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    poetry


    dots Submission Name: The Mind's a Crazy Thingdots
    --------------------------------------------------------





    Author: xaos
    Elite Ratio:    2.73 - 34/54/49
    Words: 668
    Class/Type: Misc/Misc
    Total Views: 2146
    Average Vote:    5.0000
    Bytes: 4545



    Description:
       In memory of Ernest Hemingway who killed himself with his favorite shotgun in a log cabin in Ketcham, Idaho on July 2, 1961.


    Make the font bigger!! Double Spacing Back to recent posts.

    dotsThe Mind's a Crazy Thingdots
    -------------------------------------------


    Sinfully torn between a symphony born of melodic thoughts
    officially sworn to scheme, sinful needs thorn episodic plots
    initially formed by simple beings, worn from periodic haunts
    viscously scorned by simple means born of psychotic taunts,
    neurotic wants, and chaotic flaunts, of mans mental instability
    A detrimental disability of cranial fabrics & general sensibility

    : pen plops down with a thud :

    The mind's a funny thing...
    ...so I humbly sing
    in tune w/ sorrow, consumed...
    ...by a hollow heart
    and express with pen inked...
    ...in a shallow art

    my last impart pressed...
    ...forever in text,
    with the brilliance of a mind...
    ...gone vexed,
    my minds gone & all that's left...
    ...is an empty vessel,

    spilt booze & these lines I've left!

    [ The stench of a liver marinated through a life of drink
    escapes the lips on the tail end of each breath in sync
    with each word he speaks thru his lonesome sorrows
    alone w/ a bottle half smashed off the contents in glass
    a liquid inspiration to bask in his desperation full flask
    were the thirst for life is quenched by the sands of time
    swallowed by brilliant minds scribed on pages of fine
    literature, described by visuals defined by the residual
    effects of absinthe while absent from original context
    melting facets of integrity like faucets of aboriginal text
    flowing forth like ice water tapped from creative veins
    of those who gorge on the flesh of metaphor and pain
    in meadows born of rain where words flower off two-lips
    & tulips shower off moonlit backdrops inked in new script
    a solemn world of bottled booze in smoke filled rooms
    where chasing dragons spark a dance with fire & muse ]

    Burdened as the carpenter
    ...of written word,
    in stammered verse, I'm
    ...hammered first,
    & damned by an aching thirst
    ...like the damned,
    who awaken first under
    ... an ancient curse,
    starved for blood in a world
    ...of bleeding arts,
    the drinking starts at the jugular
    ...of beating hearts,
    like verbal darts I play sharp
    ...games on cork,
    & hit bulls eyes w/ points
    ...well forked,

    in roads paved by words
    ...I've posed,
    as an innovator of prose
    ...& proposed,
    to many a coke bottle shape
    ...now I tremble,
    & shake until I consume
    ...my fill,
    of the venoms I snake
    ...milked from the,
    fangs of a poisonous make
    ...my strike of pen
    is likened to a strike from ten
    ...Saw Scaled Vipers,
    lying in wait, dying to take
    ...the life of men,

    [ A Farewell to Arms? When a double barrel death barrows
    thru thoughts & shattered grey matter splatters on clocks
    just to be mindful of a time before shock therapy primmed
    the shells that eventually blew this mind in a cabin of logs
    rabid like dogs his mouth foamed as he violently twitched
    in a pool of blood as his shotgun crashed on the cold floor
    the blast tore thru his cranial plate & wiped his slate clean
    it's morbidly ironic this iconic symbol's farewell rang out
    by armed means, the death of a true master craftsman
    fashioned by suicide as his passion to write said good night
    and the gleam in his minds eye burned out like candles
    left in the wind, creative juices dried out, theres no doubt
    it's curtain call, time to put an end to all that hurts him raw
    so he pours one last drink past quivering lips on a face
    soon to be ripped off & puts the glass down by the last page
    of the memoirs he's passed down... ]

    : thunderous blast :

    The mind's a funny thing...
    ...so I humbly sing
    in tune w/ sorrow, consumed...
    ...by a hollow heart
    and express with pen inked...
    ...in a shallow art

    my last impart pressed...
    ...forever in text,
    with the brilliance of a mind...
    ...gone vexed,
    my minds gone & all that's left...
    ...is an empty vessel,

    spilt booze & these lines I've left!




    Submitted on 2006-05-16 20:59:31     Terms of Service / Copyright Rules
    Submissions: [ Previous ] [ Next ]

    Rate This Submission

    1: >_<
    2: I dunno...
    3: meh!
    4: Pretty cool
    5: Wow!




    ||| Comments |||
      This is amazing....you write with an intensity Hemingway himself would be jealouse of...i hate the w/ in it though it takes from this....this is an ode to a great writer and you cant even spell out with.....sorry if that was harsh but it is just something that bothers me.....like i said this poem is perfect in every way but that.....i cant even make myself re read it becouse of it ...im sorry i am just one person of the many out there and could be the only person in the world this bugs but i had to let you know.
    | Posted on 2006-05-17 00:00:00 | by Amanda Lynn | [ Reply to This ]
      This piece reveals such a brilliant collaberation of both the lyrical metaphors, and the historical facts of the man who committed to homocide.
    Alone in a world he took his life, ah yes, the mind is a funny thing. The formatting was unique as you had sections that where gathered and others that were spread. In a sense it had a story theme to it, as if you were the narrorator. I thought this was excellant, I learned a few things in reading this.
    -Favs. ad
    | Posted on 2006-05-17 00:00:00 | by SavedDragon | [ Reply to This ]


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    Be kind, take a few minutes to review the hard work of others <3
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