Like the OSS
I have built a nasty pile of fuck
a horrible sense of fear and pride
that shakes me from the night
Doppelgänger bread crumbing me along
to even lower pits, and colder rights
Night flowers, and (h)owls... Sick feverish song
Dark statues near quicker rivers
where love from the sky
meet monsters underground.
And what of revolution and heroes?
Tribunes, and long winded oration
by men now chalked Gomorra
No longer read by mainstream -
- idiots programmed to slave away
at money and material.
I am all alone in a stadium of noise
and sport, and I have no tolerance
for either.
My material, dark-light
warm yellowing burgundy
the new ochre set against
the forbidden, set against
my father's father's father
set against Set
Between everything and nothing
I have found William Blake and Arthur Rimbaud
Crying for drink, hung out to dry
on desolation row
all bark and no bite
holed, pinnated,
adduced
A phone, a button, a tree, DMT
I go all Pinchbeck and Pindar
boring on about the weather
I am here alone in a stadium of noise
and sport, and I have no tolerance
for either.
Knowing all the while
I made the whole thing up
as I went along.
A contest entry
- Only for those who've won a Gold or Silver in my contests ... by ecrivain01.
1300 points, ended April 7, 2008, 11 entries
Silver trophy winner
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Please tell me what you think
Comments
1 - 8 of 8
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Interesting
Very emotive. Like the "I am here in a stadium of noise and sport, and I have no tolerance for either."
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I love the "making it up" as I went along, reminds me of Sylvia Plath's "Mad girl's love song" ... as we all like to imagine things that we really should know or do already know
I do like the editing Jeremi, it adds a quickness, that your writes often give...
nicely turned out Mistah
miss you
G.x
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~
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miss you
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Intriguing write ...
and it certainly does make one stop and think.
Thanks for entering.
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I've edited it.
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You might want to ...
put an "s" on "meet" here too:
where love from the skies
meet monsters within ground. (Since love is the subject, the verb is 'meets'.)
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Between everything and nothing I have found William Blake and Arthur Rimbaud Crying for drink, hung out to dry on desolation row all bark and no bite holed, pinnated adduced great writing!
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