dystopia

Sorry with my previous post i forgot to mention i live in Queensland Australia. but if anyone is still interested let me know :)

PREVIOUS POST:
i was wondering if anyone was interested in sending a journal back and forth? basically one persone would have it for a week or 2 then send it to the other. writing poety, lil story's, drawings etc in? message me if anyone if interested  :)
thought it would be a pretty cool thing to do.  (a real life journal you send in the mail)

the sun is a vessel it sails through a sky
and i can no longer tell where it ends and
i begin.
this is where hope starts,
among unshaped clouds like wandering spirits
drifting aimless like
i am.
 

Condition stated around us,
Either exaltation or frustration,
Quite affect our wonts and actions.

Translucent net may filter,
But the blemish has already been shed;
Has been pricking our bubble of awareness,
Deceiving our faith and belief.

In spite of these obstructions,
The purpose should remain intact;
Principles should not walk astray,
It may stumble, may hinder,
But it will stand up;
Choose the right path omnisciently.

There once was a boy
who looked rather thin.
The kids poked fun
'cause he liked to swim.
But Henry, oh he
didn't swim at the beaches
and not only because
of the slippery leeches.
His father had sunken
in that of a ship.
Bringing coal to the harbour,
they took a great tip.
The boys who poke fun,
always seem to win.
They still think the thin boy
goes there to swim.
 

alas,it happened again.
a fleeting lucid bliss.
wrapped in a mortally fault nature.

deepened so much it hurts
but so much power came over.
a morsel taste,knocking my heart over.

should avoid that resort?
detain the struggle of palatable undulation?

the urge should have been stopped.
if it won't the morose will just prose---on and on.

she courts her disease
with the utmost respect
a suitor that will stay
so she says
unlike most men her age
accepting of its opinions
as she mulls over her day
even if she's aware
of the only reason it cares
and while she's no prude
nude and wilting beneath sheets
she won't let it in just yet
it has to earn it's desire
in the end

Be wary, little child,
Of wandering through wild untamed woods
Where paths forever encircle themselves
And madness lies within
Beware, O Son of Adam
Of hidden places all twisted and black
Where Satyrs and witches hold their Sabbats
Conjuring all manner of sin
Be wary, Daughter of Eve
If ever the forest whispers your name
Where once the path would lead you home
It now leads you further within
Beware, O darling boy
That the Gentry don't take you away
For if they entice you with goblin fruit
You'll be enslaved therein

© Phil Brennan July 2009

Based on something my sister told me the other day that left be a bit on the disturbed side (a woman cuddled a kitten then squished/stomped on it -cries-).
But I kinda twisted it a bit.

-

being crushed red under heels,
the little kitten squealed
and squealed
skull being fractured
limbs being pulled off
and my eyes
my eyes
shuddered
as her sadism
hit high

pink, roseate, cotton-candy
apple-red, wicked-witch apple-red
weaved under
heels (her hells)

candy-floss,
gruesome candy floss staining the sole of her heartless foot
anger
angry i am

i take her face,
her ecstatic skin-painting,
salvador dalí-esque,
in its disturbing, nonsensical, scenery

and i smash it into my fist
her hair falls
limbs and joints clank together
skin-painting no more
no pretty blushing features

i am ecstatic
the only sad thing,
apart from the dead kitten,
is that
she didn't utter a noise

but

i am
ecstatic

A/N: Part 2 of the tryptych about angels- to find part 1, look at the tag.


I will never paint an angel from the dream

Hear me talk
For I won't repeat any of it ever again
Listen to what I'm saying
Never let it out your head
Remember what I've told you before
"HEAR ME TALK ONCE MORE"

I lose no integrity
in my wanting constantly
in the sleeveless way
that I hang my bowels, my innards
out on lines
for all seeing
experience and loving
hating, desiring so strongly
are the beautiful
emotions given like gifts
exuberance is stunning
hard, sure swords to the heart
or gut for building pleasure
maybe the sick feeling
the hot, aching monopoly
of the focus of lovely people
is the most treasured thing to be had
and expelling the deepness of oneself
from the mouth, from the eyes
is such an earnest thing to impart
possibly the best thing to ever know
and clinging to it is a sincerity
unquestionable in the devout way
that listening is intense
and that a smile (singularly split)
is a kiss to the mind

She wishes upon a falling star
Believing her wishes would come true
But within a blink of an eye
Nothing came true
With tears in her eyes
She cried, "I shall never wish upon a star just like you!"
She left within a blink of an eye
And nothing came true...

YOU
are the object
of my seething hatred
which burns inside of me
so deep that it often keeps me awake at night
as I hope beyond compare
that your reign of terror upon this planet
does not reach a another year.
And if ever fate
should choose to smite you where you stand,
know that it was me
who wished it upon you.

"I'm done." she said as she shoved
her tray to the edge of the table.

(she's done, and you know
 she isn't talking about
 chow mein.)

In the Glendale Galleria
she pushed the food court
to its wits end.
Two years of memorizing
the marks on the ceiling,
and finally she's finished.

(though waiting at night, still, for the
     - quivering - quaking - pulsation -

the throb of a phone call
 positioned in the place
where she no longer holds her horses. )

His reply
Means nothing
In the world
Of shattered dreams.
Involuntary words
Pressed for emotion
Don't break through
To a broken heart.

His weak attempts
At communication
Leaves her standing
Cold and alone.
Searching for answers
In lust alone
Makes him vulnerable
To his own guilt.

His failed chance
At being forgiven
Is just as worthless
As her attempt at lying.
The difference
In living alone
Is that he never
Hears her scream at night.

Hello everyone! I've updated my journal of weekly writer's encouragement! This week's topic: "Who is a real writer?" Please, check it out and feel free to leave comments! Thanks to everyone who's posting such positve feedback!

i was wondering if anyone was interested in sending a journal back and forth? basically one persone would have it for a week or 2 then send it to the other. writing poety/ lil story's etc in? message me if anyone if interested thanks :)
thought it would be a pretty cool thing to do.

       i am in the midst
of writing a story 

      it is about a little girl who fidgets and presses the plastic buttons on her doll’s dress deeper into its calico chest

      and it is about max who i once knew, the boy with the bruises in his pupils and who wore band-aids like bracelets up and down his chocolate forearms

      i am writing a story on afternoons and midnights. stitching together sentences with a tiny needle on my bicycle seat, hovering outside of the chain-link fences of my childhood haunts with my legs too gangly for the slide.

      it is about lucy i have loved, lucy in her summer- sky dresses and ankle- length leggings to hide the spots i have never touched her, lucy with the magic still buried, deep in the aching parts of her bones.

---