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PostPosted: Tue Nov 11, 2008 6:58 pm 
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QuoteMaster
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Joined: Fri Mar 24, 2006 8:42 am
Posts: 761
Location: Oklahoma
Inside and Outside
by Tushkahill


He lay twisting and turning,
eyes fluttering.
He was deaf to his own name.

There she was, all beautiful
in that misty gown.
Watching intensely for any response.

Running through the blank hallway,
This can't be right.
Run and leap through eternity.

What if he was to awake
and to be aware.
Maybe he's okay.

There it was, the door of rooms
with keys of all sizes.
Too many keys; not enough time.

He looked cold and flustered
in the predawn night.
His mothers' blanket should keep him warm.

Every other one, take a chance,
pick and choose.
But don't waste time thinking.

Wouldn't it be right, partly wrong
for watching and waiting?
Just wait for a few more.

Let everything be, serene and still
to the touch.
Soon the door will open.

His hair, even in all its luster
couldn't keep from falling.
Gently to the side will do.

The door with no key or place
creaked with unuse.
Be ready for anything.

He mumbles something
with the slightest breath.
What a thing to say!

Listen to your heart, but please
not another choice...
He found the room of many doors.

For all his strength and reserve,
still the helpless one.
Just to be there was enough.

To have a clue or hint,
something insightful.
Be quick, the doorknob is dying.

What he sees, what he believes
could all be wrong.
His arms are open enough to be inviting.

They're all the same the way
they are closed.
Pick and choose before it dies.

Urgency is found in the voice
that beckons.
There's no mistaking the name.

There they are, all changing
but one.
He watches it grow old with a smile.

Be awake and watch the sun
as it rises.
Feel safe by this side of life.

"There you are.
Who would hide something
so bright?"

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PostPosted: Tue Nov 11, 2008 7:18 pm 
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Joined: Fri Mar 24, 2006 8:42 am
Posts: 761
Location: Oklahoma
Fire Bright
by Tushkahill


I remember something. I must've been 8 years old. A memory sometimes constant. A child gathering wood and kindling for the cook fire. I wasn't alone. I had with me another about my age helping with the daily chore. It's funny because I see in my mind the way he found it so easy to swat small rocks with such a lanky piece of wood. While he was whittling away precious daylight, I was trying busily to make my quota before the sun settled. We had a large pile steadily growing until I thought we had enough. The boy threw his last rock and picked up about two-thirds the pile and proceeded to return to the camp. I figured since I did most of the gathering and splintering, it's only right that he carry the load. He must realize this, too.

I stacked my bundle of sticks and wandered back to camp. I walk right to the cook fire where my step-mom was already starting a fire. She looks at me and says "Is that all you brought? Well go back and get more." I pleaded with her and let her know how much I worked, but it didn't help. She still commanded my obedience. I felt cheap and sad. Is this all I was good for, gathering wood? I remember holding my eyes and crying, walking and wondering why I had to make the second trip alone, when I had done almost all the work in the first place. After sobering up, I decided to continue.

I broke each piece of wood with all the vengeance I could control. I wanted to keep my beautiful tears from falling, so I wiped every drop off my face and onto my sleave. I began snapping every twig like it was my last. Stomping, jumping, it didn't matter which action I took, they all broke the sticks. But it never solved my problem. The world can be unfair, but the wood will be gathered. The fire my step-mom built still burns bright.

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PostPosted: Fri Nov 21, 2008 6:25 pm 
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Posts: 761
Location: Oklahoma
*Written 9-17-95. I was 15 and feeling morose.*


DEATH TO AN ANGEL
by Tushkahill


Over a world of many lights, my wings twirl. Waiting within in my body, an insane killer sits. He walks into an unlit hallway with chains on his ankles. My body flies away. Many men talk of his intentions. They record his every move. Smoking cigarretes and drinking coffee, they wait insolently on any proof. They offer him a smoke, but he had quit.
Spinning red lights in blockades of flesh. In a torrential downpour, a corpse makes its way through an expectant crowd. Their interest is not in body counts, but in decaffeinated coffee. A body is seen in a black bag of death. Long strips of flesh were ripped from his back. A fellow officer lets his stomach roll. The music starts as we enter the dead mans wounds.
Watching from steaming windows, he surveys open umbrellas and his bloody hands. He remembers the time he walked those same streets of snow. He remembers his home of red tape. He goes back to his old hauntings.
He opens the door and smells the darkness. Crucifixes submerged in bottles of urine. His office with one swinging light. He digs in the toilet for his most favored drink. An angel watches from the second floor. He can hear the footsteps in the water.
In the kitchen, bugs crawl and maggots thrive. His eyes are fixed on the fridges' light. He breaks the vile of life and dilutes it, then drinks it down with swirling floaters. His angel begins his flight while he kicks at a scurrying rat.
In an egg, he himself breaks free of restraints. The angel takes notice. The egg is broken open, a cigarrete falls and someone waits in the dark. He runs toward the light in the hallway in search for his angel. The angel is wary. The winged-one takes no chances and flees.
He runs to the bathroom and sits next to the stalls. His angel plays and makes his way through the halls. All the water cannot cleanse this feeling. He dives in the bathtub and screams, then looks up to find his angel staring at him. Enraged, he breaks free from the cold water and starts in on a chase that will cost him his soul.
Tools in the hallway serve as weapons. A circular-saw will cut the angels' optimism. No door will stop the iron will of death. The angel only delays the fate. Sparks fly as metal clashes from the barrier of delay. He shows his head and peeks through. The two face off. He charges. The angel can now only wait for death.
The battle has begun. He jumps and starts bearing down the weight of the saw upon the angels face. The angel is thrown through a wall. A small lamp breaks. Through a crack in another wall, someone watches. With sheer momentum of rage, he pounds the angels head against the floor continuously, relentlessly. Many times over the head is bashed; yet someone still watches. The angels wings are torn from his back. The tv screen is splashed and doused with blood. Several downy feathers float carelessly to the floor. There is no more movement, just silence. The only sound now is that of an angels body being drug across the damp floor. The someone behind the wall sits on his bed and lights another cigarrete.

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PostPosted: Sat Jan 03, 2009 10:02 am 
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Joined: Sun Apr 23, 2006 4:49 am
Posts: 1201
Location: UK
I’ve done some absurd wrong
I’ve lost myself to shame
I’ve become an actor
Running from pain to pain

There are cuts on my arm
I want them to heal
But I keep scratching them
Just so I can feel

I’ve chips on my shoulders
I want to fill them in
With a part of myself
But I am running thin

My self sallied flesh melts
And takes with it my soul
Leaving but skin and bones
I’ve dug into a whole

I sit here in the cold
Everything is bitter
I’m numb to people’s care
All I do is shiver

I need to regulate
Life, so I can subsist
Everything’s too much when
Negative thoughts persist

I need some time alone
To get over myself
All this self obsessing
It’s not good for my health


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PostPosted: Thu Feb 05, 2009 12:11 pm 
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Joined: Sun Apr 23, 2006 4:49 am
Posts: 1201
Location: UK
Sitting in on another monologue
I let my pen wander
And my mind follow it
Into my garden
My own private Eden

I tend to the flowers that grow there
And cut back all the weeds
I prune the bushes grown from seeds
Once planted by people past
Some have grown big
But I have shaped them

One grand oak stands in the corner
And casts a shadow over everything
This was from my childhood
It watches over me and gives me shelter
Like a statue that guards a square
It is too big to trim
Too deep to uproot
Besides, I am grateful for its shield
From the sun’s piercing glare

I run my hand along the fence
I put up to keep people out
From looking in my garden
I don’t want them to scorn my sanctuary

Alas, this garden is too big
And grown too wild
Maybe I could use a second pair of hands

I look down at the paper
A scrawling mess


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PostPosted: Thu Feb 05, 2009 4:09 pm 
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QuoteMaster
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Joined: Mon Nov 25, 2002 4:51 pm
Posts: 3071
Location: University of New Hampshire
Here's the prologue from a fiction piece I wrote earlier in the year. Just felt like posting it for no particular reason. No one else has read this, you guys are the first.


Chapter I - Prologue

Lillian ran from the big ranch house, tears streaming down her face. Her torn dress hung from her shoulders in pieces as she held to front together with one hand. Her other hand hung by her side, shoes dangling from her fingers as she fled barefoot into the darkness of the night.

‘How could he?’ she thought to herself. ‘What gives him the right to take what I don’t want to give him?’

She finally stopped running; it was time to make a plan. She sat on a nearby rock, and dipped her aching feet into the stream trickling and dancing over the near black rocks. The water of the stream ran red with the blood from her bruised and broken feet. Fleeing without pause to put her shoes on was probably not the best idea in the world, but what else was she to do? She couldn’t stay in that house any longer. Her eyes closed as she tried to hold back the memories, but unbidden they swept over her.

His hands grasped her shoulders as he turned her gently, facing her towards the stairs.

‘NO!’ her mind screamed at her other self, but there was no stopping the memory as it swept her away again.

She could see herself, laughing as the boy led her up the stairs. The boy talking softly in her ear, nowhere as drunk as he seemed. Herself, still an innocent even after countless nights like this one, typical party rife with alcohol, loud music, drugs and sex.

The boy, not yet a man, himself veteran of countless nights like this, just as she herself is, leading her into a room. The door kicked casually closed behind them, glasses and cups set on a table beside the door, his mouth on hers, and his hands on her shoulders.

She lets him, she is willing to give him this, to go this far, but she has limits, things she will not do.

His hands drop to her waist, pulling her close as he turns, trapping her against the wall.

His mouth moves to her neck, trying to be seductive, managing only wet and cold as the heady exhilaration wears off. She pushes at him, tells him she’s not in the mood anymore, but he doesn’t listen.

She realizes that she can’t smell any alcohol on his breath; he isn’t drunk at all. He knows precisely what he’s doing. He scares her now.


Her heart pounding in her ears again, she knows she needs to relive this memory, this night, or she won’t be able to move.

She pushes harder, trying to make him understand that she can’t, that she WON’T. He doesn’t listen, tells her to stop. Be quiet, be a good little slut.

He rips her shirt open, baring her breasts and stomach; she flails at his head, in a panic now. His hands reach for her skirt, intending to push it up around her waist.

She panics, and kicks him. Hard. He drops to the floor in a crouch, holding his crotch, eyes streaming in pain.

She darts out the door, slamming it behind her. She snatches her shirt closed as a couple kissing in the hall turn to look.

She darts down the stairs, heading for the door, ignoring the calls that follow her; she slips out into the night.


Lillian curls into a ball, wrapping her arms around her waist to avoid try and shield herself from the memories, but still they come.

She is halfway down the drive when he calls to her. “Lillian!”

She ignores him.

“Lilly! Get back here! I didn’t mean it!”

She still doesn’t turn.

His voice turns hard. “Lilly, you get back here right now you bitch.”

She turns and looks at him, a tall, strong looking silhouette on the porch. “No” she says, proud when her voice doesn’t shake.

“Lillian, if you leave now…” He leaves the threat hanging, gives her the opening to slink back to him like the whipped cur he wants.

But she won’t. She has never allowed him to rule her, and she’ll be damned if she’s going to start now. She turns and begins to walk again.

He comes off the porch, his feet crunching loud on the gravel of the driveway.

“Run Lilly!” Comes from her best friend’s throat, but is then cut off as someone slaps her.

“Don’t run bitch,” the boy calls, “It’ll just be worse when I catch you!”

His voice fades as she breaks into a run, weaving between the cars and out of his sight.


Her face wet again, she pulls her feet from the stream, and pulls on her shoes. She winced as the blood soaked through her socks, but tied the thin leather over her feet anyway.

She staggered to her feet, and limped out of the clearing, grasping at trees and bushes as she went. Her only thought was to get away, if she went far enough and fast enough, maybe he wouldn’t be able to find her.

The tall man watched her staggering form from the cover of the brush, following her silently, slipping through the branches and leaves soundlessly, tracking her every movement.

‘This is the one.’ He thought to himself. ‘She must be watched. I must protect her.’



P.S. Sorry it's a little long.

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Sanctuary: a small safe place in a troubling world


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PostPosted: Thu Jul 09, 2009 12:51 am 
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Joined: Mon Jun 29, 2009 12:47 pm
Posts: 35
Location: ZZ plural Z Alpha
Darkness Divine
by TBird
7-9-09

Darkness is pure, That dark divine.
Infinite I'm sure, That stark divide.
Silent and calm, One half gives in.
Beating along, My heart within.
I closed my eyes, the hardest kiss
I honed my mind, the darkest bliss.

Breaking illusions, Creating delusions.
People hysterical, Their mass confusions.
Some cannot last, Two candle's lit.
But some hold fast, And handle it.
And without your eyes, We become blind.
Now turn out the light, So I can hide.


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PostPosted: Wed Jul 22, 2009 12:48 pm 
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Joined: Fri Nov 03, 2006 7:40 am
Posts: 78
Location: Florida
What is in your voice,
calming
smooth
velvety
Hmm, that makes my heart flutter

As if I were a school child
Wide-eyed and amazed
Pattering at my chest
Beating
Thumping
Melting
Hmm, my soul taken on a trip

Sailing in the blue moon,
In your voice I will follow
Guiding like the star lit sky
Twinkling
Steadily
Calling out to my name

Uhhh, what is in your voice?
That has these emotions rolling
What is in your voice?
That it keeps me from breaking away

What is in your voice?

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Live as if your were to die tomorrow. Learn as if you were to live forever. -- Gandhi


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PostPosted: Thu Nov 12, 2009 7:07 am 
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QuoteMaster
QuoteMaster

Joined: Sun Apr 23, 2006 4:49 am
Posts: 1201
Location: UK
Less Than Human

I exercise to exorcise the demons of my past
I do it every night and day ‘cos I’m scared it will not last

My eyes are sunk into my head, I get so very cold
My cheeks are hollow, my hair’s so thin that I look very old

It’s been so long that I’ve forgotten what I’m all about
The only way I react to others is by lashing out

Somehow I wound up less than human
I lost my mind and my person
I’ve forgotten how to be a man
And I don’t even give a damn

All best wishes and kind regards I’ve grown to despise
I assume that all affection’s false and treat it like a lie

A ghostly shadow I stalk my house, only eating air
My selfishness causes everyone around me to despair

‘Til I get over myself I’m not capable of love
Ironically that’s the hardest part which I find so tough

Somehow I wound up less than human
I lost my mind and my person
I’ve forgotten how to be a man
And I don’t even give a damn

Now I see so very clear what it is I have to do
Rather than mope about my room I need to grow anew

If I forget myself for once and ask her how was her day
Then maybe I can make her smile and even make her day

Maybe then I’ll forgive myself and find someone to hold
Maybe then my demons will be gone and I won’t be so cold

Somehow I wound up less than human
I lost my mind and my person
I never used to give a damn
But now I want to be a man


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PostPosted: Thu Nov 12, 2009 1:01 pm 
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Joined: Fri Apr 14, 2006 4:16 am
Posts: 3140
Location: Melbourne, Australia
Somehow I suspect you've not got the right folk reading this mate, but vI hope the right one does and comprehends.

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السلام عليكم


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PostPosted: Sat Nov 14, 2009 11:27 pm 
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QuoteMaster
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Joined: Wed Nov 28, 2007 8:25 pm
Posts: 1217
Location: Australia
Great poem, Moshei, congratulations :)

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The most wasted of all days is one without laughter.
e e cummings (1894 - 1962)


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PostPosted: Sun Nov 15, 2009 9:44 pm 
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QuoteMaster
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Joined: Thu Oct 26, 2006 6:52 pm
Posts: 1744
Location: SEA
Mosh, i treat it as a song, not a poem
Your emotions are real, candid and warm
As I sense the clouds over your mind
The reason why i relate with empathy
Is that a soul like yours is never cold, never empty

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Life is a lesson. Learn from it.


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PostPosted: Tue Nov 17, 2009 1:13 am 
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Joined: Sun Apr 23, 2006 4:49 am
Posts: 1201
Location: UK
Haha, thanks Arrow and Gumtree.


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PostPosted: Wed Nov 18, 2009 7:02 am 
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DedeKorkut
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Joined: Wed Aug 30, 2006 3:36 am
Posts: 831
Location: Turan
Moshei,that's great

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"God is a comedian, playing to an audience too afraid to laugh."
Voltaire


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PostPosted: Sun Nov 29, 2009 8:21 pm 
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Joined: Sun Nov 29, 2009 7:55 pm
Posts: 2
Location: If I knew I'd tell you...
Words

Something heard or said,
cannot compare to what's in my head
I would show you,
if I could,
all that I love,
and what is good.

Something enscribed, is nothing,
next to the portrait in my dreams.
I would show you,
if I could,
what all the contours
and colors speak of.

These words, a happenstance,
a sillouette of my thoughts.
I would show you,
if I could,
what lies at the bottom
of this dark pool.

My heart, what speaks true,
but to me, and I wish to you.
I would show you,
if I could,
How you warm my heart
and stoke my soul.


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