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The stream (all workshops)

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C O L L I D E

Submitted by Esker on Thu, 2011-12-22 23:53

partitions
meet your fire on the first flick
taste that heat
first sure lick

crush heel sweet relished life
that trick twist knee
that shouts its bitter agony

jump into flame
this loves ignition
aspiring
the thick dark fingers
beneath the skin
across the flesh
raised goosebump fresh

swallow words this
ghost ache
burning through
veneer of mirrors

wear your ears
and dance crippled
weary floors with
dirty feet

THIRD RATE PRODUCTS

Submitted by t. reflexion on Thu, 2011-12-22 23:05

Some people aren’t materials for first class
When it comes to academic or group work
Manure rejects gold and accepts the grass
Some hate pigs yet delight in eating pork
Middle men coordinate within the ranks
Between those who have and the have not
Sweet rewards swell the vaults of banks
They tried hard but they just could not
Their names were called, like others
Amongst those who passed the test
Those who failed were also our brothers
Third rate, may be, but that was their best

For Esker

Submitted by weirdelf on Thu, 2011-12-22 20:49

What can I say of your poems?

I would like to own them,
hand-written on parchment with torn edges.
I would like to stick them on my walls
and keep some in my pocket
to give to strangers in the street.

One of the few

Submitted by shazbat on Thu, 2011-12-22 17:26

We can all spend a lifetime searching
Searching for that final piece
The part that makes us whole
That makes the pain of life
Disappear into nothingness
Imagine.
After a full life
Long after you have stopped seeking
That mystical something
Lands in your lap
Hits you in the face
Like a custard pie
Turns your whole life inside out
You hold it for one fleeting moment
Then, it vanishes in a puff of smoke
Poof! It’s gone forever
But now you know
You know what it was

Unfocused

Submitted by poetic_trellz on Thu, 2011-12-22 15:11

Been down, trying to figure it out for awhile now,

playin stupid games givin myself the run around.

excuses excuses,

get up and go do shit,

draggin and saggin, that's just not what's happenin.

Being young and famous you see I tried to make a pact when,

I was about 16 I had everything on track then it all wen't tragic.

Mind got fuked up and everything changed,

shit became different I started to feel pain,

began not to care cause my heart won't the same.

Got influenced and i tried not to do this,

Merry Christmas Mama

Submitted by Rett on Thu, 2011-12-22 14:53

I post this every year in tribute

Merry Christmas Mama

Merry Christmas mama
I'm sorry there's no tree
And I feel kind of bad
With no present to you from me

Merry Christmas mama
You should see the lights
They're so beautiful this year
All of them so bright

Merry Christmas mama
I'm blowing you a kiss
Trusting that an Angel
Will see it doesn't miss

Merry Christmas mama
From me, your youngest child
Clutching tight to memories
Of the many times you smiled

That Little Stable in Bethlehem

Submitted by PianoBoy on Thu, 2011-12-22 12:29

That little stable in Bethlehem,
had Gods almighty love.
For He sent angels there,
praising from above.

That little stable in Bethlehem,
had a star above its roof.
That star shone with great light,
for it served a mighty proof.

That little stable in Bethlehem,
was where Jesus was born.
That left angels singing
till the star of morn'.

That little stable in Bethlehem,
affected us it must.
Angels singing, "Glory to God in the highest!"
Those heavenly hosts we trust.

In protest to some modernist teachings

Submitted by themoonman on Thu, 2011-12-22 09:16

I wanna wing my abstractions in flared brushes
dipped in frightening rays of fiery flight
soaring above your passionless pit of poetic posturings
and shit some sense into your unopened view,
because We sir, are your peers!

I wanna misuse your precious language
until it's not only accepted, but expected.
I wanna fuck Plath in her silvery mouth
after pounding Ezra's stale metaphors
up his racist white ass, all while watching
your reactions, glory in your disgust and the
ill attempts to look away.

uprooted

Submitted by Kailashana2 on Thu, 2011-12-22 07:50

I'm taking off my robe and unpacking my street clothes,
I'm trying to get into the Christmas spirit,
ever the Grinch after his heart had broken open,
but you see, the red kettle isn't big enough to feed
the starving world, and there are children living on the streets
without even a manger to lay their sleepy heads.
I think about fishing and fisherman at times like these,
the pristine summer sun and all that green, the smell of the wind
as it blows through the forest, juniper and mushroom

A Biochemical Truth

Submitted by William Saint George on Thu, 2011-12-22 05:37

Love is a biochemical reaction,
The heart is just muscle and blood.

The brain's a swirling mass of convolution;
Confusion sweeps in like a flood.

The world's a metaphor for odd fantasies;
Reality is the great killer of inspiration.

Mad men are they who dwell on revelries;
And eccentrics will die of starvation.

Love is a biochemical reaction,
And lies are the tales we love to hear.

The world's a canvas for sour dejection;
The painters are those who can no more bear.

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