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F U C K E D U P C O L L E G E K I D S
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- t h e p o e t r y v e n t u r e -
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in a word, poetry is celebration. of your thoughts,
of your emotions, of your life. or of nothing. sometimes
it is pure unmoderated venting while at times it is a
very efficient means for outburst. one piece can mean
everything to one, and nothing to the rest. odd, that
sometimes in those cases, it isn't the author that it
means something to.
to keep writing in a field that will never be explained.
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fuck poetry
poetry
defines who and what you feel
its content should be interpreted
by the reader and what
they
get
out
of
it.
not because of someone
else's say so.
poetry is never
done
just right.
it
just
is.
simunye 11-14-97
chosen paths
I glance to the side.
There walks a man,
His smile tentative, unsure.
He trudges alongside me,
On this path we've shared
For what seems like
Forever.
The embodiment of stability,
Of steadfastness,
I meet his eyes,
Where I glimpse occasional
Understanding.
I grasp his hand,
So as to keep him in step with me.
I know this man,
The nurturing, the dependability,
The weaknesses, the doubts.
Comfort is his name.
I glance to the side.
There walks a boy,
A sensual smile, that come hither look
Of seduction gleaming.
He dances alongside me,
On a path all his own,
Hands reaching to entice,
Eyes daring, mocking, beckoning
Me to share his path but offering
No guarantees.
I reach for his hand,
So as not to lose sight
Of something so potentially precious.
I know this boy,
The sensuality, the desire.
Lust is his name.
I glance behind me,
Three sets of footsteps angling
Ever closer,
Sure, in time, to meet.
I glance ahead of me.
My vision blurs.
krystalia
when you look upon your rose bush and take a deep sigh
when you look across the mountains and rivers in your back yard
when you look through the face of the valley you say
my god
why is the world so beautiful
and
when i wake up in an alley with trash cans piled on top of me
when i wake up with the view of my druggie friends one dead
when i wake up and look out onto the street i say
my god
why is the world so beautiful
rage
Delusions
Looking around, and reaching upward,
I finally have found that I have been contained,
captured in a delusion.
A delusion that you actually cared,
and that I mattered to you.
Delusions that I would be missed,
or wondered about at all.
Looking around, and reaching upward,
I pull myself out and look about.
The sun is shining bright.
Funny, how I got used to such darkness.
Now reaching out, I begin to realize,
that the days that are now a daze,
no longer matter, because,
The delusional walls, are coming down.
A delusion that you actually wanted me,
or cared that I lived or died.
Friendship supposedly stronger,
that was a delusion that I believed, too.
Pulling myself up, I am leaving you behind,
wishing things could have turned out non-delusional,
but, before I drown in a room of illusions,
I now walk out the door, knowing you never cared at all, or no more.
Delusions now known,
the game is over,
and I am no longer a pawn to be tossed astray.
You have written me off, but now I write you out.
Kamira September 7th, 1997
as i am
quite simply
take me
as i am
make me not a
burgeoning butterfly
dressed up in mother's
theater gown
touch me not with
fingertips velvet
too shyly to meet
with fleshly notice
speak to me not with
words too light to
crush a sparrow wing
instead,merely
allow me to be me
loving you
demonika
where there's a WILL...
crime
once, and you are lucky
twice - talented
the third time is charm
four times - a legend
five times?
fucking invulnerable.
or not. you're just a gambler's dream
dis. (dedication to sensai voyager)
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E D I T O R S: jericho@dim.com & demonika@dim.com
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A V A I L A B I L I T Y:
AnonFTP: FTP.DIMENSIONAL.COM/users/jericho/FUCK/POETRY
WWW: http://www.dimensional.com/~jericho
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(c) Copyright. All poems copyright by original author.
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F O U N D E D: October 30, 1997