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Perro Andaluz [01 Jan 2010|12:31pm]

poetssociety

[didzease]
I wrote this, inspired by the film Little Ashes. Federico Garcia Lorca is one of the best-appreciated poets in the Spanish history of Literature, and his life was like a tragedy. I thought he deserves an ode, so.. here it is.

Excerpt:

Perro Andaluz
Young and senseless, laughing in the fields of Granada
The summersun, singing, high above the trees and grass
And studying in the city, Madrid, made of concrete and glass
The words and music overwon the laws on lifeless paper

Follow the link for the complete poem.
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[01 Jan 2010|02:27am]

poetssociety

[baglady123]
You never left a bruise
And you never left a thought
In my naive little head
That someone ought
To have you killed

I never seemed to cry
I enjoy the pain
I only shed outside
When my tears blend with rain
That way nobody knows

I still see you though
I see you in my dreams
I wake up to your horrid face
And I cant help but scream
For all of the times I never did

And all my fancy clothes
And your austentatious car
Were there to protect you
And define the "kind of person" you are
Everybody loved you

Your so lucky you took in
Someone so pretty like me
That way no one would see my pain
And they would all just agree
That you are the best thing thats ever hapenned to me

Your getting older now
And I've grown up myself
I'm starting to move on
And you are stuck with bad health
I'm putting you in a home.
1 comment|post comment

[01 Jan 2010|02:02am]

poetssociety

[humantrash]
i bought a one way ticket
and im ready to board
can't look back
with dirt in your eyes
post comment

[01 Jan 2010|12:50am]

poetssociety

[humantrash]
as the ball drops
so does my throat
and with the hammer
so do i
happy new year
may it be the last
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2010 here I come [31 Dec 2009|08:30pm]

poetssociety

[gemini6_12]
Fading You Away

Wanting to see the new year
Without wanting to see his face
Trying to see the new year
Without any temptations

My brown eyes turn to honey
When they hit your black abyss
My small hands turn to hand cuffs
When they reach your hands

And I suddenly don't wanna talk to you
Because you've pushed the wrong button

This time
I'm gonna scream
I'm gonna be heard
You will see the other side of me
And it'll make you not like me

Now I'm meeting this new year
With fighting fists
Because I don't need your opinion here
No matter how many times you say it to me

This new year is for me
Not for you
Stop annoying me
Goodbye

By Wilmary

1 comment|post comment

My favorite song [31 Dec 2009|05:01pm]

poetssociety

[xspontaneouslyx]
My favorite song

I know there's no such thing as guarantee
With a girl who lives to love so fly and free
And I live vicariously through my favorite songs
I like to mix my dreams with some romance
Even though I know I may not stand a chance
Of a happy ending like my favorite song

And I am la-la-la-la-la lost in the melody
If you hear the rhythm too come and dance with me
To my favorite song

I think there's no such thing as sound asleep
With a girl so wide awake inside my mind
And I lay awake and hear my favorite song
The week goes by my heart keeps up the beat
My body's learned I can take agony
My heart can mend just like in my favorite song

And I am la-la-la-la-la lost in the melody
If you hear the rhythm too come and dance with me
To my favorite song

My favorite song plays like a film noir
Old school romance and a sweet cigar
I don't smoke but I like the taste
My favorite song knows how to treat you right
He turns tender when you dim the lights
And can still see your pretty face

And I am la-la-la-la-la lost in the melody
If you hear the rhythm too come and dance with me
To my favorite song
post comment

[31 Dec 2009|04:48pm]

theacademyis

[busy_lady99]
A happy new year to everyone, stay safe tonight.

It's already been 3 years that I started lurking here, time flies.
8 comments|post comment

[31 Dec 2009|03:38pm]

poetssociety

[humantrash]
the economy of sex
inflation inflamation
and dollar desires
dogs fighting for scraps
under the communist skirt
the markets are looking up
for the money shot
as morality taxes
the libido of freedom
fuck your beer, your tv, your sports car, your million-dollar-body building system
i wish there was a condom for commercials
post comment

Come Clean [31 Dec 2009|12:44pm]

poetssociety

[___unfiltered]
You came clean this week
looked me in the forehead and said,
"I don't get it,
you're too pretty to write poetry."

So I'm going to come clean,
Since obviously you have a different opinion than me.

I feel pretty like the feeling the photographers must of had
when they realized they were in the room when Elvis and Nixon shook hands.

I feel pretty like the first person who walked in and saw Sylvia Plath
with her head inside an oven.

I feel pretty like your lips when you said I can't write poetry.

I'm going to come clean
I think that some things are so dirty around here sometimes
that when I wake up with my face half stuck, half painted to the canvas
it can still make me feel all sorts of pretty.

I'm going to come clean
I have been all different kinds of mean in this life
walked all over everything that shouldn't be walked on
and loved people despite how unlucky they were,
relied on nothing more than being pretty
so that we could eat dinner at night.

And when you said that there is such a thing
as being too pretty to succeed at the only thing that makes feelings worth having (for me)
well, I'm going to come clean,
I can't do anything but disagree.

If you've never gotten in your car and drove more than two hours
to hear a person you've never met before read a poem about champagne
you've got no idea what the phrase "too pretty" even means.

If you've never seen Buddy tell a story and shoot from tears right into laughter -
this poem is too pretty for you.

Not knowing if that sound is the gunshots or your heart,
pretty.

Walking into the hotel lobby and getting drunk with the piano player at the hotel bar,
pretty.

Falling in love and falling out of love and falling in love again
just to find out you had it right the first time,
too pretty.

I'm going to come clean
I have been someone's one night stand
way too many times.

I am addicted to the feeling you get in your stomach
right before something real big happens
that you didn't seen coming.

The look on my face is sometimes, yes, pretty,
but other times so broken that
I don't want to NOT drive and sing up and down the shore
I don't want to be afraid that when someone talks to me it's just because I'm pretty
I don't want to fall short on letting strangers know I am well educated, but too familiar
with running away from people who are stronger than me.

I am going to come clean.

I have cheated more than once, lied more than once
and buried a friend more than once.

I have killed so many dreams before they ever even had a chance
and having my first child was one of them.

I have never told anyone the whole truth
except the strangers who hear my poetry,
so to be too pretty to get those secrets out
just so it doesn't haunt me
is something I'm going to take personally.

I am too stubborn for my own good,
too proud to fall in love seriously,
and too pretty to write poetry.

Lucky me.
 
 
2 comments|post comment

[31 Dec 2009|07:53am]

poetssociety

[vadiavanitube]
Cold air, fake light,
guide the way as inspiration takes it course,
pictures of soccor teams on the wall,
a bottle of water not even touched,
a small wooden box with a scorpion on it,
and pens and markers set upon the desk for use.

"Shanon, you're not going to eat anything for breakfast?"
"Not now." Comes the reply from a throat that just endured
another cigarette.
Caffiene and Nicotene were the choices for the morning rush.

Tonight is a surprise, will there be music and dancing?
Decorations? Christmas Trees and Tinsel?
Anticipation isn't what it use to be,
instead of a gaping cosmic blackhole,
it's more like a possoms hideaway.

My fingers no longer tango, they tap on the keyboards.
post comment

2000nine [31 Dec 2009|02:26am]

poetssociety

[infiniteabys]
on the eve of a decade
things haven't change (but why would they)
blurry eyed
more pills than friendships
on the way to the 911
i'm a cut(ter) about the rest
"we'll sleep when we're dead"
can't come soon enough
heart headed
the only heart burn I have came right off your lips
itchy head minus itchy trigger finger
ive only got bulleyes on chests and promises
hunting for broken hearts to get lost in
1 comment|post comment

"F l o w e r s__a n d__S t a r s" [31 Dec 2009|09:05am]

poetssociety

[finneganthepoet]
[ mood | creative ]
[ music | Philip Glass, Music Box ]

"F l o w e r s__A n d__S t a r s" c.



The Rainfall Drives Down______Cold and Clean
I hold You______Closer
You hold Me__Tighter
in the Valley of Death's Garden

"Don't leave Me....
Please don't leave Me!"

But I'm
________Dying
______________Dying
____________________Dying

in the Garden...

Dying in Your Arms
Dying in the Rain..........................cold and clean
_____________________(Dead in Your Arms)
glitters like gold....
_____________________(Tears and Pain)
Flowers and Rain................./_________Splattering
__________________(Screaming)
Echoes
________(Dreams)
_________and letting go________of Life,
cutting the cord
(don'tleavemepleasedontleavemepleased)
drowning in the womb
(comebacktomepleasecomebacktomepleasecomebac)
It's Suicide
____________in the Garden
(screamscreamscreamscreamscreamscreams)
Flowers and Blood/......................Falling Rain/.............................Running Red/
_______Dead in Your Arms/.........................Walk into the Light/...................Colours So Bright/

Healing and Heaven and
_________________________Flowers and Stars/




18, July 1990
West Village NYC, USA



From "I'm Not Afraid of The Dark" Collection of 21st Century Poetry, Flowers and Stars, copyright by




- -............................................................................................................................ - F i n n e g a n/..
www.FinneganThePoet.com

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"Compassion" [31 Dec 2009|09:01am]

poetssociety

[finneganthepoet]
[ mood | artistic ]
[ music | Philip Glass, It Was Always You Helen ]

"C o m p a s s i o n ."
____________________________(for JC)

I.

Paper Hearts
are as Easily cut
as Stainless Steel
when Burned Up by the Fire...
It's Cinder-Come-Easy,
Love's Easy Ash
and All too simple
to make Judgement
without having prior Experience
(simply Project
Your Own Perceived Value
and Focus the
Illusion)
Beyond That Much I
cannot Say..
My Sincerity is My Acceptance
My Perseverance is My Compassion
and My Masochism belongs to You...

II.

Last Night
.When Dark Birds of Doubt
Clouded the Moon
Shielding the Orchids of Stars
in My Eyes
I
allowed You access,
where You simply
Broke My Heart.

Used and Poorly-Spent
I was Cold.

So Winter filled the Vacuum,
Deep Snow filled my Frosting Lungs
and Ravens fluttered

from My Hands
as I let Them Peck
the Pearls of Tears

from the Gore-Holes
of My Eyes...



19, June 1991



From "I'm Not Afraid of The Dark" #6




- -F i n n e g a n

www,finneganthepoet.com
1 comment|post comment

"A ButterFly is Dying" [31 Dec 2009|08:54am]

poetssociety

[finneganthepoet]
[ mood | awake ]
[ music | Philip Glass, Grid ]

A Butterfly is Dyingc
                                                                                                                         

These Bright Wings
Flower-Colour'd
Shiver   and Burst
in Flight/Unsmother'd


Set Thee    many Honey Drops
Love-Liquid/Sweet upon thy Lips
Frozen/Sunlight's Burning Stops
An Ice-Filled Passion's      Crushing Grip/


Wings Upon Thy Darkened Waters
Dripping Heavy/Honey's Dew..
When the Moon glows Hot in Quarter
When the Sun Doth Blaze   in   Blue


When Thine Lover     flutters    Hither
Crumpled Wings o f Passion / Hush'd
Come Down Where Thint Flowers Wither..
Summers Ending Fires / Flush'd


These Wings/    Brilliant
Are Resilient/.....
Are The Never Ending Beat
of Twin Hearts   upon the Jungle
of This Garden/Chok'd with Heat


Strangled in Thine Seething Feelings
Happiness   as   Hot   as   Sun
Choking Melancholy's   Stealing
Life's Sweet Passions
(BLAZE/..BLAST/...STUN/)


Underneath these Steaming Liquids
Setting Fire     to the Sky
Red and Purple Clouds /Insipid
Filling Up My Sixteen Eyes


Upward toward thee/Heaven/sighing
Towards The Starbursts/ Dost Thou Flying
Towards such Cosmic Flaming Space
Where a Butterfly is Dying
Where The Angels Whirl in Grace
Where thine Demons Flame Desire
Where the Sun Drops pelt thy Face
Where the Rainbows Blaze En'fired
Where In Heaven / Angels Wait
Where Sugar'd Blossoms Seent Forever
Where the Answers are to Fate
Where Reward Thoust can Endeavor
Where Thoust Eyes Can Purely See
Where These Gardens Are Tomorrow
Where All Butterflies are Free....

23, March 1992/
East Village, NYC-------------------------------------------- A Butterfly is Dying copyright 2005
-


- F i n n e g a n

www.finneganthepoet.com
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"Beautiful Flowers" [31 Dec 2009|08:48am]

poetssociety

[finneganthepoet]
[ mood | artistic ]
[ music | Philip Glass, Forgetting, Songs From Liquid Days ]

Beautiful Flowers




It was only Love
Which WAS THE TERRIBLE Consequence of The Heart
A Chemical Reaction of Sound and Light
That Grew all the Flowers of Truth And Beauty
In the Endless Gardens of Delight
Beautiful Flowers grown Magically Overnight
For Such Love was A Duty
And an Honour
Only the Shootmg Stars Of Passion overhead
could Express with Speed and Light
And It was Only Love
which could be found
on their journey
through Space and time
From one End of a Universe of Infinite Delight
to the other-----






Köln, Germany
21, November, 2002





----------------------------------------------------------------F i n n e g a n (who else?)

www.finneganthepoet.com
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"Where Is The Moon?" [31 Dec 2009|08:43am]

poetssociety

[finneganthepoet]
[ mood | calm ]
[ music | Philip Glass, Floe ]

Where Is The Moon?*
                                                                        *For Gavin Ritchie

Where is a Moon’s Light
Shining in the Sky
Spaced Clean in Starlight
Shining in My Mind?


Why is this cold light
shining in my Eye
and
Calling all The Night Things
Singing to The Sky?


Where Sing the insects?
Where sing the frogs?
Where Sing the felines?
Where sing the dogs?


How hides Eternity
In What We Call “The Light?”
Sparkling Purity?
Pure Liquid Night?


Where is a Blood Moon
seething in The Night
Sheathed sheer in Lace Clouds
dreaming in My Mind?


Cry to The Heavens!
Rise on The Night!
Fly to The HalfMoons
dreaming in My Mind..
Fly to The Heavens!
Rise up in Light!
Fly to The DarkMoons
seething in My Mind ..

There Breathes           a StarSystem            Hiding            The Timeless

There is a Universe            of Brilliance            resting soundly            in My Mind..


How does The Full Moon drip
Sweet Juice down My Soul?
Where is My Bleeding Heart?
Freezing in The Cold?

 

So where are My Angels?

           What            is My Light?

                      Where            is a Universe

                                                                that’s Shining in My Mind?

Where are The Angels?

           What            is The Light?

                      How            Speaks The Universe?

  



                                                                                Why is The Night?






1 FEBRUARY, 2004
Gilgandra, Australia






_________________The Insidious Illusion Of Choice # 5/…         









                                      - - F I N N E G A N !

www.finneganthepoet.com
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Connections [31 Dec 2009|02:15am]

poetssociety

[icedcoffee0928]
[ mood | pleased ]

Connections you make ..
And the magnetic current that flows through
Pulling, luring
streaming through the body..
It makes our pupils
reach a little bit farther ..
Our torsos.. filled with a linking
Some are simply absorbing
never knowing
how shocking
the SPARKED impact makes
.. upon that initial connection.
Words are exchanged
The ions that dance together
Fusing through
a near tumbled SYMPHONY
and a permanent imprint
has been made..
Etched in the mind
Forever to stay..
How long do they stay connected,
Briefly?
Simply in the moment ..
only to be disconnected curtly
during the making?
But if nourished
and tendered...
The soul is rendered bare
and naked. . inviting ..
the newcomer
to make its existence.

post comment

missing [31 Dec 2009|02:13am]

poetssociety

[pancreas_guy]
[ music | "off your face" - my bloody valentine ]

some of the deranged fall in circles that never close.
mouths seek moons to pull the ghosts out of them.
after the disaster
the villagers shattered into song
and the children chopped their hands off one by one.
millions gesture at myths beneath the
simplification of blood.
stuffed sparrows that have forgotten the wind.
a snow-cast field dries out in your ribcage.

a woman miscarriaging quietly
on the side of a black road escaping our field of vision.
psychological
paradigms of displaced persons.
even if you had remained alive.
a kind of lung we pass in and out of.
whole lives like smoke only meant for the clouds.

forest trails grow in behind crucifixes hung at half-mast.
drugs swell out brief answers no longer caught elsewhere.
each day an old man chokes to death on bad memories.
her outlook as dark as the shine that never came.
his insight inching across a desert with its head caved in.

post comment

[31 Dec 2009|01:52am]

poetssociety

[humantrash]
the aging carpenter
pulls a fresh new board off the stack
reaches for his belt and looses a nail
prepares it to penetrate the wood
so clean and pure
he lifts the hammer and drives the nail in
but only makes it half way
he raises his hand again
and with a mighty thrust the nail is burried
he looks down with a grin of satisfaction
at splitting the board wide open
he falls back exhausted
wiping the sweat from his brow
there are other unmarked parts of the board
he pulls the nail out
and waits for tomorrow night to try again
the beauty of carpentry he thinks
is that there will always be young trees
and fresh boards
perhaps, he will never tire of splitting them
1 comment|post comment

cold [31 Dec 2009|11:11am]

poetssociety

[enigmated]
as sluggish hearts beat treacle time
wherefore do swallows sing and swoop
have they not seen the sun eclipsed
by muddy waves of soul sick sludge
oh when will light stars dance again
the tide comes rushing to my feet
it beckons, laughing, taunting, cruel
what cold extinguishing warm truth

trudge, trudge - the snow must end
the sun behind, the sun ahead
cold rooms, cold song and colder bed
the hidden stars - my only friend
2 comments|post comment

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