Poems from a couple of years ago, when I was taking part in a daily poetry blog...
honestly, by nicholas jay liebrecht
honesty is indeed a strage bedfellow
you use it
and it uses you up
fiction is better
fiction takes talent
fiction requires creativity
honesty has entertained no one
lies are where genius lies
do you get it
that last line about lying ends
with the word lies
that is poetry
angst-ilicious, by n j liebrecht
i am itching for a fight
fair is a word made mostly of air
headed in the wrong direction always
and forever seems shorter to a lover's
leap from a page to page and a body to a body
bags under your eyes and in yoru hands
down town and that's the way
side - stepping domino dancers move
ahead in the lines leading us all home
bases aren't only there for the score -
akoplishmant (appockalypseshment), by nixlus jeh leebrikt
stands as my greatest accomplishment -
would that i could die in such a poetic
((and yet universal)) way
it is this life ..in.bet.ween.. that is grimy
and too easy
and too long
that i detest (understandably) so so much
however-apparently-not enough to actually-
(like live well or exit loudly)
I will have you know that
I .square.off. quite deliberately with
my fists clenched .against.
and at the start of each-and-every-day
I .take. a breath which becomes a
battle. a war. and it could even
be considered a .single.handed.slaughter.
this .weak.wiggling tap-dance
I continuously perform
just to stay
still too quiet, by nicholas liebrecht
i can see your idea of science
speaking about using words
feeling used to mean touching
abstracting the already-shadow
is barely showing
off the subject clothes-piled
close on the rug
with more overlap than us, now
two empty sleeves are touching
and they remind me
that they were once full of hands.
scientific principle, by nicholas jay liebrecht
but more of a wound-er
drawn to defend her
realizing not the need
to be defended from her
is much greater than
my withdrawn self
can be removed only
so many times
before the globe is encircled
and every step
taken away only
brings me nearer
blur, by nicholas jay liebrecht
a country full of dogs and cats
and sandwiches under unmade beds
falling deadly leaves breaking the
sound-barriers between appologies
and innocent foods uneaten by
jaw-bones busy being weapons
fisted-up and coiled like a cord
from a phone or a snake-jar
minus a lid making blinking
impossible and dreaming into
a daytime timeline line-of-work
bad enough, by nj liebrecht
that she smuggled in
a 'was' and a 'could have'.
what murdered me
is when she put a sharp
'probably not' in her mouth
and kissed me goodnight
scarce city, nj liebrecht
There wasn't even much to begin with
and now there's less
which is fine
people are so comfortable with so so much
that it is a discovery
when you find out that
you can indeed say big, important things with
a few skinny, pale words...
monster, by nicholas liebrecht
the girl watched
from a safe distance
as the monster crouched over his victim
and bloodied his teeth
on the poor things heart
the moster looked sad
but moreso hungry
and he ate
when he was done
all that remained of his kill
was scraps of person'
and bits of bone
the monster began crying raw tears
too big to be formed round
"why do you cry"
asked the girl
forsaking her shelter
and coming to where
the monster was
"because i am a monster"
"and i walk as an outcast among men"
"it is truly terrible"
said the girl
and she lowere her head
"but eating people will only make
your problem worse"
"you are wrong childe"
the monster corrected and stood
he was dark and looked like shifting clay
as he advanced he said
"eating people is my only solution-
for only when none but me remain
will i no longer be seen
as a monster"
the girl didnt scream
she instead removed her shoes
so the monster would not choke on them.
the fall, nic lieb
i realize (in reality)
that it's only august in one place
but it's two other times and
i kind of think these dream days make the fake me
take over the rake
and gloves because
the leaves got to be in a pile
and the real me is tooo good
job of piles-making
so he sleeps
and the tool drops and someone else
pulls all the dead ones together
spiritualitis, by nicholas liebrecht
under a monthslong pile of skin
and circustents of bone
and tangled musclestrings like nettles
lives such a thing
as has never been
recorded in words
(at least not accurately)
once widely believed
to exist solely in ideas
is a physical interior chunk
a fragment of tangible music
a lump with arteries and wires and tubes
an organ connected to everything else, yet
moreso fundamentally connected to matters
outside of the body
recurring again, by Nicholas Jay Liebrecht
I don't have to worry
about what to do
with a pen in my hand
I become magic
and what's nice is that
nothing is permanent
you can find your perfect
over and over
Once I let go of this
It's not just mine anymore
It goes into your eyes
It belongs to
It goes directly back to God...
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
I would spend HOURS and HOURS and
MILLIONS and ZILLIONS (in quarters) trying to master this game.
Such a great concept.
Knights jousting while riding around on FLYING OSTRICHES over pools of LAVA!!!!
Where's James Cameron... I've got an idea for him...
Posted by SUBMIT! at 12:17 PM
Vancouver is like a less grimy Portland... Where the hipsters take showers and visit their Grandmothers once in a while... I like it.
Come on! She isn't going to be around forever- and she's full of really great stories!
...AND she's always got a dish of hard candy on the coffee table!!!!
Posted by SUBMIT! at 11:54 AM