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 2 days ago. Member since June 15, 2003.
- I'm a opaline dream poet for 996 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 Group, Gsa, Lord of the rings and tolkien fans, Stephen King Lovers
- I have 996 comments
Poems I'm focused on
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39 lines, September 19. In weird, thoughts, spiritual, consciousness, brahman, the universal soul, soul, life
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the world is full of ultimatums
and responsibilites
and forgotten things-29 lines, 2 comments, July 21. In ultimatums, forgotten, emptiness, irresponsible people, avoidance, yadda yadda -
i cannot now, for my own safety, entertain a rational thought for more than a few moments3 lines, July 21. In brain, vacation, brain vacation, thoughts, psychological defense mechanisms, fantasy
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i cannot remember. i am
frightened to forget. i feel guilty about
things i know for sure that i didn't20 lines, July 21. In thoughts, random, catholicism is the devil, the ants on the pocketwatch, idunno -
i feel the fingers in my brain,
and then-42 lines, 2 comments, July 21. In memories, embarassment, humiliation, betrayal, brain, weird, personal, thoughts -
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he's an old bag of bones
but i'll miss him when he goes-15 lines, 2 comments, June 2. In greif, sadness, death, dying, love, my dog is going to die soon, i will miss him -
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funny,
it seems almost
natural now.41 lines, April 17. In little boxes, elliptical orbits, morse code, ghosts, transparency, angry candy -
who would throw this away- this perfect, flawless Paul Williams record?
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there is an animal living in my wall.
i believe it is a mouse.6 lines, 3 comments, March 27. In personal, animals, mouse, alive, the emptiness, quiet, scratching out an existence -
the window is breathing
with a plastic lung. -
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you know that time
is just a fishin' line -
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10 lines, 1 comment, January 11. In thunder, lightning, storm, thunderbolt, thunderstorm, panther, night, darkness, rain
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See your future in a coworker at Some Shitty Job and try to ignore the chill in your bones.
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Go ahead and let your dick lead you over the edge of a cliff- we both know you'd follow it anywhere.
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elastic fantastic
network -
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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44 lines, August 27, 2007. In Love
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some poems hurt / when you go back / to read them.
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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
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she stood there in her wedding dress
and veil; and i stared at her, -
And while Demeter pines for her daughter fair
Courted by Hades 'neath the frozen ground, -
Dead winters pile onto this one like basement-smelling blankets knitted by dead hands;
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for Emily
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every-colored shadows made by the branches of a plastic christmas tree, no less beautiful for being an imitation
a pattern on the walls behind the tree that i -
i live mostly in my Dark Expanse
hiding underneath the stairs in the cellar -
my Catholic mother insists that i
celebrate Easter with her -
you have to be familiar with the myth of Hades and Persephone to know what the hell i'm talking about...25 lines, 4 comments, March 16, 2004. In Other, Nature, Love, Greek Myth, Mythology, Spring, Hades, Persephone
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NOT your usual "oooh it's so pretty" sunset poem... it's more... startled, spontaneous, passionate...7 lines, 8 comments, November 29, 2003. In Nature
- → Show all poem
My Stories
1 - 0 of 4
Show all at storywrite
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I remember the last time she left. I was fool enough to think it would be for good. We all were.
None of us could really understand how she could tuck her baby in that night217 lines, 7 comments, August 16, 2005. In <200 lines, Other -
Have you ever noticed...? No, that's a dumb question. Of course you've noticed- how day to day you see lots of people, but there's always that one face that sticks in your memo
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I walked through the trees, not watching where i was going. I didn't need to; I was keeping to the path. I would have known any other time that someone was following me, I real
Visitor Book
1 - 4 of 30
Show all
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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
