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#16 Zelda Princess

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    Jess

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Posted 02 April 2007 - 08:05 PM

laughoutloud, no... neither of them know that I write poetry... Thanks for reading everything, Katie.

#17 evanfan1117

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Posted 02 April 2007 - 08:16 PM

Poetry runs in your genes babe XD



#18 Zelda Princess

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    Jess

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Posted 07 April 2007 - 11:39 AM

mámä?
4/7/07


the floor is wet
and too clean... my hair
matches
the texture
of the tiles / that allow
the doctors to glide away from
umbilical cords
that chokes them in their sleep.
(they line all the walls, with posters
labeled "i don't remember why they let him,
but daddy cut my own. now he lives
in my stomach.")
there are so many windows in my skin.
i manipulate phone cords
until they snake across the floor and say
"hello, did you order
a good morning?" in a pleasant chime
to the mannequins
i made
with gauze. "they're all pregnant with
my
heart," i inform them like a [machine], pulling
their mother -- a phone -- into my / lap...
one... t..wo... th...ree... four...
it bites it's numbers so slowly... waves -->
form
and my
fingers
pinch
the numbered
faces. i type / my abcs...
123s...
t-h-e... g-r-a-s-s-w-i..l-l-e..n-v-y-u-s...
a-n-d-f-l-o-w-e-r-s-w-i-l-l-w-i-s...h-t-o-b-e..m-e.
my teeth converse
with shaking. the phone cords
detach; birth from their sockets
and drink the floor / like doctors.
suddenly it rings.

#19 Zelda Princess

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Posted 02 May 2007 - 07:37 AM

I've had horrible writer's block...


5/1/07


Water / shimmers,
nibbling
at the hair on my arms.
I keep your picture
glowing; music
beating; lift
my legs to examine
the silhouettes...
I bear a womb, but this
room / reminds me
of one I don't remember. My hair drifts;
I stick to the walls, pricking
the lining moss
with sucked-on fingers
to baby-dream. (The phone \ receiver
is flat. I watch
the cold / hyperventilate
abreast the waking birds. Pink, blue,
dark. blue; glare \ of the
sun's neck...)
You tell me good morning
every day. I ponder \ just you
every minute, even in / my sleep:
does the cold / wing
against you \ in the mornings?
Will our skin be the
twiggy/beautiful nests
in winter, our souls
the lovesick birds
pruning in the center?

(Yellow. The daffodils in our yard
went from \ yellow --> to white
within weeks.
I smashed in the shed's window
when I couldn't stand the silence of my throat
one dawn, the depressed lavender sheets
of my bed / begging to come down
from the shed's rafters. Why did I
put them up there?
My feet
were numbed by the chattering grass
and turned \ completely
to stone.) I baby-dream
in my safe womb, the recollection of your
words --> rising
like baking soda from my [lungs]
to my [heart], to my [lips], / that nobody'd ever say, "stop
connecting-your-goddamn-freckles with
those-goddamn-fuzzy-pens".
(The other line sobs. I watch / the phone lines,
wondering / if they'll
explode from the lies on repeat
and wire mother's throat to sleep.)
Good morning, Tory. Christopher.
Smith.


...

#20 Zelda Princess

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    Jess

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Posted 17 May 2007 - 12:13 PM

5/3/07

Screen doors alit:
in and out flap / their skinny silhouettes
at happy kitchen's windows. (I can't see
the goddamn road. There's too many / glowing screens
with keypads
you could sleep in
glaring through the car's face.
) The / air
bites --> at the fillings in white walls' smile:
polka-dotted pictures, vertical stripes, and puffy hats
peel / with a hiss
from drywall's tongue. (Staring at your picture
makes me want to
break all of my bones / and reconstruct
myself
into a pretty box
so I can hold you
for the first time.
) I grin,
watching the world pivot on its edge
and listening to it laugh. I laugh with it
as the television sprouts wings \ to buzz
past my head. (An alien bed. A house colored perfect.
Hummingbirds. The perfect neighborhood. Lilacs. WHY.
IS THIS. LITERALLY. TERRIFYING. ME?
)

-unfinished-

See-through paper
blank; empty
bruises on head / included.
Writer's! block!

thought poem...


Kissing Phones
5/17/07

She's been breathing down my throat
for six months now.
"Where's the mold?"

I can dial your number
in the dark; with my fingers in knots;
with my tongue if need be.
The keys smell of padded fingertips
and metal.
With concaving mouths,
they chew \ my breath
and spit.



Pleasant noise
chimes
at my heart.

in the morning,
in the morning,
in the morning.


I want to go home.
Could you direct me to
the nearest home, sir?


12:47
1:14
1:15
1:17
1:18
2:24

Where does love come from?

There's an emaciated woman
in my ceiling fan.
She throws off the spin
when kneeling at the lips of her alter.
What is her sin?

(There are birds in my head.
They've crawled to my throat
to sleep in saliva.
Sometimes I hear them sing.)

"..That's because when
he runs for his life in his dreams, I run too.
"
[my heart lives
somewhere in your sheets.
It's happy there.]

These days, I wake up
to yelling
and a map
taped at the perfect angle
to my carpet bed.
It was me \ who furiously strung
those circles
as my radar.

Home. I know / where
that is. Give me a few years
to follow the phone lines.
I don't care what anyone says.
You're my home.

#21 Zelda Princess

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Posted 28 May 2007 - 07:51 AM

Please Note:
5/21/07

Confucius may not have been
the author.

Your bone marrow
just produced about / 3.6 million
red blood cells.

I'm not good enough.

The right lung is bigger.
The left ventricle is 30% larger
than the right.

I'm not good enough.

Dogs can be sweet.

"E" is the most
commonly
used
letter / of the
alphabet.

Sometimes I daydream about just
your jaw. It flutters
when you yawn. I want to see your
lips.

I'm. not. good. enough.

Let's just paint ourselves / and get over it.
The room's black. I pray
that no one is perfect. Please.

These pictures look sad
with all their vibrant colors.
They try to make apples
look artistic.

history,
laboratory,
manditory: the suffixes / are all
underlined in my books..

Sound cheery, Jess.
Smile.
You'll be okay.

"I will count
the seconds.
"

...s.m.e.a.r...

dReAmCaTcHeR

(feathers)

ALL OVER

...t.h.e.m.i.r.r.o.r...

I don't know how to end this.

#22 Zelda Princess

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    Jess

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Posted 28 May 2007 - 08:19 AM

5/26/07


Tonight, I am going to pretend
that I leave my soul in poetry.
I don't need any of these things
in this room. I can't say that this
map
stares back
at me, because \ I
only stare
at it. This / clock
beside me
could be
poetic
if I wanted it to be, but tonight
everything
is poetic. I compose / words
wherever I go, and at anything
I observe. Everything is meaningful to me,
and I therefore
cannot write
anything.

...

I never thought I'd buy
a heart-shaped cardboard box.
You know what flattering words to say
to someone who knots your heart
in your hair
because you're just trying
to be old enough; trying to feel
what you know
is missing, no matter how much
the comb / will bite
the air. Some truly believe they're in love,
for then inner change occurs.
We only
get angry
at the relationships we lose
because we were lying to ourselves; to the
spiders
in our heads.

...

My heart
fell
back into my chest
when you sat on my tongue
and I
swallowed.

...

I've erased this about
five times now. I really can't
tell you about this silence...
I can't let you experience this with me...
But I wish I could explain
how much
I miss you.

...

...

...

#23 BreakTheReflection

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Posted 30 May 2007 - 05:31 PM

Hey Jess, I know I haven't commented on your poems in a while but I have been reading everything as it comes, and I love all of it. I will comment on all of them individually soon. Keep up the beautiful work...

#24 Zelda Princess

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Posted 07 June 2007 - 11:21 AM

..Thank you so much, Katie... Comments mean a lot to me.


Ringworm (tinea capitis)
6/7/07

LISTEN. I can
hear / a heartbeat in my
scalp. (The / morning frost --> wraps
around us as though
we work as maids \ for this wood.
Silence walks down our [tongues] / to
install :lightbulbs:
within / our lonely stomachs, so we may / may glow
about [something]. Distance <-- trills
the bass flight \ of a ruby-throated hummingbird
to cease the hunger in our guts; to dizzy
our thoracic cavities / and birth
nau-seous but-ter-fly kuh-koons.
)
1. 2. 3. 4.. <buh-buh> 5. 6. 7.. <buh-buh>
<buh-buh>
<buh-buh>. Please note; vision begins here:
Sitr / of an asphalt
river within my dreamy skull / tucks
all grass beneath / itself. Summer roads lack [nothing]
but laces, / mur-mur the fallen \ strands
of my hair. (I always tie a bow
that checkers my shoes \ between our distances
when I dream. The double yellow lines on roads
have become nothing but
grommets --> to. my. / heartache.) Your heart
has been contagious to me: years ago, for all
I know, you could have been / diagnosed
with the first case of worms. Our beginning
nights / of "I love you"s \ came with a mental mailing
of your cardiac tissue / to mine; we have been
b.e.a.t.i.n.g. simultaneously \ ever since, and now
the worms
have spread
to my head... (The stamps / and spit included
whenever / our postal service grinned the / classic
We're Open smile: they've been living
happily
around my left \ ring finger. I still
can only / dream about
what / our love
looks like. Are we a color?
are we a noun?..) --> I feel you \ e.v.e.r.y.w.h.e.r.e., but I
want to know / what it'd feel like
to hold you
as stages of REM caused you to twitch; as your
eyelashes \ fluttered with mine; and as your breath
humidified my skin, encouraging \ the growth
of moss... I now realize, just being
that I could make this
without ever meeting you; I could \ very well
just live
and smile at everything which comes my way
and love you
like this, but I think \ it's really
killing you... (Someday, we'll cross our legs
on the yellow nerves of Route 92: our playful pounces
will switch who's on top
and how much gravel we'll peel from each other's skin,
mouths / kissing
and tongues \ biting
the clothing / we'll wear.
I'll taste
the impulsive cirtus we shared, and I'll \ lick
your. smile.
clean.
) <buh-buh>
<buh-buh>
..
*hmm, hmm.. hmm hmmm..*
<buh-buh>
citrus smiles...
(<buh-buh>)
..baby, i'm coming.

#25 Zelda Princess

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    Jess

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Posted 26 June 2007 - 01:24 PM

vent-ish thought poem with added ingredients of whining and sadness...


6/24/07


melts into the chair.
adjusts the strings in the back
of my neck.
twists elbow backwards; breaks
the cartilage.
notices my teeth
limping awkwardly
along the wired bow.
tickles the strings
braided into my spine.
sings like a high blowfish.

pink cup.
(love me, the handle squeaks.)

once upon a time,
i invaded
your heart.


gunna snow
yet?

(i
HATE
unspoken references
to
beauti-fi-cation:
even my lips should be
child-safe porn.
shut the hell up.)

..i miss you...
yeah, letters
and windows
and hey, look, dust...
dull green, dull red, dull brown:
the safe colors
found restless in heat
only within maps...
dear map on my wall, may i fold
my creases; morph into sperm
and die in your uterus?

..but conscience,
i AM something!
(the crickets / outside
chirp their amens.)

sun.

broth.

hair.

"i smell
like grease
and taste
like blood."

baby.
b.a.b.y...

goddamnit...
i'm falling apart...

(maybe i'm just a plate
perspiring in the last cycle;
longing for a cupboard;
missing rain...)

black lungs
hehe
i should start smoking.

Smile, Smith.
"I will count the seconds."
"...I love you..."
"I miss you.."
"You are the world to me."
"I'd trust you with my life, I am trusting you with my heart."
"I love you so much, my beautiful, beautiful girl.."
"...Jessica, Baby..I'd give anything to talk to you right now.."
"Nothing on this earth has meant as much to me as you do."
"I will make you a part of this family."

..ferris wheels.

shampoo.

grease on the keyboard
from i don't know where.

super-glued chin.

bruises i won't count.

black sharpie x's on my feet.

"severe abrasions," the man said
into the radio's wrist. i asked him
the dimensions
of the ambulance's gut
that glared at me.
"i don't know," he said.
"are there platelets in my IV?"
silly question.

i was a runaway.
a statistic.

..sea sponges.

too many tissues.

aloe vera.

math.

"count the stars, jess.
you're going into shock."

thumb.
tacks.

my first murder.
"are you dreaming? are you dreaming?
are you dreaming?" i asked
the mouse / as i
broke
his
face...
(eyes like runaway cherries)

"camel's milk
does not curdle"

i can't figure out your smell...
a photograph
your skinny shawl
of unknown substance.
knotted plastic bags.
wish i could've said
goodbye, have a
wonderful life...

mother. what a word.
"are you my mother?"
my favorite book
when i was four.

"..you red-breasted harbinger
of a robin!
"
i've always wanted
to say that to someone.

a grown man who thinks i'm "beautiful".
he stares
in the doorways; watches
the bones of my hips
with his x-ray eyes.
"i wish i was younger."

diet snapples.

no sleep.

..butterflies.

and they lived
happily
ever
after...


"..When I hear your name, it's something I know I'd be saying for the rest of my life.
And when I tell you I love you, I know it's the most sincere thing I could ever say."

st. ive's camomile lotion.
i put it on everyday
to ensure my skin's soft
for you
when i get there...

"Stop it. Just stop."
"..okay."

#26 Zelda Princess

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    Jess

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Posted 14 July 2007 - 09:06 AM

Pretty horrible poem... finished somewhere after four in the morning... don't know what's with the style.


Two-Inch Tall Alice
7/12/07

...

I can relate my peely appendage cells
to the most brilliant sunrise I've ever seen.
The average square yard -- so easy to hear
in the it's-so-cold mornings -- must have mirrors in the dew,
for even the grass is quiet,
waiting to become blonde with the sun / and forget
the nude images of itself against all the blinking weeds,
itchy with snowglobe mirrors.
I want to shrink \ below the white daisies
and interview their friendly faces,
trusting physiognomy for the first time.
I feel all too intelligent; all too intelligent,
for these birds -- not just birds -- model for postage stamps
and their feathers are heavier
than their bones. (Blue rafters. Orange smiles. --> Spiders
with five insights into my soul. "Will you / go out \ with me?" Shaggy
hair. It makes me angry / that some guy can't realize you go everywhere with me.
"I never will.") Writing name tags
for the elements of the sun / is something I could do
in my sleep. My heart floats to my neck,
making my ears bob against the the phone, and here -- just here -- I can smell
the color of the room you're in when
I wake up from depressed pamphlets and a mother
who tells me I'm nothing
: the pool \ in my head
turns into ocean and makes
my coffee nervous. Picturing you -- just you --
in your room
with some phone
and your voice
and your clavicles
and your shoulder blades
becomes my Automatic, Lonely Dream.
But this is a past sunrise I'm writing
in present tense. I have never seen
a more beautiful sunrise than that morning in the blur
of the worst and greatest seven months of my life.
Confession:
I am obsessed / with you. I am dependent / on you. I don't
want to be two inches tall and blind to the difference
of oleander and daisy. My room is a place of utter silence
and brooding. Alone, alone, alone
and I've decided that life is about being able to cope with yourself.
Tory. tory. tory. tory. Tory...
Here I stand, on a square lawn
of swollen pink alveoli -- my lungs -- and all the birds are still
and the grass is still
and the colors are too pretty for me
.
I'm trying, I'm trying so hard,
but when I close my eyes, I see black and yellow roads
leading to you. The sun creeps its way over my speedbump ribs,
eating
EATING
the moisture from my skin
and opening me like a book; reading / my balloon-shaped heart
like puzzle-piece bark. I have an urge to light a cigarette
and wait for the smoke to gather like dusty insects in this too-pretty-
of-a-!@#$ing-necess-
ary-place, bursting
these little air sacs. I'm not what I want to be
and I want to be your partner
in the closest way. I'm scared that one day I'll climb
my rainbow bronchi -- so full of butterflies and spit -- that I'll look down,
be smaller than two-inch Alice,
and my lungs will be a scribbled stage, "HI, MY NAME IS
HYDROGEN" stuck to the walls
with aliases of "HI, MY NAME IS
BOUQUET OF RIPPENED TOMATOES
AND I HATED YOUR ACT".

...

#27 Zelda Princess

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    Jess

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Posted 21 July 2007 - 08:58 AM

All that I've been writing lately hasn't been inspired; instead, it's more of venting frustration that I'm not feeling creative... as sad as that is, no, I have not forgotten grammar... all of the mistakes in this are intentional... thanks a lot for reading.


7/20/07; 4:07am


buzz
buzz
buzz
buzz

amazing stereo system

hmm hmmm
hmmm hmm

smoke everywhere, but yet
the same thickness
nowhere

fiddle, clank
clanky kinky clank
deep purrrr

i wanna write you some song
inspired just now
that'll work with something

doe
ray
me
fah
so
lah

wood-paneled walls
they feel more like metal
something something
something something something


tee
doe
come 'round here
let's twist
and smoke something,
baby doll
too much dye and cake in his eyelashes
this guy thinks he's a butterfly.
grandfather clock is a volunteer employee;
he collects the dust of our youth in his hands
but just as well
today's our birthday

hey! hey! hey! hey!
rush! rush! rush!
scuh-REAMing along

the ceiling is a constellation of streamers:
everyone feels them in their nerves.
oh, secretly, we want someone to open
the ceiling! to open
the walls!

we breathe
dust necking on the wood's trim
plaid couches
shag carpet
underterminable color scheme
oh, these people's faces...
to much cake and too much dye

mm, aah
mm, aahh.. de dou dah daaaa
shock treatment
the sound of shedding
MA-uze-IC!

scissor steps about the room
bottlecaps for eyes
smell of bug spray and pajamas;
extraordinary how my lover looks at me
..ticktick..ticktick.. either grandpa or my adolescent heart

i'll write you a song and i hope
that you won't mind, because all the names and places
i have taken from your life. please don't be
upset at the portrait that i paint;


(toenails graced with bright colors
inform the carpet how much
i allow myself to dream)

it maybe a little biased, but at least
i spelt your name
right...


turquoise door
i feel so sick and dirty.
upon entering the bathroom, i understand
why he smells like bug spray

bang bang bang bang bang bang
small layer over the music as i shut the door
accidental encounter with the mirror (well, !@#$ you, too)
you haunt me like dirty pajamas and
the only hamper in the world gone missing

small, blue body.
delicate clover-shaped rocks on its feet
one fetal pig in the tub.
i get mad at god right about now: she should've been
some angel's coloring page

next song
slows down
slows down a bit
slows down
chordstrum... chordstrum...
yeah, you bleed
just to know you're alive


what does porcelain sound like?
i climb into the white tub, next to
dissected cheeks.

brooding bass line
pluck pluck pluck pluck
i imagine the former womb
for this dead fetus. it was made for life.
why didn't it get that?

blahblahblahblah angry next song
guitars discover teeth
"i should just suck out your mother!@#$ing
brains!
" (humhmmhumhmmm)

my lover's hands
smell like
my heart; strangest sensation.
"your name? your name? your name?"
as he climbs against my back
to play
records in my spine

click.. click.. click
percussion
("life is a waterfall")

his corneas magnify deep, dark mud.
we breathe the same air and conspire about
street signs. country life.
darlin', you say.

the vocalists still lisp
behind the door's skin.
("WHERE
THE !@#$
ARE YOU?
")

your pupils are a strange set of wombs.
dark quicksand. you hate them, and only i
see them as safe. donning veils, we observe life
behind tinted contact lenses.

deep purr
buzzzz
hummmm
("STILL, YOU FEED US LIES FROM THE TABLECLOTH")
and yet..
silence

thump.thump.thump. grandfather must be mumbling
ticktick..ticktick.. my heart beats
i'll write you a song and i hope
that you won't mind...
porcelain becomes
personification of silence. won't even ask if music
was a rabbit in a hat
the whole time.

croon croon croon
bang bang bang
zzzzzzzt; zzzzz

the walls around us age
like skin. one octave at a time
until it dies
"humhummhumhmmmh--
click
" outside. why did the music stop?

there's a tornado on the wallpaper
in this indecipherable room.
i don't know how and
i don't know why, but the fetal pig
sits betwen us now. my sutures leak cumulonimbus clouds
as i feel the hail drop
inside my skull. mnb.mnb.mnb. how i itch
to pluck the small-scale fense from the nearest wall
in inspired country scene; breathe deeply the snowglobe air
and let the taste of old paint
awake my sleepy tongue.

please don't be upset at the portrait
that i paint; it may be a little biased, but...


the record player
hidden within my spine: i mutilate the needle
and thread it with your hair

at least i spelt
your name
right...


ticktick..ticktick..ticktick

"what color will i be?"

#28 BreakTheReflection

BreakTheReflection

    Sylvia Plath

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Posted 11 August 2007 - 11:53 PM

QUOTE(Zelda Princess @ Jun 7 2007, 03:21 AM) <{POST_SNAPBACK}>
..Thank you so much, Katie... Comments mean a lot to me.
Ringworm (tinea capitis)
6/7/07

LISTEN. I can
hear / a heartbeat in my
scalp.
(The / morning frost --> wraps
around us as though
we work as maids \ for this wood.
Silence walks down our [tongues] / to
install :lightbulbs:
within / our lonely stomachs
, so we may / may glow
about [something]. Distance <-- trills
the bass flight \ of a ruby-throated hummingbird
to cease the hunger in our guts; to dizzy
our thoracic cavities / and birth
nau-seous but-ter-fly kuh-koons.
)
1. 2. 3. 4.. <buh-buh> 5. 6. 7.. <buh-buh>
<buh-buh>
<buh-buh>. Please note; vision begins here:
Sitr / of an asphalt
river within my dreamy skull
/ tucks
all grass beneath / itself. Summer roads lack [nothing]
but laces, / mur-mur the fallen \ strands
of my hair. (I always tie a bow
that checkers my shoes \ between our distances
when I dream. The double yellow lines on roads
have become nothing but
grommets --> to. my. / heartache.) Your heart
has been contagious to me: years ago, for all
I know, you could have been / diagnosed
with the first case of worms. Our beginning
nights / of "I love you"s \ came with a mental mailing
of your cardiac tissue
/ to mine; we have been
b.e.a.t.i.n.g. simultaneously \ ever since, and now
the worms
have spread
to my head... (The stamps / and spit included
whenever / our postal service grinned the / classic
We're Open smile: they've been living
happily
around my left \ ring finger. I still
can only / dream about
what / our love
looks like. Are we a color?
are we a noun?..) --> I feel you \ e.v.e.r.y.w.h.e.r.e., but I
want to know / what it'd feel like
to hold you
as stages of REM caused you to twitch; as your
eyelashes \ fluttered with mine; and as your breath
humidified my skin
, encouraging \ the growth
of moss... I now realize, just being
that I could make this
without ever meeting you; I could \ very well
just live
and smile at everything which comes my way
and love you
like this, but I think \ it's really
killing you... (Someday, we'll cross our legs
on the yellow nerves of Route 92: our playful pounces
will switch who's on top
and how much gravel we'll peel from each other's skin,
mouths / kissing
and tongues \ biting
the clothing / we'll wear.
I'll taste
the impulsive citrus we shared, and I'll \ lick
your. smile.
clean.
) <buh-buh>
<buh-buh>
..
*hmm, hmm.. hmm hmmm..*
<buh-buh>
citrus smiles...
(<buh-buh>)
..baby, i'm coming.


I really loved reading this poem. I liked this places where things rhymed. The poem flowed beautifully. I'd like to hear this read aloud, actually...haha that'd be interesting. I could see everything so well, all the impossible images that you threw in were amazing. I love it all, but I've put my favorite bits in red. I wish I could say more....this is only the beginning of my replies. I'm going to comment on the other ones soon. The ending to this was beautiful. The whole poem moved me. Keep up the good work, Jess...

#29 Zelda Princess

Zelda Princess

    Jess

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Posted 16 August 2007 - 04:32 PM

summer harvest
8/15/07


we crawl on the floor,
scampering through carpet
gray weeds
our garden
maybe colors at the roots
acres at a time, we pinch at the fibers
half the width of our spirelous hands.
I don't know about you, but my bouquets
are colorful: round little pinpricks of hair.
humidity chirps at my bone
and moistens my brain --
I move to the kitchen; pause at the tiles,
inhaling mould.
masculine hands, i conjure, blinking my throat back
as I watch your harvest
watch the mould con walls.
the pigment in your eyes, zipped to the collar
with liquidous cornea -- well..
your hands are repeating cerebellum's task
but i've never seen such green thumbs in eyes.
behind your lashes, it looks like soil and mud
their follicle-sized dashes are secretive and sad,
but you care about the colors that I hold.
the carpet is itchy
and the tiles are cold
i lie on my side, disturbed by both,
planting moths in my throat.
when you look at me through your garden,
your eyes chew the silence.

#30 BreakTheReflection

BreakTheReflection

    Sylvia Plath

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Posted 17 August 2007 - 01:36 AM

QUOTE(Zelda Princess @ Jun 26 2007, 05:24 AM) <{POST_SNAPBACK}>
vent-ish thought poem with added ingredients of whining and sadness...

6/24/07
melts into the chair.
adjusts the strings in the back
of my neck.

twists elbow backwards; breaks
the cartilage.
notices my teeth
limping awkwardly
along the wired bow.
tickles the strings
braided into my spine.

sings like a high blowfish.

pink cup.
(love me, the handle squeaks.)

once upon a time,
i invaded
your heart.


gunna snow
yet?

(i
HATE
unspoken references
to
beauti-fi-cation:
even my lips should be
child-safe porn.

shut the hell up.)

..i miss you...
yeah, letters
and windows
and hey, look, dust...
dull green, dull red, dull brown:
the safe colors
found restless in heat
only within maps...
dear map on my wall, may i fold
my creases; morph into sperm
and die in your uterus?


..but conscience,
i AM something!
(the crickets / outside
chirp their amens.)

sun.

broth.

hair.

"i smell
like grease
and taste
like blood."


baby.
b.a.b.y...

goddamnit...
i'm falling apart...


(maybe i'm just a plate
perspiring in the last cycle;
longing for a cupboard;
missing rain...)

black lungs
hehe
i should start smoking.

Smile, Smith.
"I will count the seconds."
"...I love you..."
"I miss you.."
"You are the world to me."
"I'd trust you with my life, I am trusting you with my heart."
"I love you so much, my beautiful, beautiful girl.."
"...Jessica, Baby..I'd give anything to talk to you right now.."
"Nothing on this earth has meant as much to me as you do."
"I will make you a part of this family."

..ferris wheels.

shampoo.

grease on the keyboard
from i don't know where.

super-glued chin.

bruises i won't count.

black sharpie x's on my feet.

"severe abrasions," the man said
into the radio's wrist. i asked him
the dimensions
of the ambulance's gut
that glared at me.
"i don't know," he said.
"are there platelets in my IV?"
education during emergency.


i was a runaway.
a statistic.

..sea sponges.

too many tissues.

aloe vera.

math.

"count the stars, jess.
you're going into shock."

thumb.
tacks.

my first murder.
"are you dreaming? are you dreaming?
are you dreaming?"
i asked
the mouse / as i
broke
his
face...
(eyes like runaway cherries)

"camel's milk
does not curdle"

i can't figure out your smell...
a photograph
your skinny shawl
of unknown substance.
knotted plastic bags.

wish i could've said
goodbye, have a
wonderful life...

mother. what a word.
"are you my mother?"
my favorite book
when i was four.

"..you red-breasted harbinger
of a robin!
"

a grown man who thinks i'm "beautiful".
he stares
in the doorways; watches
the bones of my hips
with his x-ray eyes.
"i wish i was younger."


diet snapples.

no sleep.

..butterflies.

and they lived
happily
ever
after...


"..When I hear your name, it's something I know I'd be saying for the rest of my life.
And when I tell you I love you, I know it's the most sincere thing I could ever say."


st. ive's camomile lotion.
i put it on everyday
to ensure my skin's soft
for you
when i get there...

"Stop it. Just stop."
"..okay."


I really loved this poem. I highlighted alot of lines, the ones that struck me the most. I always enjoy reading your thought poems. I usually find something in them that I can relate to. This was all very surreal. I wish I could say more, as usual...*re-reads poem again*




QUOTE(Zelda Princess @ Jul 14 2007, 01:06 AM) <{POST_SNAPBACK}>
Pretty horrible poem... finished somewhere after four in the morning... don't know what's with the style.
Two-Inch Tall Alice
7/12/07

...

I can relate my peely appendage cells
to the most brilliant sunrise I've ever seen.

The average square yard -- so easy to hear
in the it's-so-cold mornings -- must have mirrors in the dew,
for even the grass is quiet,
waiting to become blonde with the sun / and forget
the nude images of itself
against all the blinking weeds,
itchy with
snowglobe mirrors.
I want to shrink \ below the white daisies
and interview their friendly faces,
trusting physiognomy for the first time.
I feel all too intelligent; all too intelligent,
for these birds -- not just birds -- model for postage stamps
and their feathers are heavier
than their bones.
(Blue rafters. Orange smiles. --> Spiders
with five insights into my soul. "Will you / go out \ with me?" Shaggy
hair. It makes me angry / that some guy can't realize you go everywhere with me.
"I never will.") Writing name tags
for the elements of the sun / is something I could do
in my sleep. My heart floats to my neck,
making my ears bob against the the phone
, and here -- just here -- I can smell
the color of the room you're in when
I wake up from depressed pamphlets and a mother
who tells me I'm nothing
: the pool \ in my head
turns into ocean and makes
my coffee nervous. Picturing you -- just you --
in your room
with some phone
and your voice
and your clavicles
and your shoulder blades

becomes my Automatic, Lonely Dream.
But this is a past sunrise I'm writing
in present tense. I have never seen
a more beautiful sunrise than that morning in the blur
of the worst and greatest seven months of my life.
Confession:
I am obsessed / with you. I am dependent / on you. I don't
want to be two inches tall
and blind to the difference
of oleander and daisy. My room is a place of utter silence
and brooding. Alone, alone, alone
and I've decided that life is about being able to cope with yourself.

Tory. tory. tory. tory. Tory...
Here I stand, on a square lawn
of swollen pink alveoli -- my lungs -- and all the birds are still
and the grass is still
and the colors are too pretty for me
.
I'm trying, I'm trying so hard,
but when I close my eyes, I see black and yellow roads
leading to you. The sun creeps its way over my speedbump ribs,
eating
EATING
the moisture from my skin

and opening me like a book; reading / my balloon-shaped heart
like puzzle-piece bark.
I have an urge to light a cigarette
and wait for the smoke to gather like dusty insects in this too-pretty-
of-a-!@#$ing-necess-
ary-place, bursting
these little air sacs. I'm not what I want to be
and I want to be your partner
in the closest way.
I'm scared that one day I'll climb
my rainbow bronchi -- so full of butterflies and spit -- that I'll look down,
be smaller than two-inch Alice,
and my lungs will be a scribbled stage, "HI, MY NAME IS
HYDROGEN" stuck to the walls
with aliases of "HI, MY NAME IS
BOUQUET OF RIPPENED TOMATOES
AND I HATED YOUR ACT".


...


Again, I put my favorite bits in red. I really liked this poem, it seems different from your others. You had some interesting adjectives and nouns together, like blinking weeds, peely appendages, scribbled stage, swollen pink alveoli, depressed pamphlets, and more. Keep up the good work, Jess...

More replies coming soon!




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