the sieve and the sand

a doora board ialis

Roger Mugs — Mon, 17 Nov 2008 14:41:57 +0000

rounded the corner to find
my head implanted where
a (ahem) pain-less window
would have worked much
better than
the door i encountered

The Bus

freakynewchild — Mon, 17 Nov 2008 07:55:12 +0000

Don’t look my way

It’s too early in the day,

Your soul is not tucked in yet.

Romeo coughs at the back of the bus

Here comes tuberculosis.

An old Juliet shouts repeatedly to herself

“Shut up! Yes God I know. I know. Shut up!”

Dorian, the unaltered beauty, sneers

Give the lepers their bells back

So they can sing their melody again:

“Unclean, unclean, unclean…”

Jane scratches her invisibility cloak

blood under her fingernail is the same

ghastly red as the “Stop requested” sign.

The metallic box spits two people out

While Tarzan bites his nails thinking

“I hate my mother. Does it me make evil?”

Inside the bus, one happy thought lingers,

“At least I’m not suicidal…”

And outside, it’s better to hate God than your mother

Otherwise, you better have tales that would make God vomit

and reconsider his creation.

gregory & the hawk at the church

rcribay — Mon, 17 Nov 2008 04:00:33 +0000

in a small
chapel with
elaborate wood
carvings we
listened to the singer
who drank beer
and rambled
between songs.
i closed my
eyes held your
hand lost myself
in the vocals
finding God more
in this than in the
elaborately carved
wooden chapel.

tiny violins for my fake friends

David X. Hugo — Mon, 17 Nov 2008 03:44:35 +0000

real friends don’t play pretend
and make ammends if they offend
surely with no intent
to damage you but by accident
and real friends are by your side
would never lie
or leave you dry
or let you die
but real friends do not exists
like unicorns and sentiments
like aliens in rocket ships
but much much more like sentiments

sun rise if you will

Roger Mugs — Sun, 16 Nov 2008 14:57:36 +0000

night comes as my pillow
envelopes my naked head
beckoning me to dreams
i fear will be forgotten on
waking hours before the sun
rise.

alliteration as it is

Roger Mugs — Sat, 15 Nov 2008 12:52:43 +0000

flaking from your yellow skin
scaling drizzling down to
test new native lands
leading slowly
south

haiku

rcribay — Sat, 15 Nov 2008 12:33:10 +0000

minute ripples
in the sidewalk’s puddles
from this week-long drizzle.

Hide your daughters, Bluebeard is back in town looking for a new wife

freakynewchild — Fri, 14 Nov 2008 07:06:12 +0000

I’m back,

I’m back

from that place

disgustingly green

where hope drizzles reluctantly from the sky

“Will I see the tall city towers once more?

To all that is and ever existing,

Let me gently lay my head on the winter’s bosom

Let me breathe in the urban fumes,

I swear I’ll not dance la bostella again,”

those were my thoughts and wishes while still captive

in the most horrid and colorful place on earth, where beauty

and ugliness mesh too well that only a faint pain remained

after finding a saint half-smiling in hell.

she told me “i know what word you’re trying to say, so i dont let my kids say it.” i’m confused to this day

Roger Mugs — Fri, 14 Nov 2008 02:47:22 +0000

do
it
now (or later if you will)
kan’t make
up your mind?
sally.

translation anybody?

Poeta Maximus — Thu, 13 Nov 2008 22:40:32 +0000

Nolite esse, Anime virorum malorum
et feminarum malarum.

Milites DEI volabit
et proelia vulnerabunt malos
telis potentibus.

Mare ignis hostes DEI convocabit
et mors pro miseros erit…

Spirit of Evil Men and of
Evil Women, do not be!

The soldiers of God will fly,
and battles will wound evil
with powerful weapons!

The Sea of Fire will summon the enemies of God
and death will be before the wretched…

Ned — Thu, 13 Nov 2008 21:08:55 +0000

Fatfully I carry on,
regardless of my knees.

Latin Free Form Poem

Poeta Maximus — Thu, 13 Nov 2008 03:48:52 +0000

Nolite esse, Anime virorum malorum
et feminarum malarum.

Milites DEI volabit
et proelia vulnerabunt malos
telis potentibus.

Mare ignis hostes DEI convocabit
et mors pro miseros erit…

because someday the end does come

Roger Mugs — Wed, 12 Nov 2008 14:13:46 +0000

high on achievement
and digging a hole
knowing the bottom cannot
be as warm and soothing
as your arms but somehow
hoping to dig through
to a nice patch of sod
on which i’ll lay and wait
for the sun to shine perfectly
down straight from above
to warm me as i develop
hives from the otherwise
pristine landscape
in the six square foot
wide hole i’ve dug in the
time we’ve spent together
while i was trying to make
a name for myself
or some moron named roger

bass, tone, tone, bass, slap

rcribay — Wed, 12 Nov 2008 02:56:07 +0000

bass, tone, tone, bass, slap
bass, tone, tone, bass, slap

i’ve got the answer
it’s in these red palms
finding the rhythm
on this taut goat skin

bass, tone, tone, bass, slap
bass, tone, tone, bass, slap

i’ve got the answer
it’s in the night air
keeping the downbeat
in this room upstairs

bass, tone, tone, bass, slap
bass, tone, tone, bass, slap

i’ve got the answer
it can’t be spoken
but if you listen
i think you’ll get it

tone, tone, tone slap, slap bass, bass

Ned — Tue, 11 Nov 2008 16:51:29 +0000

Too much, um,

…

turds.

twenty something or other. still

Roger Mugs — Tue, 11 Nov 2008 13:45:22 +0000

o great big pains of
grinding growling left knee caps
aching legs and lower backs
annoying friends and angry chaps
french fries fat foods
soaking in a pool of oil
down with my hopes and dreams
boom boom.

first cold

Roger Mugs — Mon, 10 Nov 2008 15:07:19 +0000

crusted snot dried on your nose
soothed tonight by warm fleece clothes

What is true

Poeta Maximus — Sun, 09 Nov 2008 21:20:54 +0000

raw power of lust
crushes your delicate dreams
+
a shadow of need to flood
into death’s arms is not void
for you are a hindrance
+
the bare breast of the ill goddess
aches when sweet cyanide milk is produced
truly smooth as love, a lie
+
for love is a waxing moon
essential to cool your water
beneath my storm of quenching fire
but life is with ups and downs
every season has its tide
+
our blazing sun soars above the sloth sky
as a rose dies wishing for life after the painful summer
+
knife bitter urges by pounds of boiling blood
blood sprayed from a man, woman, boy, girl

the old world

David X. Hugo — Sun, 09 Nov 2008 02:59:48 +0000

oh what a tangled web we weave
when first we practice to deceive
hiding love beneath the leaves
so night will steal all that we see
forgiveness fails set as a seed
and grows a crooked unbalanced tree
which birth’d an apple gave to eve
then consumed by shame and greed

the choir boys and choir girls
yellow with their hair in curls
refuse to fully recognize the plot
with their shit like molasses
and their heads in their asses
they all wait to see jesus get shot
through centuries of neglect
they most surely forget
oh jesus, oh jesus who wept

AND IT MAKES YOU WONDER SOMETIMES
if Brutus or Judas made it to heaven
if a man who knelt and pray to jesus
is saved after holding up a 7/11
none can debate in this horrible age
that both light and dark are brethren
so where do you go when your hearts not
a home it’s a cage filled with rage
and venom?

that all real conflict is internal
that you and i are not to question
it’s i and i that is the focus
eyes and ears they can be tricked
but you can never hide from yourself
and save marriage or siamese twindom
you are alone in your head with only
yourself for the rest of your life
and there is absolutely no debate that
if you look in the mirror you can
attain that there is two of you
we have two of everything
except our heart, alluding to the soul
which you can only believe exists
you can never see
god is like logic and logic is like
a cat chasing it’s tail

words are fanciful and fun
and belong to everyone
but actions are guns
you need only fire them once
and things then are done
not your place on the sun
or the pace of your run
can undo what’s become

and when based in deceit
with ill will in your teeth
no matter what you speak
you’ve planted that seed
death will then creep
the apple she eats
this ignorance runs deep
these ignorant sheep.

flame in, flame out.

Roger Mugs — Sun, 09 Nov 2008 02:09:12 +0000

bowl of red
boiling spice
to dip our delicacies
boil, entice
our senses with

cow throat
cow heart
pig intestines
- ’my friends,’ i ask, ‘do you not realize what was squeezed through this?’
pig stomach
(among other things)

6pm I ate you down
4am you woke me up

climbing back into bed with
an arse afire