Chaos Poems

[gnimbley]

[This is the first in a planned series of twenty-three.]



Before the beginning
the void was emptied
erased like forgotten sands
paved over with vacuity
satiated with emptiness

Pregnant with song
the silent voice skitters
across the missing surface
scratching her thumbnail
against endless nothing

Faltering they join
in disjointed reverie
masticated spirits
born of the edge between
possibility and uncertainty

Expelled into creation
the cold, cold vacuum
stirs broken memories
of things never past
and nothing yet to be

Time falls and it begins

[agent compassion]

...and then I woke up.

[Bella]

Cool poem, gnimbley.

[Ben]

Poetry scatters through the air
The rain falls
To a gray world
The colors swirl
Nebulously
A drunken Apollo dances a tune
In an endless changing world
That turns and moves by the whim of words
Magic spells
Paradox
Paradise
Eternal life and death
Discordant harmony
Order and chaos
Balance.

Hotsuma eats gnome shit.

[East Coast Hustle]

Hotsuma may eat gnome shit, but he's not the only one around here who thinks...nay, knows that poetry sucks rancid goat-ass...

[~~~~Closed~~~~]

mass poetry = instant phail.

[Mangrove]

poetry sucks rancid goat-ass

is that not weirdly poetic in it's own right? (or write for you lennon fans)

[rufusbmellow]

The Continued Adventures of Bionicle Mcgonicle - Jonathan Berman
    

The continued adventures of Bionicle Mcgonical Bionicle Mcgonical, the exemplar of sardonical; He wrote a book, to the shelves quickly it took. But the public is wary of that which is out of the ordinary And refused to read the novel.
“I’ll force them!” he confirmed, karate only recently learned, Of brute strength I have plenty! Though my gas tank is quite empty, and I haven’t left home in three years!
The question he pondered, as down his halls he did wander; that he could not reach the public was feared? “I’ll bring them here.” So when they are near, I can make them to read my great works!
A great party he planned, with halls deck in a manner quite grand. He was rather happy, but then he felt (cruddy) because he forgot the guest list.
He checked his address book, but after but one look, he broke down, and cried. “I’ve been such a misanthrope!” He exclaimed, “Not a single name is named; not a single friend have I!”
He search frantically for a phone-directory, but he had not phone and cried out for this inequity. “Why great gods of Olympus, must my life be such a trite fuss?”
“Why can’t I have it easy at all? Every time I get up, I just seem to fall! No opportunity have I wasted in life, no experience passed up no matter the strife! Is that it, do you want me to die?! Life with no one share to share it tastes of bitter lye!!”
End of this long speech goddess Eris appeared. Oddly enough she was sporting a beard. She tossed him an apple made of purest gold. Carved into its face “KALLISTI” in bold.
With that she was gone, and in her thunderous wake, Mcgonical knew what to do, for Eris’s sake. He took down the balloons, ribbons, and streamers. The hats, tables, and paintings (for the dreamers). When this was done, he had exhausted himself, and slept peacefully within the great dome.
Upon the morning, he took a great step; he released his book via Internet. There weirdoes could download without fees, it became a best-seller if that term can be applied to something gratis. [graah-teez]

[rufusbmellow]

The other day I when to the past;


The trip there was fast;


but it did not last;


for much time.


Then I returned to the present;


and ate cooked pheasant;


with lime.


With the dial turned to yellow


I met a fellow


who was quite mellow,


for that era;


he was a terra(or);


at the local pubs.


Several jugs


he would down,


and then he would frown,


for in vomit he almost drowned,


on fatefull day.


I traveled to the future,


where I needed a sucher,


for my lacerated neck wound.


The surgeons suggested,


that after I rested,


I should become a mime.


For my laryx was crushed,


when I had rushed,


to Twenty-Twenty-Nine.

[Solitaire]

^ Now THAT is proper poetry.

[~~~~Closed~~~~]

^ Now THAT is proper poetry.

it still sucks.

[Solitaire]

It sucks?

Then I returned to the present;


and ate cooked pheasant;


with lime.

How can a poem containing these lines suck? Just look at the many-layered complexities, the deep metaphor, the wry social criticism of today's world contained within the lines! This is an incredibly articulate piece of writing that works on many levels. The writer's deepest subconscious tumult is carried across in the rhythmic, yet irregular sporadic bursts of raw emotion!

[Felix]

Social criticisms and deep metaphors suck.  Which is ironic, because saying a concept sucks is in itself metaphor.

[rufusbmellow]

It sucks?

Then I returned to the present;


and ate cooked pheasant;


with lime.

How can a poem containing these lines suck? Just look at the many-layered complexities, the deep metaphor, the wry social criticism of today's world contained within the lines! This is an incredibly articulate piece of writing that works on many levels. The writer's deepest subconscious tumult is carried across in the rhythmic, yet irregular sporadic bursts of raw emotion!

Too philsophical a response to my 'poetry' methinks.
There were plenty smarter
thank Jean-paul Satre,
And there wasn't anything Nitche
Couldn't teach ye
That I did not learn
in elementary school.

I dare to mock,
John Locke,
and Plato was a fool.

If deCarte were correct,
he would not exist,
and Socrates was a tool.

And Marx?
What a lark(s),
with communistic rule.

[Solitaire]

Too philsophical a response to my 'poetry' methinks.

Glad I can keep fooling people. My ability to write complete utter bullshit about other people's poems got me in the top 5 for my english literature exam