Poetry Arena

aprove agora o batente seu falar em outras línguas está bem, mantenha-o ao inglês seu easyer para ler.

ok thanx
Yes, yes, yes... you think you are so fancy with the french and ltalian and whatever hugabuga language, but can you speak swedish and finnish? No, I didn´t think so either....:eek:
Jag kastar svampar på er, dvärgtomtar!
Minä olen kiltti hiiri! :p

I believe you Pollux, you´re a totally normal american youth, not gay at all...or are you in denial???

Just kidding....:D

"..le tunics et des jupes hippy...", I liked the sound of that. :)

Talk to kids around the world, it might go a little bit something like this!!

Je parlez anglaise et francais, et ce'st ca!

Oh yeah! Pomes
One of mine then:

A Night Apart
To my Better Half

The insight of the day comes back to haunt
a mind so clamorously striving for sleep.
It sits like a wraith and gibbers at me
and keeps me from the steep
slip'ry pit of repose

Throws up quibbles and troubles
in singles and doubles
And guides them into my face
Where they rest and they grow,
so fast, never slow
What their aim is no one can know

Show me lightning and thunder,
myself split asunder,
leave the ghoulish me to miss
my better half
who's just down the hall
and a thousand light years beyond.

Michael C Gillespie

Copyright ©2002 Michael C Gillespie
(Originally posted on www.poetry.com)

I agree with bebelina:
Being called gay is more often a compliment than an insult!
Regardez, damnit que je ne suis pas gai ainsi il n'importe pas!

Et oui, Bebelina, je ne sais pas finlandais ou suédois, parce que, bien, je pas . J'ai pensé que sachant cinq langages était couramment assez
Being gay truly is a compliment.
Je suis gai et c'est bon.
Mais toi, Pollux V, tu est un pauvre garcon. Ton homosexuallite n'est pas mal, mais tu comprende le contraire.

(Congratulations thinks- didn't I start a wonderful rumor?)

No, Bebelina, Harlem is not my home. It's more like a place you never go, mostly now becasue of the possibility of bumping into Bill Clinton. Hillary, though, is not a problem. I wouldn't see her coming to visit hubby at work. She'd be too afraid of what might be going on. I only use ghetto-ish words if I want to scare light-hearted Swedish women, mind you. ;)
Ooooh, I thought she was talking to YOU, I mentioned I wore dark khakis and a black shirt and then badaboom the harlem INSULTS flew out. But upon glancing at your other posts it appears i was wrong. I preceeded to say that scandinavians wore 'tunics and hippy skirts.' I thought that was funny. I like insulting people in other languages.

BTW- Je suis réellement la bourgeoisie et suis venu de Brooklyn, l'information intéressante pour vous, hein? Nous sommes les deux New Yorkers.

IT WASN't EVEN A RUMOR.....arrrrrr this is all yoga's fault...wait, no it isn't, its my fault for writing poetry, I could write it before but now? oh no you have to rhyme day with gay and make everyone on your little internet site think you're a homosexual, when you are nt!!!

getting back to poetry now...

Something I scribbled on the back of a valentines card:

Mind Forge

Frolicking lazily through
amber meadows
Brings memories of
previous oppurtunities,

But that's all they are.
And the new ones must be
forged! Come, friends,
past crushes, various pets,
let us watch the stars
live our lives remembering
and forging
what we want
to remember.
This was sparked by stupid ideas of fashion in my home town. Its a bit like living in a huge olympic village cos everybody wears tracksuits and sports gear, If you don't wear the right name you're a non-person stupid but true.
Not madness the group.
Just a small bunch of neurones, looping the loop inside my head.
I gaze at the world through rose-tinted eyes,
through lack of sleep, no great surprise.
Cos the nightmares start when I leave my bed and they’re ten times worse when I rest my head.

Wandering corridors in my mind.
They’re long and they’re dark, and there’s something behind me!!
I spy a doorway,
to my right.
With an exit sign that glows green and then white.
There are chains and bars and bolts and locks.
And a woman stands beyond it dressed in bright green socks and – nothing else.

To the left of the door, there’s a sign which reads…
So I soothe it,
and it pleads with me.
“Let me out of this corridor…
I was the entrance to Woolworth before you and your neurones brought me here.
The door beyond which almost nothing was dear, but you’d often forget what you went in there for.”
I reason that this is the fault of the door.

And move on.

A staircase now.
So slippery and steep.
At the top is a tower, a castle, a keep.
Five million steps to the madness creator, and half way up it’s an escalator, moving down.
With a magic spell using dragons’ droppings, I conjure the trick used by Mary Poppins and slide up the banister tall and proud.
Passing ghosts of my history,
rending their shrouds and throwing the shreds of them into my face.
“You’re a Bastard, and Arsehole, A Fucking Disgrace”
I ignore them, as I am wont to do.
Pass the same naked woman this time in socks blue.

And move on.

I’m not sure exactly how far from the top I am,
when abruptly I come to a stop.
A landing leads off in two different directions.
Along one, a young man cuts his brain into sections.
The knife he is using is mother of Pearl, or Angie or Melanie or some such young girl that he lost his heart to, and will never recover.
He’s not learned that there is no such thing as a lover, forever, endeavours to cut out the part that attaches the eyeballs to strings of the heart.
So he won’t see them tempt him.
He won’t see them flutter their eyelids and skirt hems and then make him mutter and stutter.
And slowly dissection continues.
Until all that’s left are the ears and some sinews.
The pain is all gone but the hacking continues.

I move on.

And there to his opposite side is another.
Who looks not unlike him a possible brother,
or maybe a clone, whom on closer inspection.
We find not alone
and endowed with erection.
He writhes in some ecstasy hard to describe to a mind closed tight shut to a heart so alive.
And here in a corridor, dark and alone, they’ll sweat and he’ll hump and he’ll mumble and moan.
He thinks that the world outside won’t understand,
holds tight to another mans cock in his hand.
Until it is over,
begun then again.
When all of the worship turns round to refrains of his sorrow and guilt and of such hollow pain.

I move on

And back to the stairwell resuming my seat, a sprinkle of droppings, enchantment complete.
I gaze to the heavens
A spiral of steps makes me dizzy and leavens the whole atmosphere.
All of a sudden up there at the ceiling I see like a light at the tunnels end reeling,
a myriad stars in a circle of light bringing hope and such comfort, such lurid delight.
Not the madness creator I had at first feared.
That picked at my soul as it had done for years.
Would I mourn for the control this had over me?
Just a small naked girl with white socks to the knee
The end of the banister comes up quite soon and I find myself landing in one great round room.
Like the hub of a wheel, with more long corridors,
A door halfway down each and mirrors for floors.
What to do, do I choose?
The wrong one - do I lose?
There’s no rule – book, nor history giving me clues.

I walk to the nearest and push at the door and the stench of old memories I’ve known before rushes out from the gap and I retch and then turn and I run from the corridor, only to learn that…
I’m back where I started from, foot of the stairs.

I’m back where I started and nothing has changed except now I see I ain’t the one who’s deranged.
It’s just like a nightmare, so real and surreal which can trick all your senses
you believe that you feel.
You believe you’re unworthy cos’ that’s what’s been said from the time that you wake til your head hits the bed

Let’s move on!
It’s a great big lie people!
They’d have you believe that your socks are a measure of what you’ll achieve in this life.
Or your car, or your coat, or your name.
You are welcome, acceptable, winning, the same.

You have to conform to your peers opinion that you in your splendor, are simply a minion, like them.

This only proves fears are not always true fears
just the fact you’ve been forced to believe it for years.
Just the madness of life
no, not madness the group.
More a small bunch of neurones, looping the loop in your brain.


love hast sent doom?

Angels and demons in the light
look forth to bask, into the sight
a angel sit with wings abroad
touching grace, and aura awed (4)
demon gazes a glimpse of her seen
beauty fills his mind; cuts so keen
vision, distant star burning bright
so pleasing is this to his sight (8)
not a word to exchange to her
but now words in his lips quiver
nothing but whispers to come he,
watches her pass , and not to see. (12)
spite, woe, and rage. fills his cruel mind
turns to red and wonders to hide.
demon ugly, non give a brow
and fate twisted would it allow (16)
an angel of such beauty to,
look at something, that is over due
thoughts in his head, can I feel
can I love, known as this real ? (20)
hell hath doomed eternal place
could she an angel kiss this face?
could the fates, that weave destiny?
be upon such anger, harsh to me (24)
Clotho who woof the thread of mine
Lachesis with length of life divine
and Atropos who cuts short
what is wrong or right in the court (28)
shell decide, and bring forth my hell
set, incased in this ruthless cell
my body chained deformed, on lake
of this a new found, world and shake (32)
thine demon into the depth feel
the angel love and seek is real
you must ascend to the kingdom
but forth to renounce all the doom (36)
that you live and hold so familiar
move, rise and come to the healer

(c) jonathan ryan alligood jan-31-02
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The Fall of Flamet

For coldest light, he could not bare
The heart ripped clean, still beating there
Mortal and rabid, filled with despair
So was the fall of Flamet.

With Kings once walked this errant knight
And Queens, danced enchanting delight
In battle, side-by-side did fight
Thy bravest deeds untold they say

Then one day his lust desire
Yon fair maiden with eyes of fire
An eagle soaring ever higher
Thy love would grow each day

Zounds! Gadzooks! he railed at thee
She loved another, it was not to be
His world was crumbling violently
As the lifeblood flow gave way

The light grew colder, darkening fill
The toll hath wrought thy empty will
Her name he called, and all was still
So was the fall of Flamet.

Flamet H. Rower
Although this may seem like old news but when I said

"le tunics et des jupes hippy"

I was just wondering if you thought the playful insult was funny or if you were asking aboot what it meant.

I have a confession:

I used altavista's babel fish! There, I said it! Check for yourself, search for babel fish and click on the fishy, you'll see, everything I've written, from portugese to french, was just a (gasp)...computer TRANSLATION. I would've done chinese but my computer didn't recognize the symbols!
Yo Babelina & Pollux V!

J'ai estudie francais pour sept ans en ecole, mais je ne practice pas parce que mes amis ne parle pas le langue. J'ai oublie le plus, c'est tres dommage, n'est-ce pas? And this is genuinely from my memory, not babel fish...

Pollux, you hippy! Babelina you hippy! I'm glad you liked my poem, there are more where that came from if y'all are interested. Oh, and Pollux V, I never for a second mistook you for gay, you don't seem at all like the type through the correspondace that we've had. Although I have to say, the "ruggedly handsome" note in your profile took me for a minute... (Don't be scared, I'm only joking!)

Shall I post another of my poetic efforts? There are some pretty hardy representations here, lots of good work! Keep the faith!
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Yes, let´s see some more poetry Yoga. :)

Pollux, I knew what it meant and thought it sounded chic. :p
I suspected you used babelfish though, I mean how smart can a 14 year old be? :D Just kidding, you are very smart for your and any age. :)

Well it wasn't meant as an INSULT, it was really just a joky sort of thing. Babel Fish is a very useful tool...but I've noticed that while translating what you two or three wrote it gave me very vague answers and it took a bit of effort to grasp what you were trying to say. Did it sound the same with what you could understand?


bbcboy aged 12 (LOOOONG TIME AGO!!!)scary or what?

I choose what.

and to yoga...

N'étudiez pas, ne laissez pas les robots effectuer le travail pour vous! Robots, oui, robots!

Well a fourteen year old can be very smart.
Yes they can, Pollux.

Hello from the other side of dark
Hello from inside mincemeant baking, on Grandmother's pressure
Hello from the side of the ocean where the tunnel-bridge bases over to the Rocketry Center
Hello from you, colleagues,
Hello from my conscience
Hello from three concepts
Hello from two, seven, eight, concepts
Hello from here, from here to you.

Tommorrow I will be gone from this side
Tommorrow we will never see, never speak
But we all know, to go there
Just following up a regular contact schedule
Following ourselves up the bay into the dreams into the amniotic sac into my head through the gate of your hair. We all followed you, we all abated our inhibitions, we all tried to make ourselves
think. Well, it worked, to say the least, and we can now say
HELLO as a group conscience
HELLO as a greeting of unilateral assurance, of unity, that's what
hello from me, one part of great waves
hello from here; from here to you.
;) bbcboy- that's not scary, it's just way over what you expect in terms of content for a twelve year old. It's strangely beautiful- full of understanding that only an unjaded child could have. I don't know what it means- but it says you're better off for being at whatever stage in your life you were, because whatever color lift you were in, you were on the right floor.