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[28 Feb 2005|10:11pm]

_tragic_nights
hi i just joined :) my poetry is not usually this.. pretentious sounding. Eh that was my mood, what can I say.

I question how merely a foot away
you stand before me. Oh, so gallantly
wearing your hate and sorrow, passion-filled
to the brim and boiling over, in front of me.

Whilst I stand here quietly and watch
with faltering interest and pity no more
than I would for a lover who returns to
an adulterous husband time and time again.
But quietly my emotions flow and burble
wildly, but do not overflow. Most unlike
yours, more viscous but anything but
mellifluous, indeed if mine were of the
same restraint, or lack thereof, as yours,
they would be exploding, putting your
display to shame.

For what I have suffered and permitted
all of my own fault and allowence makes
the struggles worse by a thousand times.
If I had the courage or is it weakness, perhaps
to show as you do what I'm feeling.....

-----Vanessa.
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[28 Nov 2004|07:26pm]

burgundycolumns
join __sexyredhead__
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[17 Aug 2004|04:15pm]

burgundycolumns
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[25 Jun 2004|04:26pm]

frustratednsad
Shameless advert: The first issue of my zine Ephemera is now available, and I also still have copies of my chapbook. They're $3 each. Also, now accepting submissions for Ephemera #2, "the love issue." To order or submit, e-mail me: quinn at tmbg dot org.

"Ode to a Mannequin"

Standing guard 
silent
      as
        death
In the window. 
Dressed up 
To match the old-fashioned 
moviehouse facade 
Of the sign store. 

Her nametag proclaims: 
LAVERNE.
Was it made just for her? 
One delicate hand resting 
next to the tickets

Staring blankly through cat's eye glasses, 
   Through the reflection 
Of blind-windowed cars 

Dress stained 
hair mussed 
Ready to animate, run 
If given a shawl and hat. 

Beautiful in her frozen moment 
Kidnapped 
From her noisy life
And rendered noiseless 
Dimly recalling 
the last existence 
and losing more of it 
Every 
Day.
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[28 May 2004|04:36pm]

vasudevas


break_illusions
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[28 May 2004|03:11pm]

amber_moon
[ mood | creative ]

Just Another
I buried a kitten in my backyard once,
long ago when I thought
the limp body wouldn’t make it to Heaven
if nobody said goodbye and a prayer.
I dug the hole among the weeds,
each root clinging stubbornly
until the shovel sliced through the mess.
Quietly I buried the still face and closed eyes.
I wrote the prayer on a piece of paper,
leaving it there for the ghost’s comfort.
Long ago I laid another soul to rest;
I lit the fire religiously;
the bird’s ashes learned to fly
as the wind picked up.
The heat grew,
feeding upon body and prayer.
Today I felt, one of the many who will come along,
one of my baby’s lose hold and die.
Only there was no remorse, rain, and burying
for this one.
No prayers either.
There was only the simplistic cleaning and
guttural sound of the flushing toilet
in the Women’s restroom.
And I washed my hands of this burden,
like I do every time just another dies.

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[25 May 2004|12:51pm]

amber_moon
Dear Mr. Old Man,
didn’t it taste so good to drink your booze,
late at night,
better than buying shoes for your children?
There was always money for the liqueur and bars that flashed cheap neon nights.
But there was never money for groceries and the necessities of life.
It’s a wonder you’re still alive after all the vodka
you knocked back.
And do you remember when you called your youngest daughter a liar,
demanding that she give back the money
you gave her for safe-keeping?
Oh yes, she put that money away with every intention to help you
if you ever dare to ask.
I’m sure she’d help you,
even though she lived with relatives
until she was old enough to help out on the farm.
She does not hold anything against you,
that you beat her, her siblings and your wife,
that drinking was better,
that she was born a girl.
She holds nothing against you.
And my own mother never asked anything from you,
although she was the product of her mother’s second marriage,
after divorcing an abusive man.
She is considered not of your blood, sinful even.
My mother never asked for you to acknowledge her, or give her equal attention.
She only cried when she received that cheap watch at graduation,
when all your other grandchildren were granted pieces of land.
She did not cry out of joy.
She still questions if she should visit you in the nursing home, now;
feeling that her duty as a granddaughter has not been fulfilled.
She’s your only grandchild who has considered visiting you.
But I told her she was wasting her time.
Dear Mr. Old Man,
I met you once, on your 90th birthday party.
I remember seeing your aged face, crooked teeth,
and owlish eyes hidden behind coke-bottle glasses.
You greeted everyone except for my mother’s family.
As far as you’re concerned, we weren’t part of that family.
I was too afraid of your stained-yellow teeth and cackling laugh
to say ‘hello’.
Dear Mr. Old Man,
I’m ashamed to be your great-granddaughter.
And I don’t even know you.


suggestions please
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[21 May 2004|07:31pm]

frustratednsad
[ mood | creative ]

Starting work on my first zine, accepting submissions of anything--poetry, short fiction, essays, art, photos, ads for other zines, etc etc etc. Submissions can be e-mailed to selfcallednowhere@houston.rr.com or mailed (ask for my address).

"Upon Arriving in Newark"

We swooped in over a river
I don't know what river--
It was brown and hemmed by smokestacks.
24,000 comedy routines on Jersey
Flashed before my eyes
And I believed them.

The "Welcome to Newark--America's
RENAISSANCE city!" sign
Was juxtaposed with a grimed and graffitied stone overpass
The irony was not subtle.

Sinking into the deep blue seats of the taxi
Bridge sides high enough to prevent seeing
That River
The blown-out factory windows leered at me
And I glimpsed how people become desperate.

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Looking Out the Hospital Window [11 Apr 2004|10:33pm]

frustratednsad
[ mood | lonely ]

(x-posted like a mofo)

(Shameless advert: I have a chapbook for sale for $5. IM ThePeculiarGirl or e-mail quinn@tmbg.org to place an order.)

Standing naked at the hospital window
and looking out at the nightscape
seven stories down
the street spread below me
like a freshly laundered blanket and
dotted with cars
wondering where everyone had to be at
two a.m.

Standing naked at the hospital window
and looking down at the nightscape
you were a million miles away.

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[14 Mar 2004|11:31am]

amber_moon
[ mood | awake ]

On my third cup of coffee
and like it's gonna make it better,
I'm gonna forget all that there was
because when the human brain doesn't sleep
for over 72 hours,
the person is cannot be legally held responsible
for any of their actions.
So if I stayed awake
for longer than 3 days,
I could do some incredible things,
and nobody could touch me,
nor could your looks of regret.
It's the languid, bitter taste
of the dark liquid that
snaps me into action,
preventing me from
pulling the covers over my head
and closing my eyes.

And if I run hard and far enough,
You could begin to understand
that it's you that I'm running from,
and not just me.
I've tried explaining that to you,
without having to spell it out,
But it seems that you're the one
who needs to run,
because my knees are giving out,
and buckling under.
But it'd be easier if I could drive
faster than the speed limit allows
on I-90 east,
driving where my heart won't meet me
(I forgot to pack it,
leaving it behind in my dorm room),
but requires kindly asked me to stay away from.

And I was dreaming of things,
in my car,
dreaming when I went too fast by that state car,
but it was okay,
because someone else was driving too fast too,
and he didn't look up at me,
when I smiled and waved at him.
Yet, where my heart should have been,
something ran into my ribcage,
pounding furiously.
I laughed anyways,
promising myself that I could easily cry,
if provoked on the spot.
Because I'd only been crying
for the past 2 and half hours while on the road.
The man in the state car
might have looked down upon me in pity:
the last thing I needed.

And feeling cold last night
felt better than nothing.
It felt better than my knees creaking
like a 67 year old woman's with arthritis,
and felt better than old coffee stains
on the floor,
and the stale taste on my tongue.
It even felt better than
driving as fast as I was privileged.
Because this morning was compromised by a phone call
and my mother asking when I was leaving for home.
And her trembling voice declaring
that everyone missed me.
I couldn't think of anything better than
coming home and sleeping and
running down the muddy road,
feeling like I should.

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[08 Feb 2004|12:51pm]

amber_moon
I had this sick fantasy
of developing, creating, producing
my self image
in the porn industry,
but just as I was about to sign the contract,
You walked in.
I was gonna show off my yellow pink nipples
surrounded by white sickly flesh,
hoping that if I got paid enough
I'd be able to afford a healthy glow
located inside the tanning beds
where other naked bodies have lain.
You're supposed to wash the surface
of the uv ray lights,
but there is always one person in the crowd
who doesn't seem to understand basic instructions.
So, as you walked in,
I was hoping you'd push me away,
not give me that look of yours,
the one that screams "I'm in love with you"
but we're supposed to be friends now,
once the break up has occured,
standard rules imply there is no resistance,
no leftovers and complications.
But you complicate me,
or maybe I complicate myself.
The intertwining of words and
the well-known hidden messages,
fabricate into exotic dreams.
I could create those fantasies
on the black, opaque film,
on a bed that carries the aroma
of old sweat, unwashed bodies,
and cold sex.
You could watch me, enamored,
on the screen;
me, acting out our wildest fantasies,
never fullfilled.
You could fall asleep
to the cries of love in the making
and pennies and dollar bills accumulating.
Each hour working is another hour
I can pay rent,
and afford ill-begotten memories,
disinfected by cheap vodka.
So you gave me that smile of yours,
the one I fell in love,
still am in love with.
But that's not fair,
I keep comparing others to you,
finding fault in decency,
finding nothing of you in them
for me.
And I cannot kiss them,
afraid I'll find myself in pain,
reliving everything we did and did not make together.
That's why I walked out of that room,
before the pen had touched the paper.
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Infatuation by Ebony's Bad Luck [05 Feb 2004|06:25pm]

rooneyfan
[ mood | crushed ]

The feeling of emptiness
mixed with the feeling of blind love
torment, unsureness, walking a
road of a thick mist
You never know what will happen.

You hang your heart
on the drying line
from your previous "love".
All of the sudden
the words are spoken softly in your ear
by someone, who is not someone,
but is yourself
"Look, there's your other half."

Obsession, depression,
trying to talk in words that are cryptic to the other person
You try desperately to seperate yourself from the other.
You try so deeply so that you don't
be possessive.
Nothing here is something.

You take your heart from the drying line,
and you put in on your sleeve.
You wear your heart on your sleeve.
Thinking:
"This person is for me. This person is for me... this person is for me... this person is fo---"
when all of the sudden, your heart falls off
the sleeve
You feel like burying yourself in the deep.
Your mind clicks and says:
"He was never for you. He was never for you. He was never for you."

After this... nothing is well.
Your best friend is music and poetry.
You think:
"How could this person be for me? How could i think that this person be for me?"
But you did.
And you probably still do.
Move on.
It's the only way to know whether a person is for you or not.

"he was never for you....

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Unhealthy Obsession by Ebony's Bad Luck <<<<(my pen name) [04 Feb 2004|05:38pm]

rooneyfan
[ mood | nostalgic ]

Unhealthy Obsession
You're an unhealthy obsession
This is my confession
If I have learned a lesson
it's that you're my unhealthy obsession

All day I sit around and think
of what might have been
I know you haven't replied since then
I try to learn my lesson
But you're my unhealthy obsession

Look up, look down, at the four walls
of my detention
I stare at my unhealthy picture collection
Will you still be my unhealthy obsession?

I know I might have severed
the connection
I should've known my bad luck's complextion
You're not in my unhealthy possesion
You'll always be my unhealthy obsession

When will this lessen?
Why can't I make this disappear at my discretion?
When will this be the end of the session?
When can I KILL this unhealthy obsession....?

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[01 Feb 2004|02:05pm]

amber_moon
[ mood | awake ]

This Heart
I gave you this heart,
both hands cupping the red organ.
It pulsed with life then,
whole, healthy and yours.
There was no mention of safekeeping,
no spoken promises,
but it was quietly understood
that you'd place it next to yours,
so that they would both beat together,
in rhythm.
One heart would lead;
the other would share its blood.

I give you this heart,
its cadence diminishing,
uneven, palpitations throbbing in my hands.
The space next to your heart is empty,
where mine should reside,
but was uncannily removed.
Tell me why you extracted the pink tissue,
why you felt it was necessary.
Its rhythm fluctuates,
needing another match itself with.
Now, this heart's rhythm is syncopated,
to the meter that yours thrives in.
It's a lonely beat, by itself, isn't it?

I would have given you this heart,
but it was renounced before
I could extract it for your safekeeping.
It will beat on its own,This Heart
I gave you this heart,
both hands cupping the red organ.
It pulsed with life then,
whole, healthy and yours.
There was no mention of safekeeping,
no spoken promises,
but it was quietly understood
that you'd place it next to yours,
so that they would both beat together,
in rhythm.
One heart would lead;
the other would share its blood.

I give you this heart,
its cadence diminishing,
uneven, palpitations throbbing in my hands.
The space next to your heart is empty,
where mine should reside,
but was uncannily removed.
Tell me why you extracted the pink tissue,
why you felt it was necessary.
Its rhythm fluctuates,
needing another match itself with.
Now, this heart's rhythm is syncopated,
to the meter that yours thrives in.
It's a lonely beat, by itself, isn't it?

I would have given you this heart,
but it was renounced before
I could extract it for your safekeeping.
It will beat on its own,
in the cup of my hands,
tired, weakened, but resistant.
Never before, have I given my heart due respect;
having given it to those who do not deserve
the warmth of its blood,
and its soothing flow.
But with this precious organ in my hand,
its warmth creeping into my hands,
I realize it should have been given to you.
in the cup of my hands,
tired, weakened, but resistant.
Never before, have I given my heart due respect;
having given it to those who do not deserve
the warmth of its blood,
and its soothing flow.
But with this precious organ in my hand,
its warmth creeping into my hands;
I realize it should not have been given to you.

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J. [26 Jan 2004|12:34am]

frustratednsad
First of all, I'd like to promote poetpenpals. And now, the poem.Collapse )
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Providence [25 Jan 2004|03:25pm]

frustratednsad
I hold it out to show you:
One wispy arm
White with red crisscrosses
Your pain brought to the surface
Where it can heal.
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[20 Jan 2004|05:51pm]

amber_moon
[ mood | interested ]

"Best of luck,
good wishes."
Yes, you've got
my good hope,
the wishes I was
saving for myself.

But I figure-
You can use them
more than I.
I will cling to them
in false hope.
Let them rot like old fruit.

Remember that star I wished upon,
all those years ago?
That was my favorite wish, and
I was saving it
for something special.
But you'll use it, before I do.

I will buy mine back,
in the drug store,
located in the diet aisle.
They're on sale for $29.99 and
they come in blue and yellow.
I shall swallowing them whole.

Use my wishes wisely,
as I lay in my satin bed.
Touch my hand, in reverence.
As others walk by, whispering;
"Best of luck,
good wishes."

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April 22 [15 Jan 2004|12:58am]

frustratednsad
Hi, you may remember me as slfcllednowhere. Or you may not, whatever. Anyway, this is massively x-posted as usual, apologies if you have to see it a bunch. Comments welcome and appreciated.


No one is alive at 5:37 a.m.
Only the occasional passing car reminds me
That I am not the sole occupant of this landscape
--still alien after three months
Which hovers under the pre-dawn sky
(That peculiar shade of light grey almost imperceptibly tinted blue
Which never comes to Texas.)

I have endured another of a string of sleepless nights
(Because of you, as is everything)
To find myself here, a default early riser.
I relish the secrecy the solitude grants me
This morning belongs to me alone.

Last night's silent storm
Has left behind a chill in the air and the dull smell of wet earth.
I twitch my cold fingers and systematically observe
My own fraction of the infinite catalogue of details:
A thousand birdsongs, only the crow's familiar.
Smoke billowing from the greenhouse chimney.
Sidewalk chalk proclamations, eerily waterproof.
The ducked heads of flowers ashamed at their own beauty.

My legs stiffen as I run home
Startled to find myself so inspired
By something as obvious as a spring morning.
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