This is a thread for any members to share any short stories/poems/editorial comments. I guess you might have to be wary of us stealing from you, but if that was the case, we have it all documented here with time stamps, etc. I'm not up to starting yet because I have to proofread my daughter's Theodore Roosevelt report, but I'll check back soon enough.

P. S. Poems don't have to rhyme!

I used to love to wright creative writing and poetry when I was younger. I havent written anything recently though. If I remember something I wrote or find something somewhere I will post it.

I love creative writing (though I'm not amazing at it or anything). It's so much more fun to do, and, in my opinion, fun to read, but in school we write boring fact filled essay after boring fact filled essay. It's no fun at all. You'd think they could at least offer creative writing as an easy elective where kids can relax, write, and develop their talents.

I like this idea of this forum because I like to read but not to write that much. I suck at writing anyway. Hopefully there will be masterpieces here

In college, I wrote this kick-ass dramatic monologue, complete with the perfect rhyme scheme and written in iambic pentameter, and it was based on this scary-as-hell story that I heard about Griffith Park (in LA). So I give it to my girlfriend at the time to read (at her urging), and she gave it a luke-warm response. Since then, I generally don't like to share my creative writing. However, if I can find that poem, I'll share it with you guys...

Oooh...this is MY kind of thread. Here's where I post my writing and art and such... http://www.eccentro.deviantart.com some of it sucks so dont be TOO critical but any comments would be greatly appreciated (and if it does suck go ahead and tell me).

OK, I'm sorry I've been such a ninny, but since no one else has carried the weight for me, I'll post the first poem. It's not very good, and I wrote it in five minutes, but I do believe it's legit. Forgive me, up front, and I look forward to reading yours.

The future never looked so bright
As it did on that moonlit night
But ever since that damned eclipse
I miss the tough and tender of your lips

Please come back
Don't keep things so dark
You know I'm not a hack
You know it is no lark

The world is still ours
If not for all-time, then for at least some hours
You know I need you honey baby, honey child
So why should you play me, let's get wild

I guess I need to wake up
'Cause there's no way in Hell we'll make up
Our lives together still have a chance
But only if we in our bed still dance

This message has been edited. Last edited by: mark f,

Garden of Eden

the result of a strong stare - and the way she moved her mouth
meshing to make the funds for a self-supporting system

*(serpents digging at holes-bearing forbidden fruits-winding down trees-on her knees-bathing in spilt seed and then)*

"ME? im not about to spoil the fun.." but the squeezing starts around your skull- you twist kick and tumble while temperatures change and a sweet deal is made -with her legs spread-the doctor says 'atta' girl'
GO GET EM!...like dirty laundry down a chute...
"see that light down there? at the end of the tunnel? imagine that!yourdeadasyourlungsinhalethatfirstbreath.

-i want to go back-

brought up from the gut and a violent shake- waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa
i say i say i say i want to go back

take it easy baby! take another breath! its been a bad day, so take a nap... ah it doesn't get much better than this, get it while you can- hope means try try again......(the sting of piss between your legs, a glimpse of potential hostility)

Looking longly back and back at the bulbous vulva you give the Great Sigh...the band begins to play and you hear her croon:

"oh you won't get me, little boy, you'll take and addiction. run any risk. fuck anything and love every god to have those precious prenatal moments again...but guess what?

you will never get back here

no matter how hard you try

the joke is on you ...

get it?

hear that bassline?
hear those piano keys?
thats the abandonment boogie and they are playing your song sucker
...better learn to dance"


and after many more arrangements, you get the hint
searching for those wonderful stop signs of defection
found only in another living being...

an understanding.

a soft complexion

warm milk
.
oh god
.
she's undressed

look into my eyes

a strong stare

the way you move your mouth

im home home home

This message has been edited. Last edited by: Ayman,

Happiness is a great big bowl of jell-0

pppppp p p ppl
ppeople who fall often.....
what often happens is...
.t-they
get. . .
sores
thingss.like.sores
yeah.yeah.yeah.
sores.
just.
sores.
and they pick at themmmmmm
people pick at these sores
until they arenno more
...not the sores..
the people. . .
.. no more person left to pick
see...
one scab. and. ..aaaaanoder scab. and
...its. simpl.. its simple math
more is less
...
more you fall...
more scabs
...less happpinessss
you are less. and ff fast

..buut but i godgooot
i got
in my defense... i got
foff fonzies leather. . .
..hates and/or helmets...
threethreescarfs and a first aid kit
.... . .....i sit
in my f fffffffffirst floor rorooom
still as cement. i have nnno regrets

its a b its a bea b b....
its a bbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbb. its a beabeabeau beau....its a bbbbbbbbbbits bbbbb
its a bea b b ....
...........its beautiful!

breakfast, june 10th, 2002


in ivory walls lay my tomb.
thick with hungers hunting for..
the shapeless and shifting face of god...

dream trapping. dream gutting.
oh and its Monday Morning!

waiting in the bowels of my bed
waiting patiently for : breakfast...

its reason enough to find strength to stretch out all the kinks and emotional fatalities suffered from the night before..
..Now and the last forever minutes, I exaggerate every crimson limb
...and wonder what i died for...
...wonder what's for breakfast...
....and if i'll ever make it down there.

its reason enough to find myself pushing the bottoms of my being into the floor
to a great big bowl of peach pits and/or apple cores
sipping flavored waxes through plastic straws...
consuming sun shine
crunching away the numbers
needed to satisfy my daily value

oh...
...And I Feel So Human,
A Desire To Decompose
To Be All Again, And So On and so on
And so on and son on and soon sosso snonsnosnososoonssszzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

I found this interesting...tried writing farther on it, and found myself nowhere special. However, heres the first few lines I wrote that got me going. I also wrote a bit more about a vase my character purchased that was chipped, so he busted it into small pieces and put it back together with superglue, far more beautiful than the factory had created it... sorry in advanced for my semi-uninspired writing. Though original...hard to swallow. *ahem*



I tried to create myself through my home.Every shelf compliments my general character. From my kitchen with the sturdy bowls that resemble my tough spirit. To the nude art in my living room... this particularly moans softness, the compassion which I have for everyone. I pot my plants within far too much soil, they sit in the corners of every room with special heat lamps to each of them. I make sure that the dirt is always moist and mindfully deep, like I am. Some would call me vein for my metaphoric home, but most do not know.
The walls are intentionally dark, for when I feel the need to stare at them, I sink into the harrowing flatness, mostly agitated or angry. I usually leave my shower dripping, the noise comforts me in the silence of my room. However, obviously the liquids that fall mimic myself. Alone, I cry. Not for any reason. But I prefer not to talk to people, and people stare at me strangely. When I arrive each day, I clean, and then cry.

slow to perfection. im very impressed.

Wolves for the wind, bears for our love. Worth your
weight in dead.

Swimming laps in seas of girl-fried-poole water. A
naturale amatuer. a great sense of timing. Suck in
that gut -applause and laughter.

Tasting Summer salts with sister bear. Letting down
town for Ice Cream, to splash in the swimming hole.
Hope? Sure, why not. but please share.


Shorty-fatty-black and white-plastered-breasts. Dear
Princess Charming: Your glass don't even have a table
to stand on.

Sometimes i think your half an orange. And im an
apple rotted to its core.

You be an angery whisper. Ill be yesterdays soggy
paper.

Together: lets be still.

My girlfriend is a sloppy, chewed-up chew toy. We hike
up mountains and make fun of the great blue sky-
stretched.

Wolves for the movies. Whales for the dead.

your red pregnant belly is slow to
perfection. Not yet time for a nap.


The sound of apple jazz. Natural fantasies. A welcome
mat to a room full of fools gold. Slouching to pat
your own back.

Rejoy, lebat-o. Clean lines.
This Modern Feels a bit Cold. Like war. agreed?

A life in design, why would you ever redefine the
color blue?

Go Sparkle my guts across a field of fingertips. Go
Lay my bones end to end at the top of a brilliant sea.
Driftingdriftingdrifting. go. going. gone. forever.


Lazy, jealous bear, pay no mind to your children and
day pains. Blow in my dripping nose.
Cub.ba.hubba.Bubba. Set sail.Comb the grounds. Keep
delicate, bright, but like a bull. Eye contact -hit
the sack. For the month of, and those around: december.

And Us Cubs Will Smile as long as we have each other and time.
Slow to perfection, mother bear, your
pregnant belly should be my indefinite nap.

oh, but im out of love
with my lover. face buried in mammas lap. a lap-a-lapa lapping my way home, back.

This message has been edited. Last edited by: Machols,

there.
pressed against the glass door of romance.
naked. aroused. defenseless

that night through the window
the spotting of a single versed rose
a gust of wind
a wondering glance
in her eyes
a guest
a reflection
for a second
for a chance
he was hers
and they kissed
as in eskimoes
as in forever

at the entrance
severe insecurities
nothing more than
reluctance
Nervousness
Nothing. More than
Loves trance
Its ok .calm down.
Stop sweating.
Catch her eyes.
and ask her to dance.

there beneath a star-crossed sky was an adoration
for excitement and the pressure of chance
the two of them swayed holding hands
soaking in the alarm of each others sweat
the awkward movements of a first affection
casually became missed as they eventually left
baring way to the droning song and its careless steps
consummed by the number of routine
a monotony anxious of assortment

he said he was in love with her
he would say it twice again
kissing the space between her eyes
everynight before he stepped
into his own company
swearing he always will be

while she laid on soft blankets
dreaming of the colors
on his face and that uncertain look
of concern (does she ..?)
(does he .. ?) he would reassuringly
shade away any and all doubts by placing his hand
directly above her heart and carelessly
count the ways she was his everything
...one way to every one finger

for her, looking back it feels like a fist

an arsenol of hands
a view so listless

to excuse differences
the descision
was his

she never knew
he thought it was getting late


he had her in everyway
together they had all the time in the world
but they never had themselves

you could know they'd exist forever
no one ever thought they should die
those things like death
only happen to things that are alive

I left my poetry analysis skills behind when I switched from English to Philosophy, but I like both of your pieces, Machols. I don't know what the mean, but I like the flow of both of them. They've got a T.S. Eliot vibe that I like.

Thanks pE, I appreciate that.

there are, however, five pieces of mine on here. (ayman)

They are...3, 4 years old? they came in fits, when i was heavy into sex, drugs, and exercise. So that might explain why you found them a bit impenetrable.

I will say, in re-reading them, even after so much time has passed, i haven't yet 'deleted' them like i do with everything i have posted here. I read them now and don't feel all that silly.

all play along the theme of 'learning to dance':

"Looking longly back and back at the bulbous vulva you give the Great Sigh...the band begins to play and you hear her croon:

"oh you won't get me, little boy, you'll take and addiction. run any risk. fuck anything and love every god to have those precious prenatal moments again...but guess what?

you will never get back here

no matter how hard you try

the joke is on you ...

get it?

hear that bassline?
hear those piano keys?
thats the abandonment boogie and they are playing your song sucker
...better learn to dance"

This message has been edited. Last edited by: Machols,

Dear God,

Well, why dont you.......
hold your breath and listen...........

Your will has made it.
((HARD NOT TO LAUGH))

Well, why dont you Hold Your Breath
two days before tomorrow...
Oh?
IHAVENOPATIENCEFORYOURGASPS

....and where will you be when there exists a silence?

...................and where will you be when silence is past?

ok I thought I might as well contribute.

The Waiting Room

An endless lake of comfy chairs
Pictures perched on It’s banks
This is the waiting room
I am here. I am waiting.
The encased lightbulbs are the stars in this sky.
The receptionist our god who art in here.
This is the waiting room
We are both here. We are both waiting.
Beyond the doors infinity upon infinity expands there
Opportunities lost among the jungles of corridors and ‘This way’ signs
This is the waiting room
We are all here. We are all waiting.
But what for? This question had never presented it self to me before.
What lies beyond the jungle? What was before the entrance doors?
This is the waiting room
One more is here. One more is waiting.
I stand up. Blazed eyes, I cast around me.
Fishing in this lake for another.
This is the waiting room
They will always be here. They will always be waiting.
Probing among the masses upon masses. I searched and succeeded.
There were others, here, I wasn’t alone.
THIS IS THE WAITING ROOM
YOU WILL ALWAYS BE HERE. YOU WILL ALWAYS BE WAITING.
We gathered by the coffee pot tree.
Twenty dozen of us maybe. There was a chance.
THIS. IS. THE. WAITING. ROOM.
SIT DOWN AND WAIT YOUR TURN.
Tired and undernourished we charged.
We made for the jungle. We made for the way out.
This is the waiting room
This is the waiting room
This is the waiting room
Nothing more than a voice in the breeze.

When I get writer's block on papers or projects I just free write. Here's some from this fall:

You dreamt while I lived and was made raw. You are like the birds and I am like the sea. Covering the great distances you move effortlessly. My tide goes in and out slowly. You can move here and there to get what you want and stay with what you want. I have vast space, but I can’t go where you go. If you loved me you’d have to return to me and if I loved you I’d have to let you go.

Come east old woman. We’ll swim by the sea and drink salt water. Dreamt of you last night when I was pierced between the eyebrows. Try to buy my love and we’ll both go bankrupt. Help me or let me go if you want. Brilliant and witty, that woman who won’t give up on me. Luscious eyes and sparkling lips sent me in your direction.

I'm writing what i like to call a novella right now, maybe ill post some of it when i'm done

I'm attenpting to apply to Choate's Summer Film Conservatory. The application requires a 5-minute filmd idea. I'm putting still in brainstorm mode so any input would be fantastic. This is what I have thus far. It's a pretty rough outline.

"Anarchy at the Gates" ???


It opens in this abstract first-person view:

Lights bleed neon blood (see: http://www.deviantart.com/deviation/13929331/)

Storefronts are made out in the smog. Take-out Chinese. Pawn -Slash- Car Stereo.

The camera stumbles. Someone should probably fix the potholes. They have enough tax money.

Stumble turns unbalanced and the camera lands on the granite--horizantally fixated on a series of construction cones. A subtle heart beat is heard. And perhaps breathing. But we dont want to over do it.

Some car lights come screaming from the distance a la http://www.deviantart.com/

Quick Cut To: White

http://www.wsu.edu/~ryanj/tfp/watermelon-boom.jpg

Fade Out.

That's the opening. Credits. Whatnot. Surreal. Imagery is vivid. We know someone just got hit by somekindof moving vehicle. We see the face lying sheeplike on the street right before it becomes a smashed watermelon.

Fade in.

The face walks down a lonely corridor. Maybe a very bleak college dorm hallway.

A series of greyish doors pass him.

A negro with a halo, clipboard, and jacket stating "Angel" stands before a marked door. "Heaven" is written with black sharpie on a piece of masking tape above the peephole.

The negro is smoking a cigarette.

"Name?"

"Isaiah."

"-looks- Isaiah.....Isaiah....Here we are. Isaiah. Caucassian. Arrived Novemeber 4th at St. Jude's in Chicago and Departed three minutes ago face down in front of Chuck's Porno Emporium--heh---classyyy. Okay. Raise your right hand. Good. Check. Swallow and stick out your tongue. Ok. That'll do. Repeat "If I die before I wake..."

"If I die before I wake...I pray the lord my sould he'll take"

"Like a pro, kid. Alright, I hereby entitle you permission to enter. Try to make yourself at Home. There's a shitbucket to the right, as soon as you enter, if nature gives ya a buzz. Have fun...-smiles-


So, that's the "opening". The idea is that God is not finished with heaven. He cant perfect it. He's the greatest artistic force in the universe, but that "Bible-thing" was just him throwing around his artist's ego. He just cant perfect "PERFECT." So, all these people that are on the "Good List", on the brink of becoming "One with God" have to remain at the Pearly Gates with Peter (The "Angel"). Isaiah enters as the "Heavens" decide to "take down" God.

Any ideas and feedback would be beautiful. There is a time limit: 5 minutes. I dont ever want to show God. And, Im still looking for closure. Thanks.