| Hymn 42. - none of this poetry is mine |
|
|
| 09:09pm 14/03/2007 |
| |
Hino 42 -
Dai-me amor, dai-me amor
Dai-me o pão do Criador
Dai-me amor, dai-me
Livrai-me de todo mal.
by Mestre Irineu
I just finished an essay...had to read a lot of poetry in portuguese...I didn't know portuguese before I started. Still don't. Hope I get a great mark!
I didn't even bother with the german book except for the pretty pictures...luckily I do know spanish enough to use the one book I found in that language, and the two in english were ridiculously bad, so I hope I don't lose marks for using them.
30 - Eu tomo esta bebida
Eu tomo esta bebida
Que tem poder inacreditável
Ela mostra todos nós
Aqui dentro da verdade
Subi, subi, subi
Subi foi com alegria
Quando eu cheguei nas alturas
Encontrei com o Pai eterno
E Jesus Cristo Redentor
Subi, subi, subi
Conforme os meus ensinos
Viva o Pai eterno
E viva todo Ser divino. |
|
| |
|
Read 2 - Post |
| |
| writer's block. |
|
|
| 06:25pm 24/02/2007 |
| |
mood:  weird music: none
|
I've been compiling my poetry into a wiki.
I downloaded a program called wikidpad to help me do this.
I haven't been writing much new material lately, so I don't have much to post.
I haven't bothered updating the image gallery with higher-resolution, cooler looking pics yet, so don't bother looking for something new.
Here's some weird jibberish for you.
---Kann Talama Sit Blen---
Paloma jaralna liep kin daster marf,
Jin tadist mar kel namin pa fet daffen gershet nas.
Pes namen get,
Jin gosset fras nug berres nen,
Exilotsen.
Welkiop dih prohna sec raf,
Shan garsin dap kaltipar ka,
Peff nassit blat kann talama...
Kann talama sit blen. |
|
| |
|
Post |
| |
| Pretty Pulp |
|
|
| 01:50pm 16/01/2007 |
| |
The forbidden fruit is still purple,
overripe.
It's rotten flesh still desirable,
pretty pulp.
My last taste was so long ago
and far too small a portion.
Already expiring, it left me
sick.
Seasons later, the forbidden fruit still
rumbles in my gut.
I consider climbing up to examine it
In it's high-flying treetop frame,
but lack the guts to pluck it from it's branch
and take another bite.
The purple skin may thicken
Season by season,
and the pretty pulp may be bitter to me now,
but I cannot curb the craving I get
(despite my crippling indigestion)
to plant it's tiny pit
and grow myself another rottenwood tree
have another taste of the spoils,
suck on the pretty pulp,
chew on the thick purple skin
and perhaps this time,
learn to vomit up the remains
of a poison I'll never have an immunity for. |
|
| |
|
Post |
| |
| New Gallery coming soon |
|
|
| 04:58pm 24/04/2006 |
| |
mood:  silly music: Aphasia - Cold
|
I'm working on a series of self portraits inspired by Elizabeth Bathory. The preview can be found here.
Yes, this means I'm finally working on the CSL site again :P but don't get your panties in a bunch, it's still going to take a while. |
|
| |
|
Read 5 - Post |
| |
| evolution of one small universe |
|
|
| 11:42pm 13/02/2006 |
| |
mood:  disappointed music: Interlace - Crystalline Hush
|
Evolution Of One Small Universe
In the beginning there was peace,
The elements each in glorious unity
But time went on and harmony evolved
The elements embraced their independance
First by air, then land they moved on
Fire was last to turn away.
Though water held fast to it's origins
Now and again the elements congregated,
With love they celebrated and separated
Then the rocky ground shook for eons
Violent and constant, the war raged on
But mountains rose and fell together,
Valleys still plunged into the land
The dynamic of the universe electric
One moment energy, the next shock
And then the sky was separated from the land,
The seas rolled back from the shore,
Only wells and springs remained,
Occasionally spilling forth onto the plains.
And then all was dry, and there was a great anxiety.
Many days passed and a hush was on the land
The winds faded to a whisper of anticipation
In came the red rain to wash away the fear
The stormclouds roared with loud agony
The land was purged of its architecture
Rivers ran forth from the valleys,
Putting out the fires of creation
And the world shuddered in pain
And the world rejoiced in joy |
|
| |
|
Post |
| |
| rottenwood |
|
|
| 06:15pm 11/02/2006 |
| |
mood: weird music: bjork - isobel
|
One of these days I'm going to get around do doing something with the website... Totally am... *rolls eyes*
Uuntil then... here's a fantastic voyage plot.
-.-.-.-.-.-.-
( Into Rottenwood Forest ) |
|
| |
|
Read 3 - Post |
| |
| Oceanfish |
|
|
| 04:08pm 10/02/2006 |
| |
mood:  apathetic music: The Dresden Dolls - Coin-Operated Boy
|
the anchor of reality dropped to your ocean floor
sends ripples and waves against you
breaking your stride.
you know you saw the boat coming
and can't wait for the rusty hooks
to guide you on your way.
when you're meat you mean something
the provider, the entertainment, the sport..
but when you're far away and hidden,
you're nothing but a folktale.
so you wait to see the apparatus
watch the bait dangle and tease you
and you let yourself be tempted, but hold fast
in the end, the nets are deployed against you
swim, swim away, it's far too late. |
|
| |
|
Post |
| |
| new poetry |
|
|
| 08:14pm 28/01/2006 |
| |
mood:  uncomfortable music: Phil Collins - Mama
|
Yeah, I know... the short excuse is: I'm just too lazy.
Negligence
The abandoned deserter is smitten,
Restless but not moving on
Trapped in a riddle she's written,
Lost in a maze she's drawn
She's in love with a boy who doesn't exist
Days turn into weeks and months to years,
Filling out her days with emptiness,
On a quicksand path, escaping her fears. |
|
| |
|
Post |
| |
| |
|
|
| 10:28am 05/12/2005 |
| |
mood:  aggravated music: VNV Nation - Dark Angel
|
should be about finished my essay in a few hours.. break time means angsty poetry :P
-Research-
my reality stretches out like hot plastic,
i know that all things are possible
i see myself through a video screen,
observing myself observing myself observing myself
philosophical feedback, lame insanity,
an awareness all too keen to keep me in check
i could spend the rest of my life just watching
waiting for something to come along and trip me
make me fall back into the real world...
as if there even is one.
So much emphasis on being successful,
the money, the fame, the glory, materialism
i don't want to marry, no children, no legacy
but how can i live for pleasure and selfishness?
i have ultimate freedom, and yet
our culture demands that i earn it. |
|
| |
|
Post |
| |
| |
|
|
| 07:12am 07/11/2005 |
| |
I started working on the site again t he o ther day. i have some graphics prepared, and some ideas... i'm splitting the poetry into three sections, instead of listing the chronology.
it'll take me a long time to find the motivation to finish it... so until then, this is my new medium...as you've probably guessed by now.
i don't care how many missing m's and extra spaces are in my sentences... this keyboard is fucked.
<3 , Jacki
-Yes, of course.-
He's the boy who wasn't there
And I resent his every step
He's my only tie to a world beyond apathy
But it's one of hate.
He takes advantage of anything he needs
Taking breaks from smiling fingertips
For granted
I cheer him on in self-disgust
As friends behind his back
Show signs they're queasy; overstuffed. |
|
| |
|
Post |
| |
| |
|
|
| 01:19am 18/10/2005 |
| |
mood:  lonely music: none
|
I hurt. a lot. I've tried to ignore it, push it away, pretend it's irrational and therefore not real. I hate having teenaged angsty bullshit in my life. i hate talking about it... but most of all i hate that by not talking about it, i've built up this custom of not sharing my troubles with my friends and not having any friends to share my troubles with. only friends to escape with.
i can run all i want, but i can't hide... and yet, i'm not ready to face any of my fears. i'm still willing to be the martyr. i don't care what happens to me as long as i don't hurt you in the process.
Sometimes i wish movies like Eternal Sunshine had a basis in reality. it would make it so much easier for me to disappear.
Once a saviour,
Once a whore.
Teenaged freedom,
Sins explored.
Perfect, sexy,
evermore.
Words unspoken,
Heartbroke, poor. |
|
| |
|
Read 2 - Post |
| |
| two new |
|
|
| 04:20pm 22/08/2005 |
| |
-Shoulder to Die On-
Promises, promises, error's a dye.
Forever unwanted, I'm hopeless, awry.
My cavern-faced portraits, colourful, lie.
Sweet shoulder to die on, come to me dry.
-Banks of the Lost-
In the cave of tormented affairs
A deep blue river twists and flows,
Washing a tide of hatred and longing
Onto the lovelorn banks of the lost.
In such a heap of rosy corpses
Lies one little candle, burning on.
Steadily the flame of hope retreats,
Not to be noticed, but lingering.
Clasped in the hand of a fresh loss,
Still twitching with despair,
The candle shivers impatiently.
One more whisper could be the end.
One word from the mouth of the cold cave
Could mean a freedom, though stony and dark.
And silence, a shadow creeping in,
Insulates the slavery it fortells. |
|
| |
|
Post |
| |
| The Ice Queen makes a return |
|
|
| 06:27pm 08/08/2005 |
| |
mood:  bitchy music: none
|
I wrote this at work today, while I was supposed to be hanging new clothes up. Oh well, I got it all done... I was told never to refuse an audience with the Muse and I take that very seriously.
-Out with the Old-
The world is the sun's hot kingdom,
Baked in treason.
Full of people left to stew alone.
Drinking to times past
Behind a veil of mourning,
The ice queen prepares herself
For an early coronation.
The liberty bell in her chest
Tolls to the beat of freedom,
She nurses its crack like a hot coal,
Ready to set the world on fire.
But the world is ashen gray.
She tiptoes around the crown of truth,
Waits for the cold winds to blow her way
Casting their spell of frozen decay.
Time to go buy some M&Ms
-Jacki
|
|
| |
|
Post |
| |
| blah |
|
|
| 01:15am 24/07/2005 |
| |
mood:  jealous music: Hawksley Workman - Jealous of your Cigarette
|
-Effigy-
Lumber tossed aside,
Lit aglow by aging embers
Past their peak.
Instant rapture,
Fuel up and race away.
Our cannon's packed with
Insecurities;
Leftover heartbeats
Scraped into the gutter,
Each throb a strike
Closer to midnight.
If you're sick of waiting for me to get off my lazy rear end and put the site back up, take a browse through the old format. It's still hanging around at- http://poetry.csliterature.cjb.net |
|
| |
|
Post |
| |
| Site's still down. Eat this. |
|
|
| 04:33am 17/04/2005 |
| |
Once upon a time I was Ophelia
But patience smiled upon me in my woe
I never did go swimming with the flowers
Though frail of mind, delirious and cold.
I woke one day to find my fate accepted,
A million grains of sand blew past my face...
The stream of tears all dried, the river cracking,
And parched, I tried to fill the holes with clay.
I crawled on hands and knees straight up the valley,
Then down again, not certain who had won.
The seasons changed, the journey never ending
'Til earth again revolved around the sun.
Now walking through the doors I closed behind me,
I welcomed in the sunlight through the glass,
Though burn it will, thought I, I'd rather chance it,
Then wallow solitary sans repast.
One evening tragic news collapsed before me,
A touchy tale of Error never slain,
And I, confused, still wonder if that snake
Will turn around and rear her head again.
But time passed on and still the world was spinning,
The fairer folk fell from the sky with snow,
Distracted, I crept out to play along...
The world an eerie white did smiles bestow.
I sauntered calmly into such temptation,
A ruby lock, an elevator smile,
And parch-ed still, I drank, enthusiastic
'Til feeling whole at last... or for a while.
Another bomb did drop upon my doormat,
A billet-doux from whence the river starts.
My comfort drowning with the rising tide,
And hope again gave faith to broken hearts.
Then patience blew away with springtime winds,
Her feathers paused to tickle hunger's whims,
So quietly we played, on angry violins
And melted into one again, happy for our sins.
|
|
| |
|
Read 2 - Post |
| |
| Straight to the point |
|
|
| 07:11am 04/04/2005 |
| |
mood:  nostalgic music: Hedwig and the Angry Inch - Origin of Love
|
Since the site is down, I suppose the most logical thing to do is post here...I'm a lazy, lazy girl.
Children of the Moon
A trembling, ripe volcano
My chest erupts for you alone
As destruction, thick and hot
Washes over the world.
Old anger bubbles out
Into the garish morning,
And we're purple and red,
Living and dying,
Rubbing sugar into old wounds.
It's silent and humid,
We're alone in the universe,
And just for a moment
We belong to each other
In requited, solitary pain.
Hours go by, but
The lava hasn't cooled,
You won't let it sleep yet...
Ours is a bruised, elastic love. |
|
| |
|
Post |
| |
| oh yeah, about that... |
|
|
| 02:24am 04/03/2005 |
| |
|
mood: sleep deprived music: deftones - dai the flu
|
So I've taken the site down for a while...uhh...you might have noticed.
Sorry for not posting about it sooner. It'll be back eventually.
thumping hearts and bite wounds,
Jacki |
|
| |
|
Post |
| |
| *sways* |
|
|
| 10:58pm 07/02/2005 |
| |
mood: aggravated music: There's a song in my head, but I don't know how it goes, or who it's by. haha.
|
Four more poems, only one of which was written today. Apparently I've just been lazy and hadn't posted the others.
Some of you may have noticed that when I wrote about the new guestbook, it wasn't actually on the site yet.
Well, it's still not. Sorry :P I did create it, transfered all of the entries over, and thus you were bombarded with thank-yous for ancient signatures...but that was not motivation enough to get me switching things, and I still haven't.
Replacement is this the soup of the day. Consider the others...hors d'oeuvres to the chef d'oeuvre. |
|
| |
|
Read 2 - Post |
| |
| guestbook changeover |
|
|
| 03:08pm 07/01/2005 |
| |
mood: aggravated music: Ladytron - Fire
|
Well, it appears that CJB will no longer be hosting my guestbook, so I'm switching over to Html Gear from Angelfire. I'm copying out the old entries and transferring them, but the original date will be posted at the bottom of the comment box.
Feel free to sign again if you feel an injustice has been done ;)
As for new work...I've written and lost three poems in the past week, I'm sure more will be on the way, but you'll have to be patient.
Meantime...candies for all!
sloppy kisses,
Jacki |
|
| |
|
Post |
| |
|
|
|
![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small}
cosmic_soiree's journal
hungry