The Tale Of The Landlord And The Very Bad Day.?.

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SpitFire
Member Elite

since 2000-04-19

Posts 2396

0 posted 2001-05-17 07:19 PM

I don’t even have the time to be here,
writing pieces of me on pages aging,
on curling fibers core, or even the capabilities to explain the day.

The way the hammers seem to swing,  at angles far too tight to be real.
Or the way absurdities follow me in unmarked cars - tint separating their guile.
And little faces scrunched, wrinkled in disgust speak of why.

I’ve got the piles beside me, reeking with need, swaying in sight.
And the lack of gold and hours, and the constant fight for the two sickens me.
Sickens me in ways that rot my teeth, that spin the contents of my head -
until nausea settles inside the pit of me.

And eventually night comes crawling up behind,
ripping what little light was resting,
sucking roots that still serve, or sing.
OH! I’ve got landlords calling, and silver timepieces resting,
some kind of shimmer I guess, some type of fill supposedly.
But all the landlord wants is the rent, and all I want is a little space beside the dream.

For marches demonstrated the purpose and now papers (colored) litter this place,
and I can’t handle what tides washing shores leave behind.
I can’t say enough of it or twist the tin to shape my time.

Between the rain and the psychotic wind
I was nearly blewn back into yesterday,
or last week or year - oh how I’d weep had that happened.
How I’d mourn the events I’d have to live again.

I was surrounded by metals and fiber glass and plastic,
and all I could think of were these death traps.
They’re machines that kill and stab and burn.
They seep life onto roadways, absorb the liquid from my skin,
and I can’t force myself inside sometimes.
It seems the answers are written in lyric, sung outside the truth.
I should have seen it coming - I should have danced while I could.

nakdthoughts
Member Laureate

since 2000-10-29

Posts 19200
Between the Lines

1 posted 2001-05-17 07:29 PM

Between the rain and the psychotic wind
I was nearly blewn back into yesterday,
or last week or year - oh how I’d weep had that happened.
How I’d mourn the events I’d have to live again.

This is how my day has gone also...

I felt this...you said so much in these lines I have to save it for more reads... I love the way you write

~Wynter

"The worst prison would be a closed heart".
...Pope John Paul II

SEA

Moderator

Member Seraphic

since 2000-01-18

Posts 22676
with you

2 posted 2001-05-17 07:29 PM

*standing up and clapping*

this rocks!!

jwesley
Member Rara Avis

since 2000-04-30

Posts 7563
Spring, Texas

3 posted 2001-05-17 07:29 PM

Fanstastic write Spitfire...this more than makes up for the lack of your writing I've been able to see lately....

jwesley

Joyce Johnson

Member Rara Avis

since 2001-03-10

Posts 9912
Washington State

4 posted 2001-05-17 08:03 PM

My oh my. Hang in there. Joyce

Janet Marie
Member Laureate

since 2000-01-22

Posts 18554

5 posted 2001-05-18 08:12 AM

writing pieces of me on pages aging,
=============================
And the lack of gold and hours, and the constant fight for the two sickens me.
=============================
And eventually night comes crawling up behind,
ripping what little light was resting,
=======================
all I want is a little space beside the dream.
========================
and I can’t handle what tides washing shores leave behind.
I can’t say enough of it or twist the tin to shape my time.

Between the rain and the psychotic wind
I was nearly blewn back into yesterday,
or last week or year - oh how I’d weep had that happened.
How I’d mourn the events I’d have to live again.
=========================
and I can’t force myself inside sometimes.

It seems the answers are written in lyric, sung outside the truth.

I should have seen it coming - I should have danced while I could.
========================

girl, there are so many cool lines in this..

"And the lack of gold and hours, and the constant fight for the two sickens me"

Oh how I relate to this...and the curse of the landlord too *S*

seems like we are just running in circles backwards sometimes...
another clever thought provoking write from you my friend ...
I do so enjoy a walk thru that poetic mind of yours

later groovy poetess of the porch gator *L*
jm

tis never easy being a moth,
tis not easy being the flame.
what some never see is--
sometimes ... most times ...
they are one in the same.

Sven

Member Laureate

since 1999-11-23

Posts 14937
East Lansing, MI USA

6 posted 2001-05-18 01:22 PM

you know SpitFire, if I don't see you on a bookshelf some day soon, the world will be at a loss. . .

this is absolutely amazing. . . in form, in content, and in the way that you share your feelings in it. . .

it deserves to be seen more. . . and so. . .

---------------------------------------------------------

To the world, you may only be one person. But to one person, you may be the world.

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