NINJA DAY!

[kindigo]

I'm trying not to fall asleep
But I'm in class and bored to tears.
Stayed up all night so I could keep
on reading about que--...slash.
I'm pulling poems out my ass
And writing things I know are trash
But if it's that or sleep in class-
...*rereads*....I should just crash. -_-°°
I feel my eyes start slipping shut
And then my sluggish heartbeat slows
"That's what I get for reading smut fanfiction,"
I think...before I doze...


Oh how I'd like to write some clever prose
Or post a kickass sonnet I've composed
But I'm not sure my clumsy meter flows
And I forget how sonnet rhyme scheme goes
(But I bet that Ry or Bonamy knows-
Not that they read my eljay, 'cos they're HOS.)
So now I draw my poem to a close
Before my abject lack of talent shows
And too before my muses come to blows-
Bad tunes or poems often cause their rows.
But I digress and also still impose.
I'd like to send out "Sorry" to the O:
No deeper meanings in my sonnet
Nor snazzy title to go on it.

I'll also here apologize to those
of you whose brains are in their dying throes
because the awful poems I've exposed
them to--have every single synapse froze.
But now you're safe from all your zombie woes!
Yay! Because I know that all you emos
Were worried- 'Zombies! Not my brain! O Noes!'
So now you're safe from foes who decompose,
Just you remember that it's you who owes--
There is a small request that I propose.
Your own bad poetry: do you suppose
that it can suck much worse than Kindigo's?
You only have to write your own!
'Cos otherwise my poem pwns.


It is again that time of year
it must be something in the snows
that sparks my bad!muse. See this here:
How little talent grows.

So be inspired, little minions!
If your muse on you bestows
inspirations few or billions--
Please comment and disclose!

In other news, a small tidbit:
Today is Sneak Like Ninja Day!
For all your ninja needs, here's this.
That's all I have to say.

Comments

What The Vampire Said

[dontforgetme.livejournal.com]

In April, we walked
Across the battleground, and kicked
The black and blue earth
Beneath our feet, careful
To avoid the white
Crosses carved from bone.

“Be cautious of landmines
and the tortured pantomimes
of high school drop outs…”

“but where are the trenches
of our enemies?”

“Beneath your feet, darling.”

This wasteland is without end, or opposition.
Homi Bhabha and Edward Said
Are writing papers about the redefinition
Of youth culture in this minimal space,
The fallout from two eras colliding,
This motherfucking beyond,
This one sided war, while we
Stand, unassembled puzzles
Of flesh. They say

Once there was a man.
He kneeled down, as if to pray
And kissed the ground
With tongue and teeth.
Nosferatu! The people whispered,
As he drank the blood from the earth,
Spilled from our veins.
Nosferatu, the vampire.

And in a buzz and a flash
We blinded, then dust.

“But the land can’t
heal on a diet
of blood and dust.”

Just before you
Disappear.

I wish I could cry.

The nosferatue was said to have stood
Up after his meal of earth and blood,
Soil stained chin and roots
Caught in his teeth and said:
“I wish I could die.”
Datta.
Dayadhvam.
Damyata.

I wish I could cry, sometimes.
I don’t want to be blinded.

[blame-my-muses.livejournal.com]

Bone White Tree
Crack!
The whip of Earth’s master flashes,
The trees, illuminated by the flash of lightning, groaned.
Darkness…
Once more the black of night seeps back.
Flash!
The bone white branches reach out;
Like skeletons they stand there, reaching…
Reaching…
Then, like a snake it strikes!
Now the white turns black, the moaning stops to be replaced with the shuddering of crumbling life.
Like a dead thing it falls: the once majestic tree.