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JX Valentine
June 6th, 2005, 08:03 PM
Note: Just letting you know now, I take my style mainly from beatnik poets, many of whom were noted for writing some pretty weird stuff that may be difficult to interpret. The stuff I'm presenting now are samples, some of which I'm actually challenging you to figure out (especially concerning "Scattered"). Cookies to the person who comes up with the closest explanation.

Also note that most of these are already on my general writing account, so if you've seen them before, that's probably why.

Scattered

Time is a private dream
Constant wonderings of
Was I there?
Faded on the backdrop
Of silent voids
And ginger cats
And I--
I am at a loss for words
What should I say?
Atomic dust!
Iodine candy!
Forty-seven!
No, none of those are right
So I--
I remain in my
Ignorant silence
Drifting through
A millennium dream.



People Watching

She sits in a chair at the table for one
Staring out of the cafe window with distant, gray eyes.
The cup in front of her holds a steaming cafe latte
But she acts like it's not hers.

The girl with the lizard tattoo on her bare arm
(Left that way by the rose-red shirt she wears)
Watches the people walk by, each and every one of them
All of them different, all of them going nowhere.

Her forlorn eyes scan the men in business suits
With their black leather suitcases and their silver watches
All rushing off to an office building
To waste away in a six-by-six cubicle without a view.

She watches the young mothers and the children
The children skipping along the road
Not knowing they'll soon face a dreary world.
And the mothers just praying to any god that this won't happen.

She watches the lovers and the dreamers
And the blue-collar workers on their lunch break
All of them hoping and praying for something better
All of them with something deep inside them left unsatisfied.

There sits the gray-eyed girl with the wild, red hair and the lizard tattoo
Behind a cup of joe she could have sworn she never bought
Contemplating what it's like to be them
To be accepted for who she is, not what's on her arm.

But does she really wish she could be them?
Does she wish to be restrained by life and all things in it?
Is it worth giving up freedom for a six-by-six box in an office
The one without a window to the world?

She smiles and turns her head away from the dingy window.
Her fingers curl around the cup and bring it to her lips.
She takes a long sip, swirling the coffee in her mouth for awhile.
With a gulp, she decides, "Not at all."



Time and Frankness

The clock ticks the moment away
Each passing second dropping by
Like an unwanted guest who far overstayed a welcome
Like water dripping out of a faucet
Splashing on the white ceramic sink
Spreading out and collecting In a pool of nothing tangible

Time is an illusion
Seen, but not heard
Not touched, not felt
A trick of the mind only
The difference between days and years
Is muddled and unclear
What does midnight mean?
What does birthday mean?
How can someone keep track of something
That has nothing to be counted?
Seconds are invisible
Minutes, indefinable
Hours, indescribable
Days, never there
Weeks, imagination
Years, pure invention
The human description
Of a planet's revolution

So, you groan at getting older
And smile at living longer
Though no one does neither
If time doesn't matter
Each unit is a hazy illustration
To torment the soul,
To give tribute to Death itself,
And to give the clock something to do

Natsuki
June 7th, 2005, 08:31 AM
Scattered

Time is a private dream
Constant wonderings of
Was I there?
Faded on the backdrop
Of silent voids
And ginger cats
And I--
I am at a loss for words
What should I say?
Atomic dust!
Iodine candy!
Forty-seven!
No, none of those are right
So I--
I remain in my
Ignorant silence
Drifting through
A millennium dream.

This poem was quite interesting indeed. ^__^ It appears to be about a dream. Dreams are often random - and occur depending on the type of mind that's creating the dreams.

Not only that, but dreams are often indescribable and create utmost confusion when trying to explain the dream aloud to a person. It seems as though the "Iodine candy" "ginger cats" and "atomic dust" were either parts or ideas of the dream.

The part that caught my attention the most was actually the last few lines of the poem.
So I--
I remain in my
Ignorant silence
Drifting through
A millennium dream.
It seems as though someone is trying to find themselves, or can't quite explain who they are or what's going on around them - so they fall ever silent into their own private world of their solitary mind.

People Watching

She sits in a chair at the table for one
Staring out of the cafe window with distant, gray eyes.
The cup in front of her holds a steaming cafe latte
But she acts like it's not hers.

The girl with the lizard tattoo on her bare arm
(Left that way by the rose-red shirt she wears)
Watches the people walk by, each and every one of them
All of them different, all of them going nowhere.

Her forlorn eyes scan the men in business suits
With their black leather suitcases and their silver watches
All rushing off to an office building
To waste away in a six-by-six cubicle without a view.

She watches the young mothers and the children
The children skipping along the road
Not knowing they'll soon face a dreary world.
And the mothers just praying to any god that this won't happen.

She watches the lovers and the dreamers
And the blue-collar workers on their lunch break
All of them hoping and praying for something better
All of them with something deep inside them left unsatisfied.

There sits the gray-eyed girl with the wild, red hair and the lizard tattoo
Behind a cup of joe she could have sworn she never bought
Contemplating what it's like to be them
To be accepted for who she is, not what's on her arm.

But does she really wish she could be them?
Does she wish to be restrained by life and all things in it?
Is it worth giving up freedom for a six-by-six box in an office
The one without a window to the world?

She smiles and turns her head away from the dingy window.
Her fingers curl around the cup and bring it to her lips.
She takes a long sip, swirling the coffee in her mouth for awhile.
With a gulp, she decides, "Not at all."

Oooooh, I really thought this one was cool. ^___^ I love the descriptions of both the young girl with the gray eyes as well as the people she's so intent on watching.

It would appear that she is not happy with herself. She doesn't feel complete, or wanted in the world. So as she sits in solitude, she looks around at the people who seem to have whole reasons to be there. She contemplates how their lives must be.

For example, the business men, they had no where to be, only to waste their days in a small cubicle, yet she felt envy for them - they were not being judged as she was.

And as she looks around at the streets that are bustling with people, she picks a few out and decides what her life might be like if she were to take that particular person's place. Yet in the end, after what seemed like hours of gazing into others' lives, she decides that her life is indeed suitable for herself.

Time and Frankness

The clock ticks the moment away
Each passing second dropping by
Like an unwanted guest who far overstayed a welcome
Like water dripping out of a faucet
Splashing on the white ceramic sink
Spreading out and collecting In a pool of nothing tangible

Time is an illusion
Seen, but not heard
Not touched, not felt
A trick of the mind only
The difference between days and years
Is muddled and unclear
What does midnight mean?
What does birthday mean?
How can someone keep track of something
That has nothing to be counted?
Seconds are invisible
Minutes, indefinable
Hours, indescribable
Days, never there
Weeks, imagination
Years, pure invention
The human description
Of a planet's revolution

So, you groan at getting older
And smile at living longer
Though no one does neither
If time doesn't matter
Each unit is a hazy illustration
To torment the soul,
To give tribute to Death itself,
And to give the clock something to do

Naturally, I adored this poem very much as well. :33 I always love poems that revolve around the aspect of time. But never has anyone tried to show the true meaning of time like you have shown in this poem. =3

"Time is of the essence" is a valuable saying. For it means, time is wasting away, or there's not much time left. But in reality...what time is there at all? Time is just something that keeps all of us humans in check, really.

For if there was no such thing as time, what would life be like? We may walk the streets with stoned expressions on our faces...or possibly we would lead merry lives doing as we wish...afterall, we have all the ____ in the world. ^_~

I believe your poems message is to show that time is just a figure of speech. It's neither there, nor is it here. You can't touch it or hold it. You can only say "The time is half past twelve" but what does that really mean? Why half past twelve? Why can't it be one o'clock, or a quarter to four? In essence...all time does is give a clock something to do. ^_~

Awesome poems, every last one of them was of pure perfection from my eyes. :33 Whether or not my explanations are correct, I still adored reading and reviewing your poems. =D

~Kelsey