F U C K E D U P C O L L E G E K I D S ------------------------------------------------------- - t h e p o e t r y v e n t u r e - ------------------------------------------------------- There are so many forms of expression, and this is Poetry's Venture. Venturing through the glimpses of the mind, heart, or spirit of the one that is writing, only to show a glimmer of something, or someone. Ways to express the things that may be oridinary that they see through an unordinary prespective, or maybe it's just the reality? A venture through a glimpse that is a glimmer of something, or someone ... to expand the vast plain that we find a place to call our own - the Venture of Poetry. ------------------------------------------------------- Linda... Linda, lovely lady with long dark braids and flashing eyes. Working for a question mark in a grimy little dive, pushing beer and hugging drunks and wondering... Wondering why the one she loves doesn't and what happened in the years just past to change the place she thought she knew. And other thoughts exist there too.. Lovely Linda, old at 30 and getting older. Feeling helpless in a life of lifelessness and seeking death to find her life. Nights upon the bar room floor when the moon is dark and the beer moves quickly. And Linda thinks back to last week or sometimes when its really bad to late last year when life was calm and pouring beer was just a way to make a buck. But now the drunks have said too much and stayed too long and anyway, there ain't nothing much worth going home for anyway so why not stay open just a bit longer and listen just a while more. And who knows, one night it might come true and a prince will claim her for his own. But the evening passes and the beer stops flowing and soon its time to call last call and see just who has stayed. Lovely Linda, seeking life and love and finding pain. She of the multitude and yet alone. FTF Untitled and Unfinished The echo of a thousand voices Thunders in our heads As the melodies there engendered Whispers of the fathomless mystery of the soul, Piercing us with these same passions That characterize our essence. We are the instruments. Our souls, The symphony of our desire. Like petals on the summer breeze, By this desperate cry we are animated, A marionette on astral strings As the bright moon wanes. Slipping into the darkling distance, It crystallizes into a single plaintive song Dimly wailing its message: We will die soon, you and I, And join the voices on the other side. Screamin' Lord Byron the silk black finger caressed the mesh of gold. the silver lining seemed far too green too far away. this blue night casts a red shadow on your brown door frame. and the woodwork finished with a tin of lead came from the yellow man sitting on top of the purple haze. never again will i buy such orange flavors from a man with only one tan hand. never again will the white streaming milk flow around his pink insides. rage an example of a bad poem would be that one by robert frost about the boys swinging on birch trees the one that is so long i know that it is supposed to evoke EMOTION and that i am supposed to LEARN something from it but instead i am sitting here with a mug of luke-warm chocolate writing this anticipating the new wrestling show tonight picking my nose hoping my package from that gaming store arrives in the mail today and not thinking much of anything else except that robert frost sucks the methane clear out of my fucking rectum which is maybe enough emotion and learning from one poem that i can take mr. frost has finally done something right for a change and he didn't even mean it styx thefedz@rad.edu No Particular Order unknown likeness in the distance mutual spirit close to heart never ending friendly surprise daily routine repressed the spark curiosity, maybe even destiny? always meant to be, in one form or another one with true concern silently provoking, such a tease never met, already known content with eternal comfort to find the solace of you kindred hate if nothing else four. that mean something to me. dis ------------------------------------------------------- E D I T O R S: jericho@dim.com & demonika@dim.com ------------------------------------------------------- to receive new issues via e-mail, send mail to jericho@dimensional.com with "subscribe poetry". if you do not have FTP access and would like back issues, send a list of missing issues and they will be sent. ------------------------------------------------------- A V A I L A B I L I T Y: AnonFTP: FTP.DIMENSIONAL.COM/users/jericho/FUCK/POETRY WWW: http://www.dimensional.com/~jericho ------------------------------------------------------- (c) Copyright. All poems copyright by original author. ------------------------------------------------------- F O U N D E D: October 30, 1997