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SleepyCoyote
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SleepyCoyote

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26 Oct 2005
Greetings all.
This tiny newbie would like to present to you all a trio of humble poems for you to read and hopefully enjoy.
The first two of this trio are inspired by a book I'm currently working on, the first taking place near the middle and the second towards the end. And from a different point of view...Blah, I'm talking too much.
Hopefully they stand well enough on their own and shouldn't require a long, drawn out backstory. (Though I'll be glad to supply if if requested.. which I doubt)
The third was simply inspired by my frustration with the radio... and censorship (sort of)


The Sandpiper Show

Saters skim past on platinum skates
On the rainbow oiled streets where the wine rivers flow
Down past the corridors and catacombs of the Sceleris Gate
This will be the final call, and the pilgrims, they race
Because the pilgrims, they know
This eve is the last for the Sandpiper Show
A weasel deviant, black-heated jackal and cynical shrew
Serve as the judges three, intrest now ignitied
Hodepodge eyes glitter, Cheshire grins stretch ivory askew
Eager jostling rocks the Gate, the five minstrals sighted
Stagelights blaze supernovas, a thousand hell-hot suns
Love choked requiems scream into the black
A montage of wings, of horns and hoves mosh as one
Legndary chorus screamed till throats parch and crack
For they are the patrons. The pilgrims. They've come
To the Sceleris Gate, the mecha of slums
Yes, the pilgrims, they've come
And the pilgrims, they know
Tonight's the final curtian for the Sandpiper Show



Curse

And then she comes
She comes with beauty
She comes with grace
She comes wild
With glory
With temptation
With the stolen breath of a thousand strangled angels
She comes
She comes
And she comes with love
Dancing as the firefly does in the midsummer evening
Nails clicking chilled gray marble

She comes
She smiles
Ivory shining malevolence
A flash of saffron eyes
Holding the sun that hangs fat and ample
Calling me home

And still she comes
And still she comes for me

Don’t ask me why.
Don’t ask me why a goddess of life and death
Of serenity and chaos
Of deception and sincerity
Has come to me
Do not ask me why I embrace this delirium
That she comes for me and me alone
And do not ask me why I do not do my job
And why my sword rests on the marble
Instead of between her ribcage
I do not know
Worse yet, I do not care
And that fills my thrashing heart with dread

She sees this
She laughs at this

And still she comes

And I must wonder
Who is this creature?
Who is this monster that forces
This righteous warrior for the gods to his knees
Every night when the sun deserts the earth
Who is this that sings soft ballads of devotion
Only to abandon her disciple in the dark
Leaving him writhing through unholy hours of the evening
Twisting in the sweat soaked furrowed sheets
Screaming at plaster walls
With terror
With lust
With outrage
With sorrow
With love
Who is this?
What is this?

I do not know
I do not think that I want to
I do not want to feel this way
I do not enjoy this feeling of naked emotion
I no longer wish to pursue this hollow dream of glory
I no longer dream of that prized head on a platter
I wish to no longer dream of her at all

And it is then
Only when instead of blood
I long for peace
When my heart stops crashing
Against my ribs as if it were suicidal
It is then
When the screaming stops
And the sheets no longer thrash
When lungs cease to franticly scream for air
When Lady Peace is almost at my side

And it is then

And only then

She comes

Again.


With Dapper Dipped Ink

Hey.
Do you remember that song we heard?
It was a pretty long time ago…
But it was soft, and sweet and powerful
And if you turned it up loud enough, in your best friend’s presence
You could feel the lyrics twist around your essence
Hug it tight until your breath became short
And we drank the sonnet deep
We drank, and drank and drank until we could drink no more
And when the song was over, we‘d sing it then ourselves
And sing it in our sleep
Over
And over
And over
Until the whole neighborhood heard
Until our throats were desert dry with wear
Until we were starting to forget some of the words
Until our voices became so tired, the words were but a whisper in the air?
Even then we were singing
Because it was a beautiful song
It sang of love and wonder and fury and hate
It sang sadness and justice and demands for the truth
It sang of angels and demons and souls that danced ‘t’ward Hellgates
It screamed a melody unhampered and sung by our youth
It sang lilies and goblins and manticore dreams
It sang desperate streets and moonlight dances
It sang bitterly of lust ad deception with rock n’ roll screams
And it sang of bloodlust in one’s soul and unjustified romances
It was a song
A special song
And one that everyone knew
I think my brother knew it
And your cousins knew it
Our teacher knew it
And the shopkeeper could sing it with ease
And the kid down the street, Lenny knew it in seventeen languages
(Including Finnish and Japanese!)
It was a dancing, twisting melody
That could have been sung for ages,
That throbbing, potent rhapsody,
It must have been written by sages
Yes, it really was one hell of a song
They don’t write ‘em like that anymore
Sure, we have some imitations
Thrown out by syndication
But they feel flat and trite and dull
And nothing like that song of yore
‘Cause they decided that those kind of songs
Are the sort that nobody likes, are the sort that are vile
They said, “We know what’s best for you, we know what doesn’t belong”
So they opened the radios, they threw out the dial
And stuffed them all full with tripe
But I still remember that old melody
The one we all knew by heart
The song that breathed pure ecstasy
Even if it never climbed to the charts
It was simple
It was loud
It was glorious and honey sweet
It screamed with guitars and drums and banjos
A song sure written in dapper dipped ink
But one thing still eludes me…
How did it go?
Do you remember?
How did it go?
29 Jul 2005
Thought I'd introduce myself into your little den of... madness....and glee. *unconfortable silence* I also come bearing gifts?
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