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Something for the Poets.


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You got that right honey

They say one thing to your face and another to their buddy

 

I'll never be had or be mad,

No way

You're the only one who will look bad

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are you ready

for what best suits your needs

your choices were curious

but don't despair

 

i had a feeling you would pick that

but you must decide

which you would rather have

 

in regards of what you chose

at least you made an effort

voila

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If you have ever peeled an onion, then you know that the first thin, papery layer reveals another thin, papery layer, and that layer reveals another, and another, and before you know it you have hundreds of layers all over the kitchen table and thousands of tears in your eyes, sorry that you ever started peeling in the first place and wishing that you had left the onion alone to wither away on the shelf of the pantry while you went on with your life, even if that meant never again enjoying the complicated and overwhelming taste of this strange and bitter vegetable.
I think there's something in that for everybody.
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I think there's something in that for everybody.

He starts each of his thirteen books exhorting you not to put yourself through the misery of reading the story.

 

It really is one long series of unfortunate events, but told in such an endearing and funny way--of course you must read every page.

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  • 2 weeks later...

trick or treat

something sweet

warm and sticky

for you to eat

 

if you're straight

it's not icky

freshly washed

don't be picky

 

no mean tricks

or I'll get lost

kiss me now

brushed and flossed

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resurrect from the dead

this once lively joint

now a frayed thread

 

I miss you all

and your musings

they make reality

less confusing

 

pathetic, yes, but I have no pride

I miss my fix

I miss this ride

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once they are gone

they can never come back

neither by wish

or miracle of God

"It can never be the same."

is what truth tells me

six feet under they must stay

where it's cold...

dark...

and stale...

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You're missing a syllable in your first line.

 

"You have ruined me"

 

In my world that line only has 4 syllables.

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  • 2 weeks later...

why did i have to see her?

she looked so good

though she must be old

like me

(actually older)

i was finally thinking clear

that person was long gone

yet i see her

 

but was it?

 

it looked like her

it sounded like her

i thought of her

so it might as well have been

 

and its turmoil inside all over again

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the monster awaits at home

and i don't want to return

it lingers

like a cancer

slowly corroding

 

there is no negotiating

there is no reasoning

 

like a boa constrictor

it loosely wraps around your life

positions itself

right before it tightens

and suffocates

 

there is no escape

there is no death

just slow...torture

with no end in sight

 

where is the justice?

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the monster awaits at home

and i don't want to return

it lingers

like a cancer

slowly corroding

 

there is no negotiating

there is no reasoning

 

like a boa constrictor

it loosely wraps around your life

positions itself

right before it tightens

and suffocates

 

there is no escape

there is no death

just slow...torture

with no end in sight

 

where is the justice?

Sounds like a Star Trek

Episode. Give it three days.

It's just PMS.

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  • 2 weeks later...

Roll out the red carpets

and sound the trumpets

because

she's back

she's back

 

organize the parade

and start the motorcade

because

she's back

she's back

 

and now she returns

never being wrong

but soon she'll be singing

that same old song

she's back

she's back

 

and yet she'll deny what she did in the past

pretend to be the victim

because she got kicked in the ass

'oh feel sorry for me

because look they did.'

but everyone knows she did it to herself

who's she trying to kid?

 

and everyone will pretend to care

because its that time of year

but it'll all happen again

and there will be misery to share

because

she's back

she's back

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  • 3 weeks later...

the room next to me

has always been locked

it was none of my business

but i've been tempted to knock

 

"Avoid the room." the proprietor said

"It stays forever closed."

"You may have heard the horrific story,"

"But opening the door is strictly opposed."

 

i nodded my head in agreement

but in reality thought otherwise

later that night i would sneak a peak

and see things with my own eyes

 

i had to stay a few more nights

so i waited a time when no one was around

i peaked gingerly through the keyhole

and witnessed something most profound

 

a curious female figure with her back to me

gazing out the window dressed in pure white

but she wasn't clothed, but actually nude

her skin was white, like bright light

 

dread hit from nowhere

and i felt a bit uneasy

it wasn't my guilty actions

but something most deathly

 

i returned to my room

and into my bed i did creep

i heard no sounds, no words, no noise

yet i still could not get any sleep

 

another opportunity arose

so i knelt down for another look

seeing nothing but red in blocking the view

i felt guilty for having partook

 

as i checked out the proprietor gave a stare

my expression revealed what i had done

"You should have left it all alone."

"If she sees you, you'll suffer. You'd be done."

 

'I only saw her from the back.' i reassured.

"Well, then you are probably fine."

"Because it's not the white skin that freaks me out."

"But the red eyes that chills my spine."

 

-ltw

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  • 1 month later...

SEPTEMBER 1, 1939

by W.H. Auden

 

I sit in one of the dives

On Fifty-second Street

Uncertain and afraid

As the clever hopes expire

Of a low dishonest decade:

Waves of anger and fear

Circulate over the bright

And darkened lands of the earth,

Obsessing our private lives;

The unmentionable odour of death

Offends the September night.

 

Accurate scholarship can

Unearth the whole offence

From Luther until now

That has driven a culture mad,

Find what occurred at Linz,

What huge imago made

A psychopathic god:

I and the public know

What all schoolchildren learn,

Those to whom evil is done

Do evil in return.

 

Exiled Thucydides knew

All that a speech can say

About Democracy,

And what dictators do,

The elderly rubbish they talk

To an apathetic grave;

Analysed all in his book,

The enlightenment driven away,

The habit-forming pain,

Mismanagement and grief:

We must suffer them all again.

 

Into this neutral air

Where blind skyscrapers use

Their full height to proclaim

The strength of Collective Man,

Each language pours its vain

Competitive excuse:

But who can live for long

In an euphoric dream;

Out of the mirror they stare,

Imperialism's face

And the international wrong.

 

Faces along the bar

Cling to their average day:

The lights must never go out,

The music must always play,

All the conventions conspire

To make this fort assume

The furniture of home;

Lest we should see where we are,

Lost in a haunted wood,

Children afraid of the night

Who have never been happy or good.

 

The windiest militant trash

Important Persons shout

Is not so crude as our wish:

What mad Nijinsky wrote

About Diaghilev

Is true of the normal heart;

For the error bred in the bone

Of each woman and each man

Craves what it cannot have,

Not universal love

But to be loved alone.

 

From the conservative dark

Into the ethical life

The dense commuters come,

Repeating their morning vow;

'I will be true to the wife,

I'll concentrate more on my work,'

And helpless governors wake

To resume their compulsory game:

Who can release them now,

Who can reach the dead,

Who can speak for the dumb?

 

All I have is a voice

To undo the folded lie,

The romantic lie in the brain

Of the sensual man-in-the-street

And the lie of Authority

Whose buildings grope the sky:

There is no such thing as the State

And no one exists alone;

Hunger allows no choice

To the citizen or the police;

We must love one another or die.

 

Defenseless under the night

Our world in stupor lies;

Yet, dotted everywhere,

Ironic points of light

Flash out wherever the Just

Exchange their messages:

May I, composed like them

Of Eros and of dust,

Beleaguered by the same

Negation and despair,

Show an affirming flame.

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Ithaca

 

As you set out for Ithaka

hope your road is a long one,

full of adventure, full of discovery.

Laistrygonians, Cyclops,

angry Poseidon-don't be afraid of them:

you'll never find things like that on your way

as long as you keep your thoughts raised high,

as long as a rare excitement

stirs your spirit and your body.

Laistrygonians, Cyclops,

wild Poseidon-you won't encounter them

unless you bring them along inside your soul,

unless your soul sets them up in front of you.

 

Hope your road is a long one.

May there be many summer mornings when,

with what pleasure, what joy,

you enter harbors you're seeing for the first time;

may you stop at Phoenician trading stations

to buy fine things,

mother of pearl and coral, amber and ebony,

sensual perfume of every kind-

as many sensual perfumes as you can;

and may you visit many Egyptian cities

to learn and go on learning from their scholars.

 

 

Keep Ithaka always in your mind.

Arriving there is what you're destined for.

But don't hurry the journey at all.

Better if it lasts for years,

so you're old by the time you reach the island,

wealthy with all you've gained on the way,

not expecting Ithaka to make you rich.

Ithaka gave you the marvelous journey.

Without her you wouldn't have set out.

She has nothing left to give you now.

 

And if you find her poor, Ithaka won't have fooled you.

Wise as you will have become, so full of experience,

you'll have understood by then what these Ithakas mean.

 

C.P. Cavafy

 

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We're neither angels or demons,

So why define as such?

Must you break what you can't have?

Must everyone fit into a little mold?

Molds of your making?

 

Is it that you expect perfection from everyone,

When you admit to imperfections of your own?

Or is it that you're the only one,

That's allowed to be imperfect.

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he's sober now it has all changed

his thoughts have all been rearranged

his head is clear i see him now

for real i know what he's about

 

he is my man made just for me

he keeps me close yet sets me free

he makes me proud our love is strong

i know for once where i belong

 

it's hard on him it has been tough

for me i hope that i'm enough

to hold his interest when he's clear

so far it seems he likes me near

 

grateful even that i'm close

i'm insecure i do suppose

but if he is willing so am i

to lose the past and learn to fly

 

XO

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