new something i threw together. getting better at writing lyrics but wow it is still very stressful and hard and eventually rewarding sure but mostly stressful and hard “Barrel On” one man is an island he’s holed up 10 off the bay in ‘90 they ring it in the last shimmers “eleven! ten!” 9 more moments 9 more months 9 more lives but why climb up? the film’s developed, he’s here in the room please don’t fret a second set of eyes brings more to prove so barrel on alert no one of whereabouts to stay an idea, loose-fitted the real of her can prove it hereditary ceding, digging toes into the sand but why climb up? the film’s developed, he’s here in the room please don’t fret a second set of eyes brings more to prove so barrel on alert no one a hired gun? one man is an island one man is an island one man is an island he passed the savings onto me
I’m taking a poetry class and it’s probably one of the hardest classes I’ve ever taken. I feel very confident in writing technical or research papers but god damn, writing poetry is difficult for me. I think it’s cause I’m overthinking it. Like, we have to read everything we write in front of the class so I obsess over making it perfect rather than just letting my imagination flow and then going back to edit. It doesn’t help that I’m an English education major and most of the people in my class are creative writing majors so I feel like I’m way out of my league. With lyrics, I don’t care at all about what I’m writing about. I just play music and the lyrics tend to be whatever sounds right and often have little to no meaning. But this this I feel intent on crafting something with meaning and purpose which often leads to me staring at a computer for hours on end. I have three poems due tomorrow. All of which are started but not complete and I’m freaking out.
Instead of thinking of lyrics and poetry as two separate things I'd suggest maybe regarding the latter more like the former; if you're comfortable writing lyrics, don't sit down and try to write in a way that feels like poetry - let the normal processes that engage when you write lyrics come through. If you can write lyrics I've no doubt you're a poet! When I write, I try to engage a feeling or emotion but then I just let it go - and I write whatever comes out and sounds good. Giving myself the freedom to just write down in a stream of consciousness loosens me up and often produces some pretty honest stuff. And sometimes when I proofread it after the fact some stuff that sounded good but doesn't work. But at least I've given myself a base to work from. Don't over think it! Just let it happen.
I just stayed up to 4am writing this stupid fucking piece of crap so enjoy it or don’t but it’s done. And now I need to write another for a different class, praise be. Had to write in a style that is not my own (not that I really have one), mimicking an author we were reading so that was challenging Strands of loose locks Lost down the drain and Along with ‘em another ounce Of confidence drips from my Temples and sleeps beneath The underbelly of my now Diminished amour propre At 23, this must be some sort Of fluke (or perhaps penalty for penile pleasure, sent from above?) Grandpa Harry might have lost his god damn Mind, but at 92 that bastard had a head Like a bristle. Thick as a brush- Fire in Californian August. I could have probably borrowed An extra thread of his genes and he’d Been none the wiser. Stiched To my scalp. Follicle blood. Runs From my skull, all in the name of vanity In a mirrored reflection I’d grab what Remained and pull it taut and unseen Imagining the naked mole rat Version of me that I’d have to come Face to face with in a matter of time Until finally I took that razor and I washed it clean. Trading my ego For practicality.With varnish and laquer I lathered my skin and married That blade with a surgeon’s precision Splitting the cells and molting anew
____________s p a g h e t t i f i c a t i o n___________ Almost done with this class. Could not be happier that it’s over soon. I feel spent.
What do I do when my commitments wither in the eyes of others? ----- My soul now spins with such speed to see still, though it glisten as it leaks, the way you wound me. ----- Death is every moment, its prospect sweetens life.
greetings! i'm workin on a book/books of poetry. have been for about 5-7 years or so. in three parts: 'who buries the grave digger?', 'the next mourning', and 'absolution'. this is likely from 'absolution': -The Illusion of Sleep- I never claimed to be flawless The cracks, too deep for the naked eye But as a man of my word, I promised To always try Our chemistry A recipe For a nuclear bomb I can see the detonation Yet I hear no sound I can feel the reverberations Though my feet are off the ground Is this a nightmare? Is this a dream? My eyes are closed shut Yet I still Yet I still see And with each word that leaves my lips The knife slowly begins to twist Without any anesthesia This crimson volcano Its eruption can seem a bit unstable Aftermath, victim of amnesia A suicide For you and I Until tomorrow comes A little role play You can be the butcher And I’ll be the blade To satisfy Our beastly appetites We can’t afford another empty plate Is this the end? Is this the beginning? I can’t tell the difference Am I still... Am I still living? Are you a paramedic? Are you a mortician? Regardless, I’m in need of assistance Damn this impaired vision Are you a heroine? Are you an exorcist? How did I end up nailed and tied To my own crucifix? I sit up in a panic Like the dead being brought back to life The only thing that is certain Is the illumination from the morning light Was it a nightmare? Was it a dream? Was I unconscious? Was I asleep?
Wrote this tonight. Calling it W.Y.W.O. Coded in soft language; covered in blue, Singing about her is across the sea. Won’t you come and remember the rushed plea of two planes headed for what could be true? The chasm of my chest welcomes song to it, but they sink in love like lust: sick and red. Means shit when this is where it has lead. Another meeting lost from where I sit. Ten to finish; sixty for them all, love, fantasy lost in certainty tonight. Pouring out the bottle; get drunk on light, Kissing the floor; If the hand fits the glove