The skies opened up
there was hell all around
but you fell through it
into my arms

I looked at you
I was amazed
something so beautiful
Out of all this rage

You searched my face
I smiled at you
You seemed to listen
as I said "I love you"

To cock up big time
is all the rage
No responsibility
in this golden age

Awesome. The last three verses got inside my head.

Okay, very spontaneous....so rhythm and metre leave something to be desired:P


Sometimes,
the day dawns bright and shining with possibilities,
The sun drips through the trees,
and all is light with life and dreams.

Those days,
keep my soul from grief,
keep me from slipping underneath
the weight of some other day’s sorrow.

And then I wake in time to see,
Another human being flee
The news is all awash with
grim and supple suffering

Sometimes,
the day dawns barely at all.
And all the clouds I see are mine,
And I am caught in time’s cruel thrall,
Seeking something more divine

And then I sleep and am revealed
In my dreams the truth unpeeled,
My own vision of the truth
Will never see the morning.

I quite like that one. I'm having One Of Those Days myself (the barely dawning kind).

Sung (under your breath) to the tune of an advertising jingle:

:::spell out the admin password to a server:::

Like: "1, 2, 3, 4, A, B, C! For the tangy zip of..."

:::try to pronounce the hostname of the server:::
__________________

It was better when it was spontaneous. Please don't post your own examples of this.

routine

6 pm, just got home
pet, walk, feed the dog a bone
bread, butter, ham and cheese
grab the ketchup, give it a squeeze
do your dishes, clean the table
sit on the couch, turn on cable
rest your eyes, fall asleep
dream of things you wish to eat
wake up at 9, find the clicker
turn it off, unzip your zipper
change your clothes, turn off the light
your routine for every night
kiss the kids, ask the wife
she says no, that's your life

When the day’s long hours
Fall to ruin, fall to ash,
And the sky spits purple
‘Cross the night so vast,

A light can be seen
On the ridge above the hills;
Thin and empty, rusting,
Tall and dark and still

The sun never touches
Where his wild garden grows
He's there, amidst the riddles
Of a stranger's healthy glow

Climb the crags until you strike
The summit, where he waits.
He’ll hold you close, hold you down;
He smells of dust, of fate

The heart crashes softly;
Within his mouth, it shines
The sky becomes a void,
And loneliness divine

They’ll find you there, frozen stiff,
Forgotten and alone.
They’ll stow the husk beneath the earth
While women weep and moan.

Yet when the twilight blooms again
And grief has had its fill,
They’ll see your light, burning bright
On the ridge above the hills.

wow, salamander that's super.

yeah, right?

i'm totally ghey for giant salamander's poetry. fucking impressive, yo.

oh...and, giant salamander: a/s/l?

Thanks much, ya'll.

a/s/l = 25/male/Austin...so lumberjim, if you're ghey for it, just name the time and the seedy chatroom! (heh)

ew...not that kind of ghey. the other kind.

No worries; I was definitely being as sarcastic as a turd is ugly.
Though I've never heard the term "ghey" before today.
So anticlimactic.

The screen door slams
My uncle cringes--he's not used to children

We fly out in our swimsuits
Fishes, flowers, bath towels-

The wooden float beckons, the
Water glistens and

We dive from dock's end, swimming
Towards paradise, the liquid lake

I cannot write, Patterns repeating
and Not Good.

No good and no good luck.

Now I'm Leda, raped by that bite-y bird without
Helen and Clytemnestra to show for it.

Instead, I walk, the blood welling
It runs down these heavy, unsteady legs

Who is he? Who is he to tell me this?
They don't know: I need a respite.

My soul, sick and thin, barely alive
Sputtering, like my rusty Volkswagon

No good, no good luck

If i could just get the engine of my body to turn over
I'd set out for some Rescue Mission

I'd smash the bite-y bird into black pulp and there
He will have no good and no good luck.