Digital Underground - uXu - Underground eXperts United #uxu-596

### ### ### ### ### #### ### ### ### #### ### ### ##### ### ### ### ### ### ### ### ### ### ##### ### ### ########## ### ### ########## ### ### ### ### Underground eXperts United Presents... ####### ## ## ####### # # ####### ####### ####### ## ## ## ## ##### ## ## ## ## #### ## ## #### # # ####### ####### ####### ## ## ## ## ##### ## ## ## ## ## ## ####### ####### # # ####### ####### ####### [ Sore Loser's Anthology ] [ By Freon ] ____________________________________________________________________ ____________________________________________________________________ ---------------------- Sore Loser's Anthology ---------------------- - Introduction to SLA - (September, 2001) I can't deny I'm quite well known 'round here for talking crap Indeed, known as a poet, aye, and a depressive sap who's willing to write anything and lie and call it food for thought or entertainment, aye, although my shit's no good I really ought to send some poems to the uXu slap some in a g-file, aye, and then email them through or claiming poet's status would be, arguably, a lie and if I'm not a bard, I might as well curl up and die since I have a nasty tendency to fuck up all the rest of what I try to do in life, although I try my best So anyway, here is some useless gibberish I wrote If it's worse than I think it is, feel free to cut my throat. - My Love - (August 2001) (to the neighbours...and their cheesy love songs...) My love is like an exit wound, it glistens in the morning sun. A bed of broken glass we'll share each with one end of a gun. My love's like a serrated edge cruel barbs for tearing flesh An idle hand with devil's work your wasted final breath. My love is like a severed head A cold blade between your ribs A gift of in then twist then out Diamond abortion cribs. My love is like a hangman's noose An air-raid siren's drone. Do what's best for you, my dear And just leave me alone. - Attention Span - (September 2001) (to chaos and joy) sometimes the urge denied was to kneel by the sea and breathe her cast myself from the devil's fist to fly or just laugh to cut off vanity laugh to snake round childish things scrape dreams in a burned-on sticky mess douse jealousy with honest shame then blow away stability with plans always drowning in love and burning in hate pay anything to switch like arthur breathing criticism freely standing firm on masculinity or sending five points of fortune though regret can't stop the dripping catching piss-rain in cooking pots but put away the spinning tops i grow bored of them - Pride - (April 2001) (to P. A.) In the meantime, like the pauses cutting ropes of togetherness, cutting the illusion of control, cutting through walls of my comfort. I am ashamed, yes I am ashamed she begged both ways to shake me, shake me ill with her little sicknesses and lies begged then cut with words until I complied; where are the morals now? The responsibility? She pulled the string, aye - but I closed the fist, we played her symphony I hate her with all the fire now of that fateless day - and finally yes, I'd like to make her bleed - my rage misplaced she'd be proud, and I am ashamed. - Happy Hour - (August 2001) (to the critics :-) ) A poem's short, like happy hour - short and sweet or short and sour not rambling, shambling, aimless, dour like all my offerings are. A poem should have a point to make - Obscure references can't hide the fake The gibbering fool, like horseshit cake only seems good from afar. A poem's jolly, like a joke - A whisky to sip, a joint to toke, But mine are all just pigs in pokes Vinegar dressed as wine. A poem's polite, a gentle art - But mine are literary farts Made from foul, ill-fitting parts That never fucking rhyme. - Chemical Inspiration - (September 2001) (to THC, MDMA and LSD...) No! It works in vague and subtle ways trickles from the leaves on Summer days out from the earth in Winter, hanging on 'till Spring, just moonshine where the snow has gone drift easily into the same routine, reminders of obsession where a station's been and chalked a carefree line, burned through a friendly head Possessed again, I've shaken sour dread into the spoon, it floats and makes me think of witches burning on a post and dying for the sins of leeches Closed eyes, another kind of trip to places never seen. There was, obscured by LSD and methamphetamine, encrusted blood around the broken shards of shining glassy borders a powder we addressed as "Sir" - we took its needs as orders Watching distant on receding screens that started much to faint seeing faces sweating blood and lymph; what experience could paint so much madness in Those Eyes? But now relax, this is your time Chivalry's for lonely knights...drop to keep the weather fine. - Spring Breeze - (May 2001) (to Scooby) Sometimes when I see her - always, when I see her, I think - she's my Spring Breeze. Just what you need, just exactly what you need Just shows up when you didn't even realise that it was what you wanted. Sometimes, when she looks at me - always, when she looks at me, I think - she's my ray of light. Falls on the lids of tired, pinched-shut eyes and registers as a faint red glow Makes you open them again. Sometimes, when she talks to me - always, when she talks to me, I think - she's my mountain stream Crystal clear, a soft glassy sound that makes you relax and forget you have hundreds of feet to climb. Sometimes, when she walks away - always, when she walks away, I think - it's a shame you can't keep the breeze or the ray of light Only wish for them, idly dream but gently smile. - After Prayer - (September 2001) (dedicated to god) A silence, lunar, falls through Apollo's gaze as passion takes the gift I brought something truly beautiful I kneel, wet grass, West End jungle beyond the foolish things I sacrifice to chaos, the only god Protection; I begged for a sanctuary for her for me, only the strength to wait for this blessed creature Through selfish salt, vain eyes pinch and tear away God's metaphor; this air is full of wishes - I am alive - (September, 2001) (to neurotransmitters...and kidding myself) Lower, feel the heat! Amazing, lower still closer, closer, how that word cuts me now! Like cutting off my feet on Dream Hill a penknife and desperation, how it proves it, yes it proves I have survived a million slings and arrows, still I am alive Hiding from closeness, intimacy becomes empty, empty, a dopamine come-down Like a litre of smoke out my lungs I guess what comes around, goes around still breathing, yes the moment has arrived to drop another pretense...guess I am alive - Another - (Sometime, 199?) (a poem I wrote when I was younger...I read it the other day and thought it was actually better than a lot of stuff I write these days. Didn't even know I still had it lying around, so I've decided to include it) The seed fell here, and grew into a life beside a stream that flows to town and into the joining of two rivers; rivers that are lost in the Tweed just a few miles away. The stream is easy to follow but it's lost - and I was following it, and found the seed the seed that grew not into a great oak but into a willow stone's throw from the wood the others mock in shadows sharing their joke but the joke's owned by the willow they cast their children into the stream it carries them away to sea to die The willow knows the truth behind the lie but by the willow a seed of a cheap pine quickly grows takes no time to climb into the sky its heavy brutal arms hide light from the willow, tangle round its roots force its trunk to lean out the leaves touching the water of the stream the laughing pine consumes the willow and the willow weeps and dies. they all beg to help none can. - Rage In Me - (August, 2001) (written after the night out that went horribly wrong... mainly to myself but partly to someone else who deserves it much less, as it turns out.) Sir - I have a rage in me the like of which you've never seen of which you'll never see again Though it may be, you've been my friend it's fear and pain that make us strong not fixed ideas of right and wrong I'll break my fist to break your jaw Unto itself, my Rage is Law - freon (mailto:freon@kmfms.com ... http://www.nkpwhq.com/~freon/) --------------------------------------------------------------------------- uXu #596 Underground eXperts United 2002 uXu #596 http://www.textfiles.com/ | http://scene.textfiles.com/ ---------------------------------------------------------------------------

← Svenska e-zines (1990-2008)