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Fucked Up College Kids Poetry 008
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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Today is the fifth anniversary of the zine. The poetry
side has been around for a couple months now. I curse
myself.. why did I wait so long to start this? Freedom
of expression in any form was one of the goals, and I
managed to overlook this form. It is remedied now.
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Flippant!
This quiet night,
wind parting summer's slumbered loneliness.
Shadows of light,
simple is the sorrow of days once had.
Laughing nor crying, taste salty bitterness;
sadness employs this heart of a madman.
Does this, then that, question reality today;
aggressing the fortune of history, of tales untrue!
Does develop this division;
forces sacrifice and delusion!
Clearest path - thou holiest markedness now jagged,
found still, mind's pounding.
Greet sorrow with freedom;
stay severed, simple comfort.
Be proud like lion, non resolving;
into my heart - this mind, non resolving.
Of days which darkness severs the temptress,
of closeness forbidding and evils enduring.
Does shadows remove with time, take comfort;
neither him nor thou may stake such preference.
Has this portrait faded, or been tainted,
by time; for true enemies does create,
or the love once binding now unfounded,
dissolve as time does work upon colours.
Quick encounters, liquid eyes - tears inducing.
For fear, for heart, for LOVE!
make conversation, severed temptress
shadows removed are until then not coming.
Myself excused, but time does not;
this slow stabbing takes from me my life!
Exhausting, everlasting tournament;
desperate days turn to memories faded.
Quick is the path of diversion;
hearts parting and memories diluting.
Awaiting unreality, in reality awaiting perfection.
Seems in another lifetime exists our togetherness.
Retrieve from me my blood,
which upon my sleeve does stain.
And bring forward to me my love,
Pour la peur, pour le coeur, pour l'AMOUR!
Dodger Finished 13.12.97
KEYBOARD LOVERS
"Hey" a voice called out one night
while the moon was dark and the
stars had nearly disappeared,
"Ya gonna stand all night long?"
"Or ya gonna say something back?"
it sneered and then began to laugh.
And later, the voice began a song,
hidden there among the night and lit
up by the lights only he could see.
And the song was oh so familiar
and the words all seems so real
and yet I'd heard them not before
and yet I wasn't sure.
"And now I have a lover"
started out the song,
and now I am alone.
And now I have keyboard
that sends no songs aloud.
But the world stands outside
my door and pays to hear
the silence and applauds afterwards.
And so by their one-hand claps
I must be successful
and I guess I guess I am
cause I have a lover and
a keyboard.
And later the song sung
so long ago came back
to haunt me just a little more.
Sitting there within
the safety of the crowd
and listening to the screams
that came from high above,
the words had a kind of
surrealism that hid away
the hurt and the anger
of the song.
"Don't dream it!
Be it!!" he cried
and we all applauded
at the wisdom of his words.
And at that he finally
turned away, in despair
and in confusion.
And as the crowd found
their way from the stage,
only a dimly heard voice
could be heard crying.
Looking back upon that night
and wondering 'bout the song,
it seemed so very real to me
and oh so very good.
But the audience didn't
want to hear and none
of us were all
we might have been.
We listened to the words
he sang and mixed it with
a drink of gin...
But still the song has
stayed with me
and oft times plays
at night.
What ever happened to
that man? And why
did we not care
about his words?
Or did we, without
listening, sing a
soft refrain and
never heard the song?
So the future then
is now the past
and he is gone somewhere
not here.
And yet I still remain,
second row, left,
listening to the song
of life and love
and pain and never
wanting to go home
to the keyboard that
doesn't sing and the
lover that isn't and
reality.
- FTF
FINGERTIP CHORDS
feelings fill the throat
to try to form words
but after being trounced
by the larynx mafia
they shoot out fingertips
- Indiana Poet Dec. 27, 1997
748.2153
seven days a week, we were one
four eyes saw the purity between
eight months we shared our souls
two times a day, we shared our bodies
one bad night to bring it down
five cuts remembering the pain
three years to rid myself of your memory
dis
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E D I T O R S: jericho@dim.com & demonika@dim.com
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to receive new issues via e-mail, send mail to
jericho@dimensional.com with "subscribe poetry". if
you do not have FTP access and would like back issues,
send a list of missing issues and they will be sent.
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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
