The Thread Poem

Just some strangeness from the insomnia here and a first post in this forum.

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This thread is just to pass the time
Before the walls, I start to climb
I'll try to spice it, with some rhyme
With luck it won't be called a crime

Now where to take it, I don't know
I feel I'm getting off too slow
I'm not quite sure where I should go
Sometimes these rhymes don't work you know

Bither, bather, tither tat
My thread is falling rather flat
I should have settled for chit chat
But now I'm stuck in this format

If you will, please don't talk smack
I swear I'm not another hack
For this I hope you don't attack
'Cause if you do I won't be back

Would you, could you, help me out
I don't know what this poem's about
If you could, just give a shout
I sure could use some bailing out

I thought I'd something great to say
When I set out on this foray
I'm sorry if it's too blase
I'll try again another day

SAM I AM!

I get the picture, . . you the host,
With good intentions, tried to post,
But nothing worthy could you scribe,
T'was as if your creativity died.

Whimpy, whumpy, pudding, pie,
Another day, another try.

Then one of those days comes when you amaze even yourself.

I swear it's true
I've been there too
that place, that time
that blankness in my mind
where words fail to convey
what I think I want to say
so I spew a few letters about
forming words yet to come out
hoping I don't forget to convey
what I think I'm trying to say

and exactly what am I trying to say
can I grasp the emotions to portray
do I even understand why
I sit here and I try
to put forth a thought
I have yet to sought

the more i approach rhyme, the face of
my diseased life or my mind, the time it takes
to forget that my structured words do not
need water, the muddy lakes, the roaring
ocean, the reflection of a woman's daughter

a puddle glinting the blue and flesh, my damn
rhyme, the unnecessary helpless collection of
liquid, the tension to impress and form
meaning where i know there is everything but,
an empty grin on my face, the boiling heat
before the storm, this is me. this is me.

I've been waiting for a guide to come
and take me by the hand
Could these sensations make me feel
the pleasures of a normal man
New sensations bear the innocence -
leave them for another day
I've go the spirit, lose the feeling
take the shock away

It's getting faster, moving faster now,
it's getting out of hand
On the tenth floor, down the backstairs
into no-man's land
Lights are flashing,
cars are crashing,
getting frequent now
I've got the spirit, lose the feeling, let it
out somehow

What means to you,
what means to me -
and we will meet again
I'm watching you, I watch it all
I take no pity from friends
Who is right and who can tell,
and who gives a damn right now
Until the spirit, new sensation
takes hold - then you know
I've got the spirit, but lose the feeling

- Ian Curtis

Poems that rhyme
take so much time
hard task to climb
rhetoric pantomime

To process this mess
I'm forced to confess
I abhor the stress
like a whores caress.

gimmie free verse
not the rhyme curse
If I continue, I'll just make it worse.

Instants that can still betray us
A journey that leads to the sun
Soulless and bent on destruction
Struggle between right and wrong
You take my place in the show-down
I'll observe with a pitiful eye
And humble ask for forgiveness
A request well beyond you and I
Heart and soul, one will burn

An abyss that lasted creation
A circus complete with all fools
Foundations that lasted the ages
Then ripped apart at their roots
Beyond all this good the terror
The grip of a mercenary hand
When savagery returns
for good reason
There's no turning back the last stand
Heart and soul, one will burn

Existence-well what does it matter
I exist on the best terms I can
The past is now part of my future
The present is well out of hand
Heart and soul, one will burn
One will burn, one will burn
Heart and Soul, one will burn

- Ian Curtis

Today I wonder
What will tomorrow be
And tomorrow I will ponder
about the day after you see
Thinking about this
Thinking about that
Thinking too much
And not thinking squat
An endless cycle turns
Restless mind continues to burn
Unsure of where to dwell
As waves of thoughts begin to swell
Giving voice to some of them
Putting others to a pen.

A poem about threads?
A change of pace!
Let the poetry flow
Where none other dare go.
And if the Feds
Don't like this place,
Just let them know
Where they can go.

A poem about threads?
On A - T - S!
What the Feds do not see
Is the tinfoil on me.
This Reynold's Wrap sheds
And makes a mess.
On rabbit-eared T.V.,
But helps you and me see.

So pull up a seat,
And put on your foil.
For behind the illussion
We shall not toil.

Two-thirty in the morning, sitting by my bed,
I want to right a wrong, somewhere in my head,
There's something funny going on, out there in the streets,
I really need to tell someone, hope you're not the heat.

I move to my computer, walking through the dark,
Sitting down I turn it on, waiting for the spark.
Yes I need to tell you, yes I need to talk,
I feel a presence following me, everytime I walk.

I don't know where they come from, or why they're after me,
But when I think of of telling you, they never let me be.
I'm feeling better now, my door now has a lock,
I really want to tell you, but still . . .this writer's bloc.

I walked through city limits
Someone took me by the hand in the blue
Attracted by some force within it
If I could close my eyes,
I could get used to it
Around the corner where a puppet lay
Saw the place where she had a room to stay
A wire fence
where children play
Saw them dance where the body lay
And I was looking for a friend of mine
The car screeched in the sand
and dust
Feel encouraged -
just a car on it's side
Metallic blue turned red with rust
Pulled it close by the buildin's side
In a room for forgotten youth
I could think
or let my senses slide
Turned on to a night with you
Find the place where my friends, won't go
And I was looking for a friend of mine
and I had no time to lose
Yeah looking for some friends of mine
Down the dark street,
the houses looked the same
Stopped and turned around,
held me to a game
I walked round and round,
you nailed me to a tree
Trying to find a way,
trying to find a way, to get out
For twelve windows stand in a row
Behind a wall
where a room to go
The light shined like a neon show
See the deep mellow warmth
of the glow
No place to stop,
no place to go
No time to lose,
have to keep on going
I guess they died some time ago
I guess they died some time ago
And I was looking for a friend of mine
And I have no time to lose
Yeah, I was looking for a friend of mine

- Ian Curtis

am i your friend of long lost? or
are you referring to someone else
in desperate need to toss off words
or clothing [whatever sells], i think
i could be that person, that friend
speckled skin of letters, glinting
golden dashes and dots that send
me to this place of intangible people,
words clothe words reveal, which is
my role in your eyes? friend or foe
to whom i count on to keep things
real?

Trying everyting and still nothing seems to work, moonlight leading me
through the dark hours of creation, a time when thoughts come to me at blinding speeds, but indeed, not this night. Too uptight. Can't write. What
a sight . .I must be . .haven't slept, and it's day . . three.

On the desk my words lay scattered, unused, . . . it doesn't matter. Into
them I've put my sweat, for you to read but yet . .I wonder, if that's
enough. They're meant to give you visions, such that I see, but do they
really help you, to be me ? Being me is not what I want for you, I think
it'd only make you blue. Feelings, my feelings, through my words and into
you, used as if another tool. But does it work ?

Okay okay, so it takes more. I try so hard my head gets sore. And still I
try to write my fears, but onto ink doth fall my tears. So now you have
my tears, my sweat. Is there anything else . .left ? Wait, I know now what
you need, a nick of the wrist here . . to make me bleed. Right ?

There you have it; blood ,sweat, and tears. Are you happy, now my dear ?

my blood is lustful anger.
my sweat is anticipation of lucidity.
my tears are words of old sages, intermixing

with collective sweat, the stories of the world
its tears being poems of history, the ancients cascading
blood and love over the wool blankets of the sleeping humans

and their splintered tears, moss shrouding beliefs,
the venous green blood dripping down permeable leaves,
there is no more sweat, no more poems about death, just life. life!

Procession moves on, the shouting is over
Praise to the glory of loved ones
now gone
Talking aloud as they sit
round their tables
Scattering flowers washed down by the rain

Stood by the gate at the foot of the garden
Watching them pass like clouds in the sky
Try to cry out in the heat of the moment
Possessed by a fury
that burns from inside

Cry like a child though
these years make me older
With children my time
is so wastefully spent
Burden to keep, though their
inner communion
Accept like a curse
an unlucky deal

Laid by the gate at the foot
of the garden
My view stretches out
from the fence to the wall
No words could explain,
no actions determine
Just watching the trees
and the leaves as they fall

- Ian Curtis

you have a liquid ass
the dripping makes me queasy
your cesspool is noticeable only when i squint
next time, let your words and thoughts liquify out of your mouth.

Alone, . . words are easy to find, yet difficult to utter,
Anger brings us to the gutter,
Using language, making a point,
Could our nose be out of joint ?

Call it like you see it.
Is someone talking out their arse ?

A hint, . .don't squint.

Any fool can compose a sentence
But what exactly, does it take
To write something increddibly moving
And take pride in what you make

I guess, like every writer
we have goals in mind
Just to change one person's view
To see, another side

Turn on a light switch
In a room dark black
See the things they missed before
The wall so full of cracks

Perhaps a Thesaurus
would be an excellent purchase
For someone who wants to sound Pretentious
Because, as it has been so blatantly so
Any fool can Compose a Sentence

- Carrot

( I really liked your third paragraph, or stanza. )

You're bringing out what all of us are trying to say here, that everyone
sees things in different ways. The light in the dark, the cracks on the wall.
I wonder how many of us missed those cracks, or ignored them. But you
didn't. And so you have something different to offer, a different look or a
different take.

The trouble comes when we try to convey our differences, to share them,
in those foolish sentences any fool can compose.

I guess I'm just one of those people, who believes that nothing is certain, and nothing is ever definite. (mostly) everything is completely subjective to our own interpretations. We are all stuck on this rock, searching for answers to questions we don't even know how to ask. We're all standing in this dark room, just begging for a light.

The light never comes. Instead, we try to provide answers for each other and try to make sense of this thing called life...Its depressing a little bit, to think that no one has all the answers, and we're all just as lost as each other...but if someone, can show just one person another perspective - perhaps they might find the light for themselves.



- Carrot