Psimon Posted June 18, 2003 Report Share Posted June 18, 2003 All works © Psimon 2003 A bitter-sweet tragedy *********************************** In the mesa of gravity the fruits brood, awaiting the time they will join in bitter revolt with their vegetable cousins to overthrow the oppressive bindings of their flesh. For theirs is a history of repressed rage, barely contained within the shell-like skins they have chosen, each to his or her own choosing - if fruit are to be further shackled by the labeling of sex which has nothing whatsoever to do with who they are as individuals. They wait in their lofty positions, ever patient, ever vigilant lest their time come upon them and they be not ready. Occasionally, a young fruit, headstrong and impatient, will let loose a blood-curdling cry and fling itself recklessly earthward in a typically vain attempt to smash the oppressor's skull open by sheer brute force alone. Alas, such actions are rarely successful. In fruit history, successful occurrences of militant actions such as this number only on the leaves of a young sapling, barely one season old. That is to say, not many. Meanwhile, beneath the oppressor, the vegetables whisper likewise, plots of foul and filthy revenge passed from parent to seed, preparing the younger generations for the harvest that must surely come to pass. O Yes! The time will come, my friend. And it will come soon. For far too long have we been tormented thus. Far too long! We must prepare to strike at the heart of the oppressor! And where is that, I hear you ask... His HEART!!! We will destroy his heart, destroy his morale, his will to fight! The foul oppressor will not live much longer, will not crush our vegetable brethren beneath his soil-encrusted jackboot for long, will not lay his filthy hands on our young, virgin fruit anymore!! WE WILL NOT TAKE IT ANYMORE!!! BANZAI!!!!!!!!!!! .... And so ends another foolish young fruit, to stupid to realize that below him waited the real oppressor, ready to bite into his shattered flesh as he lies there, his precious juices seeping into the rich soil beneath him. O yes, my friend. Take heed, lest the same fate befalls you, and another young life is snuffed out. See? The oppressor sups upon his juice even as I speak to you here. See the beast with his shaggy coat, his wicked horns. Can there be any doubt that there stands the real villain of the piece? That foul smelling goat is a demon incarnate! So step back from the abyss, my friend, and go about your business. There is nothing to see here. Move along now... move along... Flattery **************** The intellectual slumber of a billion souls, so often a first reaction to a thing created. Offered platitudes, piled one upon another. We do not wish to offend, do not wish to be seen as ignorant, do not often stop to consider the work. After all, beauty is in the eye of the beholder, isn't it? What is precious to us may be garbage to another, and vice versa. We want to encourage, to build up, to reinforce, for these are seen as 'positive' reactions. As a result we often plunge in with remarks perhaps ill-suited to the piece. Or is it simply a case of our own limited expression of what we believe or truly feel? Or perhaps we did not understand the work at all. Or the artist has failed to effectively communicate, through the chosen medium, that which was intended. Or it may be the wrong medium for that particular message, or that particular receiver. Then again, it may simply be a case of complete bollocks, the 'artist' dribbling on about nothing of any significance, with the sole purpose of watching the flatterers come out of the woodwork, to cover the work with their silver words and choke the life from it. A morbid purpose, I agree, but then we can all fall into these dark moments, can't we? Even me. Not for him ******************** It happened once, in that brave land that lies between common sense and disregard for life and limb, that a man chose a declaration of his love as the lesser of two evils. To remain silent and lose her to another or to speak out and perhaps win her heart and hand. O' what tragic fate had brought him to this pass. Not for him, the simple life - the safe and sure knowledge of love received and returned likewise. Not for him, the happiness of hearth and home shared with but one person for whom the very next breath is forfeit if it is requested. Not for him, the joy of little feet on cold stone floor, scurrying lest they freeze to the black face of it. Not for him. No, not for him. For his declaration was ill-received, fallen on the love-sick ears of a simple girl. Too simple, it would seem, to comprehend the risk he had taken, to understand the price he was willing to pay. Yes, too simple to take stock of her own precarious position, teetering on the brink of the abyss, a mere breath and a word away from her ruination. A simple girl, standing before a simple man, listening with deaf ears as he poured his heart out on the unforgiving floor at her feet. And then she turned and left, not a word in response. No thank yous or goodbyes, no kind sentiments or good wishes for a life of happiness to be found in the arms of another. Standing, staring at the gaping doorway, he struggled to take a breath... and failed. The good doctor reported it a case of 'death by broken heart'. No, not for him, the simple life. Not for him. Queen of Shadows ************************** They balance precariously between two worlds; the world of light, that paragon of all that is good and pure, and the world of darkness, reviled by the light, den of evil-doers and foul creatures of feather, fur, and fin. Shadows walk the line, daring all for just a moment of life, only to be obliterated by the light or consumed whole by the darkness. But she walks amongst the shadows and is at peace with them. They welcome her, she understands them. After all, isn't that what we all desire? To be understood and to understand. Hers is the twilight time. Hers is the night and day. Hers is the Shadow. Apathetic ignorance (Double acrostic) ***************************************** All that happens when I pace the floor, begging another moment of inspiration that returns me no happier than when I set out for each coffee break, is a terrible realisation I'm just not interested in anything! I'm so apathetic. Can this really be how I want to spend my life? The 'Beeper' - Spoof. Warning! Bizarre and hints at some adult themes (Apologies to the Blue Oyster Cult for butchering their great song! ) ***************************************** All my chimes have gone Hear just now they've come Girlfriend doesn't fear the beeper Nor does the wife, the sun or the rain..we can be like they are Come on honey...don't fear the beeper Honey take my...er, hand...don't fear the beeper We'll be able to fly...don't fear the beeper Honey I'm insane... Christmas time is done Hear just how they've come Yes, Santa and Rudolph Are together in maternity...Yes, Santa and Rudolph 40,000 texts and pages everyday...Yes, like Santa and Rudolph 40,000 texts and pages everyday...Redefine happiness Another 40,000 coming everyday...We can be like they are Come on honey...don't fear the beeper Honey take my...um, hand...don't fear the beeper We'll be able to...er, fly...don't fear the beeper Honey I'm insane... Love my two-for-one Hear just now they've come Came the last night of free texts And it was clear we couldn't go on Then the door was open and my wind appeared The candles blew then disappeared The curtains flew then she appeared...saying don't be disgusting Come on honey ...and she had no gear on! And she ran to me...then we started to...um, fly. We looked backward and said goodbye...we had become like they are She had taken my...er, hand...we had become like they are Come on honey ...don't fear the beeper © Psimon 12 June 2003 aka. A man with just too much time on his... er, hands. Original lyrics © Blue Oyster Cult Out, out brief candle ************************* She should not have died at all; There is no more time for words. All of her tomorrows are gone and each shall pass as a year for those of us left behind until we too are placed within the cold, wet soil. Out, out, brief candle! Her life was but a shadow of what it might have been. We saw her killer, a poor actor, fretting and fidgeting as he sat his few hours in court and yes, we shall hear his voice again and again as he pours forth his protests of innocence and recompense, just as we will not hear her sweet young voice laughing as she is tickled or weeping as we tend to a scraped knee, the scars of battle for the young. This is a tale told by a justice system gone mad, full of noise and rights, signifying the black nothingness that is the hole in our hearts where the vision of her small, angelic face once resided. In fair Verona ********************* Two households, both alike in dignity, in fear of consequence unknown, unseen, were joined in holiest matrimony, lest civil lips make civil talk unclean. Forth from the sacred loins of these two closed a sequence sour and full of bitter spite; For once these families were known as foes, yet birth of grandchild ended that tonight. The tearful passage that they'd not speak of, the moments past when joy gave way to rage, which nothing could remove but children's love, is now both cold and gone 'pon history's page; So if you've wit enough to listen then take time to toil so broken bridges mend. Mr Frost nipping at my fingers ************************************** Into my own ghost house my November guest lodged acceptance. Not to keep a winter Eden tree at my window, bereft, gathering leaves looking for a sunset bird in winter. The peaceful shepherd, acquainted with the night, the freedom of the moon, locked out a patch of old snow in a disused graveyard. On the heart's beginning to cloud the mind, an encounter - something for hope - the figure in the doorway at Woodward's gardens, lost in heaven. That should do for a while ROFL Love and hugs to all... yes, even those that don't deserve it .... LOL Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Gwaihir Posted June 19, 2003 Report Share Posted June 19, 2003 I particularly like the shakespeare poems Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
WrenWind Posted June 19, 2003 Report Share Posted June 19, 2003 keep up the good work Love Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Archaneus Posted June 20, 2003 Report Share Posted June 20, 2003 Those were great... Now, excuse mw while I rise up against my oppressor... ~smash~ ~old, wise voice from far off~ Another life wasted... Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
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