think tank forum

not nearly enough poetry up here. i know it's on some paper at home. please punch it up on ttf! my attempt follows. i'd love to hear some feedback, after all, that's why i'm typing it up here!


rain falls.
disgusted with these mirrors, i step out into the world and let it fall onto me.
puddles reflect my image. however with this reflection others also see what is depicted. the story i create for myself and others. i arrived for someone and found someone else. yet i still found someone else.
at the back of my throat my mind is undecided. scream in joy or cry. i can't do either. the rain falls. i hope that it can fall through me. my throat's indecision won't lead to the cessation of the rain. when it does stop, even for a moment, i'll still let it fall. such will be my movement. it will be my joy. and she will someday make me cry.

To me the term ataraxia fits perfectly for describing the feeling about the rain that you are expressing. Is being enamored in the rain also accepting the situation with her?

There is a bit of ambiguity that I sense in deciding whether your acquiesce to the rain is the same as or separate from the girl. If the same then I see it as an optimistic outlook that you will share emotions with her in ways additional to her making you cry. If it's separate, it seems like a cushioning of your disgust with your self-image, to acknowledge that you will have something to love if she does as you expect and shatters your ambition thus making you cry.

The irony of the ataraxia presented is that you cannot be free, with being challenged by our deficient reports of the poem, which is so dependent on your pleasure. So I hope that you find pleasure regardless!

ataraxia might be a small part of the rain.

> So I hope that you find pleasure regardless!

such could be the meaning: "when it does stop, even for a moment, i'll still let it fall."

thanks for the comments.

"Is being enamored in the rain also accepting the situation with her?"

accepting what situation?

"and she will someday make me cry."

i guess i don't get it. it's not like i found myself in that situation. i put myself in that situation. after all, i did write the poem, i didn't find it.

Here's a phi_ original:

pink
lights
heavy
unsure
laughing
she applies the perfume
poses on her puce
ecstasy and passageway
the camera rolls
she bows



(Or something like that ... I'm writing it from memory--I don't have a copy with me.)

shit, I remember the last two lines of that rhyming, phi. maybe "the camera pans"? and then she...? I'm at a loss. I just remember liking the last two lines a lot because it was a neat rhyme.

Oh, yeah, I took them out because it just didn't work for me in the long run.

:)

time again for my yearly poem

the rain falls
your face was already wet
yet each drop makes your cheek twitch
don't brace yourself
relax, fall limp onto the slick metal
you'll find comfort in the wetness
and finally your face will welcome the rhythm
the noise isn't anyone or anything
just the varying flow of the wave
if they do find you here, don't fret
they won't give you a second thought
the rain hits your motionless frame
it is unnoticed, as you find warmth regardless
you'll be home soon.

nice larz

I highly recommend Walt Whitman especially considering the current political climate. He's was a brilliant dude.

man, noone is commenting on my poem. i kinda want to know what people think it is about. i think this year's poem is a lot better than last year's poem.

A poem by Billy Collins, US Poet Laureate 2001-2003:

Flock

It has been calculated that
each copy of the Gutenburg Bible
required the skins of 300 sheep.

I can see them
squeezed into the holding pen
behind the stone building
where the printing press is housed.

All of them squirming around
to find a little room
and looking so much alike
it would be nearly impossible to count them.

And there is no telling which one of them
will carry the news
that the Lord is a Shepherd,
one of the few things
they already know.

oh man, i was diggin through our storage room and finding stuff from a past life for sure. found a whole notebook full of poetry and an essay i wrote for fun: "the philosophy of walking". i may work on it now as i wrote it junior year of hs.

two minute weirdo poem

i had a plan
words i'd write here
most you'd never read
to tear down the walls
that never stood

i had a plan
pushing myself through
the door never was
i never saw
the sky above

five minute weirdo poem (from sunday)

flatten your hand
push outward to touch the dome
it won't budge
the mist steams with your tough
it swirls and scatters
look beyond the white mist
that iridescent dome
it encompasses you, inescapable
embrace its meaning
you will follow

I hadn't done any writing in almost a month or two but I was in one of those writing moods tonight. Sat on my roof and wrote a good 4 pages during a perfect summer night. I dont know why but this horrific poem made me feel a thousand times better after i got done writing it.

lying on my back, face to the cool night sky
hands combing through my hair
anxiety and frustration running rampent in my veins
my feelings torn in two on what to do
this struggle has taken it's toll
eaten away for so long
should it be let out
or should i fight it till it dies
if freed, two out of three mean disaster
one though, greater than gold
keeping caged keeps status intact
neither good nor bad
do i try to beat the odds
or make the safe move
more importantly, am i strong enough

my eyes landed on a photo of an old apartment
and suddenly i felt as if i were there
sitting in the corner of that bedroom looking at photos
i had to stand up and look around intently
just to realize where i existed in the present

another photo, this one of a more recent apartment
depicting my bedding, a lamp, and an alarm clock
i remembered why i got the down comforter—to stay warm
and i had to remember how cold we got

the sensitivity, the intimidation
none of it is wanted, none appreciated
the wild swinging of a pendulum at the slightest touch
the pronounced effect that either i'll have on you, or you on me

here we stand, alone
this is where i've always wanted to be
but in the vacuum, i'm constantly seeking
and as soon as i bump into someone (it doesn't matter who)
everything shifts, it changes, i smile
the pessimist passes for a moment
and i laugh joyfully within myself
but in hours, i'll remember that i'm in a vacuum

worse, i get thinking
or i see things or hear things or smell things
and they remind me of a time when i didn't exist in a vacuum
have you ever seen a man rip out his hair
or injure his body with lashes or bruises?
it's not entirely irrational
where else is his will to go
if the will's desire is impossible

and you think of passion, and what drives him
what will take him through life
effortlessly accomplishing the feats
it is this same will
with a glimse of hope

so, when there is a sense of intimidation
between you and i
it's nothing more than you foreseeing
the sheer size and potential of my will
and me realizing the passion
that you could invoke in me

http://www.wingedleopard.net/lucas/journal/entry/136/

creepy? probably.

from gatzby while he's at work :).

It's takes Grinding to get the Pocket Kings, I got a set to bust you out of this ring, I reign supreme with the pocket 3's, got past the first round of breaks, coming, who is David-O coming, Get the chip stack, take home the money, go blow it all on strip joint honeys, I'm david-O, WHO, David-O the one and only you can't stack me

they call me samir cus i slide n steer through your female's rear, doin it Internationly from the 713 to Parii you can't hold me, my boy David O got the planet on lock down it's only a matter of time before we take over these clowns

Lil-D steppin in, gonna raise some hell, I'll fuckin put you in all in because I read your tell, I'm going from 713 to the Vegas Scene, but still putting it down, at U of H this Spring. Thanks to my man Samir, made me see the light, fuck taking breaks, because there are no breaks in real life. Gotta grind it out, and fuckin seek the prize, I'm gonna take the world and WSOP by surprise

hahaha

"punk'd" my poem, though. :(

12:54 < TP-DavidO> .. what's going on with glen? Is he coming back?
12:55 < TP-Samir> who? david0 who?
13:07 < TP-DavidO> the one and only you can't clone me

hahaha

my will was strong
when we first met
but oh!
you should see it now

I wrote this about vicky:

One Day you will see, how serious I am,
I've been stackin G's and got on track since I first shook your hand,
and I know you got a man and you want the perfect family,
but sometimes what we want is not what we get in reality