# Off-Topic Discussion > Artists' Corner >  >  Poetry of CoLd BlooDed

## CoLd BlooDed

Alright, since a lot of people come around these parts, I'd like to see what you make of some of my written works.  This'll be the one thread that I will continuosly post on. Poetry is something that I love to do and feedback is much appreciated.

If you read, please tell me what you thought, and what your personal interpretation was.   ::D: 

Let's start it off with my first written sonnet, which I thought I had to do for homework in English (I didn't really, but it turned out awesome).

Thanks.   ::D: 

*Beneath the Floor

*Time to take a look, past the web and dust,
This life is all dimensionsforgotten
Lies take on the form of ghosts, without trust;
But there is the Thinker, thinking rotten
Thoughts that linger back and forth, finding faith.
Digging deeper, searching for the headless;
It worms its way through time, through frozen space, 
Around stars, suns, slaves, hiding from success.
Finally found, the answer lies in cracks,
Inside a mirror of a mirror, glass
And body impeding a hand of black;
Tempting, touching, but the truth has no mass.
The Thinker thinking upon a glass floor,
Not the while knowing his mind and more.

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## CoLd BlooDed

Wrote this one today.

And seriously, no replies?

*Searching*

It comes with age,
A life mundane.
For now a room,
Conned with cocaine.

Don’t even touch,
Or give a look,
The bliss will fade,
Or your brain cooks.

The answer misleading,
Your addiction feeding,
Constantly, and awesomely,
Searching and bleeding.

But as you grow,
To break the locks,
The temptation fades,
With cage to box.

A fist will fly,
A Wall is torn,
The fruit will fall,
And you’re reborn.

The answer fulfilling,
Your freedom succeeding,
Constantly, and awesomely,
Searching but breathing.

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## CoLd BlooDed

Why
doesThe rock fall slower and slower until it's back where itstarted

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## Rainman

I like your style. Really. Do you study poetry or do it as an amatuer like me? You're very good. It sucks, I guess us poets get no love here!

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## CoLd BlooDed

I'm just a teen who enjoys everything about poetry, so pretty much an amateur.   :tongue2:   It's always been something I've naturally talented at, and it's been said that I have a way with words.  

I enjoy making poems that baffle the reader but make perfect sense to me.  You know what I mean?

And thanks, that does mean a lot. 

If your poetry is on this site, I will check it out and comment.   ::D:

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## Twoshadows

> I enjoy making poems that baffle the reader but make perfect sense to me. You know what I mean?



Oh, okay, that actually makes me feel better that we are supposed to be at least a little baffled.

I really like the way they sound. But I don't always understand completely what they all mean.

Anyway, keep it up...... :Cool:

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## CoLd BlooDed

Haha, yeah!  They're meant to be like that.  When you read poetry, usually you're supposed to connect on a personal level.  What you read and intrepret may not be what the poet/author had in mind, but it definately isn't wrong.

If you want, I can 'decode' my poems and tell you what they mean.

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## Twoshadows

Yeah, I'd like that.

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## CoLd BlooDed

Ever feel the parting,
and the discovery,
where you are

trapped in between the walls
of self concern, bloody
bricks layer

dark feelings which occur
on a daily basis;
avoided.

Breathe and everything can
go this way and that, it
will be fine.

Sit back and relax one
last time to project the
resentment,

and let the dark seep through
the pores of emotion.
And I live.

Not where I want to be,
but not so far that my
brain is gone.
_______

Wrote this in the span of two minutes.  It's about a realization I made today.  As some of you know, I moved to a new city and had to change schools and make new friends and whatnot.  This poem concerns how I will never be as attached to the people I met out here as my other lifelong friends, but also how my attachments to people in the old neighbourhood are lacking.

More noticeably:





> trapped in between the walls
> of self concern, bloody
> bricks layer



That walls represent the barrier between friends in Abby and friends in Port Moody, and how I have a touch time making a deeper connection with people in the new city.  Sure, I'm friends with them, but they've all known each other since they were young... they have inside jokes, old memories, old connections... which sometimes it makes it tough to join in on a conversation.  I'm just the outsider.

And then there's the fact that since I _don't_ live in Port Moody, I don't know everything that's going on there anymore.  I don't know the new people, the new jokes, the new memories... friendship isn't lacking, per se, but it's definately at a standstill.  It's hard to keep communication when there's nothing to talk about.

The rest of the poem pretty much says how I've dealt with it, and still am dealing with it, and how everything will eventually work out for me.  

I'll explain the other three soon.   ::D:

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## Twoshadows

Thanks. That one was nice. 

I do feel for you in your situation. That must be really hard. :Sad:  

But I'm glad to hear that you believe things will all eventually work out. One thing I've noticed about you is that you always seem to have a good attitude about things. I'm sure that has really helped in this transition. And will help in all you are involved with in the future. :smiley:

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## CoLd BlooDed

*Repetition*

*repetition* makes you question things
*repetition* makes you question words
*repetition* makes you question yourself
*repetition* makes you question reality
*repetition*... what is *repetition*?
_____

No real deep meaning to this.  It's just about when you repeat something so many times that it begins to lose it's definition.  For instance, say any word a number of times in a row and it'll 'lose all meaning'.  Could this be applied to life?  A repetition of lifestyles, a repetition of society... what could this mean on a larger scale to people?  I guess what I'm saying in this poem is how this world should be questioned, but those questions should be questioned too.  Get it?   ::tongue::

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## CoLd BlooDed

CoLd is in the metaphorical mindset at present.

I call this one, 

*The Buried Lie of Plastic*

You see, I can tell you everything;
All the hatred will stand before me,
And shout, and whisper,
Then rights to live would go and cease.
To please.
To breathe.

After commiting this act of revolt,
I scurry back and forth,
Much like a moth,
Buried deep in the north.
No worth.
No earth.

I hid the plastic, buried the lie,
Of overused tape, and water,
Shoved it deep, man,
Made it cry.
To buy.
To try.

Then I donned the discolored socks,
Each one representing harmony amongst the world.
Black and white,
Fearing from an imaginary girl.
No world.
No world.

The tasks are not so, 
But journeys instead, 
My philosphy, my stage,
Disappears slowly in my head.
To tread.
To mend.
______

No time to explain right now.

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## CoLd BlooDed

I call this one, *Bless You*

Achoo
the two flies buzzing in a windstorm
not really going anywhere fast
but not going slow either.
it's sort of like a standstill
when you're frozen in time
but you don't know it
because when time picks up again
you carry on your way without knowing.

Bless
it's hard to believe little words can
carry such meaning such delivery
is crucial.  no mess
is guaranteed but why let the 
thoughts flow through the fingers
why let the wolfs pound your ears
but most of all why let life boss you
around like a ragdoll in boiling water.

You
think I will change my mind?  hah
like you know everything about me.
so many sacrificial concepts based
on a fake or temporary scripture
but it doesn't matter because we are
two flies buzzing in a windstorm
not really going anywhere fast
but not going slow either.

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## Oneironaut Zero

I like your heavy use of metaphor, but I'm afraid I'll have to sit around and wait for the explanations on most of them.  ::wink:: 

I do like the untitled piece about your new living situation, though. Very nice.  ::goodjob2::

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## CoLd BlooDed

> I like your heavy use of metaphor, but I'm afraid I'll have to sit around and wait for the explanations on most of them



Hehe, thanks... my metaphor use is pretty overloaded, but it's my style.  The descriptions will come soon.  Thanks for checking this thread out man.





> I do like the untitled piece about your new living situation, though. Very nice.



Thanks a lot.  Actually had some structure to that one... each stanza has 6 syllables the first line, 6 the second, and 3 for the third.

Stay tuned.   :tongue2:

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## CoLd BlooDed

*There's No Answer*

There's a truth and a birth to sayings,
But where do they start?
And where are they heard?
How is it spread from mouth to word?
From word to heart, heart as pure
As winter mornings on December third.

Time only moves fast when it's not being watched,
Capable of the timid, a universal clock.
It slows when eyes wander, and runs when mind stays,
The world moves faster, but where are the days?

A corporeal, mistrusting ball of rock,
Hanging uneasily in the lack of reality.
When's it gonna fall, or fly?
When's it gonna drop and die?
Set the tee, and just try,
To let it explode in a blast of professionally designed metal.

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## Indecent Exposure

i love your poetry, espeically the one you explained regarding your situation, the structure is good, it flows well. 
It seems your poems are really ambiguous which can be a good thing. Its good stuff, you have an unique style

If youve got msn hit me with it?
Maybe we can discuss and share some more of our work?
Maybe weave our style and do something together? =D

Imran

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## CoLd BlooDed

> It seems your poems are really ambiguous which can be a good thing. Its good stuff, you have an unique style



Yeah, that whole ambiguous thing is really what I go for.  I like it when it's more broad so there's a wide range of people for it to connect with.  Thanks a lot, man.





> Maybe we can discuss and share some more of our work?
> Maybe weave our style and do something together? =D



Definately.

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## CoLd BlooDed

I think it's about time to give you the analysis on my poem, for 'Beneath the Floor'.





> *Beneath the Floor*
> 
> Time to take a look, past the web and dust,
> This life is all dimensionsforgotten
> Lies take on the form of ghosts, without trust;
> But there is the Thinker, thinking rotten
> Thoughts that linger back and forth, finding faith.
> Digging deeper, searching for the headless;
> It worms its way through time, through frozen space, 
> ...



The overall meaning of this poem is the meaning of life, and how there are so many people trying to find it.  How there's so many theories on what life is and isn't about.





> But there is the Thinker, thinking rotten
> Thoughts that linger back and forth, finding faith.



The 'Thinker' refers to all the people in the world who have 'confirmed' the meaning of life, people who have all these ideologies on what life is about (whether it be religion, cult worship, or even atheism).  He's finding faith through these rotten thoughts that may or may not be true.

The lines after that pretty much refer to how the Thinker is always looking for the 'answer' (through time and space basically refers to how it is impossible to catch) and then it finally builds up to:





> Finally found, the answer lies in cracks,
> Inside a mirror of a mirror, glass
> And body impeding a hand of black;
> Tempting, touching, but the truth has no mass.



This was by far my favourite.  Have you ever been in a bathroom with a mirror in front of you and a mirror behind you, and the reflections just keep going and going through an infinite vortex, yet you can't see anything behind you because you block it.  I'm saying in this section that even if you could remove yourself and see behind you in this vortex, you would still not find the answer to life (a large metaphor).

The whole beneath the floor thing is saying how you should look a little deeper when thinking about the meaning, and how it may not even be there at all.  That's why at the end the Thinker is thinking on a glass floor... so for someone who thinks a lot the answer should be evident (which to me, is always a personal answer, something that relates to the individual) because it is so easy to see beneath the floor.

Thanks, hope that covers it.   ::D:   If there's any other questions just ask.

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## Twoshadows

Thanks for sharing the explanation for that one. I had been curious about it. Okay, I do have a question.





> He's finding faith through these rotten thoughts that *may* or may not be true.



But I still don't understand why the Thinker is thinking "rotten". If he has found faith in something that _is_ true, are his thoughts still rotten?

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## CoLd BlooDed

The thoughts are impossible to prove.  Personally, the meaning of life should be an individual thing.  Could mean something else between different people.





> If he has found faith in something that is true, are his thoughts still rotten?



That's the trick, for he/she doesn't know if his faith is true.  Still, the Thinker could be a religious leader, ideologist, etc. who is _forcing_ their beliefs on others.  Conforming.

Does that help?   ::D:

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## CoLd BlooDed

*Microscopic*

Here's to 
seperation of Universes, of Galaxies, of
Suns, of Moons, of
Earths, of Countries, of
Houses, of People, of
Cells, of Molecules, of
Nucleus's, of Quarks, of...

of what, exactly?

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## CoLd BlooDed

*Turn That Frown Upside Down*

It's like light at the end
of a tunnel, slowly
growing with

intensity, making
you feel like you're on top
of the world.

It's like gold underneath
A pile of dirt, which
makes it all

so much fucking better,
makes you truly believe
things work out.

It's like finding fam'ly 
after a tsunami,
relief and

true bliss becoming one.
It's over.  Finally 
done and gone.

On to the next chapter
of the biography
starring me.

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## CoLd BlooDed

Stare it straight in the faces,
Prayers and praises,
Racing through mazes,
Eats it or Tastes it.

Tastes it or eats it,
Humor doth beats wit,
Let it fall and then sit,
It sits in the dark pits.

It sits in pits dark,
Watching its mark,
Stars in raw parks,
Breaking from locks.

From locks it breaks,
Knowing the date,
Where it does place,
The brace of the faces.

Stare it straight in the faces,
You'll realize it's you.

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## Twoshadows

> Turn That Frown Upside Down



So this is the one that has to do with your moving back. It totally makes sense now.

I'm so happy for you!

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## CoLd BlooDed

That's correct, and thank you.  Told you everything would work out.   :wink2: 

Anyways, this whole day (Saturday, June 23rd, 2007) has been pretty fucking crazy.  Me and my friend were tripping since midnight this morning.  Here's a poem dedicated to this whole fiasco.

The Handyman

Rip into that bag, taking pictures,
Not quite sure what to expect.
Cute little caps and juicy stems, divide 'em up,
A dividend, an end,
Waiting for reality to bend.

The onset, mass of laughs and giggles,
Divising a plan to steal a movie.
"No."  "Yes."  "No."  "Whatsup...
just grabbing a movie."
Then taking seven and running away.

Crank, by then cranked, not yet cranking,
Taking in all that is for us.
Time transforms into nothingness, and 
the world passes in fevered slowness.
Words trickle in nonsense and I close my eyes.

Seperated from myself, emerging in
wonderland, a scene drags itself before
my nerves.  Dr. Seuss plays music in my
head, with bingle-boppers and flox-
flaggons.  Then comes...

Hands within hands within hands within hands,
Yet making a formidable man.
The handyman, snaps his fingers and skips
along, wearing sunglasses - also made
of hands.  Then there's hands on those hands, too.

Poke here, poke there, poke to be saved,
Thank you, you save from the handyman.
______________

Yes, very _very_ unkempt, but so was the experience and this catalogues it perfectly.  This only covers the first half of the night, too.  I'll be back.

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## CoLd BlooDed

*It's all Perspective*

Second time around, 
mowing 'em down,
Making the entire city 
Our playground.

After a four hour sleep,
Collective minds creep,
Reach into the bag,
Divide 'em and eat.

Go for a walk, come back,
Give ourselves a hearty pat,
Pick up the old guitar,
Indulge in the coming black.

Orange Horses Clothed in Red,
Spending time with old friends;
A new personality
does make this journey mend.

Walking outside in a new world,
Perspective now unfurled,
The sky is fake and
The houses are cute like girls.

There's something to realize,
As I look into the eyes,
Of a woman who thinks
Ten dollars is prize.

Of a man who is drunk,
Yet walking like a punk,
With two of his sons,
Kicking a fence for junk.

It's all perspective,
A golden directive,
A sea of faces,
None subjective.

Watch as the sun shines,
Like my brain as it shines,
With friends that shine,
In a world that shines.
______

Not really here for flow, more of a reminder of the rest of that day.

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## CoLd BlooDed

*You Will Die*

You know the truth hurts,
and it Will, especially when it comes 
and knocks out your teeth.
you're screaming, wondering if you're
going to Die.  You travel
aimlessly, complete with a loss of
self... the definition of which
eludes you.

your affinity for natures gifts
leaves your brain wanting more,
yet when you're high you
question it all.  am I here?
Are you here?  the music reflects
and echoes until it's Dead.

You underestimate power,
overestimate nature,
understanding nothing.
Wander the paths,
inevitably going nowhere,
leading the pack,
learning nothing.
Dregs of knowledge,
irrigate into mindstreams,
everything becoming nothing.

Who is your saint?
Who is your saint?

----------


## CoLd BlooDed

*Great Blue Sky*

watching the great blue sky recede into the black space it really is,
listening to the lapping of an active lake under the great blue sky,
feeling the soothing warmth of an active lake under the great blue sky,
smelling the lotion passing into the soothing warmth of an active lake under the great blue sky,
tasting the freedom of summer as the lotion passes into the soothing warmth of an active lake under the great blue sky,
the great blue sky which recedes into the black space it really is.

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## CoLd BlooDed

*Pen to Letters, Letters to Words, Words to Sentences, Sentences to Art*

what is this so called art
potential gibberish becomes poetic
useless garbage and simplicity
makes a lovely satire, an expression
but who made these laws
these rules of expression

jewel maker man moving dogs in a lot
shining little pups to make diamonds out of rot
knowing needless things that he does know not
living an endless life after roping knots

to many this is a mirror
reflecting themselves and their feelings
but to others these are just words
that are tied together
of no significance

but to all _this_ should be a peek
into the mind of the creative
of the saviors of this otherwise dull blue blob
making life interesting.

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## CoLd BlooDed

I'm smiling,
here's to thinking of you,
that I'm going to put you in my mouth tomorrow.

I'm smiling,
I'm going to suck you dry,
and you're going to make me surrender.

I'm smiling,
we're gonna have fun,
we're going to make music with our fingers.

I'm smiling.

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## CoLd BlooDed

This one's not really a poem, but a draft for a song I'm writing.
_______

Did you ever wonder
why there are no...
Answers from the things
we bring.  You see us... 
learning nothing,
The children are coming
for something.

Did you ever wonder
why you're you and why I am me?
Why there is law and our society?
Why there's the blind and the free?
Haven't you always known
that we made this world we live in?
That there's no original sin,
That our world is fake and we can't win.
Did you ever talk
about things that made sense to you?
About skies, suns, and moons, to name a few,
About things that were completely new.
Did you ever wonder?

To be completed...

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## CoLd BlooDed

> *Intro verse*
> 
> Did you ever wonder
> why there are no...
> Answers from the things
> we bring. You see us 
> pulling at string...
> up your beliefs because
> the world is much like you.
> ...



*Verse 2*

Yeah, you've got to wonder
Why we can see without our eyes...
Our mind's are nothing but clever disguises, ('cause)
There's no more surprises,
Our senses can no longer hide,
Logic fades and the truth dies,
You know life is filled 
with what's, who's and why's...
Candles are crying,
The children are fighting,
Too bad they aren't mine.

*Instrumental*

*Chorus*

*Bridge*

Gonna do the last verse tomorrow.

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## Twoshadows

Yay...I'm excited to see that you are still writing music. Does this mean we will be hearing the song soon...?

BTW, I think it is great that you keep writing poems. You seem to be able to write in a variety of styles.

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## CoLd BlooDed

Ooh, sorry TS, I didn't see your reply.  Thank you.

And hopefully you'll be hearing a new song, if I figure out how to make the quality on this computer better.

I feel another poem coming.  Depressing lymerick?  I think so!

*The Movement Around the Standstill*

It's apparent you are blind,
Unknown to human kind,
There you go,
Off to show,
That changes only find.

You are stuck in place,
Faded out of race,
No 'once upon',
No 'ending song',
Just a friendly face.
____________

Description?  Mostly refers to how all my friends at this school never really went anywhere since the last year.  Meanwhile I have moved to another city, made friends, went through many trials and tribulations to get back to where I started... and nobody is really aware of that.  They just see me walk back into the school as I am, not knowing what I've done the whole time they've been in 'standstill.'  Still, these are my best friends (hence friendly faces), and that means more to me than anything.

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## meggyfayephotography

Wow, CB. That really was a bit depressing. Very moving. Honestly, it made me think. That was very awesome. I need to come around here more often. I don't read things that make me think the way your poem just made me think. Thanks for sharing.

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## CoLd BlooDed

> Wow, CB. That really was a bit depressing. Very moving. Honestly, it made me think. That was very awesome. I need to come around here more often. I don't read things that make me think the way your poem just made me think. Thanks for sharing.



Thanks a lot, meggy, that's a response I love to hear.  Actually, I think that's the first time I've heard that, so thank you again.  There are quite a few other thought-provoking poems, some with explanations.  You're welcome back anytime, I love feedback (good or bad).

Now if I may ask, what did it make you think about?

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## meggyfayephotography

> Thanks a lot, meggy, that's a response I love to hear.  Actually, I think that's the first time I've heard that, so thank you again.  There are quite a few other thought-provoking poems, some with explanations.  You're welcome back anytime, I love feedback (good or bad).
> 
> Now if I may ask, what did it make you think about?



It made me think about how ignorant people can be, even the people who are closest to you. I mean, you could go to the other side of the world, save lives and do all sorts of life changing things... come back as a changed person and people are so wrapped up in their own personal lives they don't care to notice. They just smile and talk about themselves, don't bother asking about you. 

I don't know. I was rambling... it just really made me think about how ignorant people really can be.

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## CoLd BlooDed

Wow, that's an awesome way of thinking about it.  Depressing, but awesome, just because it's a different perspective on the same thing.  Cool; feel free to share your insights on any poem I post from here on out.

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## CoLd BlooDed

*See, I'm Sophisticated Too*
it becomes a surrealist estate
as impressionism unfolds and passes
not quite making it past the post
an expressionist of the masses

a sculpter of the arts
the head of a jew boy melted
the stoned uglified on cue?
the beauty of hidden velvet

thoughts of thoughts of thoughts
as a snake-wolf eats God's son,
or a plane infested with bats
with not one thing gone wrong

all I know is that I like it
and I'm not really too sure why
maybe it's that frozen feeling,
where the soul connects the mind.



______________________



Just wrote this one in five minutes, but it reflects everything I discovered about my recent school trip to the art gallery in downtown Vancouver.  There were some AMAZING things there that really baffled the mind... what was the artist trying to say?  How long did it take them?  Blah blah blah blah blah.  

Anyways, in this poem I wasn't really being metaphorical, just reporting on the things I saw, for instance:





> a sculpter of the arts
> the head of a jew boy melted
> the stoned uglified on cue?
> the beauty of hidden velvet



This is about a really ugly stone sculpture entitled 'jewish boy'.  The sculpture itself looked really mishapen; you could tell it was a boy but the features looked almost melted.  Anyways, 'the stoned uglified on cue?' questions if the artist intended it to be this way.  The answer, out of an obvious assumption, would be yes.  The last line of the stanza reflects on how there really is beauty (perhaps not to myself, but to others; enough to want to put this in a big art gallery) in this horrible looking sculpture.

I should also say, in case you didn't know, the first stanza is really just a summary of several different art eras: impressionism, post-impressionism, expressionism, surrealism... which were different sections of the art gallery.

The third stanza talks about some other things I saw there, and the 'with not one thing gone wrong' referring to no matter how ugly or surreal or big the art is, that was the intention.

The last stanza is pretty basic, it says why I like art.  Really makes your mind try to connect with the painting as well as your soul... three important aspects of art that overlap each other.  There's not always a true definition to a potrait, a surrealist painting, or a sculpture; it's whatever you observe and take into personal consideration.

Anyways, I like how this one turned out.  Perhaps one of my more uplifting poems!   ::D:

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## ClouD

> Ooh, sorry TS, I didn't see your reply.  Thank you.
> 
> And hopefully you'll be hearing a new song, if I figure out how to make the quality on this computer better.
> 
> I feel another poem coming.  Depressing lymerick?  I think so!
> 
> *The Movement Around the Standstill*
> 
> It's apparent you are blind,
> ...




so much meaning. made me think too much of myself... 
though.. i really loved it.

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## CoLd BlooDed

Thanks cloudwalker, glad you liked it.

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## meggyfayephotography

Does it make me sophisticated, also, because I knew all the different eras of art? I've taken Art History and Intro to Graphic Design... so my art education is rather well-rounded. It really made me smile, though. Because it was indeed uplifting. This poem was really easy to interpretate for me. What a great feeling after the day I had.  ::hug::  Thanks, again, for gracing us with your splendid talents!

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## CoLd BlooDed

Hey meggy.   ::D:   I'm glad you enjoyed it, and yes, it does make you sophisticated.   :tongue2: 
The evolution of art is one of the coolest things I've learned about... especially how people decided to break the norm and eventually that revolution turned into modernized painting.

I find that easily interpretable poems make me happy because you understand what the person is trying to say.





> Thanks, again, for gracing us with your splendid talents!



You're too kind, thank you, and feel free to drop a comment at any time.

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## meggyfayephotography

> You're too kind, thank you, and feel free to drop a comment at any time.



That's the second time you've said that... now you're just begging  :tongue2:  jk still love ya!

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## CoLd BlooDed

Haha, no way, I just love when people respond to my poems.  It's interesting to see what they get out of it.

*The Spindle*

It's wrapped in wire,
Always moving but never spinning
like it should.
Every thing is for hire,
The wood made for those who could.

No one has ever seen it,
But all assume the balance is 
carefully asserted.
Who knows what's going on?
The future paved by several men.

So this Spindle could be down,
Or wobbling from side to side as if
the world itself is trembling.
I can't hear myself yelling in this distinctive resemblance.

...at least not yet.

I need more numbers than voices,
more originality than choices,
more brains than Rolls Royce's,
to watch as time rejoices.

It's time to see the world for what it is,
nothing more than a giant curtain.
It's for certain that politics are hurting
the trees and the birds that are chirping.
Why is it so accepted that our ideas are worthless,
one mass, a collective success, 
yet outspoken by men of recess, 
with one say, of the Spindle that falls
which is wrapped up in wire, and not moving at all.

_______________

Alright, this one may or may not be a little confusing.  I changed the tone throughout, gets a bit 'rappish' on the last stanza, but I like its message.  I want to see if there's anything you can get out of it before I post the explanation (this goes for anyone who is willing).

There is no right or wrong answer.   ::D:

----------


## CoLd BlooDed

Alright, when I wrote that I was a little bit stoned.  But here's the jist of it.  Basically, the Spindle is a metaphor for the balance of society, and how one little obstacle could make it topple.  More specifically:





> It's wrapped in wire,
> Always moving but never spinning
> like it should.
> Every thing is for hire,
> The wood made for those who could.



This is pretty much saying how society as a whole is always moving - forward _or_ backwards - but is never fully structured.  We created society (wood made for those who could...) and it's obvious there are structural flaws in the way we live.





> No one has ever seen it,
> But all assume the balance is 
> carefully asserted.
> Who knows what's going on?
> The future paved by several men.



The stanza starts off by saying that no one really see's the way things work behind the scenes.  For example, there could be some gigantic global crisis going on right now (Headlines: "Terrorists plan to blow up the Earth!") and we'd have no idea.  We all assume that society is okay and balanced and focus on our lives.  'The future paved by several men' is an easy one... basically saying our world is being shaped by the choices of people who have power (emperors, presidents, prime ministers, etc).  This on it's own is a weird thought; one person, just like you or me, has the authority to change our lives or planet.





> So this Spindle could be down,
> Or wobbling from side to side as if
> the world itself is trembling.
> I can't hear myself yelling in this distinctive resemblance.



I like this stanza the best, mostly because the Spindle metaphor meets with its literal meaning ("...could be down, or wobbling from side to side as if the world itself is trembling").  Society could be failing for all we know.

Then the meaning of the poem changes: the last line means that it's hard to speak up in this world because so many people are trying to do the same thing.  This could refer to fame.





> I need more numbers than voices,
> more originality than choices,
> more brains than Rolls Royce's,
> to watch as time rejoices.



Again, the fame thing.  Everyone who's famous nowadays is so generic and boring.  No one does anything crazy anymore.  This stanza is pretty straightforward: me wanting to be popular amongst people because I'm different.

Last stanza is very straightforward.   ::D: 

Thank ya, thank ya.

----------


## CoLd BlooDed

Mmmmm, hungry hungry hippos.

*Oh White Rider*
oh white rider,
spoke the lad,
oh white rider...

a description unknown,
going to tell your friends
when you're on the phone,
about the white rider,
oh the white rider,
can't be the night rider
with his wetlocked hair
and his long sleeved shirt.
oh white rider,
you are so old,
oh white rider...
to this little girl of seven or eight,
never had a kiss or a first date,
looks up to this white rider
in a stance of bliss,
maybe ol white rider might be her first kiss.
but does she stand here looking,
batting the eyes,
or makin' images spin in the back of her mind?
oh white rider,
take me home please,
oh night rider...
but this white rider,
oh the fuckin' night rider,
has his own life, going home to get stoned
no idea what's going on in this chica's dome,
who slowly undresses him, and she's doing just fine,
taking off the sleeves and pants with her eyes,
but this white rider, the fuckin' night rider
hops on the different roamer and clicks open his phone.
oh white rider,
my mind passed blank,
oh night rider...
now these two cubs, split off in the woods,
cutting off the source of this swirl of foods,
feeding the mind one kick at a time,
no more, no way, no one destined to shine.
she takes the bus, goes home and forgets,
and this man once in sight disappears in the wrecks.
oh white rider, you motherfuckin' night rider,
why couldn't we keep in check?
but maybe he'll write a poem,
that fair highschooler him,
I just wanted a husband,
it can't be a sin.
__________


Wooooooah, trippy.

----------


## bro

Hey Cold Blooded,

I've read some of your poems and they are damn good. You really do a whole variety it seems. Keep it up, I really like them.

----------


## CoLd BlooDed

Hey, thanks a lot man.  I'm glad you enjoy them.





> You really do a whole variety it seems.



It's true, I find this to be the most interesting.  Sticking to the same 'style' would get boring, right?  Plus, it makes me well-rounded as opposed to being really good in one way.  But... what does it take to be good at poetry anyways?

Anyways, thanks bro.  Analysis for White Rider comes later.  ::D:

----------


## CoLd BlooDed

*best decision I've ever made*

sometimes things just work out
things that make you wholeheartedly believe
that the world isn't out to get you
things that fill your heart and lungs with sun
so that you breathe and live the light
you made the right choice little man
you made the right choice

who would've thought it could lead to this
first a dream, a look, and then a kiss

sometimes things just work out,
things that turn your perspective around
and help you pull your head 
straight out of the ground
so perk up those ears boy this is your chance
don't be retreating or be doing the dance
because you made the right choice man
you made the right choice

who would've thought it could lead to this,
the sun being the marker for this senior bliss

___________________


 :smiley:

----------


## CoLd BlooDed

life is like pink eye
a bacterial infection oozing with yellow-whitish goodness
a cleansing, if you will

----------


## CoLd BlooDed

where do you go
will I be able to
fi-i-ind you?
tradegy struck...
I'm speechless

we're not little kids anymore
it's a global brainwash, there's no soul
in the world, when the smart fall short
but in the end... you'll get yours

all. the. 
stars in the sky
could mark each and every life
so why wait
and watch daylight come
grab them all before its done
[scream]we got the moon, fuck the sun[/scream]

we're not little kids anymore
the things we used to love we can't enjoy
too much trouble, when the smart fall short
but in the end... you'll get yours

what's a world without you
without me
stuck behind these walls of anxiety
will you help me out
save the day
don't let me sink and rot away
I can feel this rotting away

be my first, can you be my first, will you be my first,
I'm right in front of you and I know you can see

[bridge]
maybe it's a secret
maybe it's a fact
but there's only one person
who can answer that
it's a maze within our senses
tangled to the core
the truth is what I tell you,
and the truth is I want more.
I'm not asking a question
but I'm not making a demand
in the end, this is all in your hands

damn this liquid's strong
should I be leaking?
give me some pills doctor
I think my heart is breathing
faster, faster, faster
I'm alive, a Frankenstein
minus the bolts and stitches
but you already like me for who I am

we're not little kids anymore
I forget, who says we've gotten older?
doesn't matter if the smart fall short
'cause in the end... you'll get yours

----------


## Twoshadows

*




best decision I've ever made



*
I hope this is reflecting your life. Sounds like things have worked out for you. I'm glad you're happy.






> a bacterial infection oozing with yellow-whitish goodness




Mmmmm...nice imagery..... ::D: 







> where do you go
> will I be able to
> fi-i-ind you?
> tradegy struck...
> I'm speechless



So is this a new song you're working on? Sounds interesting. Do you have mucis for it yet?

----------


## CoLd BlooDed

> I hope this is reflecting your life. Sounds like things have worked out for you. I'm glad you're happy.



And how.  Yeah, it's a poem about recent events.  Mostly inspired by a girl, actually.   ::D:   (Yes, that's a first)





> So is this a new song you're working on? Sounds interesting. Do you have mucis for it yet?



Yep it's a new song.  Still in the early works.  Just spent half an hour trying to align the guitar and vocals.  Nothing's been recorded yet... I've been really busy.

Thanks TS.   ::D:

----------


## CoLd BlooDed

there's a racetrack
sailing amongst the mental collection
of seniority
I'm whacked, we're on the moon
fly to the stars, fly to the stars
or continue on down this
truck on a highway

vision partially obscured with not just fingers
constantly waving but not diffusing
burst out, excuses are valid
ye the phone's off, click up and out

a never-ending racetrack in 
this mental collection, because people
are always starting
and people are always learning
that's just the way things are.

----------


## CoLd BlooDed

Isn't it funny how a couple syllables can elevate the emotions of an individual
keeping things interesting until the final sound crosses the finish line
boom chicka boom chicka chicka boom

----------


## CoLd BlooDed

there is no severity in a flattened iron casing that has become my heart
a robotic adaption made by me, where my glowing *red* eyes register the prize
of an engineer who can only save me, can only turn me back into a person
free me from these invisible bonds so I can once again stand on top of the clouds
that have somehow invaded my mind.

all the *black* has degenerated into a *red* compilation of sensation, but I like it, tickling my brain like a phone on vibration, 
like a tongue on a tongue in a face, but let's be real;  
it's impossible to safely guess the unguessable, unsafe to guess the undoable, suicidal to reach the peak of who does what or who goes where.

so just fucking go for it, don't be unoriginal like the million of insects out there

----------


## CoLd BlooDed

watch as the string becomes more and more frayed
yet with each passing moment your fingers get smaller
so you can still hold on to that shrinking string with every
last remaining ounce of strength
hope doesn't fade until the final breath is uttered

----------


## CoLd BlooDed

t
o
w
e
r
To
we
rto
wer
towe
rtower
towerto
wertowe
rtowerto
wertowe
rtowerto
wertowe
rtowerto
wertowe
rtowerto
wertower
wertowe
rtowerto
wertowe
rtowerto
wertowe
rtowerto
wertowe
rtowerto
wertower
wertowe
rtowerto
wertowe
rtowerto
wertowe
rtowerto
wertowe
rtowerto
wertower
skyscraper
skyscraper

----------


## rastasteez

yo i like the "the best decision i've ever made" i like poems that reflect person life. keep it uppp

check out some of my new ish poems sometime =]

----------


## CoLd BlooDed

Thanks, that one was written after a very good weekend.

I will do so, thanks rastasteez.

----------


## CoLd BlooDed

tip top clock
visualizing little numbers
with little fake electrodes buzzing back and forth.
the information dons
and it is clear.

a calculator even,
or a name for the caller,
never really mattered from the desolate perspective.
make it not so the computer is life,
I just want it back.

tip top clock
right back where we started,
looking at this fire and this safeguard that departed.
I just want your chains in and around my head,
just so I can feel safer.

----------


## Oneironaut Zero

I really like "Best Decision I've Ever Made" and the one that ends with "'Cause in the end, you'll get yours."

It's been a while since I've been in here, Cold, but Keep it Up!  ::goodjob2::

----------


## CoLd BlooDed

Thanks, O.  Stop by more often, I like the feedback.   ::lol:: 

And yeah, 'The Best Decision I've Ever Made', I was actually ecstatic with happiness when I wrote that.  I think it is reflected in the poem.

The other one is actually a song I wrote.  Just have to record it.   ::D:

----------


## CoLd BlooDed

*like a candle*

I hang off of your every word,
dripping like a candle,
the wax melts and descends itself.
it's nothing I can't handle.
the wick starts long and carefree,
but the ember burns it down,
until the mind and mouth are spinning,
where the confusion makes you drown.
yet the flame burns on and on,
first blue then orange then red,
why is it that this match sparked
your name right in my head.
I can't get you out, I can't get you out.

who lit this candle anyways?
its scent is a double edged sword,
first bliss then stress then bliss.
I hang off your every word.

----------


## CoLd BlooDed

Why can I not see this pane of glass
this window that has so clearly been Windexed
this obstacle that makes me stop everytime
I get closer and closer.
And then the glass is removed and I walk
a little further and further each step
a little murmur, a murmur, in the fabric
I can't help but feel like 
a mouse in an experiment.
good thing this glass is authentic.

only when I make another foot
another is placed in front of me
and I stop, wondering.
stop wondering if things are hopeless
because they aren't.
the glass is authentic.  Windexic.

even though every meter I gain
I become trapped,
it's another meter towards perfection.

----------


## bro

Deep stuff Cold... You've got your own style. I like how you kind of do your own thing and write about what you want to write about and how you want to write about it...Keep it up, I'm reading along with all your new posts.

It's amazing how poetry has the ability to express what mere words can't...

Good work man.

----------


## CoLd BlooDed

Thanks, bro.

The majority of the poems on this page all reflect the things I'm thinking and doing over the last little while.  I make all these up on the spot so that's how they all come out.  And the subject just happens to be about something I don't usually write about... a girl.

----------


## bro

Indeed...well, I can understand how that would be influencing your thought...(I have a few poems about girls I used to be with, lying aroun...not all of them happy)  ::?: . Poetry certainly is a good outlet for all of that. It'll also be good for your record one day...even if it's not that much, you'll have some written works to show for and that's always a hook...more importantly it looks like you enjoy it...which is really a great find.

----------


## CoLd BlooDed

Yeah, man, I love poetry.
__________________________

*Into Formation*

It's a menacingsemicircle that goes around
andaroundandaroundagain.  Thoughts spread
alloverthebrainbut mostly I bring it together.
this is a weird game
thatI can
notadmit to
enjoying,but I'll play anyways because I want to win.

----------


## bro

That's quite something...simple yet really very meaningful. To me it could mean my own life, probably means something different to you...keep it up, that one was actually really touching..I am spamming here, sorry man, I can't help it...these are really great.

----------


## CoLd BlooDed

Really, when it comes down to poetry, there is no specific meaning.  I can easily see this being ambiguous amongst people who read it.  I liked how it turned out, it's very different.

Spamming?  Nah, fuck that.  A response is a response is a response.   :wink2:   Thanks.

----------


## bro

Jah Jah, no prob.

Ambiguous indeed...that's what poetry is..I haven't written in some time but I always noticed extra meanings after I'd finished one.. They'd flip on me..and it seems like everyone can find their own little lesson or meaning in each...

meh..just my 2 cents

----------


## CoLd BlooDed

My brain is much bigger than yours!

----------


## CoLd BlooDed

everywhere I turn I hide I can't complete I can't confide
these ugly stories left and right gone from home in place of night
the strings from black are down and dead with candles lit within my head
flow is free but wine is white regarding these soft wing'ed flights
newfound love instead of hate there's nothing cast best on my fate

----------


## bro

No! your brain is just a little bigger than mine! I mean...equal.  :smiley:  The last line of your most recent one struck home with ne...a nice seemingly optimistic ending to a less optimistic poem...though of course with poetry, I might very well be way off.

----------


## CoLd BlooDed

I'll be honest, that poem took me at least a minute to write... it was mostly words just pouring out me from my brain to my fingers to the computer.  The content is freestyle, not really that symbolic of anything, so make of it what you will.  However, you nailed my overall meaning of the poem:  optimism out of a pessimism. I did something kind of weird here, where the poem itself is irrelevant but still makes up a bigger picture.  Good job on getting that.

----------


## bro

Hah..thanks. Yeah, it does kind of bear that "train of thought" appearence..pouring out of your soul...I think sometimes that is the most beautiful type as you don't really try to alter it but it is what it is and is pretty much the essence of your thoughts at that moment.

----------


## CoLd BlooDed

Yeah, it truly captures a certain sequence of thoughts of that particular time.  Cool.

----------


## CoLd BlooDed

How many stops must I make before I get the go ahead?
Where are all the signs I must see before I give the go ahead?

----------


## CoLd BlooDed

my mouth is not bound by chains
no zipper to my teeth
the thoughts have been said
and now time will only tell, my cheat.

----------


## CoLd BlooDed

cl
o
s
e
r!

----------


## bro

2nd to last....that hits me as something that I seem to do in relationships..and may need to alter if I want to have innocent fun....but certainly need to do if I want something more, or real. Way off? oh well, just an idea.

----------


## CoLd BlooDed

I wrote that after Halloween, it's just referring to how I talked to her face to face about everything going on and overall it was just very liberating.  I was a bit drunk, sure, but the next day at school I brought it up and she was perfectly fine with it.  So hopefully things just get better from here on out.  I am really hoping things work out.

Your analysis fits.  Even if it wasn't 'right', there is never a way for your to be 'way off', so don't worry about it.

----------


## CoLd BlooDed

spill spill spill
let them come
I'm not afraid, yet undecision 
makes me weak
sleep in a newly purchased bed.
how much longer will I have to fucking wait.

----------


## CoLd BlooDed

an old dinosaur approaches, and it says,
"with time comes the illusion of the days,"
I stare and look, and without it took,
a million young men to pray.

now who comes with this indulgence,
the bible is written in convulsions,
by none other than me, and the cree:
"live by your own fucking rules, man,
and wait 'til your dead to see, if you breathe and be,
after the last breath has broken, your heart unspoken."
don't wait on faith to see.

the red stars take place in the sky,
each one speaking without words,
"all are equal under our eyes,"
now how is it they are heard?

----------


## CoLd BlooDed

In circles and circles we spin our hands within
watch as the stems; watch as the petals fall down
the crows come in circles and spin our heads around
we watch as they come, watch as the feathers come thin.

don't close your eyes, the light still needs you to shine
don't tread through fog, breathe your thoughts with time,
breakfast for morning, dinner for the afternoon,
I need a bit more, the weeks pass by too soon.
It's said there is nothing, beyond what we see;
but perhaps if we listen, we percieve.

----------


## CoLd BlooDed

(cont.)

the strings and the sandals attract the peoples eyes,
watch all the clouds; watch as the sun passes by,
friends and familiars and memories and pictures,
we watch as they pass, watch as the time's running out.

ch.

bridge:

where is my place, do I have what it takes
to jump without a name, earn my fame

to be continued

----------


## CoLd BlooDed

I must not stare at the sandglass,
watching the particles fall,
I must accept that I haven't failed,
Gone, it isn't at all.
I must inch closer to my goal,
yet no longer in the scope,
I must lose the tag and let her go,
yet maintain that second hope.
Converse, console, consolidate,
assist, assail, assasinate;
Do not forget but do not chase,
if you want this girl as your date.

----------


## CoLd BlooDed

go _real_ slow, time to let go
but stay under the radar so the night can flow
things'll work out yo, go real slow
but stay in the light so the night can flow

----------


## bro

Good stuff Cold, I haven't read all the most recent ones yet but..still goin' strong..I find countless metaphors in all of these..

----------


## Oneironaut Zero

> I must not stare at the sandglass,
> watching the particles fall,
> I must accept that I haven't failed,
> Gone, it isn't at all.
> I must inch closer to my goal,
> yet no longer in the scope,
> I must lose the tag and let her go,
> yet maintain that second hope.
> Converse, console, consolidate,
> ...



I _really_ like this one.  :smiley:  Nice work.

----------


## CoLd BlooDed

dance dance dance the drunk away
hugs 'n swaying, drunk the night away
do this for that, that for this,
we all dance danced the drunk away
I still like ya but everything's all okay
so let's just fuckin' drink the night away
put my tie on my head and spin me around
sportin the dress clothes with my brain in the clouds
lovin grade 12, lovin grade 12

----------


## CoLd BlooDed

*Plastic Makes Perfect*

pretty little girls aren't so pretty anymore
looking at the models in the travel brochure
they don't look like them, so they get a little sad
like pretty little girls do when girls don't grad,
so let them get the money to spend on plastic parts
remodel lips, tits and ass in defining of the arts,
now these pretty ugly girls become life of the party,
replacing limbs and arms with plastic, also known as Barbie.

----------


## ForgottenRemembrance

awesome! keep up the good work. you've earned yourself a fan.

----------


## CoLd BlooDed

Thanks.   :smiley:

----------


## CoLd BlooDed

time is optional.
bury the calendars and clocks
erase every rolex from every wrist
and the agendas in your socks.
abide by no _'universal law'_
instead laugh at the idea,
who wants to watch numbers fly by
can't we all agree, an
unnecessary way to spend our lives
worrying over a word with no substance.
pity.

----------


## CoLd BlooDed

*Turning Cheeks*

The black smoke twisted and rolled, curling upwards in what seemed an endless spiral.  Broken glass littered the street, not one fragment without a drop of slowly coagulating blood.  Random faces on the sidewalk stared upwards, mouths agape at the scene that had suddenly exploded in the previously quiet Monday afternoon.  People had stopped their Buicks and Toyotas, their taxis and buses, their bikes and skateboards, to see the building off 24th and 101st - the one which had just birthed a flurry of explosions, shattered windows and airborne bodies.

The American flag shone like a golden spire atop the crippled structure, yet hung limp at the sudden lack of wind.  Silence had dawned upon 24th and 101st as each individual stopped and continued to stare, just stare.  No honking, no screams or cries of shock and horror, not even the mellow sound of breath.

Then the gaped mouths shut as the Buicks and Toyotas, the taxis and buses, the bikes and skateboards, continued to their original destination.  The people of the city started to move, restoring the overwhelming sound of a busy metropolis.  Wheels and feet ran over bloody glass and crumpled bodies, now oblivious to the black smoke engulfing the building above them.

----------


## CoLd BlooDed

A small igloo melted with all the intense ferocity of counting slugs.  Condensating dolts of a icy persperation coursed evenly down the concave of the outer 'gloo.  Some say the rain signifies the return of the Hollywood themed cocaine party, docked in a darker-than-dark black and white boe tie.  Oh, how the rain is so fashionable.

----------


## CoLd BlooDed

Wow, don't even remember typing up that last one...  ::lol::  ::?:

----------


## CoLd BlooDed

_Fragility_

Like a drop of rain in the wind,
Like a fish in the ocean,
Like a spark in the darkness,
A clock ticks without motion.

Like a diamond in mountains,
Like a tree in the forests,
Like a cloud in the sky,
The choir sings without chorus.

How easy it is to peel the frame
Of security of steel to heal the fame
the game of names make none to feel
except the clock that spins the wheel. 
How easy it is to lose the spark
the flame prolonged turning light from dark
watch the arc of life to shock as 
the devil grins with stark remark.
How easy it is for diamonds to be lost
in the sand of time with beaches crossed
the frost exhaust of no ones crime
but still as if they were past their prime.

Like a star in the universe,
Like a planet in space,
Like a crater on the moon,
Life is a race,
is a race,
is a race.
And some leave too soon.

RIP JT + KM

----------


## CoLd BlooDed

Oh, in case you don't notice, this poem is for my two friends who died in a car accident on Sunday night at 10:30 PM.  Black ice can be a dangerous thing.

----------


## CoLd BlooDed

ten fifty pee em
ten fifty one pee em
ten fifty two pee em
fifty ten pee three em
fifty three ten em pee
three ten fifty em pee
black out
out black
outblack
uotbalck
toulabck
lotbacku
seven thirty ay em
seven thirty one ay em
headache.

----------


## CoLd BlooDed

oh 
how 
I 
wish 
I 
wish 
I 
were 
i
rish

----------


## Twoshadows

> Oh, in case you don't notice, this poem is for my two friends who died in a car accident on Sunday night at 10:30 PM. Black ice can be a dangerous thing.



I just now noticed this. I'm so sorry to hear about your friends. That is so hard. I'm so sorry.....

----------


## CoLd BlooDed

Thanks, Twoshadows, it means a lot.  Everyone's doing a lot better back at my other neighbourhood but things are still a bit out of place.  Still, thank you.

----------


## Twoshadows

So were these friends from your old neighborhood where you lived last year?

----------


## CoLd BlooDed

Yeah, that's right.  Very unfortunate, really came as a shock.
_________________

Society is a box,
Straight lines and rectangles,
No circles or triangles,
No change in our pockets.

----------


## CoLd BlooDed

*A Seemingly Anticlimatic Ending to the Non-Official Definition of Universal Time*
Watch as the nighttime runs,
Gaining speed as if downhill,
A myriad of colours,
Black as the death of suns,
The world becomes a pill,
Swallowed up by space,
Prescribed by a universal doctor
who lives without a face.
It's just a taste of the universal race,
Who's grace is given at a universal pace,
The stars are only present as universal waste.

Everything came from nothing,
It's just the way it seems,
Propelling ever after,
No one thinks of something,
A subsequential end of means,
Enveloped in no laughter,
'Cause they're worried about themselves
and not the lives outside this sphere.
No wider thought beyond this universal glass of beer,
Where we think and drink before the universal fear,
Of sudden realization when the universal end is drawing near,
In which this universal UNIVERSE will jump out and leer:

_"I've been here this entire time, haven't you seen me over years?
Haven't you thought about the time when conditions become severe?
Where one by one your stars and moons begin to disappear?
Where not one soul or single cell will survive and persevere?
Where the inevitable foreclosure has always been so clear? 
Now let me eat the blackness that has always been revered."_

----------


## CoLd BlooDed

Not for the faint of heart.  Me and MoS were having a little rap battle back and forth in IRC, but our goal was to make it as brutal and violent as possible.  Don't be scared, this was purely for fun.  I'm just posting mine as his may be incriminating.   ::lol:: 





> Alright, you just set off the alarm, time to put your family to some governmental harm, I'm warmin' up to the fact, 
> that I got an act that'l l last another round or two after this crack, You see I'm just starting to get biological, I'm like an apostle spreading death to the deepest of egg follicles, 
> raising dead infants to make a zombie army, 
> make 'em follow me to your southern home property,
> I'm not sorry, 'cause I forgot everything school taught us,
> I'm sadistic, my primary concern is your epiglottis,
> I'm gonna snip it out with scissors and make it 'to a wallet.
> Then I'll laugh as I watch you struggle to breathe,
> As the food goes down your trachea, you better watch what you eat,
> ...







> You talk like a pussy, what are you--a vulture?
> I'll eradicate you like the Nazi's on Jewish culture,
> 'n push you in a gas chamber like it was an EZ Bake Oven,
> Suffocatin', watch blood coagulatin, 
> melt ya down to make my turkey stuffin',
> Now muffin, why can't you think like a murderous psychopath,
> Your words should slice like a 'chette penetratin' a childs back,
> On the attack, I'll boil you like stew 'n feed you to your parents like a snack,
> Then use your hair to stuff my mattress, I'm shameless, 
> ...







> That ain't psychopathic, that shit was as exciting as melting plastic, 
> you see I already killed my family, making you necrophalic,
> You must enjoy the corpse and the inability to speak,
> Fucking dead pussy careless of cuts 'n leaks, you're a freak,
> At least I murder with style, slicing 'n dicing til I spill the bile,
> I'll smile showering in your emulsifying juices, who says, 
> you can't love the dead, shove the lead, putting a whole clip in your motherfuckin' forehead,
> Then instead, 
> of waiting til you drop to the ground ten pounds less, 
> ...

----------


## CoLd BlooDed

It's the majestic manipulation of manifested feathers,
somehow created for organisms to evolve into fowl.
What happened down the line that determined this distinction?
Did He ever pause to ponder if _I_ wanted wings?
If _I_ wanted to fly to Florida or Mexico for winter?
And then casually cruise to Canada in the summer months?

Gracefully I'd glide above the city streets,
Over cars 'n bicycles, and bodies stopped for bites to eat,
Perhaps I'd pull my pants down if I really need to,
Then pick my target, swoop, and do like seagulls do.
Then again I'd also miss my arms,
Which I've grown accustomed to for oh so long.
If I had both I'd be an unbeatable beast!
Imagine flying at the same time while beating my meat!
No longer would you look up and say "a fuckin' bird shit on my car!"
But instead "why the hell is that guy jerking from so far?!"

----------


## CoLd BlooDed

You look sick.
Have my blood.

----------


## CoLd BlooDed

mmmm yummmmmmmm
i heart acid
give me a love triangle from the deepness, the deepness
and I'll sway back and forth in the wind
my eyes unfamiliar with the sultry ascent of smoke, becoming
ONE
with not my brain but my brains brain and my brains brain brain,
a circle forever, a circle forever
the night will come again.

----------


## CoLd BlooDed

*Beauty*

orange haze keeps the long stickly grass dry
swaying back and forth in the hot breeze
it's beautiful

the roundworms wriggle viciously beneath the stocks
preparing to dig into the skin of passersby
multiply in the lungs

the workers laugh as they tend the fields
slicing, hacking away at the roots, their feet in water
life is good

the worms crawl through the intestines, festering
reproducing in the lungs and stomach, growing bigger
they're coughed out

hackhack

----------


## CoLd BlooDed

developed birthed hair grows in first words first steps first fall obtain glasses eat sleep breathe attend preschool social skills make friends move on kindergarden eat sleep breathe not a care in the world grade one grade two move to big house grade three divorce not happy for a long time watch fights between parents dad is an alcoholic mom is a wreck grade four grade five house for sale house still for sale new school grade six new start house sells we move new city same school isolated lose all friends become depressed worst year of my life grade seven mom gets job move back grow hair lose glasses social skills make friends move on grade eight life is good fuck you josh grade nine life is great I like drugs weed and ecstasy immature no self control academics down mom gets boyfriend grade ten pick things up looking good self control drugs and booze summer vacation to maui move again into boyfriends house grade eleven new city new school depression strikes once again act myself social skills make friends move on get happy don't like coke great year grade twelve back with dad old school old friends lots of booze lots of drugs academics great life is great best year of my life.

----------


## CoLd BlooDed

*there once was a man*

there was once a man who learned eight languages 
just to trip out his old friends
no conversation had been spoken in ages, 
yet the man wanted revenge
he had never been so special amidst his inner group
who always had their sports and booze to simplify the mood
so one day he said fuck this i'm gonna learn some spanish
maybe some galeic, german, italian, some dolphins in atlanta
took him seven years a month and several longish seconds
but what he accomplished sent him flying calling all the mens and
first they met in mexico where the man took them to eat,
they got six tacos, con carne y queso, one without the meat,
the server came up and asked 'lo quiere mas?'
and most the guys just scratched there heads while the man did flash,
"s&#237;, por favor camarera, 
podr&#237;a justo asirnos la cuenta?"
and the gents, uh, scratched all their heads a little bit more,
and said 'what the fuck?  is that what this is all for?'
whe next thing they knew they were in France in the tower,
with snails on plates and bagels in a platter,
"nous vous d&#233;testons les ph&#233;nom&#232;nes blancs m&#233;chants?
"sucez-le vous chancer fran&#231;ais!"
and swift was the reply of the man who still shined,
whos friends looked in awe with craziness in mind,
next stop was in japan, where things weren't so great
but still the man and men found serveral quick dates,
and pretty soon the man was talking in little lines and squiggles
"私達はjaps が私達のweiners を吸うことができればそれを好む"

----------


## CoLd BlooDed

*The Lame Rhyming Name Game*

skeptical
angelical
new mexico
texaco
metal coat
hope afloat
boat in moat
shorts in tote
fatty bloat
no scope
wide rope
lotsa dope
letting life go by.

----------


## refresher 711

your poetry is absolutely amazing!!!!!!!!!!!!!! you're sooo talented!! you could be the new modern age Shakespear.....keep up the brilliant work, hope they become published some day. ::D:  ::D:  ::D:

----------


## CoLd BlooDed

Wow, that means so much - thank you.   ::D:   As much as I like writing for myself, I really enjoy the feedback (positive or negative).

Thanks for the kind words.

----------


## CoLd BlooDed

*Senses*

can youhearcan you feelcan you seecan yousmellcan youtastecan youthinkcan you_see_

----------


## CoLd BlooDed

*the documentary*

the letters spin and spin again
the vibrations of time forever in sync with sound
the sexual sensuality of sexual desires
feasted on by women of only hollywood proportion
swinging on her legs smiling
the universe swirls in my old eyes, in everything I see
catch the train of thoughts before they depart
they'll keep going on after you're done
you can't have my universe, you can't take it away
listening to others yet taking it away
every syllable strikes a chord
accounting up to an otherwise unheard intoxication
of every single sound, a symphony
an orchestra of everything in existence
everything on a certain level,
everything beautiful.
always moving forward, never backward
the people are moving on down the line, watch it.

----------


## CoLd BlooDed

nosy fucker.

----------


## CoLd BlooDed

*Untitled*

Living by the precious seconds,
Don't know where I'm going to end it,
Enjoying my insider presence,
Now...

I have the paper in my teeth,
Willing to have my senses breathe,
When really, I just want to see,
Now...

[Prechorus]With the rope around my neck,
I balance on the edge of reason,
My world warped before my eyes,
My mind floating in the skies...

[Chorus]Consciousness does not transpire,
Let us all get higher, higher,
Can't you see this fire, fire,
Burning down the walls.
Hopefulness does not retire,
Emotions made with silver wire,
Laughter sounds dry and tired,
With pictures in the halls.
So it falls...

Anyone can see this problem,
The skeptics blind, have gone an' robbed them,
No more thoughts, everyone has lost 'em,
Now...

Only thinking through your hands,
Eat up and rid of all your plans,
One by one drifting in the sands,
How?

[Chorus]

[Bridge]Silence talks,
Feeling your thoughts,
Catch the train before they leave.
A waking life is all you ever need.
A waking life is all you ever need.

Living by the precious seconds,
Minutes away from the final ending,
Enjoying my new reflections,
Now...

----------


## CoLd BlooDed

Laughter So Dry

*the mindless clutter 
the streets filled pavements 
drop tabs into shoes 
play to the clouds and distorted vision
a beast on the court gentleman inside
come on for the wild ride
something so small so effective
my new love*

----------


## CoLd BlooDed

A Child In Danger

take a deep breath little one
hold the hands and numbers inside your chest
open your eye to all, see it all
because either there is a red signal, or nothing whatsoever
exist not in the back your mind, exist as the world;
the clouds, the skies, the heat, the stars, the planets, the nothingness
and you will be everything
take a deep breath *little one*.

----------


## CoLd BlooDed

Look A Little Closer

Does thou darest to look beyond the lines
Read into things that aren't always there
Ominous subliminal games of the mind
Perception subdued, the special aware
Always inside the blood of the eyes
Crashing forth, the flesh doth tear,
It cannot see, for it has been blind
Depth exists outside of the hair.

----------


## CoLd BlooDed

Whereas everything becomes a methaphor,
For the beginning and end to life.
But where did it even start,
and who's so right to say?

----------


## CoLd BlooDed

Slow Things Down a Bit, Young Man, Said The Old Man

in time things will melt away
the point of essence becoming no clearer
than when things first started out.
sitting beneath a cherry blossom, becoming
much clearer - becoming one with night,
one with each and every sound, every light,
and every sight, one who is everywhere at once
from listening, seeing, smelling, and breathing;
becoming that single moment at that brief flash of time.





Writing under the influence of narcotics can be very interesting to document, as in this instance I can type well, but each letter I type is a reflection of LSD.  Each individual pixel on the screen is an artform in itself, as it's a strict documentation of what was going on in my mind at that moment of time.  Each keystroke more I write my subconscious poem.  I am a subconscious poem.

----------


## CoLd BlooDed

Heh.

Yeah, give it a go
&#160;&#160;&#160;&#160;&#160;[CoLd BlooDed] 3:20 am: It's fun
&#160;&#160;&#160;&#160;&#160;[CoLd BlooDed] 3:20 am: That last one is interesting
&#160;&#160;&#160;&#160;&#160;[CoLd BlooDed] 3:20 am: Just because it's an ongoing thing... like, even at this moment
&#160;&#160;&#160;&#160;&#160;[CoLd BlooDed] 3:20 am: This thought going through my head right now is alterated by drugs
&#160;&#160;&#160;&#160;&#160;[CoLd BlooDed] 3:20 am: altered8
&#160;&#160;&#160;&#160;&#160;[CoLd BlooDed] 3:20 am: My perception is distorted
&#160;&#160;&#160;&#160;&#160;[CoLd BlooDed] 3:21 am: Everything I'm saying or seeing is going through a distortion barrier
[Man of Steel] 3:21 am: Heh
&#160;&#160;&#160;&#160;&#160;[CoLd BlooDed] 3:21 am: and becoming art
&#160;&#160;&#160;&#160;&#160;[CoLd BlooDed] 3:21 am: know what I mean
[Man of Steel] 3:21 am: I know exactly what you mean, actually
&#160;&#160;&#160;&#160;&#160;[CoLd BlooDed] 3:21 am: That's awesome
&#160;&#160;&#160;&#160;&#160;[CoLd BlooDed] 3:21 am: See the reason why I do acid is for self-exploration, not just to get fucked up off of
&#160;&#160;&#160;&#160;&#160;[CoLd BlooDed] 3:22 am: I use it to get to these thoughts
&#160;&#160;&#160;&#160;&#160;[CoLd BlooDed] 3:22 am: I live for the new question or new answer
&#160;&#160;&#160;&#160;&#160;[CoLd BlooDed] 3:22 am: I'm always trying to ask why
[Man of Steel] 3:22 am: Yeah, I can understand the reason.
&#160;&#160;&#160;&#160;&#160;[CoLd BlooDed] 3:23 am: Other people are just like, "Yeah!  Acid!  Another drug to get fucked up off of!"
&#160;&#160;&#160;&#160;&#160;[CoLd BlooDed] 3:23 am: I'm just like, "No, I'm going to use it as the tool it was meant to be."
[Man of Steel] 3:23 am: Meditation, centering yourself, and letting thoughts flow...seeing what come out.
&#160;&#160;&#160;&#160;&#160;[CoLd BlooDed] 3:24 am: I'm just like, "No I'm going to use it as the tool it was meant to be, I'm just like, "No I'm 
going to use it as the tool it was meant to be, I'm just like, "No I'm going to use it as the tool it was meant to be,
&#160;&#160;&#160;&#160;&#160;[CoLd BlooDed] 3:24 am: hahaha that was trippy
&#160;&#160;&#160;&#160;&#160;[CoLd BlooDed] 3:24 am: Yeah, exactly man
&#160;&#160;&#160;&#160;&#160;[CoLd BlooDed] 3:24 am: I just made an infinite reflection
&#160;&#160;&#160;&#160;&#160;[CoLd BlooDed] 3:25 am: I found a wormhole
&#160;&#160;&#160;&#160;&#160;[CoLd BlooDed] 3:25 am: Everything I say can be put into a wormhole
&#160;&#160;&#160;&#160;&#160;[CoLd BlooDed] 3:25 am: My speech
&#160;&#160;&#160;&#160;&#160;[CoLd BlooDed] 3:25 am: Multilayered

----------


## CoLd BlooDed

TRIPLE POST!





> Here we go, a bit...
> [Man of Steel] 3:35 am: Well, you'll see.
> [Man of Steel] 3:35 am: My mind reeks of bitter feelings reigning deep underneath,
> Deep underneath a facade of realistic emotion, but the emotion has no teeth.
> No bite, nothing is there; just a blank stare from the cage of a thousand cries,
> Cries out for help in a darkened room, but there is no help, only flies,
> Come to rid the body of its last juices in the day of reckoning nigh.
> Come to see what can be found amidst a lost wrecking of endless sighs.
> &#160;&#160;&#160;&#160;&#160;[CoLd BlooDed] 3:35 am: An ant can dwindle away the spins of undying threads, a candle wax permeates the 
> ...

----------


## lagunagirl

very nice  ::goodjob2:: 
you have a real talent for this sort of thing
I really like the metaphors

----------


## AmazeO XD

It's only CB tripping balls.  LOL

----------


## CoLd BlooDed

> very nice 
> you have a real talent for this sort of thing
> I really like the metaphors



Thank you!  I pride myself on my poetry (and my heavy usage of metaphor).

Feel free to comment any time.  I really like it.





> It's only CB tripping balls. LOL



Yeah, well, there's probably more meaning behind the poetry because of it.   :wink2:

----------


## AmazeO XD

> Yeah, well, there's probably more meaning behind the poetry because of it.



That, and you trip balls.

----------


## CoLd BlooDed

*Flip of the Coin*

In another dimension things couldhave been very different indeed.Give or take a couple secondsand the world would have to bleed.A new black hole would split from nothingand the people would have to seeThat really it's a flip of the coin,That determines who should be.
A man with a gun in the car,Or a man with a gun at the lot.A man with a twelve gauge inside,Or a man with a pistol - nine-shot.
The chances of life are a strange thing indeed,As a flip of the coin is all one should need.

----------


## CoLd BlooDed

There has been a theme.  Touching up on explanations like I promised at the beginning of this thread.





> *Look A Little Closer*
> 
> *D*oes thou darest to look beyond the lines
> *R*ead into things that aren't always there
> *O*minous subliminal games of the mind
> *P*erception subdued, the special aware
> *A*lways inside the blood of the eyes
> *C*rashing forth, the flesh doth tear,
> *I*t cannot see, for it has been blind
> *D*epth exists outside of the hair.



Feel free to smack the proverbial forehead.

----------


## CoLd BlooDed

*Song in Progress*

It's a strange thing,
So let me sing,
We're going to ride the heat,
We're going to ride the heat,
I can see it in your eyes,
And it ain't too hard to find,
We're going to ride the heat;
Yeah.  Yeah!
Sit down for a minute,
Or you're going to get it,
Don't know what's in it,
Forget it for a second,
I've learned my lesson,
My mind be messin',
You too true a blessin',
And you're all I need,
To be truly gifted,
Gears in mind shifted,
Living every minute
of an otherwise surrealism,
Never hinted,
Finish it or quick be finished,
Only one who really hit it,
Ain't my business...

----------


## CoLd BlooDed

and for now, I say farewell.

----------


## CoLd BlooDed

*The Ramblings of a Travelling Mind*

a world flipped on its shoulders
where the blind eyes look no further
machines and windowless windows dominate the jungle
different sounds out of the different people
who speak better than they listen
a week long in heaven, in someone elses hell
a different sort of life.

----------


## CoLd BlooDed

*Life:  The Analogy*

in this house of mine there's a cat on every floor
looking out the window, sneaking through the doors
left, right, day and night, they will always ask for more,
their constant contemplating so impossible to ignore.
they shed like snakes and always find their ways into the cracks,
keeping you under pressure until you think you're going to snap,
claw, bite, hiss and swipe, they will always keep you back,
until you face them headon like you're leading the attack.

----------


## RedDeath9

I wish I could write like this...

Great stuff.

----------


## -Blakren-

:bravo: Great poems. I Like the style.
How long does it take you to make a poem? Is it a one day thing, or slowly brain storming ideas until a one is made?

----------


## CoLd BlooDed

Anywhere from five to ten minutes.

Usually my topics are inspired by things I see while driving, sitting, sleeping, eating, talking, and so on and so forth.  I don't even correlate what I see with a more extensive meaning until I write the first couple of lines.

I guess you could say my method is strange.  Thanks guys.

----------


## CoLd BlooDed

Translated my first Shakespearean Sonnet on the very first page of this thread into spanish.  No longer a Shakespearean Sonnet but now it sounds much more exotic, in my opinion.  Tell me what you think.





> Beneath the Floor
> 
> Time to take a look, past the web and dust,
> This life is all dimensions—forgotten
> Lies take on the form of ghosts, without trust;
> But there is the Thinker, thinking rotten
> Thoughts that linger back and forth, finding faith.
> Digging deeper, searching for the headless;
> It worms its way through time, through frozen space, 
> ...



*Bajo el Suelo* 

Ha llegado la hora de echar un vistazo, pasado las telara&#241;as y polvo,
Esta vida de todas las dimensiones—olv&#237;dalo
Las mentiras toman forma de fantasmas, sin confianza; 
Pero hay el pensador, el pensamiento podrido
Pensamientos que persisten van hacia delante y hacia atr&#225;s, para encontrar la fe. 
Excabando profundamente, buscando para su cabeza decapitada;
Los gusanos siguen en su camino a trav&#233;s del tiempo, a trav&#233;s del congelado espacio
Alrededor estrellas, soles, esclavos, ocult&#225;ndose del &#233;xito. 
Por &#250;ltimo, la respuesta radica en las grietas, 
Dentro de un espejo de un espejo, vidrio
Y un cuerpo que impide una mano negra; 
Tentador, tocando, pero la verdad no tiene masa.
El Pensador pensando en un piso de vidrio, 
Con el tiempo aprendi&#243; eso y mucho m&#225;s.
______________________________

----------


## CoLd BlooDed

*Lifeless*

The silent locamotive stretches across the horizon, stars following in its tracks;
Moon and sun colliding for twins to make liquid night drip like wax,
A simple 'where are you' or 'hoob kanoo' and a tap on the tapping glass
makes life so ever smaller with each moment that it passed.

In heaven's green gables lies a winner in the stacks, plans forever dashed;
And inside the head of misery fastened faster than the smashed,
Never too late to never say 'wait' with a tap on the tapping glass,
makes life so ever lifeless with each moment that it passed.

The stoned children in the streets wonder how the high is going to last;
A silhouette in softened shadows whom is counting up his cash,
What seperates man from child or a lion in the wild - the tapping glass
makes life so ever priceless with each moment that we grasp.

----------


## Afterglow

I like your stuff  :smiley: , I can relate to some of it and it deals with real stuff, life etc.

wish I could write this well.

Keep it up champ.

----------


## CoLd BlooDed

Thanks bro.

Any favourites in particular?

----------


## CoLd BlooDed

*Smoke on Brave Soldier*

----------


## CoLd BlooDed

*Smoke on Brave Soldier*

with snake in tow, a mind-altering aroma enters the air
a revelation is soon approaching
as
the
smoke rings smoke rings then dance in plain sight
while sun turns to dusk when the dusk turns to night
properties combined, a misguided journey takes its first step
hindsight quartered and sliced
in
the
emotional uproar that Hope would never forget
an eternity consumed yet in minutes spent
love at first bite.

smoke on brave soldier, let your happy tears come
a life changed is a life long life song
where
as
flipped over semi-trucks exist for only so long
in crowded night highways that lay buried under the wall
the day is restless, and the individual tent lay under it all
waving away the conscious
stream
of
thoughts that thought society grew too tall,
but rot of the rotten corpse that Fate did fall.
an overnight evolution.

the golden holding cell of a new revolution,
aroma of drug kickstarting the confusion,
to which steel doors did start the inner bruising,
an alkalinity of souls not which set for the choosing.
a provoking emergence
unsuspicious to what the internal duo was losing.

status quo rising, a more intelligent being born unto
literate and knowledgeable two traits of the true
but
with
a musical endeavour and popularity too
the brave soldier smokes on with nothing left to do
except 
growgrowgrowgrowgrowgrowgrow

with snake in tow, a mind-altering aroma exits the air
a relevation is showing
elevated
to
the traded saints of the north in the sky of his mind
reflecting all touched in the years of his life.
smoke on brave soldier.
smoke on brave soldier for the return of your life.

----------


## CoLd BlooDed

a connection perhaps?
no, definately
the artist in us all converts even the prettiest
and the clock spins again, right back to square one in the game of love

----------


## Afterglow

> Thanks bro.
> 
> Any favourites in particular?



Yeah, Searching, from back on page 1, I really liked that one

----------


## Bearsy

Wow, you're stuff is legit man. I wish I could flow like you.

----------


## CoLd BlooDed

Thanks bro.

Afterglow, it's funny you should mention that one, as it is probably one of my least favourites in this entire compilation - how did it appeal to you?  I'm not questioning your motives, it just intrigues me that something I didn't enjoy as much is enjoyable to someone else.

----------


## Afterglow

> Thanks bro.
> 
> Afterglow, it's funny you should mention that one, as it is probably one of my least favourites in this entire compilation - how did it appeal to you?  I'm not questioning your motives, it just intrigues me that something I didn't enjoy as much is enjoyable to someone else.



I actually meant Beneath the Floor :S, lol my bad sorry

----------


## EchoSun13

Oh my, Cold Blooded..truely amazing.

I love them all, please don't ever stop writting..You have a great talent.

----------


## CoLd BlooDed

Thank you Echo.
_______________

*I'll politely...*

sight me, an a-pol-o-getic apathy
delightfully, political rivalry in democracy
it's a sight to see, a right to be
frivilous in our endeavours to rightfully
gain some insight in society; a propriety
is definately a high class following
in the black-leather seated heated Denali, I'm sorry
that the zippers aren't working properly to drown the noise of idiocy
the fallacy isn't protecting anyone obviously
and it's obvious that the overpaid open impoverishly,
welcome to the office you'll get laid off
when it bothers me - see your reaction
but be rational, fantastically and oblivious to this actual sandbox galaxy;
and its the stars we are stuck in,
naming existence as a drastical mad mastery.I will playfully endure the painless gain of the academy,
lyrically murdering the masses, earning my own degree - masters;
make it faster or like Star Wars I'll pull out my blaster
and before you can scream you'll be served like a platter
of *kalamari*, I'm starving so serve me more than the *entr&#233;*.
everything around me is an influential topic to be started
regardless of whether the topic be dark or thoughtless,
a rotten threshold of festivals to be upheld with knots... witch!
might want to check that nervous twitch because I be on top of it,
constantly thinking in rhyme, with consistency to make me rich,
honestly who else would wanna wear that wising whip... besides a labelled *genius*!

----------


## EchoSun13

No..thank you.

----------


## CoLd BlooDed

By the way, the reason that last one came out the way it did is solely because as of late I've been freestyling a lot whenever I hang out with a certain two friends (they can both beatbox and freestyle and they convinced me to try it out a week or so ago and ever since then I've been practicing as much as possible).

Yet, even though 'I'll politely...' comes out very rap-ish, there is some poetic meaning behind it.

----------


## EchoSun13

Well I like it..

----------


## Bearsy

Very nice, I especially like the first bar. It flows quite nicely

----------


## EchoSun13

Cold Blooded, have you ever thought of publishing them in a book?
If not, seriuosly think about ut, this talent is to good to keep to yourself.

I would buy it, read it, again and again.

----------


## Afterglow

> Cold Blooded, have you ever thought of publishing them in a book?
> If not, seriuosly think about ut, this talent is to good to keep to yourself.
> 
> I would buy it, read it, again and again.



I second that, I'd buy a book of your poems and writing, I really like some of this stuff.

----------


## CoLd BlooDed

Thanks guys, that really means a lot.  I'd love to publish a book of my poetry, I just don't know where to start.  Any ideas?

----------


## EchoSun13

Oh I will PM you...My grandfather has published a poem book, I will get everything you need to know from him.

I will PM you soon, promise.

----------


## Bearsy

A friend of mine had his stuff published and his books are selling quite well. I'll ask him for you.

----------


## Bearsy

> Well, he can either self-publish it with the same company I did, which would give him 20&#37; of the total book revenues, but would also make him put up a lump sum before the actual publishing gets done, or he could shop it around and have a publishing company pay those fees for him, but he'd get editted some and only receive somewhere between 3%-5% of the revenues. Those are basically his two options.
> 
> Let me know which he prefers.



 :smiley:

----------


## CoLd BlooDed

20&#37; sounds a hell of a lot better than 3-5%.  Plus, I wouldn't appreciate being editted too much.

I'll await EchoSun's response and then we can take the next step.  Thanks for your help man (and woman).

----------


## CoLd BlooDed

*Girlfriend*

why is it now that things move so smoothly
when once the telescope is downsized to microscopic proportions
age makes no difference when the words are so mature
like a teeter-totter that only spins in circles, instead of upping and downing
phrases of cliche yet not so cliche lovers dialect flow easier than ever
a happier me at the start of this new revolution.

----------


## EchoSun13

I love it,

and I hope the publishing thing works out.

----------


## CoLd BlooDed

*right and left*

_The Observers_
making life a single solid learning lesson, always absorbing studying analysing interpreting
through subconsciousness, an instinctual or not so instinctual habit the question remains.
always aware of what they're doing yet allow it anyways
consistently testing and exploring the mind that is not their own
and taking that to benefit both, an accomplice to the home
a mantra, the paradigm of intellectual intellects wins
it's better to observe than to be the specimin
creatures stuck in standstill, unknownst of their own fate
their static world in static perfection, always moving without pace
no progression whatsoever and everything stays the same
no progression whatsoever and everything stays the same
no progression whatsoever and everything stays the same

----------


## rastasteez

i really enjoy this poem it makes you think. I also think the last 3 lines are neat because it really makes the  reader zooms in on those thoughts

----------


## Bearsy

Very nice bro.  :smiley:

----------


## CoLd BlooDed

> i really enjoy this poem it makes you think. I also think the last 3 lines are neat because it really makes the reader zooms in on those thoughts



Thank you.  Repetition can really concrete the meaning of something, or at least put emphasis on something important.  

And thank you as well, LSD.

----------


## CoLd BlooDed

The shadowed roses drop, uncut and premature
floating gently down to the concrete,
an overcast sky moves overhead.
The ocean wave brings forth the salt, an ebb and flow
of the souls that go up and below,
a single bone points straight at your heart.
Light and dark, the sun and moon, a philosophy
nothing more than a rabid allusion,
choose the how and why as your path shines.
Multiple stars in the universe, awaken
to notice the different ways of life,
different thoughts of the most wrong belief.
A fallacy unconquered by humanity.

----------


## CoLd BlooDed

the frequency of ups and downs in my existance are innumerable
where the sun rises the moon always falls, always
I never seem to stop balancing on the _tight_*rope* with an umbrella in hand
my A to B a neverending marching band.

----------


## Bearsy

Wow.

No words, man.

Just wow.

----------


## CoLd BlooDed

Thanks dude.  What do you get from reading this poem?  What interpretation?  

This is probably one of my most symbolic poems yet.

----------


## CoLd BlooDed

moving on up and over
things smile upon me like a bittersweet flake
because even though the cold is here, things on the outside are beautiful
so beautiful.
instead of looking at my feet I will look, and look,
and look.
because looking at everything around me is beautiful, and allowing
that one mistake to alter the beauty of looks is proposterous
moving on up and over.

----------


## CoLd BlooDed

Angel

A whisper in the clouds at night
where concrete stars provide no light
the beauty here will never fade
like dewdrops off the morning blade
An iron maiden in the locks
where pained souls fight, bound in knots
the dust remains in crack and crook
like wooden shelves with highest book
nothing on the surface wrong
but deep beneath I'll always long
to read the letter, break the glass
Optimism in the past.

The drug kicks in with bitter taste
pulling teeth from all who faced
a drowning child in the midst
of badland boulders and clenched fist
Words I've never heard before
reach my ears like an unsound score
no violin or harpsicord
my heart and mind - in two they tore

A whisper in the clouds at night
now change the mood from dark to fright
with galaxies and roaming moons
I hope to speak with the real you
An epiphany of broken youth
my eyes doth yearn to know the truth
I'd cry to see bright light fade first
I'd fight to know who broke this earth
unfettered strands of my perfection
hold on to this hidden pendant
the aid of one who cares will come
to bear the fruit of kingdoms won.

----------


## CoLd BlooDed

The drug kicks in with bitter taste
on picture torn and lines erased
no colour in the shadowed hill
like faded paint on barnyard mill
oh Angel of this desolation
scripture leaves, in place takes patience
stimulation renders tasteless
the life I lead, no longer faceless.

A whisper in the clouds at night
'cross beds of sand with pillowbite
rubber spirits hang their heads
as loving friends spill red instead
no chain or ball around the heel
our senses on, eyes are peeled
for years to have this sentence served
I'll spread my wings as if a bird
then move your hands into the dark
emerge, embrace, enlarge, embark
you'll look at me though you're above,
our worlds colliding, days soft from love.

----------


## CoLd BlooDed

Bounds at last and freedom cut
with choices done and wishes made
as if a million up-aboves are looking on, 
pushing me down, their fire saved,
giving me the subtlety of charm and bond -
not the time to cast away 
a second, third, fourth, and fifth chance
at truly finding love at a second, third,
fourth, and fifth sight.
But whom?
The endless now are possibilities in scope;
so confused in my choice of words,
words of choice that could be worse -
strike out third and I'll rejoice!

----------


## CoLd BlooDed

It seems I fall in love everyday.

----------


## Ardent Lost

You have some talent cold blooded. I can see a bit of that freestyle vibe you were talking about in some of your poetry, with the rhythm of some of the lines and hints of internal rhyming. I haven't read all of your poems, but I like Angel the best, from what I've read. It has solid rhyming and meter, and your vocabulary is quite fitting. Good stuff.

----------


## CoLd BlooDed

*The Blank Canvas*

It's a momentary pleasure 
to the sounds and sights alike,
Road and grass at day 
then blank canvas after night,
Where northern chills bring slower rain 
that spreads faster than the light,
The new white wary world 
emerges freshly into sight.

Erasing colours from the streets
and problems from the mind,
An atmospheric greeting
from vapour and ice combined,
Distorting cars and houses
until no longer humankind,
Growing, ever growing,
Up the walls like tomato vines.

Influencial and unstoppable
the artists' spirits fade,
For once the presence tastes
like lavish laughter in the face,
The grimace shared amongst the props
is reflection of first taste,
All ice and rain and ice again
A blank canvas gone to waste.

----------


## Bearsy

> The drug kicks in with bitter taste
> on picture torn and lines erased
> no colour in the shadowed hill
> like faded paint on barnyard mill
> oh Angel of this desolation
> scripture leaves, in place takes patience
> stimulation renders tasteless
> the life I lead, no longer faceless.
> 
> ...



Very nice, it felt like you picked each word carefully. 
I really like the way everything just fit.
Each phrase sounded right.
You sir, are a master of prose.

Moar?

----------


## Afterglow

Keep it coming man! You have a real talent!  :smiley:

----------


## Delilah

I've read a few of your poems, looking for inspiration. I think I've found it, thanks. Looking forward to reading more.

----------


## CoLd BlooDed

*Suterbrook*

An invisible author stares at a blank page, the sun shining
the first steps into a different reality.
Beyond gates of seperation, where road meets dirt, sweat,
combined screams of human and metal - their galaxy.
Fresh faces approach the boxes, nervous but driven,
unknowingly sacrificing more than time.
The incarnations laugh at the young tenders - all the same -
and accept the stones in need of grind.
Minutes become days, hours become weeks,
in the world of what is the Family.

Unparalled divorces not only chambered, but outside
physically, mentally, emotionally.
The gradual mold of an artist finding himself,
styled like an ancestor in negative; Metis.
Weekdays spent in hell, slaving alongside tortured souls
who are blind to their own imperfections.
Yet still dancing with the succumbed,
the scum and the succumbing. Life lessons.
Noses stuffed with plant, brain tangoing with chemical
and weekends spent in a different kind of cell.
As simple as an overnight formatting:
personality taking the backseat while the mind begins its work.

Demons come and angels go, warmth disappearing to another blank page,
autumn becomes the fall of consistent sin.
The colours inherent to this new soul, a dictionary of wonderful friends
seemingly following the wake of silent wind.
Or was it me? The butterfly already birthed from
his crystalis, this crystal wish of crimson flavor.
But the chains and bounds remain an integral part of Learning,
the future a distant, unobstructed wager.
And then like the Red Sea parting, like the crucifixion,
like the final purge of everything unholy in this not-so-distant dimension...
They were gone.

Overflowing from the substinence of substance: 
white, green, and everything inbetween,
The world is a prettier place in colder times.
Aware of the constant, the absolute power that is progress,
time or dream, all breaking at the seams,
The world is a prettier place in colder times.

It is only the devils that remain while the single hell-chosen soul
spends eternity all alone.
Turning the days to minutes, and the weeks to hours
befriending those trapped in prismatic tones.
Speaking in tongues, catching on with a catch,
A bilingual rodent no longer hiding from his shadow.
Each second counting towards a precise knowledge and great new friends,
Culture integrated into personal gravel.
And then like the Berlin Wall, like the border crossings,
like the karma scale inverted on itself to establish another obstacle...
They were gone, too.

Hell ascends as more of a sanctuary with each passing day,
for misery takes on insistent forms - the Duo.
Home no longer home, but a snowball of black energy;
growing... growing... growing... an argumentative cesspool.
The demons transcending the fires itself as if to haunt me,
my independence a concern to the unconcerned.
The inevitability of running further downhill, the screams of human and metal
replaced by the screams of the herd.
Connections severed, dismembered, insanity lost forever.

The invisible author stares at yet another blank page, marvelling,
his Dynamic having changed completely since chapter one.










July 8th, 2008 - March 20th, 2009  :smiley:

----------


## CoLd BlooDed

Thank you all for your feedback.  This last one I wrote took me forty minutes.  Basically it's summing up the nine months that I worked fulltime at this construction site, and the drastic changes I've gone through in this period of my life.  I refer to the invisible author staring at the blank page, which translates to a new chapter beginning.

----------


## lagunagirl

> the frequency of ups and downs in my existance are innumerable
> where the sun rises the moon always falls, always
> I never seem to stop balancing on the _tight_*rope* with an umbrella in hand
> my A to B a neverending marching band.



wow, I love this! I really like how you made the overall appearance of the poem directly relate to what it's about 


Angel is also excellent. Flows very well.  :smiley:

----------


## CoLd BlooDed

Thank you, laguna.   ::D:

----------


## CoLd BlooDed

*Day in the Life of a Melted Plastic Soldier*


press my pretty face in the green grass
a growing layer of never-ending cloud cover
searching for the smaller world
with my pretty face and the green grass

touch my fair fingers to the cold earth
the perfect foundation for third-person encounters
operas in earnest, no such thing as city light
with my fair fingers and the cold earth

expose my sunflower iris's to solemn forms
as transcendental yet as microscopic as myself
wondering if realization is truly universal
with my sunflower iris's and solemn forms

manifest my bright mind to passive poetics
internal analysis between simple and sublime
with my face in grass, and hand on earth
The Sun snarls ferociously at my back.

----------


## CoLd BlooDed

*Balloons*



Occasionally, regardless of time or day, 
I am filled up in either my heart or my mind-
sometimes both.

Sometimes it hurts... a lot.  Other times it lets me
know that I am still here.  That I am not just a
faded light.

Often I've noticed the black and white of gray lives
and concluded there is never a half-way point-
one in all,

all in one.  A seemingly unyielding force 
spanning the fog of time, infinite yet distant; 
falls both ways.

Hospitilized at ones own will.  A captive
behind invisible bars.  Heart and mind ballooned-
stuck on earth.

It's hard to see out the window when it's so cold, 
but know this... only you can bring back the warmth, since
the sunshine

never left your side.  It only takes Time, and Thought.
And within years, the gentle wind will carry your 
inflated

body over mountain and ocean and grass and
take you out of the clouds so everything can be
*green* once more.

----------


## CoLd BlooDed

A masterpiece by my former four-year-old self, entitled "The mean old chicken that wouldn't share."

----------


## hisnameistyler

Haha, "a masterpiece". That's great. I remember making stories as a young lad.

Awesome material my friend. I've been thinking of taking up poetry/writing in general; I just don't know where to start! I have so many ideas moving so quickly in my head that I just can't seem to embrace and latch on to one idea to expand off of. I hope you keep posting some of your poetry; whether you know it or not, you have a bit of a fanbase!

----------


## grasshoppa

> whether you know it or not, you have a bit of a fanbase!



And it's growing. 





> the frequency of ups and downs in my existance are innumerable
> where the sun rises the moon always falls, always
> I never seem to stop balancing on the tightrope with an umbrella in hand
> my A to B a neverending marching band.



This one is just awesome.

----------


## CoLd BlooDed

> Haha, "a masterpiece". That's great. I remember making stories as a young lad.



I have a bunch more saved on the computer, accompanied simultaneously with my drawings.  I was a strange toddler.





> Awesome material my friend. I've been thinking of taking up poetry/writing in general; I just don't know where to start! I have so many ideas moving so quickly in my head that I just can't seem to embrace and latch on to one idea to expand off of.



My advice to you is to just start small.  Think of something, anything, and simply write.  Sometimes when I write a poem I usually start with one significant line and just go from there.  You don't need to write thirty lines to have a poem, either; write a quatrain, a haiku, a free verse with 10-12 lines, etc.  Once you get the poetic mind flowing it's actually quite hard to stop.





> I hope you keep posting some of your poetry; whether you know it or not, you have a bit of a fanbase!



I did not know that, to be completely honest, I always thought my poetry goes unseen to the masses.  It doesn't bother me, I write poetry for myself, but it is heartwarming to hear that people take a liking to my work.  So thank you.

And thank you, grasshoppa.

----------


## Jesus of Suburbia

> I'm just a teen who enjoys everything about poetry, so pretty much an amateur.    It's always been something I've naturally talented at, and it's been said that I have a way with words.  
> 
> I enjoy making poems that baffle the reader but make perfect sense to me.  You know what I mean?
> 
> And thanks, that does mean a lot. 
> 
> If your poetry is on this site, I will check it out and comment.



Sounds just like me.

----------


## CoLd BlooDed

_It Was Just Beyond my Fingers_



Eternally feeling you on the fleshy patterns on my fingertips, 
an epochal sensation stemming millennia - only on human skin.

Not necessarily a physical nebula, but a knowledge in knowing
that your ferocious fire hangs off a starchain like a portrait.

Personal paralysis, blissfully bound to the bounds of bliss, 
eyes unable to open but seeing everything anyways.

Obstinately oblivious to the flies crawling in and out of my mouth, 
corpus consumed in my love of hell and divine devil spawn.

I, the human skin, forever feeling.  Even though you literally live
over ten million miles above, hanging overhead like a stalactite

waiting to fall.  Unlike a calcite deposit, however, you would estinguish
the world with a whisper in a universe no longer listening.

So here I sit, fabricated, body and mind moving consistently
forward in an orbit that I played no role in creating.  Yet still.

Yet still I can feel your beautiful breath on my fingertips, the
flies on my face, and everything ensnared in your onslaught of colour.

----------


## CoLd BlooDed

Cosmos

I guess it's safe to say I'm not the
onlyonelookingup

----------


## CoLd BlooDed

Lions of Nyabingi


stones in darkers forward Zion turn
star so hot make I and I burn
our bredren, our sistren
Red.
man and beast, a kingdom established
Babylon step fi da flame of da chalice
no time fi be vexin'
Red.
I ignorant strap'd wit' more dan teeth
Jah knows I wrap'd wit' sore an' grief
but still comes first light
Sight? 
be no fear of da fearful loathing
for it seems only days since I plant stop growing
feel no way, 'tis but a word
Seen?

...Rasta, sit down wit' ya sun and ya skins
forget da bald heads, Bandulus and sins...

...think pon ya gates and da heavenly stars
whole heap of dem wolves can't see past dere yards...

...tings all I rey, da I ly smoke fi Zion
who said sheep can't turn into dem Lions...

...until dat moment, youth, keep on dis glove
for da bad flames burn like a star; One Love.

----------


## CoLd BlooDed

Those Big Marshmallows up in the Sky


They look so *soft*, 
oh, how I would love to touch, 
but nothingness is never enough.
Always wandering and lost.

Gentle creatures, 
the simple mind plays visionary
with *beanstalks* and turtles eating berries; 
pure white zebras.

They look at *peace*, 
forming the masterful mythical heavens, 
but only they know - the true number sevens.
Like wool, or like fleece.

The shapeshifters, 
expanding to the fuel of human *fire*, 
let it rain black with human desire; 
our ash filters.

They look disturbed, 
regardless of their feathered mass, 
terrified, terrified, letting no light pass.
Not another word.

Horsemen, nightriders, 
signifying the end of the world diseased, 
wet with the passion of a woman unpleased; 
the *flames* grow higher! 

...where did they go? 
I once saw them in the playground up high, 
those funny big marshmallows up in the *sky*.
They'll be back, this I know.



Those bipolar big marshmallows up in the sky.

----------


## CoLd BlooDed

How Many?

In the world's world...



How many sirens will sound in the night?
How many children are taken on sight?
How many tears are being shed like snakes skin?
How many wars will be fought - who will win?
How many people are dying in sheets?
How many people are rats of the street?
How much potential is going to waste?
How many people are lost in sore taste?

How many sounds are going unheard?
How many students are forgetting their words?
How many drugs are flooding our fields?
How many colours are found - who will yield?
How many minds are mashed into dirt?
How much is insanity and what is it worth?
How many Gods live beyond our stars?
How many roads are simply too far?

In a world's world.
Still smiling.

How many youth see to their first kiss?
How many smiles are curving closed lips?
How many ants climb to the top of the hill?
How many steps have been - who ever stands still?
How many woman are turned into mothers?
How are you my friends, sisters and brothers?
How many souls are so perfectly matched?
How many memories grow on the flats?

In a world turned on its shoulders.
Always smiling.

----------


## CoLd BlooDed

Just noticed how many views I actually have on this thread...

Thought I would thank my invisible audience for following me along.  I know you're all out there.  Hopefully my poetry has opened some minds and provided some new questions - and if it hasn't, may there be a similar influence somewhere along the paved lines.

----------


## no-Name

> Just noticed how many views I actually have on this thread...
> 
> Thought I would thank my invisible audience for following me along.  I know you're all out there.  Hopefully my poetry has opened some minds and provided some new questions - and if it hasn't, may there be a similar influence somewhere along the paved lines.



It has <:

I hate commenting on the good stuff, ClouD's writing, your poetry, Carousoul's art~

It's all amazing, all of it. I just can't find the right words to compliment them  ::D: 

Maybe one day I'll actually be good at putting words together. So thank you, and keep it up. :]

----------


## CoLd BlooDed

Maybe Cloud, Carousol and myself should do a poetry/art/writing compilation...

Many sincere thanks, by the way, it truly means a lot.  And I can understand where you're coming from.  Sometimes it's difficult to try and say what you want to say when commenting on an artform... because you have to be able to speak in the particular artform.

Keep reading, keep thinkin'.

----------


## CoLd BlooDed

On the Hillside


On the hillside, minds innocently running, bodies parallel to the blanketed stars.  Smiling, pointing with our elderly fingers to a multitude of caricatures - forms constantly changing to match our resonance.  Our frequencies.  But isn't that just it?

It's as if they're only there to acquire _us_.  Existing not as true beings but like pseudo-opaque, two-dimensional paint stains barring us from the light.  Yet we acknowledge them anyways, even going so far as to identify them with things of the past.  Phantoms on center stage, acting out in an invisible play.

On the outside, like scientists prodding over a microscope, like therapists peering through a padded cell window, we look bacterial - we look crazy.  Acknowledging the non-existent on the hillside.  On the hillside, we are normal and everyone on the outside is crazy.

We are the scientists, psychologists, and leaders of the occult.  We are normal.  We are conspirators, presidents, and Gods.  We are normal.  We are children, we are adults, we are everything in between.  We are normal.

On the hillside, we look at vapors and laugh at their resemblance, even though it's a trick of the mind.  Nobody will ever see their True Form, not even those who already know.  Questions rush to mind... if they simply exist as frequency matchups, do they exist at all?  What does that say about us?

We are... normal.

----------


## CoLd BlooDed

A Tribute to Dionysius, the Hellfire of the '60s - Part I

the cute girl sitting outside the bar
underage & mother deceased
neon glow casting pale
beauty 
in summer night.

the man behind black-rimmed glasses
genius & incredibly fucked up
oft misunderstood w/tales untold
beautiful
in the bathroom mirror.

the elderly asleep on retail couches
withdrawn w/life trauma
insightful & wiser than anything, yet
beauty
in dreamscapes.

not something 
you could ever 
know without
already knowing.

----------


## Bearsy

> It has <:
> 
> I hate commenting on the good stuff, ClouD's writing, your poetry, Carousoul's art~
> 
> It's all amazing, all of it. I just can't find the right words to compliment them 
> 
> Maybe one day I'll actually be good at putting words together. So thank you, and keep it up. :]



That's how I feel.

I don't want to look like a dick and say "Cool, man" every time. 
Cause TBH I'm kinda gay for your poetry.

----------


## CoLd BlooDed

Haha, don't worry, I completely understand... except the bit about being gay for my poetry.  As in what, inferior?  I appreciate all feedback and no feedback, friend - I am indifferent.  But thank you for being part of my invisible audience.   ::D:

----------


## anUNFAITHFULLangel

You have some very unique poetry that makes me smile,
It's rather easy to say that I quite like your style,
And when reading these kindered words on a screen,
I find your poetry has made it's own scene.
 :tongue2:   ::D: 
But seriously I like the depth, the descriptions and the perspective you put into your writing.

----------


## Bearsy

> Haha, don't worry, I completely understand... except the bit about being gay for my poetry.  As in what, inferior?



Naw I mean I really like it.

----------


## LifeStandsStill

I must say I really liked 'How Many?'
especially this part of it:






> How many minds are mashed into dirt?
> How much is insanity and what is it worth?
> How many Gods live beyond our stars?
> How many roads are simply too far?



Really great stuff man, as always.









> I don't want to look like a dick and say "Cool, man" every time. 
> Cause TBH I'm kinda gay for your poetry.



And I must say, that just made my night.

----------


## CoLd BlooDed

Thanks, LSS.  I can provide the explanation for that one if you'd like.  It's pretty straightforward.  And appreciated, Elis.
_____________

You there, yes.  You.
I can see.

Pick up the phone, intergalactic calling you at home from another planet,
No dial tone?  Maybe you're just spaced out like acid.
No need for racket simply ask and thou shall receive that
all wrapped up like a diseased rat in quarantined plastic.
Cool drastic, mentally trapped at the bottom of the waste basket, you're like trash kid,
tripped for three, the epit-o-me of neuron blastin fooled you into burning cash
faster than a match lit.

To be continued.

----------


## Bearsy

Looking forward to what tonight brings forth my friend. Have fun, and be safe.

----------


## CoLd BlooDed

Some jams me and my buddy did last night.

The Freestyle Jam

Singing

----------


## dreamingofdreaming

I love the poems, the rasta one is one of the best I've ever read  ::D: 

The singing/freestyle jams are raw but entertaining and I love the melodies!

Keep it up  ::D:

----------


## CoLd BlooDed

A Tribute to Dionysius, the Hellfire of the '60s - Part II

To think I truly forgot
what this isa lie
& to think I understand
is a myth

finding it increasingly difficult
to keep this pen in my hands
followed with words I
couldn't possibly
understand.

Irrational; irresponsible,
no focus w/extra focus
& thoughts dribble from tongue

doing my best to keep my
spirits alive, in another
world I would
have
died.

problems & complexities
people w/ personalities
forever entwined.

associate with morning breeze
thru parks bench and ocean beach
a synonymous greeting of
affection caressing
your every curve.

It's always busy.
always.
something that shakes me to my center core
something that fills me with uncertain
flavour
something
something that
always.
It's never quiet.

lost a father to brainwash
mirroring myself unto
his fucking fate.

(a single penned line scribbled, capturing seven minutes of
Riders on the Storm.)

----------


## Exhalent

Although I only read a few of these, they are very well written. Keep up the good work.  ::thumbup::

----------


## CoLd BlooDed

Thanks Exhalent, your feedback is appreciated.   ::D:

----------


## CoLd BlooDed

Freedo_me_

Free me from filth, 
from rock, from silt
Free me from sin, 
from stone and from guilt
Looking outward to hills
where the house has 
been built

Give me a star, a moon, 
and sand.

Free me from pain, 
from disease, from strain
Free me from plague, 
from age and from game
Looking up to the sky
where the waxing
moon wanes

Give me a pen, a pad, 
and a brain.

----------


## CoLd BlooDed

Hierarchy of Earth and Stars



There's a reason why we are here... 
we are based off senses.

Humans, 
thought.

Dogs, 
smell.

Bats, 
sound.

And still, 
dirt.

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## Flavour of Night

CB.. I really liked Freedome.. a lot.

But I gotta ask you about "Where the waxing moon wanes".

Was the apparent contradiction in those words intended?

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## CoLd BlooDed

Yeah, it was intended.  In this poem, the house is me.  The waxing moon is me.

Thank you.

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## Flavour of Night

CB.. so if I take it correctly, the "waxing moon wanes" would be a metaphor for diminishment in spite of the otherwise appearance of growth?

Does that sound too convoluted?

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## CoLd BlooDed

You're in the right direction.  It's referring to the change of an otherwise methodical, routine process (ie. changing something that in normal circumstances would not).  If anything, it means personal growth coming from diminishment.

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## Jonny the Nameless

> Those bipolar big marshmallows up in the sky.[/center][/FONT]



That really finished the poem awesomely for me. Call me a child, but I really liked this one. 
You seem to be quite a wordsmith. It's an unbelievable talent if you think about it, so many words to choose from, but being able to make it so fluid and still mean something at the end- awesome.

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## CoLd BlooDed

> That really finished the poem awesomely for me. Call me a child, but I really liked this one.



Thanks!  That's one of my favourites, too... I managed to convey a lot more than I originally intended.  Gotta live ambiguity.





> You seem to be quite a wordsmith. It's an unbelievable talent if you think about it, so many words to choose from, but being able to make it so fluid and still mean something at the end- awesome.



That means a lot.  It's something I've heard from English teachers and parents alike... it's not even necessarily that my vocabulary is extensive (not saying you said that, just rantin' here) but my ability to weave just about any message/moral into a certain word, or certain grouping of words.  Still, your praise is fully appreciated.

Thanks again for reading, Jonny.   ::D:

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## CoLd BlooDed

So someone I'm in the process of getting to know through a good friend of mine recited a poem to me she had found of mine on the internet, word for word.  I was blown away.

She also gave me this really cool notepad from India or Thailand, filled with handmade paper.  Hopefully this will boost my poetic creativity.

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## CoLd BlooDed

Herein lies a wordly
mind, a wordly time,
a worldly bind.

A notebook of kinds.

The doorman can't
find,
what secrets
lay dormant in
my heart.
A world apart.

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## CoLd BlooDed

It's Never Quiet



It's never quiet.

Listen to the rooster's call, awakening at dawn and dew,
Listen to the flatland breeze, as fresh as love anew,
Listen to the dust kicked up, so startling and true,
A never-ending stream reflecting sky so baby blue.

Listen to the water flow, a crescendo over rock,
Listen to the drinking doe; innuendo, silent talk,
Listen to the autumn leaf, falling graceful from the stalk,
A never-ending path that only insane man could walk.

It's never quiet.

Listen to the voices boom, vibration in the air,
Listen to the noises bloom, salvation without care,
Listen to the clouds move in, your doubt with sudden flare,
A never-ending storm that shouldn't ever seem so rare.

Listen to the avalanche - the stone tumble, shake,
Listen to the earth collide in submissive final quake,
Listen to the screams, the cries, in Hell's climatic break.
Listen to the bells chime twice in bishop's lonely place,
Listen to the children weep as parents change their pace,
Listen to the lost unloved who never had a taste,
Listen to the mirror's face every time you want to change,
For your never-ending thoughts are only a step away.

Listen to the sunfire fade, replaced by candlelight,
Listen to the grassy glade, embraced in naked sight,
Listen to the mass He made, for love and hate alike,
and listen to the peace and quiet instilled by silent night.

Never, never
quiet.

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## CoLd BlooDed

Sunset, sunrise;
draw back the curtains like the
moon does the tides.
The horizon on fire, rubies in
the skies,
wrote a poem about it so
this boy could be
wise.

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## CoLd BlooDed

In the Captains Chair

Once, like a baby in
need of sleep, I rocked
on the wake of the sea;
the salty breeze hid among long
sleeves, the waves becoming my old
knees.

Once, like a starvin
dog with growly belly, I
smelled the ocean air;
the horizon fair from captains chair,
crag and crook form Neptunes
bear.

Once, like a hawk with
its eye to a hare, I
watched the kelp float past;
the fast ships first chance to outlast
the bold blue sky tossing diamonds on
glass.

Once, like a man with
no hope in his eyes, I
looked up at night to pray...
only to gaze a million lanterns play,
their beauty untouched by affliction
today.






Once, like a man with
hope in his eyes, I
sat in the captains chair;
and I rocked on the sea,
and I watched the nightsky,
and I breathed the last
of my ocean air.

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## panta-rei

<3

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## CoLd BlooDed

::D:

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## CoLd BlooDed

Boom

Implications of
imperfections.

Two wayward paths
cross, and break the 
sound barrier.

The universe shakes,
and then is still again.

Colour and light are
strewn about like
confetti.

Two wayward paths
collide, and fit
perfectly together.

The universe smiles,
then turns its face

Back to its implicated 
imperfections.

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## LifeStandsStill

Very nice, CB :]







> Boom
> 
> The universe shakes,
> and then is still again.



May I quote this in my sig?

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## CoLd BlooDed

You may.

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## LifeStandsStill

There, that looks so much better, eh?
By the way this is my favorite one of yours.. so far..

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## bro

"Boom"..and "Heirarchy or Earth and Stars"... excellent stuff. "Boom" is really the essence of my thought too.. You've really only improved, I'm glad to see you're still going strong here.

Remember me when you're famous for your poems CB.

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## CoLd BlooDed

Haha, can one even get famous from poetry these days?   :tongue2: 

Thanks a lot, bro, good to have you back.  PS... since 'Boom' this thread has had almost 200 views.  Wow.

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## CoLd BlooDed

Moving on, and Moving on





I'm wanting a little *RED*

I'm needing a little *BLUE*

I'm craving for a paradise 
of rainbow coloured *HUE*.

I'm feeling a little *ROJO*

I breathe a little *AZUL*

I'm living free in complexity
and sharing with you too.

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## CoLd BlooDed

This will be my last poem in this thread.  I thank all of you who followed along, for all the feedback, for all the priase.  It's been a great place to document my writing and simultaneously share it with you guys, but my reign of using forums is nearing an end.  I leave to Central America in less than a week, and when I come back I'll be minimalizing all unnecessary distractions... including DV.  It's time for me to move on with my life and focus on who and what I have around me, and this year will be nothing but personal growth and learning (which is something I don't find myself doing here anymore).

Been a pleasure,
Peace and love!

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## Dreams4free

> This will be my last poem in this thread.  I thank all of you who followed along, for all the feedback, for all the priase.  It's been a great place to document my writing and simultaneously share it with you guys, but my reign of using forums is nearing an end.  I leave to Central America in less than a week, and when I come back I'll be minimalizing all unnecessary distractions... including DV.  It's time for me to move on with my life and focus on who and what I have around me, and this year will be nothing but personal growth and learning (which is something I don't find myself doing here anymore).
> 
> Been a pleasure,
> Peace and love!



Your conclusion is that human expression is a unnecessary distraction..

apparently you didn't do enough writing.  :Sad: 
or not enough reading of Henry David Thoreau.

take it easy, and to emulate curiosity..
peace and love.

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## CoLd BlooDed

You misinterpretted.  Who said I wasn't going to write poetry anymore...?

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## Jesus of Suburbia

> Your conclusion is that human expression is a unnecessary distraction..
> 
> apparently you didn't do enough writing. 
> or not enough reading of Henry David Thoreau.
> 
> take it easy, and to emulate curiosity..
> peace and love.



He's still going to write, he's just leaving dreamviews  :wink2: 
Bye ColdBlooded  :Sad:

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## Xox

I'm not sure if I posted but this is incredible.

Keep a poetry blog or something. At some point. 

Farewell and the best to you.

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## Speesh

> This will be my last poem in this thread.  I thank all of you who followed along, for all the feedback, for all the priase.  It's been a great place to document my writing and simultaneously share it with you guys, but my reign of using forums is nearing an end.  I leave to Central America in less than a week, and when I come back I'll be minimalizing all unnecessary distractions... including DV.  It's time for me to move on with my life and focus on who and what I have around me, and this year will be nothing but personal growth and learning (which is something I don't find myself doing here anymore).
> 
> Been a pleasure,
> Peace and love!



Don't know if I've actually even posted in here or not but I do read from time to time, and I love your stuff. I wish you all the best with your fresh start. Keep spreading those positive vibes.

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## Jesus of Suburbia

> Don't know if I've actually even posted in here or not but I do read from time to time, and I love your stuff. I wish you all the best with your fresh start. Keep spreading those positive vibes.



Me too, keep writing. You should publish it into a book once you have enough, like my dad did/is doing.

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## CoLd BlooDed

Thanks you guys, really means a lot.

I promise that one day my poetry will be published!

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## CoLd BlooDed

Thought I'd stop by and post something from this year, just to show I'm still alive... don't know who's still regular here or what, but here goes. 
______________________

*LORAZEPAM SHORES*



on the frontlines of a lorazepam shore
one could almost feel a completely
synthetic
wave of contentedness washing away

it's a beautiful nothing for those with
nothing beautiful in a world made of
pixelated
screens carrying the people in wired boxes

the Alone are not alone

the insiders wear mirror faces and
reflect the same image
the same image
the same image
in collective shame
and comfort
with desire to live but not knowing how or why

it can be a beautiful something for those
who understand anything in a world made of
mirrored faces
carrying pixel images and nothing else.

but on the steps of an autumn door
one should immerse in the colours of
not just leaves
but the spectrum of *ultraviolet life*
and *infradeath*

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## XeL

I like it!  ::thumbup:: 

Glad to see you're still alive.

----------

