we're all mad here...
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COMPY IS FIXED hurrah
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halloa. my name, btw, is Kathleen Mary Auer. i'm in love with a wonderful man named Brian, and i've been with him since 4/22/04. i live on Long Island. i have long blond hair that goes down past my butt. i was born on September 18th, 1985. and i think everything else you need to know is here somewhere, so... yeah.
this is my poetry... writing poetry is simply what i do, i call myself a poet. a manager manages, a plumber plumbs, a trucker drives, an actor acts, i write. this is one of the few things in life i do with all my heart and soul, with all of me, and don't hold back on. i will never apologize for this. if you do not want to know what's in my heart, don't read it. it's as simple as that. you can still turn back. if you do not like what you read here, for whatever reason, that's fine with me- it is your right not to like it. but this is not my war against the world. it's only my letter to it.
one day i will visit Emily Dickinson's grave, and perhaps we'll say hello.
EDIT: 7/27/08- i have visited Emily Dickinson. i can't wait to visit her again.
i shall write more on this.
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Poeta nascitur, non fit
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okay, this is one of my favorite poems ever:
the empty house , by russel hoban
(i'm writing this from memory because i can't find it on the internet)
where the lone wind on the hilltop
stirs the thistles as it passes,
stirs the quiet-ticking grasses
that keep time outside the door,
stands a house that's gray and silent;
no one lives there anymore.
wending through the broken windows,
every season and it's weather
mingle in those rooms together;
summer's warm and wandering rains
rot the leaves of last year's autumn,
warps the floors that winter stains.
in a papered hall a clock-shape,
dim and pale on yellowed flowers
still remains where rang the hours
of a clock that's lost and gone;
and the fading ghost keeps no-time
on the wall it lived upon.
on a stairway where no footsteps
stir the dusty sunlight burning
sit the patient shadows turning
speechless faces to the wall,
while they hear the silent striking
of that no-clock in the hall.
dawn of no-time, noon of no-time,
cries the phantom echo chiming,
and the shadows, moving, miming,
slowly shift before the light.
but no eye has seen their motion
when the clock says no-time night.
no eye has seen them dancing,
in their blackness fell and bright,
to a silent tune, in the dark of the moon,
when the clock says no-time night.
**************************************************
COMPY IS FIXED hurrah
**************************************************
halloa. my name, btw, is Kathleen Mary Auer. i'm in love with a wonderful man named Brian, and i've been with him since 4/22/04. i live on Long Island. i have long blond hair that goes down past my butt. i was born on September 18th, 1985. and i think everything else you need to know is here somewhere, so... yeah.
this is my poetry... writing poetry is simply what i do, i call myself a poet. a manager manages, a plumber plumbs, a trucker drives, an actor acts, i write. this is one of the few things in life i do with all my heart and soul, with all of me, and don't hold back on. i will never apologize for this. if you do not want to know what's in my heart, don't read it. it's as simple as that. you can still turn back. if you do not like what you read here, for whatever reason, that's fine with me- it is your right not to like it. but this is not my war against the world. it's only my letter to it.
one day i will visit Emily Dickinson's grave, and perhaps we'll say hello.
EDIT: 7/27/08- i have visited Emily Dickinson. i can't wait to visit her again.
i shall write more on this.
**************************************************
Poeta nascitur, non fit
**************************************************
okay, this is one of my favorite poems ever:
the empty house , by russel hoban
(i'm writing this from memory because i can't find it on the internet)
where the lone wind on the hilltop
stirs the thistles as it passes,
stirs the quiet-ticking grasses
that keep time outside the door,
stands a house that's gray and silent;
no one lives there anymore.
wending through the broken windows,
every season and it's weather
mingle in those rooms together;
summer's warm and wandering rains
rot the leaves of last year's autumn,
warps the floors that winter stains.
in a papered hall a clock-shape,
dim and pale on yellowed flowers
still remains where rang the hours
of a clock that's lost and gone;
and the fading ghost keeps no-time
on the wall it lived upon.
on a stairway where no footsteps
stir the dusty sunlight burning
sit the patient shadows turning
speechless faces to the wall,
while they hear the silent striking
of that no-clock in the hall.
dawn of no-time, noon of no-time,
cries the phantom echo chiming,
and the shadows, moving, miming,
slowly shift before the light.
but no eye has seen their motion
when the clock says no-time night.
no eye has seen them dancing,
in their blackness fell and bright,
to a silent tune, in the dark of the moon,
when the clock says no-time night.
- Last seen on Nov 20 10:57 AM. Member since June 15, 2003.
- I'm a pyrite eye poet for 1,008 comments.
- My mood is , and quote is "Che sará, sará...".
- I am a 22 year old woman from New York (United States)
- When I'm not writing, I'm a poet all the same.
- Visit my homepage at www.myspace.com/_the_cheshire_kat_
- I am in the groups A Hard Rock and Heavy Metal Lovers Gro, Gsa
- I have 1,008 comments, 256 poems
Poems I'm focused on
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i am desperate for an oracle, and at times like this i hesitate to trust my shaking soul. you are gone even when you're here; you're here even when you're gone. it's maddening. i don't hold it against you and i never will...5 lines, November 2. In personal, people, thoughts, reincarnation, third eye, memories, past lives, other
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i want it to have never happened. i want to sponge away the writing on this stone. i want to feel nothing, to have never felt anything. i want to forget all of it. the whole of it, gone like an exorcised ghost. i don't ever w
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This is Line Number One.
This is Line Number Two. -
it is morning and my brain still goes strange places. i will do what i have to do to survive. the sun came up after all. the sun came up. but it cannot chase away all the monsters, some live inside me. i don't know what i'm d
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do you say my name
when you are telling stories -
it's one of those early summer nights
with a purple sky and a yellow moon.51 lines, June 9. In summer, summer nights, the moon, spirituality, thoughts, visions, mysticism, ether -
Soon, i feel, it will be time for us to speak once more.102 lines, April 27. In old friends, love, choices, you, witches, prophecy, premonition, the way it is
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12 lines, 4 comments, December 30, 2008. In humor, serious, garbage, wastefulness, beauty, ugliness, sarcasm, environmentalism
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8 lines, 4 comments, April 29, 2008. In dreams, death, those shitty things you have to come to terms with
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there is an animal living in my wall.
i believe it is a mouse.6 lines, 3 comments, March 27, 2008. In personal, animals, mouse, alive, the emptiness, quiet, scratching out an existence -
the window is breathing
with a plastic lung.42 lines, 1 comment, March 10, 2008. In personal, life, thoughts, throw a bone, kiss the world goodbye -
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The bread won't rise,/The eggs won't fry,/And the hens won't lay/since the well went dry.86 lines, 4 comments, September 26, 2007. In Thoughts, People, Odd, Brain Dump, Obscure References, Omens & Prophecy
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on the blue windowsill of a pink tiled bathroom is / Dalí, with skulls and tutus and flesh and ants and landscapes / exquisitely, gr31 lines, 2 comments, July 8, 2007
- → Show all poem
Guest Book
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Miss Miranda : Thank you! on March 7, 2007Thank you so much for the comment that you left me on my poem. I greatly appreciate it. I believe that your comment is the longest I have ever recieved during my time here at All poetry. I am greatly honored that you personally took the time out of your life to talk to me, and to comment my work. I was thrilled when I saw your comment. I couldnt stop smiling.
Greatly Appreciated,
♥
Failed. -
Lord Espanyol on January 29, 2006I dont understand your "ahh...i knew it" comment on one of my earlier pieces today, please describe
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Keith on January 18, 2006I like your choice of Russell Hoban. I'm assuming it's the same Russell Hoban who wrote The Mouse and His Child, which is one of my favourite books. There seems to be some doubt about the spelling of Russel/ Russell on the internet, unless there are two people? If so, I stand corrected.
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Cyanide Milkshake on August 12, 2005I thought it was Rose Madder? Unless theres another one? either way, Nope, i've not read it - is it any good? Cy x
