Dead Poets Society

Dear Generation

nobody@vox.com(Kay Furano) — Wed, 18 Nov 2009 14:33:13 -0800

Dear Generation,

or however you would like to call yourself; after all, you lack a name just as you lack direction. Drowned in the wealth of your ancestors, you pride yourself on the achievements of your forefathers, citing as your greatest victory not the victory over yourself, but over countries you've never set foot in, let alone fought for. Gone are the times of libraries and dances and poems and philosophy; your libraries are homeless shelters, your dances late-night TV shows, your poems advertising slogans and your philosophy materialism. Not the outcasts, the loners, the freedom seekers, are your heroes; you deem them ragged and cling to tin gods of fallen pop starlets and movie stars instead.

Your life is so simple: everything you do or see appears to be directed toward the one purpose that is procreation, from the clothes you see in your local shopping mall to the alleged importance of monetary possessions you are educated to believe. You gorge on careerist idols and regurgitate domestic ideals, are encouraged to fabricate flawless families and machinate your own mediocrity.

In this light, your life is equally complicated. What it is you are toiling for you are not really sure, but under the pretense that the familiar is superior to the unknown, you live with neither explanation nor purpose. You not only march in the suffocating shadow of the bourgeoisie you yourself have created, but worship it mindlessly as the ultimate "thing-in-itself". You define your value not, as you like to claim, by who you are, but by who others think you are.

Please Generation, switch off that TV, log off that networking site. Put down your diplomas and qualifications for just a second. Satisfaction isn't on the road to anything; satisfaction is the road. The prayers you speak now may seem non-committal, but the sacrifices you will make are human.

K.F.

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Please.. stop eating flesh and teach the whole World about this bloody murders!

nobody@vox.com(Magicrystal) — Sat, 17 Oct 2009 14:38:07 -0700

WE CAN ALL MAKE A WORLDLY DIFFERENCE, FOR THIS BEAUTIFUL GOD'S CREATION
NEXT TIME YOU BUY ANIMAL FLESH THINK AGAIN... YOU ARE EATING AN ANIMAL WHO
WAS KILLED IN THE WORST WAYS YOU CAN THINK AND SUFFER AND FELT THE PAIN.
THEY ARE HUMAN TOO AND THEY DO NOT HAVE A VOICE..! BUT YOU DO!
STOP EATING ANIMALS! THEY ARE NOT TO EAT BUT TO LOVE.
PLEASE, HELP THEM TO BE LOVED AND NOT SERVED ON YOUR TABLES.!
OUR BODIES ARE NOT DESIGNED TO EAT FLESH. GOD'S CREATION IS NOT ABOUT BLOOD !

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The Dance - A Chance Meeting

nobody@vox.com(Amorette) — Mon, 13 Jul 2009 22:22:34 -0700

Your move,

a thousand miles away

can shift the paradigm of plastic and digital maze

spinning into course - a spiral - frozen in time

(Destiny)

lingering its icy tentacles

s l o w l y

drippingwithdew -

alas melting the years away and I...

I sway

with the hope of a new request

eager to accept

the 21st century

you

a. 2009

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Vacancy

nobody@vox.com(Al Stravinsky) — Wed, 10 Jun 2009 15:41:13 -0700

Who will send the spinning stones
Across the chaos of the road
To tumble through the slotted jaws of hell?
And who, with perfect measured stride,
Will step upon the other side
Before the killer crow can pass the post
And cast his dread satanic spell?

Who'll enumerate the railings' bars,
Approximate the speed of cars
By counting seconds till they disappear?
Whose finger-snap will always coincide
With kettle switch and - if they've tried -
Old Big Ben's chimes? Who'll conjure rhymes
That split her face from ear to ear?

Who'll tally bricks and estimate
A buildings volume and its weight
And time a rock's descent into the sea?
And who will check the altitude of birds and planes,
The height of trees and weather-vanes
If not me? There's a vacancy...
Oh, and they'll need

A needle eye to unpick the random tapestry
And sew her silhouette into their memory -
A stitch in time saves one -
And a pearly shell to catch her observations,
Gleaming drops of conversation,
Fresh as dew, transparent, true...
Who'll do these things when I am gone?

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Siamese son

nobody@vox.com(Al Stravinsky) — Sat, 07 Mar 2009 08:45:26 -0800

Celtic cross

‘I’ve learnt so much, please listen, son:
Don’t waste your life as I have done,
And don’t lose games you should have won
Because you weren’t prepared.
I fooled around, I missed the bus
And failed to do the obvious,
Now time is up for one of us…
I always was too scared

To put my neck upon the line
- to err was not a mode of mine -
I ummed and ahhed without a spine,
Now learn from my stupidity.
I lacked the nerve, shied from the fight,
I frittered days and squandered nights,
I did what’s easy, not what’s right
And blew each opportunity.

Oh, God, I wish I could go back -
Regret’s a huge ungainly sack
To carry ‘round upon your back,
Especially when you’re old.
Mistakes are light, evaporate
With every new success. Don’t wait
For other souls to choose your fate -
For once, do as you’re told.

I was young, like you, but life is cruel
And hard and quick - I know that you’ll
Not be a disappointment to all
Your family. I’m so sorry…’
‘Thanks, Dad, but it’s too late - I’d be
A better man, but don’t you see
That, Dad, when you die, I do too
For I’m the boy inside of you.’

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'postrophe

nobody@vox.com(Al Stravinsky) — Mon, 01 Jun 2009 08:53:29 -0700

I did my bit to oil the tongue

And make it an informal one,

But if I’d known what I’d begun

I never would have started.

The ‘wi’ from I’ll, the ‘o’ from aren’t

Are AWOL with the ‘no’ from can’t

And e’er again I know I sha’n’t

See letters that departed.

The ‘v’ from ne’er gesticulates

And ‘ha’ from they’ve laughs in my face,

While I - that’s me - hang in their place,

A stitch between incisions.

The b’s’n on the fo’c’s’le stands,

A pile of letters in his hands,

Perplexing lubbers on the land

With five extreme omissions.

The Hilton houses ‘i’ from it’s

While ‘i’ from he’s hides in the Ritz;

I pull together all the bits

They readily deserted.

A crescent moon in lettered sky,

A prick in alphabetty pie,

I turn away, a winking eye

And chaos is averted.

I scratch then scribe the sheet to show

Where absent letters used to go

And thus let everybody know

That something’s missing for my pains.

Contractions brought about my birth,

‘twixt font and grave I’ve shown my worth:

To scatter symbols o’er the Earth

And free them from their paper chains.

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Mechanised Infusion

nobody@vox.com(Celestius) — Sun, 31 May 2009 10:27:57 -0700

Spiraling up, into bubbling captured colours,
fringed upon the daily doldrum
of never day,
cased inside a window
...aglow...
screaming profane manners
of etiquette...
a seat for wanderers lost,
tho with a place to be...
who is lost?
Then in wild
visuary collage,
stuck between dreams
within dreams,
you awake
ASLEEP

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Critical

nobody@vox.com(Fiona) — Sat, 06 Dec 2008 20:07:58 -0800

Never going quietly - reflecting truth

You'll feel heard
when there is
nothing left for me
to say

If I take you on
and forget I have
a story too
and my story reads
so much like you

and if I don't resist
will you feel heard?
Will it move us forward
if I take you in

like a snakebite
to the heart
spitting out blood
with the
poison part

Will I survive
will you love
again?

will it save us
if you,
criticize me?

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Eyes Without Faces

nobody@vox.com(Celestius) — Sat, 14 Feb 2009 14:49:17 -0800

There laying unbound among eyes without a face

Looking evermore on, without a trace,

Come hither, a look given, a treat

From the body read, of body heat.

Enter unto, be with and near me

See, watch, watch and see,

Secret desires manifest, and within the moment

The torture, the longing, ever torment.

An escape into the wants, the fever, the luridness

From the eyes without faces, a sweetness,

The distance, too far, O to lay together

Were it not for the place to gather.

Seeking, wanting, to be...so the tender

All the watching, a passion forever,

In the instant, a flash, a photo taken here

The remembrance ever a sweetener.

A silent moment, a secret moment

The voyeuristic tease through the veins sent,

Look I say, watch too, and enjoy

As I lay the night posing, pink in blush...a shy school boy...

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The man behind the rock

nobody@vox.com(Danny) — Wed, 11 Feb 2009 09:13:46 -0800

Life it starts without a goal – needing heroes not a soul

Treason glances, knows no trust – ten years old and on the cusp

Always needed, never grudged – never knowing laughter lush

Feeling hurt and thrown away – always wanting just to play

Learning quickly moral law – pain it sees right through the door

Learning never laughter raw – always finding life’s a saw

Wish that I could speak my thoughts – not hide them in a padlocked draw

Don’t know why I think and feel – then hide away as it gets real

Emotion it’s a horrid thing – leaves me dead like Souron’s ring

Blind to others, thoughts like pins – not a soul, just saggy skin

Where’s the key that locks my heart – window’s open it’s about to start

Love and hate wash through my brain – as I try to clean a mental stain

Green haze swirling in a dream – diviners spirits being mean

Stand up slowly feeling lost – back it’s sticky in a trough

Lost all feeling, no more self – going nowhere, on a shelf

Stood there lonely feeling dead – a wave of thoughts rush through my head

Quickly follows happy thoughts – peaceful feelings, answers sought

Questions, laughter, lonely thoughts – life that knows not what it brought

Look around to see the sun – questions answered, lost a ton

Happy now to seek what’s mine – no more life lived on the line

Now that I have found my soul – I’m free to smile with no toll

Found him sat behind a rock – rocking backwards looking lost

Saw his eyes and held his gaze – stood up smiling, looked amazed

Held my hand and felt his grip – back it straightened, moved his lips

Told me “now that we are friends – no more searching, living trends”

“Life it stretches, feelings blessed – open highways, no more nest”

“No more storms to greet the night – arctic sunshine, summer nights”

“Break a smile, open eyes – laughter rising with a cry”

“Open now to see inside – looking outward with delight”

“Ready now to feel loves might – language healing as a light”

“You are young and you are blessed – now that you have passed the test”

“Life was given make the best – ready now to show your chest”

Walked along a coastal path – it was good to hear him laugh

Looked me in the eyes and said – “see you later, I need rest”

Shook hands smiling, shared a thought – told him I would knock his door

Craned my neck and strained my eyes – watched him walk into the night.

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*Dead Poets Society*

Dear Generation

Please.. stop eating flesh and teach the whole World about this bloody murders!

The Dance - A Chance Meeting

Vacancy

Siamese son

'postrophe

Mechanised Infusion

Critical

Eyes Without Faces

The man behind the rock

Dead Poets Society