I Come To Topix Especially To Read Po...

I Come To Topix Especially To Read Posts By

Created by Lucys_Fur_Coat on Jan 28, 2011

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Noah Vail

CatMomDu

stacked and proud

Sweetie-Pie

Marissa2

Hippichick

Purple Gurl

Adrian DeVine

Any Troll I Can Copy

Write In

“ROCK ON ROCKERS!!”

Level 8

Since: Mar 11

Rockin' USA ;)

#3740 Dec 22, 2012
stacked and proud wrote:
<quoted text>
hay CC ..... i am still here......
how are you sweetness?? good i hope......??
WHEW!!! Thank Goodness.
Hey, stacked let's round up all the ROCKIN' Offbeat chicks and go to a Day spa what' cha think??? Oh, Adrian has some poetry circling these threads.. check it out..Okay! Yeah, I know we must be careful NOT to Email him..BUT we can Read his poems..NOT like we are cheating on our Stud muffins.. Ha-ha!
.

Level 8

Since: Jun 08

Location hidden

#3741 Dec 22, 2012
Colorado Chick wrote:
<quoted text> WHEW!!! Thank Goodness.
Hey, stacked let's round up all the ROCKIN' Offbeat chicks and go to a Day spa what' cha think??? Oh, Adrian has some poetry circling these threads.. check it out..Okay! Yeah, I know we must be careful NOT to Email him..BUT we can Read his poems..NOT like we are cheating on our Stud muffins.. Ha-ha!
.
lol....... well a spar day sounds wonderful to me..... i could do with a good back rub... and a facial...

thanks for the heads up on the poetry ... i will ......

have a wonderful christmas chick..... and an even better new year....:)
Amazin Gracie

United States

#3742 Dec 22, 2012
stacked and proud wrote:
<quoted text>
lol....... well a spar day sounds wonderful to me..... i could do with a good back rub... and a facial...
thanks for the heads up on the poetry ... i will ......
have a wonderful christmas chick..... and an even better new year....:)
What you looking for someone to scratch your balls?
Sweetie-Pie

United States

#3743 Dec 22, 2012
Uh-oh !
Anonymous

The Gap, Australia

#3744 Dec 22, 2012
Luggage like history, like stories you carried
that said something about the places you were willing, and unwilling to go.
Luggage like roadmaps, like stop signs.
Luggage like loss, like yearning.
Luggage like weather, the sky a continuous unfolding into gray and storm, wind that would uproot trees, leave the fields flattened.
Luggage like the home you never bought,
the ring you never wore, the child
you never had. Luggage like the missed foul shot
and the final game of the season.
Luggage like an empty tank, and you driving on regardless.
Luggage like the wounds you were dealt by love,
unsuspecting as you lay yourself bare for more.
Luggage like broken. Luggage like dead.
Luggage like a tumor lodged in the middle of a spine that insisted on bending through the pain.
Luggage like family, like lack of family, like too much and not enough.
Luggage like bad directions and threadbare and absent.
Hereís what I am carrying, what you are carrying
despite ourselves, despite everything we want to forget.
And yet the moment I come to you with all that rawness and wrong,
I know nothing will keep you from seeing what I hope and have always hoped to be seen.
The simple fact of this body reaching out, just wanting to be held.
Anonymous

The Gap, Australia

#3745 Dec 23, 2012
When the last seat is taken,
or the key has trapped in the lock,
when the rain has eviscerated your garden,
or your words have run out one by one.
When the packing is half-finished, or traffic
keeps you from your purpose,
when the bright white of your day
has paled and pixilated.
When the grocery bag rips coming up the stairs,
when the telephone bill shocks
and then flounders you,
when love has flown off course,
when your nails are ragged and wanton,
when the runway is slick and the sky sodden.
When the ache for something nameless
fans out into your bones,
when you're hungry, or lost or in need of a hand
across your eyelashes.
When itís deadline or dilemma
or just you tripping on the stained carpet of your trouble,
begin here.

Place one leaden, obstinate foot
where you can see it.
Gather your maniacal breath,
your little windbags of lungs.
Eye only the square of sidewalk a blink away,
that quadrant of concrete mottled with the dirty
evidence of living,
and go.

When the manual for whatís broken
has been misplaced, when the view is obscured
by a restless construction site,
when your closet is an echo of castoffs.
When the bridge toll climbs and the road
down the mountain is pummeled with snow,
when your face bears little resemblance
to the person you remember,
when the field is populated with abler bodies,
when poems have been written by nimbler souls,
when no amount of squinting
delivers oasis, begin here.

Guide your defeated arms
into a small fit of swinging.
Coerce your hips into the barest
shimmy. Locate the pocket of a single,
deserted minute, its hum of insignificance,
and go.

When cheer cannot cheer you,
when crumbs cannot feed you,
when the storage space in the garage
topples from the weight.
When beauty eludes you,
when the weatherman confirms your fear,
when the doctor bears his wild news.
When you return to the bad habit,
when the current continues its brutal tackle,
when mess is your middle name,
begin here.

Climb onto your weary haunches. Lift your belly
from its mattress cave. Initiate the wholly
unremarkable act of breathing, and go.

When you have had enough.
When you have had too much.
When your fortress has not kept away the enemy,
and the walls are an abscess of rubble.
Do not fling yourself from the gangplank.
Do not hasten your disappearance
with your own cruelty.
Do not mask your ferocity with a collage of good manners.

The deathís door of your failure
is still a door.
Wrap your shaking fist around the handle.
Hear the cricket click of the latch.
And begin.
Anonymous

The Gap, Australia

#3746 Dec 23, 2012
I have a bubble
of music
swelling inside:
the silent walls,
the cold
structures of silence.

It is a tiny
flame of sound,
a flickering leap
upon the smooth
slabs of concrete.

I saw the snow
today fall
like an army of silent
white deaths.

And I wanted
to join its
fragile thaw.

I feel.
A minor chord
aches,
yes it resonates,
inside a minor heart.

I pressed down
decadently on
the piano keys.

The dark is draped with echo.

Level 8

Since: Jun 08

Location hidden

#3747 Dec 23, 2012
Amazin Gracie wrote:
<quoted text>What you looking for someone to scratch your balls?
well LARRY ..... you would know all about balls.......

i see the name i gave you has stuck....... funny tho.... i didn't think i had that much of an influence on people.....
Anonymous

The Gap, Australia

#3748 Dec 23, 2012
An animal without thinking of hands opens a cave of innocence.

It sleeps without the weight of tomorrow, like a burning match.

The other animals are heavy with knowledge, spinning like kaleidoscopes of fat.

My ideal self is a plant, surrounded on every side by invisible expanses of solitude.

Sometimes it could think, but always to negate.

It will say: these petals have not changed the world.

And it will sway and tremble in a monotonous wind.

If the world is a vessel sinking irrevocably into forgetfulness, there is no real distinction of types.

These beings we see, or imagine and sometimes become have no name.

Like thistles with nameless thorns. Like music with blind hours.

Like blood without the river of taste.

I see the fur and claws submerging; the animal does not struggle.

It drowns like a bean in water.

But I still donít know if in a glass, an ocean or in eternity.
Anonymous

The Gap, Australia

#3749 Dec 23, 2012
I am cold
cobblestoned shivers
funerary lights
begin to flicker
the day is dying
the roads clear
Iím feeling as old
as this twilight
an old harlequin
that has thrown away
his ecstasy
downtown by the fountain
youth is still pure as jagged rock
but there is still passion in me
lust for hydrants and their impassive
shadows
zest for the ripples dust engraves
in the puddle at my feet
a sort of love
for the stoic repose of third-floor
windows
that air is rich in smoke
the day is agonizing
Iím sitting on a bench
as if waiting for the miracle
of an old hand offering
me a sip of wine
perhaps then I can return
to the old delirious evenings
of unrecorded
and forgotten acts......we had.
Anonymous

The Gap, Australia

#3750 Dec 23, 2012
Iím certain
she is unaware
how she imitates the overture
of the clouds
in her careless short hairdo

I gave her a clue
both our leather clothes
resemble the pallor
of the asphalt

I wonder
if she is aware
that everything has begun
to drown
even the light,

her breasts
leaving marks
as streaks from petals
in the transiting void

I must avoid
telling her
beauty
is a curtain
that must be drawn open
to reveal our fractured clay

I say
she is oblivous
as a succulent fruit
painted by this artist
who wants
to eat her.
Anonymous

The Gap, Australia

#3751 Dec 23, 2012
If time had a sound
it would be the dark
arpeggio of a rusty guitar
and Iím unsure
why I chose a metaphor
for time
or why that image
should enter this poem
but Iíve been sitting here
not expecting anything
not certain of what to look forward to
all along
kinda swaying with
the wasting of every minute
almost audibly humming
to the repetitive chords
of this imaginary guitar
that someone couldíve picked up
along the way
to fill in the gap
the silent void
that sweeps through
the years.
Anonymous

The Gap, Australia

#3752 Dec 23, 2012
What do I have
a book
and no convictions ?

perhaps
all I have is
this:
exiting a subway station
going up the steps
squeezed between
too many pedestrians
I hear every shoe
scrape against the cement
and stare at the spit
of punkasses
frozen at -13 Celsius

a night that howls
like a monster
but does not eat me
steps
aimless steps
driven mad......

like the man
without a thought
that laughs
at the joke
of
eternity.
Anonymous

The Gap, Australia

#3753 Dec 23, 2012
I am no longer immersed
somewhat buried or submerged
but closely tied or floating
with those immediate things we call by words
I am that I am
my most irrelevant philosophy
closest to the light bulb
the breath on my nostril
to the plan and the hope
I am abstractedly here
together with the contents of plain reality
since I have nothing to say
I stare directly at the center of objects
yes, they are there
and I havenít yet said anything in particular,
however close I feel
to the intellectual assumption
we like to nickname
the world
my words seem abandoned
like the stone someone else
kicked aside
down the thorny bushes
of something else.
Anonymous

The Gap, Australia

#3754 Dec 23, 2012
Burn to crumbs

to infernal to love to

agony to evaporation

to rebirth to a thousand human

screams to another

to another vision

to another of all possible worlds

burn with anger

dare to bring collapse

collective shield of cowardice

be alone to be silent

to restart to reformulate

to negate all to remake all

from alas to alas

perish world by world

planet after planet

sun to sun

ignite! ignite!

ignoble race, ignite!

to hate to love again

to die to be reborn

ignite immortal missioners

to purge heights and abysses

unite in the fire

ignite in invisible apotheosis

from plight to undreamt of

lifeÖ......... begin!
Anonymous

The Gap, Australia

#3755 Dec 23, 2012
I have one penny of certainty,
to buy a glimpse of sky.
Then hunger and reckless
vortex of night.

Mankind is as sweet
as a machineís ambition.
I am the bitter cog.

But allow something like a flower
to grow from this
stump of philosophy.
A fragrance or hope,
a whiff of purpose.

To suffer is a fortune,
and pleasure a Pyrrhic victory.

When I lay paint
on the canvas, I press
hard all the colors
towards a grey pact.

There was once
bright red love,
cold blue thought,
intense yellow joy,
dark green solitude.

Today the mess
is grey and this totality
cannot be undone.

I carry this enterprise
of chaos towards a prism;
perhaps if reflected
far beyond the senses,
this senselessness,
will make sense.
Anonymous

The Gap, Australia

#3756 Dec 23, 2012
I found the shadow
carpeted with ache

I couldnít leave the
island of my skin

unable to break and free
as a sky without zenith,

I sunk into a low and blue tear

then morning hung as the
erotic fluvial voice

this mouth is a gash
that never heals thrusting


verbs as blood
in the bloating thought

I look down to find my shape
covered in otherness

I was there alloyed
with the world

like the ťlan
and heart together

in immeasurable desire.
Anonymous

The Gap, Australia

#3757 Dec 26, 2012
Here is the House to hold me -- cradle of all the race;

Here is my lord and my love, here are my children dear --

Here is the House enclosing, the dear-loved dwelling place;

Why should I ever weary for aught that I find not here?

Here for the hours of the day and the hours of the night;

Bound with the bands of Duty, rivetted tight;

Duty older than Adam -- Duty that saw

Acceptance utter and hopeless in the eyes of the serving squaw.

Food and the serving of food -- that is my daylong care;

What and when we shall eat, what and how we shall wear;

Soiling and cleaning of things -- that is my task in the main --

Soil them and clean them and soil them -- soil them and clean them again.

To work at my trade by the dozen and never a trade to know;

To plan like a Chinese puzzle -- fitting and changing so;

To think of a thousand details, each in a thousand ways;

For my own immediate people and a possible love and praise.

My mind is trodden in circles, tiresome, narrow and hard,

Useful, commonplace, private -- simply a small back-yard;

And I the Mother of Nations!-- Blind their struggle and vain!--

I cover the earth with my children -- each with a housewife's brain.

“goodbye topix”

Level 5

Since: Jun 12

Im not here

#3758 Dec 26, 2012
"Sweetie pie" + aliases. Ha, yeh! on the mark and right on the ball with the 1 liners + the contrasting sock posts. She nails it.
And the troll fests cliquing like here + other forums. Its a sock riot!
Come on who likes the kissy kissy az more than bitchit?

“ROCK ON ROCKERS!!”

Level 8

Since: Mar 11

Rockin' USA ;)

#3759 Dec 26, 2012
The Sock Puppet Theater...

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