,
and give yourself a chance to meet, a friend.
That was the most recent stuff I've written for class, and now here are some poems from the rest of the year, and i guess that's it, okay here goes:
Jonicris (the three-part R&B sensation) By Mary Davis and Matt Dostal
Penetrating ringworm living in my belly,
That's you girl
Scary balls ferry scraping
You guessed it baby, that's me.
Hairy food corrosion
is the love we make together.
Please honey, broomstick my Shintoism claws
so that the penis pump may elongate my poop
puffing scales, ooh yeah.
Bumpy slicing toofs, yeah that's right sugar.
Your gargantuan Shiva belly
along with my
bulbous slimy warts cutting rheumatoid arthritis.
Grinding bloated demonic peasants,
star tattoos haunting,
testicles, Boo! Tentacles taunting to the touch.
I'm a
Monster, screaming, violating
and you're ready for my
jagged bile injection.
With my silly spooky nose ring huffing
boils and barf,
ending in one hell of a satisfying
napalm death.
Women's Issues
"I walk into a room and think, look how great she looks. All my friends talk about weight."
Makeover, dissemination of celebrity information.
"Don't play with my ass, put it in my ass." You missed. Where studette?
Celebrity magazines. Weight, does it make me look fat?
Melancholy embarrassment.
"I don't feel comfortable in my body at this weight."
Pimp slap, dresses, fatty silicone dick, Benifer, nuclear physicist's whore-factory,
Strike-a-pose, swimsuit. Does your clit hang low, Pussy cat?
TomKat, sugary sweet, measurements, feet, gay male prostitute, flashy,
DISORDER.
"I can't stand the idea of wearing a swimsuit. I don't want to gross everyone out."
Women eating, thin body, heroine dinner,
"sugary sweet something or other sucked down by a craving Britney Spears"
household, putrid sex goddess, suck stomach, eyeballs, vomit."
"I saw a photo of myself onstage with my stomach sticking out and was horrified."
Vaginal heroine trackmark, hot chocolate!
Under forty and women, happy? Pretty questionable, Yuck!
Holla, penis head! Cute, despite pussy.
"I don't know if my last 10 pounds is really correct. It might be the last fifteen! Yuck!"
Great ass, rich and famous, clothes, shave, tasting puke, barf, expires, emaciated, sad,
surgery, hate, hair, fat disgusting slut, beauty fake, compulsive, lips, ass, niche market,
Brangelina, children, COMPULSIVE!
"I'm so mad at my thighs--they never grew up with the rest of me."
Feelings, skinny arms, female magazine ethics slick, slap-a-ho, workout,
Chicks with dicks choke, ugly carbon hoe, hey girl, marriage.
"I weigh myself every day. I'll see how much my food weighs, then I weigh myself after I eat it."
Emotion bitches, height bitch, image assessment, whore, love, cunt star, hot sexy people,
media prostitute.
"All models are my height--I should look like Elle MacPherson."
Drinking wench, make-up celebrity, feminism bitch,
She-he gross targeting pregnant lesbian, death gas, starve hot.
"At ten pounds less, I'd have more confidence, more energy, and my clothes would fit better."
Shit, at ten pounds less, I'd be fucking Brad Pitt, Ben Affleck, AND Tom Cruise. And their girlfriends, oh sorry, I seem to have forgotten their names... Oh yeah, Angelina, Jennifer, and Katie, yeah, they'd be sooooo jealous of my hot body. Fuck I'd probably fuck them too, and with my boob job, they'd never be able to resist me. Yeah! We'd all be fucking and having a great time because we're rich and famous and fabulous, and oh I'm so happy. I'd be so happy then, so happy, I'D BE SO FUCKING HAPPY!
"Food and television became my friends after my son died."
I.D.
Name: She had a little lamb, quite contrary was she, called hairy fairy, never understood the connection, though Jesus she bore and married as well, a different one that is, but the same name, so many of them, so common, so many songs, so many associations, rhymes with so much, doesn't say shit about who she is, but her grandmother was called by the same.
Address: up on a hill with a skyline view she rests, head in hands, surrounded by the houses that swallow up the hillsides, each day spitting out their inhabitants and their machines. Wild are the deer, roosters, foxes, coyotes, boars, rats, and insects that also inhabit these ever fading hillsides, wild like her heart. Behind a fence may be found other living creatures like the dogs that talk to each other in the day time or the horses that stand silent behind, or in a box can be found reptiles and insects and rodents, and the soul of the one laying observant of it all identifies mostly with them, like a turtle hiding in its shell.
Sex: no name-calling necessary, it knows what it is. It's told so every day, in how to dress and act and feel. It covers up good to avoid any unwanted confrontation that showing a little skin entails. Sex and sexual frustration prevalent in the air, on tv, on billboards and in magazines, everyone looking, lusting, envying, practically grabbing and grappling with this need, lonely, craving to feed this hunger, deesire, it cowers in shame of its association with any of this, wanting to free itself of this unwanted pressure, bearing down. But it will never be able to hide the knowledge of its vagina. It can only try to blend in or disgust.
Hair: Many colors on top, why be boring? Although boring is nice, one can blend in, sit quietly, but one can do so and still express one's self. So why not? Shaving it's unnecessary though many like her find it repulsive. The shock in one's glare when so much as an arm is raised is laughable, even on the faces of some friends at times, though they try to hide their disgust out of respect. Thanks, but she's not ashamed to be natural. What are they trying to hide she wonders, for she knows why she used to do it but because everyone does things for different reasons, she stays curious.
Eyeballs: Always watching and observing her surroundings. Many respond with frightened fleeting glances, fear. She has a staring problem and she's not ashamed. Why can't people look each other in the eyes, she wonders? Other animals don't have the same problem, she's shared many a long silence with horses on the sides of roads, and dogs on the streets. She's fascinated with this and wants to find out if it's simply something contained within her gaze, that causes people to look away.
DOB: The day her soul started its quest to free itself from the confines of the body and this world, and the day her eyeballs started wandering , and she was spat out and all of it began as far as she can remember, and it will be much like her last day, the day when she will know again what everything means. She wishes to go back to the wisdom of this day.
Untitled
Trace the metal in my mouth
To find waves of... has it hit me?
Mind plays tricks
Knows my desire to
TRIP... oh shit i got my wish
For I can't help but watch
Trees as they sway stretching
To swirl about in geometric patterns
On the backdrop sky
One reaches
Consumes the space between my eyes.
I grab for it--gone,
nothing...
nothing but pulsing pelvises
remain manipulative minds, reality.
"If I imagine it, is it explicitly illusion?"
I ask the goddess in the sky.
No answer she gives no pause.
Just swallows sky whole,
BLACK
All but for the tiny hole that glows-
Her mouth--the only light left.
Trees stretch to it, as if asking for a bite
to be taken, her tongue taunting,
she sits oblivious,
mouth wide.
Branches penetrate light,
cracks of it
torn through the black sky illuminate
as they jab and tear,
the sky begins to fall.
Thinking trees have turned,
No shelter,
I run.
Beneath swift feet the ground trembles
as if anticipating-
I slip.
I'm sliding down muddy slopes.
Time to glane ahead
as earth's edge approaches.
Quickly gasping,
hold my breath,
as if about to hit the ocean,
the end closing in on me,
I look up.
The sky is back...
Goddess smiles.
Trees done having their way,
With her should I have stayed?
I wonder while
LAUNCHED
out and into
eyes shut...