F U C K E D U P C O L L E G E K I D S ------------------------------------------------------- - t h e p o e t r y v e n t u r e - ------------------------------------------------------- It is amazing that a good poet can tell an epic story in 20 lines when Stephen King can't rip out a good thriller in under 1,000 pages. Poetry forces the poet to suffer a stringent economy, even in the book length epic poems beating to the rhythm of iambic pentameter. Support these talented souls. Buy poetry journals and books. Show publishers that a good poem is worth it's weight in dollars. ------------------------------------------------------- An electric galaxy startled by reality, an earthquake that tests fearless mortality, you question this event but lost is the answer, a cost you resent not paying when it was asked for, in a time of disbelief, dismay, and displeasure, at a time of impulse, anger, and whether, you act with diligence depolyed too clever, you provide a reaction uncontrollable as laughter, a disaster it is when turned to frenzy, it takes a new twist when taken seriously, you see its creates time in sudden matters, its after the fact in which you attack, and excuse yourself from fault without question, and refuse yourself from forgiving this exception! sadia chia pets and high octane soda i spent all day today trying to get you outta my head every last one of my thoughts today was of your beauty and oh how your beauty makes me feel (how you make me feel for that matter) you just blow my mind all into little bits and peices you sweep me away on wings i never knew i had you make me feel oh so high like i can fly amongst the twilight take me away and show me where you want to go show me how you feel the way you feel cause i wanna be there too i wish i could be with you and hold you in my arms i wish i could feel you right here beside me (i know what i want and i think you do too) help me feel the night you seem to wear it so well carry me into the night and show me how to wear myself boogah EMILIO JUAREZ DIES left front row - dense country breeze gently rains down. inadequate crowd - naked in tears for showing up empty-handed. someone speaks - i have never met him, but he knows names, places, accomplishments. stone-packed field - i see two for my parents, and my sister, fragile, drops a tulip between them. civilian tradition - no honorable flag, no guns, no bugle; generic newspaper ashes. it's unbelievable to think poets die like everyone else. Indiana Poet April 27, 1998 Swirled Twirl Poems of lines, that wind through. My mind is full, always busy. Never before reading and reflecting back. Now I sit and am astounded by what all I have found. What is this inner beat, that keeps going and going, seeming to never to stop. How do these things spillout and form their own life? Crazy swirls and low spirals spin around, make about as much sense. Why then do I wonder why I can sit and be kicked and never cry. My out pouring of emotion kept in rythme. Kamira March 20, 1998 MY SHADOW ON THE WALL Morning's dawned, another day. I wish I knew some other way To say goodbye to those I love, Tell you what I'm thinking of. But the words refuse to form. All the seeds of reason shorn Simply lay upon the floor. You won't see me anymore. Oh my baby, gently sleep. I didn't want to see you weep. It's a shame I have to go. There are things you'll never know. 'Cause I won't be coming home. No, the streets are where I'll roam. You won't know me when I call Nor my shadow on the wall. Think of me in tender times When I sang you gentle rhymes And I rocked you fast asleep, ..."I pray the Lord my soul to keep." Oh my lover, think of me When you're standing by the sea, And you feel the windswept spray. Think of me while I'm away. For I won't be coming home No, the streets are where I'll roam. You won't know me when I call Nor my shadow on the wall. Over by our favorite pier Hold a seashell to your ear And above the ocean's noise, In that shell you'll hear my voice. I'll be saying, "I loved you, But there were things I had to do. Though I had love in my hands I was such a lonely man." What a pity it should be That you never once knew me, But such things are part of life... ...I await the reaper's scythe. Cancer Omega resolution to failure as i lay my head on the leather bound book tension flows out of me, muscles relaxing the will to move on is lost forever strength to keep up the good fight faded the time of vibrance decades removed subtle power, natural leadership, lost friends a gaunt relic of what i used to be my will is caving in, dooming me to solitue i take one last breath... again mea_culpa one night stand shame is oil on the mirror the morning after left behind, an impermanent memoir of a hot cheek against cold glass demonika will the cycle ever end: A great emptiness beholds me a flutter of the heart a feeling of fullness a change in lifestyle a change in temperament realization dawns this is not me a great emptiness beholds me blaise ------------------------------------------------------- E D I T O R S: jericho@dim.com & demonika@dim.com ------------------------------------------------------- to receive new issues via e-mail, send mail to majordomo@sekurity.org with "subscribe poetry". if you do not have FTP access and would like back issues, send a list of missing issues and they will be sent. ------------------------------------------------------- A V A I L A B I L I T Y: AnonFTP: FTP.DIMENSIONAL.COM/users/jericho/FUCK/POETRY WWW: http://www.sekurity.org/~poetry ------------------------------------------------------- (c) Copyright. All poems copyright by original author. ------------------------------------------------------- F O U N D E D: October 30, 1997