Barrellofart Poetry (50)

Girl, you're beautiful,
But I bet you know
I bet you've been told
Yeah, you've been to~ld

It's ~ not a paintin'
That I'm interested in
Or a photo, on the wall
To look at now and agai~n

It's the motion of your dress
Not the way that it hangs
It's not a guitar's finish
But the way that it twa~ngs

Let's li~ve
Baby let's live
Li~ve in the moment
Let's li~ve

Let's dance on the floor
Let's dance on the ceiling
Get sweaty and exhausted
Let's act like heathans

Let's jump in the ocean
Let's drive fast cars
Live in the moment
Let's lock no doors

Ye~ah
Li~ve in the moment
Li~ve in the moment
Let's li~ve

Unless you're livin' in the moment
Then you were only really livin'
Just- a moment ago~

The Color of Love
Like a fire, an ember
Fiery pulsating coals
How vividly they glow

Or like an amber
The right kind of red
Less like a jewel
Moreso rich, textured motion

The Color of Lust
Is raven dark hair
Thrown over shoulder
With looking-back stare

Her dark spanish skin
The curve of her spine
My hand on her back
To show her she's mine

Would like to see who is interested in doing a pairs/other interpretation/imitation poetry. :D

Of course, certainly certainly post your own works, but who might get on board with some constraint ideas?

Maybe pair of, and write a poem in what you consider your 'partner's' style?

Would like to do some partnered/community concepts.

Any idea? Leave a comment! :D

Stick to the reliable sorts
No need for fancy labels
Or superficial exteriors

Twelve years aged in oak
Is often worth the time
And reflected in the price

This Goddam whiskey
I'm sorry I ventured to try
I got what I paid for

Better still, at least
Than cheap sherry wine
Which tastes like gasoline

It isn't at all
Very hard to remember
The first time it was seen
In sickly heaves and shudders
From sighs and groans of the Earth
Like Pandemonium rising in the depths of Hell
A new terrestrial architecture approaches
Like violently spawned mountains
Formed by the colliding masses
These walls, these gates
Though not simply rock
Rise up against each other
Seemingly assembled yet toppling
Falling half over again as they rise
Onto itself, and rising up again
Nigh unto the heavens they go
A self-propagating shame in madness
Green fields and pasture are slowly consumed
By the slow but tenacious upheaving soil
As if forced to vomit buried secrets
By some vengeful cosmic emetic
Come now to wage Justice
With familiar, cryptic images
Made the worse by their suddenness
The nature of their appearance here, now
Regardless to apparent sickening disfigurement:
Behold! These symbolic castles of humankind!
Concrete and steel first produced there
Brick and block soon there, up, forced
Twisted materials slowly forming
The common sights with which we know
But twisted beyond normality in any sense-
A hospital, it slowly was made, in some mystery
Somewhere from under the soil, pushed into reality
But dark and broken, crumbling bricks birthed upwards
Gathering darkness in the clouds and sky above
It's ugliness broke first on dawn's horizon
Seeping, too, as it grew, oil and filth
From each of it's window and doors
And smoke from out it's roof
Broken, damaged, in every aspect
A symbol of help, of hope, of mercy
Slowly and constant it creeps out by hours
Decimating around it all to which it makes contact
It grows, it grows! Like sickly urban sprawl, everywhere
Unceasingly, into the city, it's masonry tendrils take hold
And there is no relief to be had, and no one to make any stand
Against such twistedness- A unknown surrealist's disease
Against the ghost of the dead, of the phantasm of war
It churns, higher and higher, it's infirmary towers
And, now, and again that vulgar seeping tar flows
A thick and choking blackness insistent to pour
Sometimes instead darkly crimson as if blood
And then once more blacker than night
It is the precursor to the advancing hell
Which has come to seek who knows what souls-
For those whose apathy offered the opportunity
Or who motivated the impressionable to take up action
For those who willfully disbanded community just to fight
Or for all of those whom attempted to keep it at bay
Without so much as thought for their dear fellows
Who for them and all the others risked lives
No one knows what madness has caused it
Or if it crawls forth with purpose
All they know is that perhaps
They must deserve this
And have no power
To stop it

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W/ Secluded Woody Area
Profitable Timberland
Big Box / Retail / Chain Restaurant Pad
Highway Access
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Urban Sprawl No Problem
Pollution Laws Rarely Enforced
Local Community Fairly Apathetic

Interested?

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On the skins of ash and oak
With eight pounds of slivered steel
I built this strength by youth
And time and work compiled

I have exhorted every muscle's fiber
Under the direction of my lord
To the support of his kingdom
And the security assured therein

In the days of my age, here, now
That I have given my strength away
These wild and voracious governors
Have all left me here to die

Had I but harnessed the power
Of astute and demanding query
Not simply just the firmest grip
I may have escaped this dungeon

I am bound and weak and injured-
I was ambitious for fleeting power
A well formed arm and strength of back
Abandoning all those political things

Here then, now again, this view of strength
In the forceful way of physical things
I have one statement yet to make
In the most political way of all

I have lost the durable power of my arm
And somewhere else, too, I lost my back
So I am left only with this extension
Of my actual self, an instrument of doom

When I was a man, I was such a thing
But I gave it up in the search of honesty
What power I had and lost, each year, but still..
I lacked the righteousness of foresight

Before my eyesight should abandon me
Or should I lose my steady hand
I sight in that terrible heart of hypocrisy
And squeeze his life from him

I accept full responsibility for all my own actions- Physically, materially, emotionally, spiritually.

It will never be enough
To know briefly
The depth of Passion-
That which lays
Inches inside your Soul

It is not the knowledge
Which drives the Body
But the experience
Of the Devouring of your Soul

I stand here
Only between the hours
In which I am given to lay
Consuming you
These nights you spend
Being spent
No strength left
In want of breath
With arching back
Mouth frozen open

I will not take to standing-
I am a creature of crawling
Of entrapping
Of constricting
Aggressive
And demanding
I am selfish
But I give

What you've been seeking
Here now I offer it
Just know that I am insatiable
And that neither you
Nor this moment
Will ever be enough

A path to personal enrichment lies
In not killing those stupid fsckers
Every time they piss you off

Be patient-
Grow

The familiar and durable snows of January have now left us- Something that seemed to be coming for weeks, but only at once appears to occur. It recedes in a sluggish fashion, until it's very end; As if completely lacking the energy to any longer maintain.

Here we are, now in April. Long absent geese lit down upon the water of the impromptu lakes which the winter has strewn across our fields. The wind blows, slow and steady, in wake of the cold season, and inscribes our transitory waterfront with coarse and shallow waves; Like a bored sailor who hones his craft of scrimshaw- Elaborate, but amateur.. beautiful, yet somehow still graceless.

Bush and straw grow here among field edges, surrounded by that impermeable and dark, regal water. Life here this time of year is any color of fading brown or black- much like those very same geese. Everything is in high contrast from dull sun bleached highlights and this past season's long and gradual leeching of all saturation.

Everything is quiet and everything is slow as the world around us now waits for spring to muster the energy and conceive the ambition to exorcise the grim specter of winter.

Alone along the grisly timbers and stone filled wooded trails
The poet sat against a fence and considered all his ails

The fence of stone and iron, wrought- something like his life
Cold and gray and sharp and hard, filled with pain and strife

The moon was dim when should be bright and full it hung, but low
When pen to parchment did inscribe, the darkness, then, did grow

He wrote of love, and loss, and life, and held his shaking quill
His eyes he sharped, senses tapped, when noticed something killed

In the light that offered but few shapes he could discern
He this night would be the first of sinister deeds to learn

A body, dark, stained in blood lay there upon the path
Snow white skin, night black hair, distressed and thickly mat

He stared and sought for clues or keys to solve this sudden scene
But then the sight sent him chills through bones and spine and spleen

Her hand had moved, and towards him raised, clutching empty air
Her head turned then, her eyes locked his with cold and deadly glare

The body rose, arms extended, and shook with violent force
The sight was shocking, but understated, what came thereaft was worse

Discarding robe, dark wings burst forth and seemed then so possessed
Dark black feathers and dark black eyes, the shape him did impress

Whether this the poet saw we may consider forever more
Though unknown he wrote at length his ode to her: Lenore