Name:

i wonder why
after a cry
the hard things run so easy

after a fight
if thats the name
all hatred seems increasing

it didnt stop
it all stucks still
the function i found out

once someone hurt you
keeping quiet
is just a way to shout.

------------
if you use it,would be nice to hear from you fellaz!
(maybe in general,if someone liked it...),
cheerio

Name:

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Name:

vous êtes
un homme
une femme

Eurocard Mastercard
American Express
Visa

vous êtes
en mode de paiement
jusqu’à la fin des temps

Name:

vous êtes
un homme
une femme

Eurocard Mastercard
American Express
Visa

vous êtes
en mode de paiement
jusqu’à la fin des temps

Name:

Take a car.
Your cry.
You leave.
You walk and do not meet.
The perfect image.

2005

Name:

ich zerstuempere reine stirnsternstatuten
breiwarmer zunft!
O! weichwarmer tierfelllaehmer-Du Achleitner!!
wir windeldrescher,wir wuermer ferner laubgesaenge
Wir,Wir,Wir...
wir wolluestigen ..tonkoerperimitate
seichte vergangene oelung,
(-blaugaumenweiche oelungen)
ich tiergreisamalgam,um duftendes blut bemueht,laecherlich,
punktzertruemmerer..-Nein ,reines NEIN
Braegenkeim..-bleibt was?
wollige hirnleimlieblinge des jetzt und hier
tiefer polizistenweiber
wir ,wir,wir..
Die braungewordene Angst(exzerpt meiner Kloaufzeichnungen!!)
Titel ,brav,aus

Name:

today I sleep
tomorrow I am a saint
lost in the total entertainment
Any life becomes a game
We study all the solutions

Name:

AdWords

Serge d
Les bonnes affaires Serge d
Trouver Serge d sur eBay !
Comparez, choisissez et économisez !

Name:

Your name is Megan,
I met you at work.

You wrote your number on a piece of tissue using free crayons.

You arrive at my house
and i ask you to do press-ups
while i sit in a swivel chair and watch.

The sweat from your forehead is still on my floor

Name:

in bed

rain (and)ing


quite softly to begin with


my eyes br e a k ing into

b

r it t l e

bu c k (ets

a nd
spa

des

Name:

and
for the briefest of moments
the english countryside air filled the busy restaurant,

we all drOpped plates of food and inhaled a dreAM escaping chasing (up) ladders to lifting loft (s)

and then it left, and everyt
Hi
n(g)

t u r n e d b a c k T o normal

Name:

who comes to me but a shadow of myself
from the depth of despair and loneliness

I am motionless but the tears of life keeps flowing
like an angry ocean and the wind comes to carry me away
to the throne of my soul

In that silence begins my rehearsal to cultivate
that wisdom within me and share that love and
knowledge with humanity

Each moment becomes an eternity and that
the radiance of love extends it's lovely hands
to that throne of my soul to dance in union with the unknown
under the canopy of the moon,sun,and the stars

if my beloved ever exists then that shadow becomes
a mere illusion because the fire within my heart has
illuminated the identity of my beloved inscribed within
it's walls

Name:

that darkness which descends when i am at peace with myself
in that hour of time which the world becomes an infinite happiness
in itself

of what is desired but the key to my enlightenment roaming
endlessly as if my soul is dispersed in that enchanted garden
weeping for itself to be saved

Name me for what i am in the beggining when i was gazing
into the eyes of the world for the very first time
and now i come again to witness myself betraying my feelings
and casting a stone into that ocean where i sprang forth from

with these mysteries that fanthom my imagination as my being
lost in ecstasy and the cries of my lovers awaken me in their arms
and then i am no more.

Name:

ich höre die vögel der frühling will glänzen
ein mädchen spricht mit vollem mund
verschluck dich nicht und sie verschluckt sich
sie hustet alles auf den tisch und in meine haare
hurra! ich kenne sie nicht
ich steh auf der sommer ist cool

Name:

Of course, everyone warned me about you.
Everyone warned me about mother.

Don’t fall for mother they said.
It won’t last they said.
You’ll be in a mess they said.

We showed them eh mother.

I’m gone. Mother I’m gone.

A drink mother.
Sorry, stupid question.
Two whiskeys please. Mother takes water.
The fairground. Do you. Of course you do.
Another stupid question.
Must be the whiskey eh mother.

Oh how we laughed mother. How we laughed.


Just you and me back then mother.
Soft sand on the feet. Water cool as you like.
Yes.
Cool as you like.


Just you and me tonight mother.
Just mother and me.
Take a walk mother. Mother take a walk.
Careful mother careful.
Lie on the bed mother.
The TV. Don’t forget the T.V

On the covers.

The first night. Do you remember.
Both nervous eh mother.
Tell me if I hurt you mother.
So mother.
Tell me if I hurt you.

Under the covers.
Like the sea mother.
Yes.
Just like the sea.


Mother doesn’t understand.
Makes no sense to mother.


The pier my love.
We still have the pier.
You should see it.
All the way to the sea my love.

We could walk it. You and me mother.


You know nothing’s changed much.
Everything’s just got older.

Name:

A Poem About Trolls

Terrible dreams came stalking ‘cross the forest floor at night
Full of otherworldly splendour and larcenous delight
Webs of mischief ‘cross the trees and breadth of grassy knoll
Surely this be handiwork of impious woodland troll

And soon, hither to the valleys, came the scent beast
Dancing round their campsite and enjoying bloodied feast
Meat from the bones of damsels and travellers befooled
Black witchery applied upon all creatures, great and small

Spreading ‘cross each brook and yard of Comus’ masterdom
Were skulking trolls and ogre singing grubby pagan song
The lavender did sway as heavy feet trooped through
Attached to legs of ogres with hides of greyish blue

The night did fall as owls called the twilight to the trees
So the ogres imps and trolls did begin festivities
Barrels of ale rum and stout were in plentiful supply
Discordant tune did entertain and wizardry beguile

Tattered cloth did bare-ly preserve the varmints dignity
Drink had flowed and froth bestowed a raucous majesty
Drunken brutish beasts of every creed did congregate
Beneath the starry canopy and beside the silent Lake

The unconscious slept, the sickened wept, a state they had become
Such exorbitance in primitives who cannot withstand the rum
Leads to poorly tummies, and grief for all concerned
So they lay and sat there motionless whilst their stomachs churned

Waiting for the sunrise, and a new day to move along
To stamp and eat and drink and spit and sing their sordid song
But 'twas in the depths of that night... that the cavelry rode in
Flashing righteous steel raising up a din

They banished all the vile swine to stay away forever
To the lowlands of land, and to be bound by lawful tether
Never to return to here, or to terrorise the locals
To frighten any townsfolk or to feast on any yokels

Name:

shedding skin


it seems, that when you get close
it is mearly friction
must be like shedding skin

my brain is like a padded cell
criminals can only reach me from within
must be like shedding skin

a prick does not cause me to bleed
and a stab brings pain for weeks
must be like shedding skin

if i could contain your beauty
inside my very being and set you free again
that must be like shedding skin

Name:

the myth of finding one true thing


set forth on goals unobtainable
outpost to the inevitable
head firmly in ass

blinded by bright lights
frozen by big city
nothing but pen in hand

ten directions at once
but one goal in mind
must there be just the one

when you weigh all the options
in just one day
you will truly go insane

plopped down in front of the tele
static is speaking more truth
than any of gods books

how a dictator must think
when faced with the idea of shaving
why waste a day

1001 ways to get numb
down to the toes
cold is not one of them

so the prospect of you
seems like a welcome sign
welcome back to reality

Name:

A STRANGE HAPPINESS (extracted)

to smile in real time
to smile in real time
it is a strange happiness

Name:

EBAY™ POETRY

Poèmes

Poèmes aux enchères

Inscription gratuite et sûre

Name:

Sometimes, I feel I cannot breath. Four walls. Where are the windows?
Here, just on my side. But they are locked. How to open it?
To go. Just go. Where to?
To that place that is a passing by place. It is only a street.
A Street with two ways. Will you be here when I come back?
I have to go. I cannot breathe here. What am I good for without air?

Name:

The bad feeling of the realism
of the representation
“I shouldn’t have had lunch before this.”
The raw flesh coming out from the canvas
shows not less than places of memories
– of rooms, homes, and cities inhabited
by people. Or flesh?

- Ana Caeiro

Name:

Suddenly, I am outside
this closed space,
back in old Lisbon,
surrounded by its many old buildings
filled by a profusion of churning blue-hued arabesques,
an organized chaos of Portuguese symbols.
A crackled surface evoking syncopated rhythm.
Absence of sound.
Walking through these deep colours,
I listen to a deep, rhythmic sound,
a Brazilian Chorus.
I am inside again.
Nobody can enter here.

- Ana Caeiro

Name:

Standing in the middle of the room,
I feel like I can actually enter those saunas,
those empty places inviting me
to get to know what is beyond the surface,
beyond what everybody is able to see,
from that point of view.
But there is nothing beyond.
This world created by someone
may not be entered
not psychologically nor physically.

- Ana Caeiro

Name:

Here I am, again,
confronted with a huge broken wall,
strips of flesh and lacerated painting,
ripped open to expose raw flesh.
Like experiencing a cycle,
like the changing of the seasons,
you always get to see and feel
what you saw and eventually felt before,
four seasons before.

- Ana Caeiro

Name:

Hera I am, again,
confronted with a huge broken wall,
strips of flesh and lacerated painting,
ripped open to expose raw flesh.
Like experiencing a cycle,
like the changing of the seasons,
you always get to see and feel
what you saw and eventually felt before,
four seasons before.

- Ana Caeiro

Name:

It’s not enough to open the window
To look at the river.
It’s not enough to be blind.
It’s also need to know nothing about philosophy.
With philosophy there aren’t trees; there are only ideas.
There is only one of us, with a basement.
There is only a closed window, and all the world outside;
And a dream of what we could see if the window would be open,
That is never what we see when it is open.
- Alberto

I see too much.
I listen too much.
I feel too much.
What are my eyes for if they lie?
What are my ears for if I only listen in shrill?
What are my feelings for if they only understand hyperboles?
I don’t have philosophy and nor windows.
Windows show me reflexes.
Reflexes of memories.
Unreal memories.
- Ana

Name:

I don’t care.
I don’t care about what? I don’t know. I don’t care.
- Alberto

Nothing is important.
What is nothing? I don’t know, I don’t know anything now. I have never known.
They speak about the “everything” but they don’t describe it, how am I supposed to know it?
It’s the empty in your eyes.
It’s your presence absent.
It’s my memory. Unreal.
- Ana

Name:

I desire you too.
Desire to know everything. Everything is anything.
Wanting to see. Wanting to believe.
Believe in what?
Ocean. Clouds. Tears. Smiles.
People? I do not believe in people.
Do you? You should.
You should not.
I do not know too.

Name:

Lift Shaft

By the time this lift reaches the ground floor you’ll be dead,
5th floor
Luck would gratefully have you pass away, naturally,
By the side of a lover under the stars,
Boxed in mahogany and laid to rest,
In the cemetery with the rest,
Your skins disrobed layer by layer,
By a battalion of bugs, altered tailors,
Hungry for a piece of you,
4th floor
Misconduct and contamination aside,
Their urgency noted as they send their sonics through the earth,
With hundreds and thousands of feelers and legs,
Inviting other species along for the ride,
Wood is broken down through the ages,
Generations of insects, these famished and insatiable seas,
Breaking down your hull
In their innate quest,
To make you null,
As esoteric as that may seem,
Better a creature feeds than starves, just mean
3rd floor
At snail’s pace you decay,
Little by little,
Day by day,
One by one,
The ashes fall away.
Leaving some fine morsels,
On which the hounds of hell can chew,
Some juicy femurs one and two,
Your teeth and jaw reminders of a life gorged.
2nd floor
Alas things will not be quite as slow and natural,
In the art of your death,
A meeting with a demon is bequeathed.
You all entered the lift with me,
Not the most prudish decision unfortunately
Going about your day today business,
Mindless chit chat rattling about your communal coffin
Each second marking your descent,
Men checking their watches, sure not to be late,
Woman making sure there are dressed unwittingly for the abominable appointment
At the devil’s quarters.
In her mirror she checks her hair,
Only to realise I’m no there.
1st floor
I am so very hungry now,
I too have a need for survival,
It is just my taste for meat differs somewhat.
With each second that ticks,
I hear your heartbeat and I crave my fix
Earth crawlers are fulfilled banqueting when the flesh is dead, as are you.
I prefer to enjoy life when I eat,
Rare, but, true
Male, aged forty, one hundred and eight pounds, bald, brown eyes.
Female, aged twenty three, ninety pounds, long blonde hair, blue eyes
Male, aged, thirty two, one hundred and twelve pounds, curly ginger hair, hazel eyes
Female, aged fifty two, eighty pounds, shot grey hair, green eyes
Male, aged eighteen, one hundred and thirty pounds, straight black hair, blue eyes
Bing.
The doors open and I walk upon a tide of blood.

Name:

I think you make me dance in my sleep

When I’m asleep
My feet curl small
Into poised shrimp like shapes
Waiting tense and excited
Till I dream of giant pirouettes
On trampolines of fallen leaves
Landing perfectly each time
With a softer thump

To wake and find
My toes are trembling again
Ever so slightly colder
But my steps
They’re somewhat lighter and
When I shut my eyes again
I’m somewhere down the hallway sashaying
Unknowingly through thoughts of you.

Name:

You cant assume that something
is the basic rule to everything,
But rather see that everything
is the collaborative effort of nothing.

Name:

the printer is mad again



the printer shits itself
with shapes and symbols:

a to zed
naught to nine
then nameless
ancient typographic
runes and hieroglyphs undecipherable

to qwerty minds

the fonts are all fucked
the machine is screaming

¡°help me !¡±
I have a mind !
I am alive !¡±

but it is printing in tongues
so we
just cut
the power
and tut:

¡°the printer is mad again¡±

Name:

the metal and the sponge

I am fixing a cassette
biro in the teeth of the spool
sucking sound slowly
back into the case

me and the lost songs
hate the kinks and loops that come
when the tape escapes
from
the
metal
and
the
sponge

Name:

vermicide

the last can of worms
is open
I see an exodus
wriggle

worms hang
worms thrash
worms writhe
before they drop

variously lacerated
by the serrated lips
of the open tin

Name:

Exercises for the environmentally aware


Walk to the nearest motorway
find a bridge over the lanes
sing the hills are alive with sound of music
as loud as you can


Walk through you local shopping centre
with a bouquet of dandilions
give each passer by a dandilion and blow them a kiss


Eat an apple everyday
plant the pips
each day
walk to a grocery store nearby
and give them your pot as a gift


Take your most comfortable armchair
place it in the high street
offer passers by a seat
if they look overwhelmed and down trodden


Take twenty blades of grass
sew them together
and wear them as a necklace


Make a washing line out of blades of grass
wait under a tree for the leaves to drop
and hang them from the washing line


Wake up early in the morning open the window
and listen to the birds
ask them if they would like to
share your breakfast


Wake up early again
open the window
and listen to the birds
ask them politely
where they are going next

Name:

thoughts on my love......

your eyes
see through me
like pins

your eyelashes
incline
like
cotton wool
feathers

our lips touch
like sandpaper

you move
towards me
as if
walking on
glass

you look
at me
and our eyes
touch like a
heated quarrel

your voice
strokes me
like a company of
clocks

your breath
envelopes me
like folded paper

you write your name
on my heart
with your finger nails

Name:

Plan A


A photo of you with your hands on your hips will be broadcast on television. It's thought that the vast majority of people will watch it. That's our prediction. Results from other predictions we've made show that we're generally spot-on. The image will be screened exactly five minutes before your death and taken off air five minutes after your death. That's right: a total running time of ten minutes.


This t.v. program will only happen if you sign the release form. If you do not sign then it won't happen, you have our sober word on that. Once you sign, we will work flat out to put the finishing touches to the broadcast so that it can be screened on the exact moment it is needed. None of us know how much time we have to play with here, we only expect the worst so as to be ready.


You are the only person that we will offer this to. Frankly, nobody else deserves such an honor. I don't deserve such an honor, my girlfriend doesn't deserve such an honor, my mother doesn't deserve such an honour, nobody deserves such an honor, except your good self.


You've got to trust us, the photo is a lovely one. We will never be able to show you the picture for legal reasons. That may seem like a pain to you but honestly there's no need for you to see it. It is a great snap, not the best, admittedly, but still, great nevertheless.


The image will rotate (clockwise) for the first five minutes and then remain stationary for the second five minutes, during which time it will, unfortunately, have come to rest in an upside down position. That anomaly displeases us but we are incapable of obtaining the technology required to do anything about it. We've tried our very best. Perhaps in the years to come (during your lifetime) the technology will become available, in which case we will work ceaselessly to have it in place for the broadcast. On a more positive note you may pick any musical accompaniment you want. We can set up a meeting with a musical adviser if you feel you only have limited knowledge about the way music has developed over the last two hundred years. We would be thrilled if you choose a piece by Karlheinez Stockhausen or someone of that ilk. We do frown on guitars and any sort of even slightly repetitive drumming. That is something we do abhor, and with good reason.


Should we mistakenly run the program early, for example during a time of bleak illness, we will all (the entire staff) apologise to you in person, during which time we will offer you Plan B. Plan B is not something we can offer to you now as an option. Plan B is a fantastic proposition and has absolutely nothing to do with your death, or with television. It is something we would need another quick signature from you to carry out. I seriously doubt that Plan B will happen. As I've said, our predictions are particularly accurate. It's a shame Plan B won't happen because it truly is a undiluted squirt of scintillating joy. It was Plan A for a while. Then we had an emergency meeting and changed our minds three times.


If all goes to plan and we put the program on at the correct time then we will no doubt experience a terrible, sickening grief as soon as it finishes. In this case, success means depression. We will be completely lost as to what to do without you. Some of us may want to kill ourselves. Hopefully, if you sign the release form, you will also write us a letter which we will pin on cork notice boards everywhere the day after your death. The letter will say sweet things which only your mind could possibly conceive, things which remind us to struggle on towards moments of fresh, forgotten happiness, towards lifting the type of jaunty smile which you raise, the very sort that will be impossible for us to produce on that day.

Name:

20 Sugars



I tracked down Peter Stringfellow's milk teeth.
It took a while, but I managed to get the complete set.
They weren't quite white.
I put them in the dishwasher, in the cutlery basket.
When the wash was finished I opened it up and the teeth had vanished.
They'd gone down a pipe.
I rang a plumber and he said he could only fit me into his diary on the 18th.
I couldn't wait for the 18th.
I ended up calling about fifteen plumbers.
They all had busy schedules.
So I just had to wait.
Time past by slowly but eventually the 18th came along.
I was literally trembling with excitement.
The plumber arrived and I offered him a cup of tea.
He asked for five sugars.
I had no idea if he was joking or being serious.
I put five sugars in.
He ended up having four cups of tea.
That's twenty sugars.

Name:

arterial a blood red skein
limps along the surface of the river
juddering under its swollen pull
miserly heron hunches
flecked shoulders
grey against the glacial sky
the neck snakes low
searching toes straighten
and the beelike body
drops into the draught
as the blood red skein
tugged by limpet lips
limps along the surface of the river

Name:

Me, We

Us, Them

Name:

Phone Conversation (eevryday poetry)

Yeah?
No.
No, mate.
What, you want me to pick you up?
No, no, no problem.
Honestly.
YES.
Ok, see you in a minute.
Bye.
Bye.

Name:

A Murderous Affair

All of me is beaten up
and numbed by love

all of me is turned in
and found out.

My mind's taxi is called
as usual it arrives late

and takes the long way
the body shocked clear

of it's sexual wreckage
by a fascist cabby's chat.

All of me is beaten up
and numbed by love,

all of me is let out
and over charged.

I moved my peace
to the wrong place

my beginners luck
ran out screaming

what the holy fuck
did you say?

Man, you've just
blown your last tip!

Then I popped him
with my hot Glock.

a racist head for once
looking beautiful in red

and what do you know
and what do you care

if my fingers have
found love again

beneath the powder burns
all of me turned into new

and what would you do
would you turn me in

or would you become
my new loves accomplice.


John G.Hall(c)2005

Name:

Alberquerque-
---

Whilst the burning rough
was deemed to be through,
the dark embers of sanity
curled and twisted that pale city.

But what of the noble?
The treacherous hunter
of winter and ember
returned to the embers

that plagued him at birth.

Name:

The time came when he had to sell. So he went
back to where he had come from.
He returned with a crew. They took all of her. They
wanted to take more. They underpaid.
Cheap.
He put what was left of her in a shopping trolley.
The night. The stairs. The humiliation.
A lifetime later they meet again. And discuss why
he had decided to sell her.

Name:

fibrous on the rivers cistern
westminster rises
like tannery teeth
breaching the lip of the stream.
any hard knock to the chains,
a rogue boar riding our complancency
will suck london down and away.

the thames path is barren in town
no banks of grass strewn with lovers detritus
nowt but gum and reams of municipal concrete
gobbling the skyline
blanketing the shore
concealing shoals of silver
bellied shopping trollies
in tarmac black shadows.

the waters minor tune surges,
slaps and heaves
beneath a halo of disorderly pigments
pixel crumbs cast amoungst the bridges
murky variations of death and malice
lending a hypnotic limp, a sweetheart deceit
to the current that whispers step in sleep head
let me wash it all away

this channel has consumed
a thousand pain etched faces
the victims, the tired,
the treacherous, the lonely
and tonight i can see how easily you'd go
a wrong footed sway against the gap
and be bound to the loose limbed eddies
of the rivers urging thirst.

Name:

addicted to the truth,something to be happy about.


every face
a pleasure garden
every body a tomb.

eyes shut
mostly asleep
we walk.

not knowing
its so near
and empty.

Name:

home

home, my home
my arms are heavy
heavy as stones

home, my home
thoughts lucid
acute angles
dispute diffraction

home, my home
this war is wrong
i drink to peace
i drink to forget

forget my home

Name:

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