ok... here's mine for the day... *clears throat*


behind the wall,
of flesh and beauty..
lies the soul...
of the one I seek...
with odds that are bleek..
the perfect mate with ..
the perfect thighs..
eyes.. waist.. chest/ I mean breast..
lips.. the sway of her hips...
hair...her stare... her..
voice..
and her choice..
to speak...
to me...or not..
to speak..
if looks could kill..
it will,
with that glare..

I'm lookin for someone who's like me...
whos lookin for someone who's like them (I just made that up....hehehe)
likes the athletic type..
black...w/ light skin...
light eyes..
brown hair.. few cares...
likes lap dances in chairs...
for free..
who..likes all of me..
the good and bad..
happy and sad (awwwwww)...
for richer... or..
richer...

white noise ever perpetual
so relentless & skeptical
every channel and magazine
promoting fear and margerine
bright teeth, vanishing creme, & war
white virgins, and the bachelor
are in your living room tonight
filling & numbing your eyesight
white noise ever perpetual
hyperactive, habitual
in your radio and headphones
the messages that they condone
pretty people and money spent
Britney Spears and 50 cent
they are talking to you today
who you should be what you should say
white noise ever perpetual
so conventional and continual
like so much drivel
boring and ineffectual.

(Copyright) Velocity Chyaldd 2003

"If you don't practice your magick it will practice you."

midnite gurl on a deserted street
walking fast alone and creeped
fair maidens never leave the house
fair maidens never leave the spouse

midnite gurl all alone all alone
just traveling into the unknown
midnite gurl without her telephone
just rambling running on her own

midflight gurl is walking in the rain
walking fast away from the pain
good gurls always have a chaperone
but good gurls they do what they're told

midnite gurl all alone all alone
just traveling into her unknown
midnite gurl without her telephone
just rambling running on her own

midfright gurl sticks out her sore thumb
sucking it hiding from the dumb
fears awake in front of her face
she is in search of a better place

midnite gurl all alone all alone
just traveling into her unknown
midnite gurl without her telephone
just rambling running on her own

midfight gurl all over the world
waking up today, tail unfurls
standing up to the attack
getting it right on the payback

Copyright Velocity Chyaldd (2003)

"If you don't practice your magick it will practice you."

[This message was edited by Vulgaras on 02-29-04 at 09:22 AM.]

For Perfidia 1990


Miracles can happen.
Like the time I was
a man that became a woman
that became the man that I am.

Did the heel fit?
And the illusion of powder and pancake
that is the reflection
in the mirror
that you stand before
awaiting "her" arrival.

Not like the sisters who walk by night
down by the docks looking for the rent
from somebody's lost husband.
Afraid to ask for a cock,
afraid to look in the mirror of themselves
to see what they find.

Asking themselves over and over,
"Who is the she in me?"
"Who is the she in me?"
The gentle sway of hips
that are connected
to legs deep in hose
and feet swollen in pumps.

Doing the Connie Girl strut
and the Rupaul Stroll.
Causing heads to turn
all up and down the Avenue,
lost in that lipstick high
with dreams so full to bursting.

I'm in a hormone state of mind.
Self induced PMS so bad
it bubbles within
ready to burst forth
at any easy moment
up against your head
motherfucker.


The long corridors of suitors,
pockets full, ready to worship.
And the homage is paid in full.

Lost in the ruins of a Disney dream
where Peter Pan is a gay man,
where Cinderella and Sleeping Beauty
rush home before morning
like Anne Rice vampires
to beat the sunrise
of a newly stubbled face.

Are you that girl with something extra?
Donning lies like garments of illusion,
gender bending past confusion,
causing heartache contusions,
while waiting for that magic carpet ride
to carry you across the river
to a paradise of believers?

Excuse me Miss,
do you have this pump
in an eleven and a half?

-2 Pretend War-

Wild women are hideing behind yer back
Fountains of experience they attack
The painted ladies are poised like cattle
They're just chain smokeing before their battle
the youngest young ones are scratching their heads
cuz they still don't know which ones are the dead
the danceing muggles suck the music dry
and feeling thinkers fuck the humble pie
we're kissing rapists inside of our sleep
downloading victims becuz they cum cheap
all over dashboards an unhappy crash
meeting our faces with the welcum trash
it's just thick like thieves and the animal
just raping ourselves we're cataclysmal
I wish we could live just like vicoden
I wish we could be our own jungle gym
honest like children with forever sun
and killing the jade without the gold gun

copyright Velocity Chyaldd (ascap) 2004

I Got Sent Flowers

I got sent flowers, then I think what for
My last three years were torment
Yet you never opened up your heart’s door
My heart is broke in a thousands pieces, my body so well spent
While you held onto grudges, never thinking what it meant


But I got sent flowers, then I think what for
When all I needed was a big brother
Who would open up his heart’s door
Instead I got treated like just another
Stranger, who just got shown the door


The Love of my life is dead
Yet, you found time, to knock her in the end
Recalling all the things she ever did and said
When what I needed was a brother who would also be my friend


You held onto your grudges, of over 20 years
When you could have held your brother
Comforting each other’s fears
Remembering back to a time when we only had each other


But I got sent flowers and I think what for
My relationship with you is shattered
I know it can be no more
Yet, your grudges were all that seemed to matter


But I got sent flowers, and I wonder what for
When all I wanted was my brother to rise above his feelings and open up his door
I would have reached out to him and given him so much more
Instead I got sent flowers, and I think what the fuck for



I got Sent Flowers

“evilvoyeur” has stopped using the computer at 12:52:19 PM, and is now considered idle.

allors (1:12:58 PM): you munching on a bunch?
allors (1:13:50 PM): sipping a coconut?
allors (1:15:03 PM): chipping the ice out of the ice box?
allors (1:17:22 PM): taking a break?
allors (1:17:52 PM): shaking a leg?
allors (1:20:18 PM): puff'n a fag?
allors (1:20:44 PM): cutting a rug?
allors (1:21:18 PM): aiken to bake?
allors (1:21:42 PM): glad it's friday?
allors (1:22:12 PM): chomping your bit?
allors (1:22:49 PM): shivering like sh*t?
allors (1:23:23 PM): or just plain something?

“evilvoyeur” has started using the computer again at 1:26:01 PM.
allors (1:26:22 PM): :-)

merlinator 121004

Too many dreams to fill one nightmare,
and people ask, 'why, do yah sleep?'
and ah say, 'ah have had enough pain,
and a dream may not always be reality.

(got a tune for this?)
love, merlinator 021805

“tobacco villanelle”, found in a newsgroup:

Symphony in Smoke
from Harper's Bazaar

A pretty, piquant, pouting pet,
Who likes to muse and take her ease,
She loves to smoke a cigarette;

To dream in silken hammockette,
And sing and swing beneath the trees,
A pretty, piquant, pouting pet.

Her Christian name is Violet;
Her eyes are blue as summer skies;
She loves to smoke a cigarette.

As calm as babe in bassinette,
She swingeth in the summer breeze,
A pretty, piquant, pouting pet.

She ponders o'er a novelette;
Her parasol is Japanese;
She loves to smoke a cigarette.

She loves a fume without a fret;
Her frills are white, her frock *cerise*, --
A pretty, piquant, pouting pet.

She almost goes to sleep, a yet,
Half-lulled by booming honey-bees,
She loves to smoke a cigarette.

A winsome, clever, cool coquette,
Who flouts all Grundian decrees, --
A pretty, piquant, pouting pet
That loves to smoke a cigarette.

Dead Origami in the Rain

One lone dead paper bird lay ruined, lost, damp and cold,
Embossed upon the wet well-traveled grey-cemented sidewalk.
Crisp school bus-yellow paper art, drew notice to the archeological site,
Fallen from reverent, precious, articulated fingers of a disappointed child?
The once eternal gift, rendered such unexpectedly short-lived significance,
Abandoned, ancient, prostrate, un-succourable origami Terradactyl.

Dead Origami in the Rain.

Merlin 032805

This message has been edited. Last edited by: Merlinator,

So many great poems here. Keep up the great work in Part two.

This is one of my poems that is published and I just want to share it with you all.
Screaming
The crashing of glass being broken.
The screams of anger.
The crashing of words colliding.
The screams of broken teeth.
The crashing of fists slamming in the other opposite of me.
The screaming of yourself in your head telling you to run away.
The crashing of you getting slammed in the wall.
The screaming of your bones breaking.
The crashing of a knife slicing your stomach.
The screaming in the dark.
The crashing to the floor.
The final scream as you lie on the floor slowly dying.

Ashley Carroll

Copyright ©2005 Ashley Carroll

OK... so i met a blokie down in Jamaica who writes poetry ... when he's in NYC he wants to attend some poetry events, go to workshops etc... whats the 411? What basic stuff can i tell him.. he's young an rootsy....
Anyone?

Anna Nicole: send him to the Bowery Poetry Club at Bleeker.Or The Nuyorican Poets Cafe at 2nd between A & B. There is an open mike and a poetry slam there on Friday nights. Also there are usually a listing for poetry events in both The Village Voice listings and Time Out NY too.

With this most excellent advice, we close part 1 of this ever-popular topic.

Part 2 was already open, so Ive copied all of this year's poetry posts to it. Carry on there!