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| The relentless rock |
Sep 2nd, 2005 3:28:26 pm - Subscribe |
| I'm alone and bored. I just had a tofu smoothie. Yup. I was much better than it sounds...oddly good. If Nell visits me maybe I'll share my odd creation. Maybe. ~How is a raven like a writing desk? Edgar Allen Poe wrote on both~ My grandma bought me Saved and Moulin Rouge on DVD. I bought a red desk chair from Staples, but they refused to trade me backpacks, silly prats, but my grandma (my hero) is going to fix it AND shorten my pants. Stupid short legs. Mom's gone again this weekend. I'm starting to enjoy the restricted freedom. I love the hollow acoustics of my home. It makes me feel needed and welcomed. Oh god. My 'Harbrace Anthology of Literature' is amazing. It has a shwak of Atwood, Eliot and Namjoshi... my three favorite poets. I'll share an excerpt from each so if you guys don't know their work then maybe this will give you initiative to find more. Sunti Namjoshi ~Poem against Poets I fall upon the thorns of life- I weep-I bleed but to what purpose? There was once a poet who thought she was a nightingale, and another who thought she was a rose- Charming perhaps able certainly, having found at least a way to cope. Margaret Atwood ~ A Women's Issue The woman in the spiked device that locks around the waist and between the legs, with holes in it like a tea strainer is Exhibit 'A'. The woman in black with a net window to see through and a four-inch wooden peg jammed up between her legs so she can't be raped is Exhibit 'B'. Exhibit 'C' is the young girl dragged into the bush by the midwives and made to sing while they scape the flesh from between her legs, then tie her thighs till she scabs over and is called healed. Now she can be married. For each childbirth they'll cut her open, then sew her up. men like tight women. The ones that die are carefully buried. T.S Eliot ~ The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock I have heard the mermaids singing I do not think they will sing to me I have seen them riding seaward on the waves, Combing the white hair of waves blown black, When the wind blows the water white and black. We have lingered in the chambers of the sea By sea girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown, Till human voices wake us and we drown. Sorry for the length, but I love poetry. |
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| I Feel: Snazzy I Hear: Old Favorites. |
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long_gone |
September 02nd, 2005 |
wow, very nice poetry, sadly though I love poetry I have to say I have never heard of these poets I will have to look up more of there works, thanks for posting the poems  |
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| perhapsnot |
September 02nd, 2005 |
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| Ah. If the mail man were to bring me my desired package he would bring me Greek. What is yours? | ||
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skeebs |
September 03rd, 2005 |
| sorry, me again, check out the works of tim burton, for example the melancholy death of oysterboy and other stories. its all on the web somewhere! | ||
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