Oh peanut butter, oh peanut butter
Why must you cause my words to stutter?
When lacking jelly or toast with butter
I long to abandon you for another
And without milk, your flavor stutters
BlockThe words aren't coming
The flow has stopped
The spindle runs thin
The flowers cropped
The letters dropped
Hand on her chest
Wishing she wasn't
Entwined in this mess
The honored guest
To maritial ties
All too late
To bid her goodbyes
StructureI'm not a fan of structured poems, at least
When they're imposed on me, like subtle frames
Of written code which keep each line the same
The trapped voice a bird that yearns for release
Allow the flame to grow, please free the beast
Don't snuff the candle's fickle, frozen flame
Set meter and rhyming, you are to blame
Rendering my creativity deceased
But for you, I'll accept the forms you wish
Consume, swallow words with a grain of salt
My heart, wrapped in paper, I'll give to you
In a stanza, a line, or a swish
Of reason, confining words to a fault
Just don't think you're the only one who knew
Lucid - WIPI'm lying here on a table. Nothing but the sweet hum of machinery, both around and within me. They'd mentioned something beforehand about my hearing. Something about sensitivity that wouldn't hurt in higher decibel ranges.
My hand twitches to touch my new ear, but it remains limp by my side, paralyzed. I think they'd mentioned something about the risk of muscle atrophy in low-gravity environments. Something like that.
I'm hearing my heartbeat now. It's strange to hear such an organic sound in this sterile environment. If I cut myself, would I still bleed red? Or had they replaced my blood with a substitute? Was it still red, or another, foreign color?
With a slight click, a bright light switches itself on from overhead, illuminating the capillaries in my eyelids. Still red...
Squinting, I try to turn my head, but my neck won't obey me. As if reading my though
Ghost of the PastEver been haunted by a ghost of the past? You know, those recurring memories of a time long gone, the ones that float uninvited into your head? Maybe it's triggered by a memento, or a visit to a sacred place, or the mere mention of a name. The moment relives itself in your head, then disappears, leaving you with only a scrap of cloth or a pressed flower to remember.
But what if these ghosts aren't really ghosts at all? What if they're still living, breathing creatures? Maybe you never see them anymore. Maybe you live too far apart. Maybe you see each other on a daily basis, but you both pretend the other no longer exists. Maybe you're enemies, or even friends. Either way, you've both made an unspoken pact to never speak of the moment again. In a vain attempt to smother the memory alive, you flood it with fresh oxygen, fresh consciousness upon which it can feed.
Is it better this way?
PerfectionistsA writer in a group of artists
Is hardly a place to fit in
In a glance, one can admire a picture
But writing takes much longer to sink in
We've all learned our native language
But not all have picked up a pen
Yet sketching is somehow extraordinary
Simply because not everyone can
We can both stare at a vase for hours
Yet come up with an empty slate
And our details of realization
Rarely come sooner, but late
For despite our apparent differences
Our goal is the same: to learn
And only by way of practice
Can this mastery of skill be earned
LifewishA mourning dove hobbled across the road
And I wondered, "Why didn't it fly?"
Does the pleasure of crossing the pavement by foot
Outweigh the risks if it should die?
Maybe the bird remains ignorant
That a passing car could lead to his demise
Unsure of the dangers in the world of man
With no sense of fear in his eyes
Or perhaps he is simply cocky
As he struts across the road in pride
Knowing all vehicles will stop their procession
In order to let him pass by
But I, for one, think he enjoys it
In the way a human walks instead of drives
So the next time you see a bird walking
Maybe you should be the one he walks beside
ScrapVersion 2.0 is ready
The beta is complete
Its release date is tomorrow
And I've heard it will be l33t
This one's fully moddable
No need to deal with flaws
And it's piracy-protected
So you can't break the law
The calendar is built-in
You'll remember all your dates
And the autopilot feature
Will ensure you won't be late
It's compatible with everything
The computer, the tv, the phone
And it'll download all your contacts
So you'll never feel alone
But if you choose not to upgrade
You'll be alienated, at best
Your communication will be archaic
And your accuracy, second-guessed
This isn't really an option
Conform now, or be scrapped
Humanity is overrated
Believe me, the entire brain's been mapped
We've discovered all your problems
And fixed them, one by one
Even those pesky emotions
We've sparked the revolution
NephelaeToday is a sad day.
Why is the sun shining?
I thought the sky was supposed to reflect emotion
Like a heaven-mirror
Answering the prayers of the living
In the form of precipitation
Are the clouds our gods now?
They are notably absent
In this clear sky
An expanse filled with light
A Tale of Toadstool forest
A charming little caterpillar named Morris
who lived in a quiet toadstool forest
while out for a stroll
used his parasol
to hide from a big bird named Horace.
Morris quite a chap, very cheeky
would stay still while Horace was peeking
just as Horace would blink
Morris would shrink to the size of an ant, small and sneaking.
Now Horace`s eyes they deceived him
as he stared with a glare over t` brim
what was there before
was Morris no more
and he thought to himself things look grim.
So Horace flew off in a huff
while Morris gave a sigh and a puff
saying , " twas a close call for me, I was almost his tea"
"I´ll go home now, for today that´s enough".
Poetry by Suzanne Karbach
Muriel Mouse s Trick and Treat
Say have you ever seen
especially on Halloween
Muriel mouse roasting Pumpkin corn
and dreaming of the coming morn
as she stares into the candle flame
the casting shadows enlarge her frame
and all the demon cats who chased her
keep their distance, pace and stare
not sure of what they´re looking at
only sure it´s no darn cat!
All at once,it Pops and Cracks!
scaredy-cats they raise their backs
Jump in the air and run away
Muriel laughs and has to say
Good that I was able to hide
in this pumpkin right inside
Here it´s warm with plenty to eat..
Mmmh Popcorn´s ready, what a treat !
Poetry by Suzanne karbach
Coffee LoveI love coffee
and coffee loves me.
How can I tell
well it´s quite plain to see.
It gets all hot and frothy
when the coffee making starts
and sends me little messages
in the form of loving hearts
A poem by Suzanne Karbach
Elementals [A Mythos Look] page 2Elementals
A Mythos Look
Air is around us
But not only microbes dwell
There are otherworldly
Though are too remote for us to tell
On a clear starless night in October
About the date of Walpurghisnacht
There could be a deathly stir
A tempestuous flurry in the evening air
And strange flickering as though from a demon lamp
Or a nova being born
'T is only the wild impulses
From the devices of The Lord of Air*
Far below upon the earth
In a dimension too remote to be seen
The meadow and the heather run dry
Like sand dunes of the Sahara desert
But not a soul among us knows the reason why
Then there are those who rumor
Every place about
That an otherworldly soul is at play+
They scarcely dare to mention any names
The rest care not what they say
Rumors e'er go unproved
Till one eve a soul witnesses for his self
Perchance if they wander off into the woods
They shall find her at rest with all her kids
A thousand of them lies at her breasts
The Valley of Fear: White Mason and Captain MarvinA/N: "Then to Birlstone we must go!" cried MacDonald. …said Holmes. "While we are on our way, Mr. Mac, I will ask you to be good enough to tell me all about it."
To the crime scene might hasten.
But to cover his back
He still needs a Mac.
A job’s eased in the halvin’.
The McGinty ambush: how did he know?
A little Birdy told him so.
Dream DancingThere once was a girl named Kim Salter,
Who dreamed she was dancing on water.
She'd dream then awake
With a smile on her face,
Til one day she woke with a daughter!
Baa Baa Black Sheep - Politically Correct editionLaughing-type animal noise twice made, dark-shade animal of the quadrupedal ungulate type,
Have you any quantity of natural textile fibre?
Affirmative, person of male gender,
Affirmative, person of male gender,
Three hessian-cloth sacks full of the said material.
One to be bequeathed to another person of the male gender,
One to be bequeathed to a person of the female gender (hereto known as the male’s spouse),
And one to be bequeathed to a vertically challenged youth of the male gender who resides down the unpaved rural road.
To any politically correct types reading this, BITE ME!
Music Is My SoulHaving a crappy day,
nothing seems to go my way.
But there is something I know
that will let my emotions show.
I may be angry, I may be sad
but if my music is playing then I am glad!
The lyrics and sound surrounding me
I take the lead!
I don't feel terrible anymore,
I scream my happiness with a roar!
Nothing affects me like it does
you can't kill my joybuzz.
I can be broken and blue
but when the music starts thats my cue.
To shake my depression away
and let the good times play!
Music is my soul
without it I wouldn't be whole.
So go on ahead
and make me dread
the moments that put me down.
Just understand that I don't need legs to get off the ground.
I don't need to be yielding
when music does all the healing.
Why Do I EvenWhy must I always
write of angels and demons?
Death, horror and treason?
Would it not make
a mighty fine verse:
My Oatmeal is Mushy! Raking
Leaves is a Curse!
There are many unsettling
topics on which I have discoursed
rape, lust, and murdering
and those aren't the worst!
Why do I write thus?
Why, why indeed!
These things have been discoursed
beyond well my creed.
There must be a reason.
Hasn't there, sir?
So you find it pleasing?
Well, actually, mister!
It does make me happy
and even what's more
it makes me all sappy
to write up some gore!
So, take that and shove,
I'm a gladdened ol' it!
I'd be happy in loveto be horror's new git!