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658205 Posts in 9262 Topics by 3396 Members Latest Member: - vlozan86 Most online today: 46 - most online ever: 494 (Jul 01, 2007, 02:59:53 PM)
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Author Topic: 2 minute poems  (Read 5203 times)
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milly balgeary
Registered user

Posts: 11512


« on: Feb 15, 2010, 11:25:21 PM »

Man I was drinking beer, and I closed my eyes and this poem came  right out, fully fleshed, in about 2 minutes. It's more story than poem, but I dig it. It felt real to me. I could see the kid, et, etc, in vibrant color in my head. Now that I'm an old man, I find myself working all the time, without a lot of time to put pen to paper (or in my case, fingers to drilled-in-Maevis-Beacon-placements on my keyboard learned in Mr Richards 8th grade typing class -- thx dude). Here goes:

The Blue Car

an old blue car in the drive with Texas plates,
an old lady with too many fur coats in her closet,
the boy goes out, with mud ball eyes,
he stands in the shadow of the gas tank,
he grows up and goes to haight asbury,
weaned on stories from his drunken mother
of the bands that played there,
with his hair long and his eyes mad,
he is mad --
he is completely utterly mad now,
with his hair tied in a ponytail and his
mouth a jagged black fish gill,
he hustles for whatever, lives hungrily,
he does not go home,
he dreams of the blue car,
he dreams of texas,
guns and glory,
the god of abraham, a wrecking ball of a --
a never to be tarnished brass plaque,
reading ‘God and his angels’,
he wakes up in a street that he thinks is a motel room,
he’s went completely insane in this city,
he dreams he is the blue car,
the texas he is speeding to,
is one replete with towers and symphonies
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Bernard
Registered user

Posts: 9845


« Reply #1 on: Feb 16, 2010, 08:03:45 AM »

and it all goes to hell
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Ha, see, and look how Julian Casablancas ended up!!!!
milly balgeary
Registered user

Posts: 11512


« Reply #2 on: May 12, 2011, 12:58:02 AM »

The Trembling Penny

I saw a boy throw a penny
Into the eye of the sewer
down down
the penny strove, it dilated and it drove home
the truth that this place
is alike, another place, alike, another place, and alike, another, better place,
but which, really was better,
I ran the boy home with a whip, I cut his back severe,
Blood strips, like roads, like lanes,
And I crawled into a penny factory
Where all that copper trembled darkly
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milly balgeary
Registered user

Posts: 11512


« Reply #3 on: May 12, 2011, 01:02:39 AM »

the dickhead

the dickhead walks into a lantern seller's glass blower's house builder's swamp survivors'
the dickhead, my dickhead -- he is superior ultimately especially on a minute by minute,
line by line basis (as though he is an actor)
he is a dickhead
it's a huge deal, when he walks into a room and pisses everyone off
and i have to cover for him
he's a dickhead, but like a fish with mutated breathing, he breathes in all the wrong places
i feel tender for him
i feel the tender feelings like blue gilded light
the tower window where a girl is trapped, the sadness
that feels its way out of that window, said situation, said obstacle (girl trapped in window)
and the dickhead walks into the bathroom and finally sick of his bullshit,
i walk in behind him and i stretch his jaw on the toilet and crush my foot in
and break the jaw, via an extension, so that the blood that falls from his nose is dead blood
and those are dead eyes,
and in his death i savor the truth that what you love, you must destroy, if it is a dickhead
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milly balgeary
Registered user

Posts: 11512


« Reply #4 on: Jul 17, 2011, 01:32:57 AM »

WrestleGhost

I kneel down, the way I was taught
Cut the weight, eat clean
I walk into the ring
I fight the best,
I am the wrestle ghost,
The dark city, the dark city,
Calls me back to the ring each time.
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milly balgeary
Registered user

Posts: 11512


« Reply #5 on: Jul 17, 2011, 01:33:43 AM »

That was more like a 20 second poem.
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alistarr*
Registered user

Posts: 8129


« Reply #6 on: Jul 18, 2011, 06:26:12 AM »

I have the same thing with working too much, but really I don't have as many excuses for not writing as I like - I should get back on that. Most of my "writing" at the moment is songs that I sing to the cats in the morning. Here is the one I'm singing today:

Marauder, marauder,
White and black
When I call "marauder",
You come running back
I pity the toys that
You attack
Marauder, marauder,
White and black

It's kind of a slow waltz thing.
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