|
Poetics_of_the_Chuck
|
read my profile
sign my guestbook
Name: Chuck
Gender: Male
Interests: I kinda like poetry, as you might have guessed...
Expertise: Being 10% Artsy, and 89% Fartsy. There is a one-percent margin of error.
Occupation: Artist
Industry: Textiles
Message: message me
Website: visit my website
Member Since:
2/14/2005
|
|
| So, I guess I should do something about my poetry site, eh? I guess I forgot it was here... hmmm.... I'll put a poem up soon, I promise. Give me a week!!!! If I fail, you can neglect this site as much as I do. | | |
| I'm lazy, I know... I'll have a new poem up here someday soon, I promise! Something that goes along the lines of this satirical nugget:
end everything not by knife
but by enjoying some Cold
play with a bottle of pills.
Only the most depressing homage can live up to the most depressing musical group. | | |
| Puffed Up
Stare at violet softer than air—
shackled by ribbon, grounded
by the collected works of authors
long dead, and swiveling in wind
only felt by your skin so thin.
Prized possession of a boy
for the day; your unearthly
pull to the sky fascinates more
than snacktime—rises high
above the touch of daddy’s hands.
All intrigue fills your skin
so thin and frail that, if not for
Donne, would crash upon the
toothed rocks above and—POP!—
send you to the ground
and the boy into daddy’s hands.
Too young for common knowledge
he strives to give you life; puffs
his own, struggles to lift you up
once more to spin in the wind, but
your time is done; a boy’s love
for today becomes grief—builds
tears within as daddy lifts him up. | | |
| Well, I haven't been keeping this updated, and I apologise... I've been too busy to write, but I must say I have a couple in the works, so be ready! In the meantime, here's a picture I just took... I wish I could make it bigger.
| | |
| Okay, I lied about the every Sunday thing... I have this poem I want to post, but it's a bit visual, and I can't get xanga to recognize it when I hit the spacebar at the beginning of a line... I'll figure it out soon. For now, here's a short little ditty I semi-enjoy.
The fig tree stands
next to the window
watching the rain fall down;
Layers of dust
cover old, grey leaves
longing for one small drink;
I slam the door
from that wretched pour
grumbling about the rain.
| | |
|
