[Have you ever been in love?]

Have You Ever Been In Love?

I find myself on your couch with my heartbeat in my throat

And my sweaty palm against yours.

Eyes glued to the TV ?though I can?t see a thing.

I?ve forgotten all experience.

I?m nervous and wanting.

Slowly, I turn my head.

Your eyes are already fixed on mine,

Hazy like you?ve been sleeping for years.

Have I been sleeping for years?

And there?s your face.

We close our eyes in the moment our mouths touch,

And suddenly I?m waking up.

Water splashed on my face, slapped silly for doubting this

?doubting you.

When you pull away I will never be the same.

I am wide awake and the world is new.

But still we kiss,

The waves of motion move from my mouth

To my throat,

My chest,

My heart.

It beats slower now.

You, my cardiac arrest,

Still adhere to my stinging lips.

Now I am aware of your touch on my arm,

My back,

My neck.

You are everywhere.

I think maybe this will never end, and pull you closer.

Do you know that I?m yours?

Before I let go,

You press your closed mouth against mine,

Your muscles stiff,

Your lips soft.

It?s a hard goodbye to a fleeting moment of perfection.

Separate again, like the pencil off the paper,

I long for more,

More stories,

More poems,

More chapters in my life?

Fewer blank pages.

I need you to fill them in.

I knew I couldn?t say it, couldn?t tell you

That I needed you in my future

To make my past worthwhile.

You stare back at me

And I hope to hell you can see it in my eyes.

Will this happen again?

Will you hold me an hour from now?

A day?

A year?

There is nothing to do but look up at you

And implore you with silence, beg you wordlessly,

To take me in your arms and kiss me again.

The pages begin to fill, and I am...

breathless.

[Coming Down]

The rain is coming down in buckets outside

And I think the best way I could spend tonight is alone

Headphones on?

Music blaring as loud as I can stand it

With the rain coming down in buckets outside

Candles lit

Incense smoking

Stoned

The taste of wine on my lips

Lying glossy-eyed on my floor

Letting the music penetrate my skull

So loud and so intense

That it vibrates to my very soul.

And the rain coming down in buckets outside

Like the running tones and melodies

Drowning out the world around me

And the drifting smoke like curling echoes of harmony

Am I hallucinating now?

The music is flowing, hanging, pulsing.

And the rain is coming down in buckets outside

While I?m breathing, sighing, pulsing.

Patter on the glass or a patter in my pulse?

Veins rushing, pumping, flushing

And my skin feels on fire

But the music in my ears

Is dousing me in water

As the flames are climbing higher

Up in to my brain

And outside it?s still coming down in buckets

Coming down as rain.

[Fifty Rules for Writing Good]

English teachers and journalists have been passing around a list of self-contradictory rules of usage for more than a century, and we've been collecting and creating them for almost half of one. Now we can offer you one of the largest accumulations gathered into a single space. We call them "Fifty Rules for Writing Good." Whatever you think of these slightly cracked nuggets of rhetorical wisdom, just remember that all generalizations are bad.

1. Each pronoun should agree with their antecedent.

2. Between you and I, pronoun case is important.

3. A writer must be sure to avoid using sexist pronouns in his writing.

4. Verbs has to agree with their subjects.

5. Don't be a person whom people realize confuses who and whom.

6. Never use no double negatives.

7. Never use a preposition to end a sentence with. That is something up with which your readers will not put.

8. When writing, participles must not be dangled.

9. Be careful to never, under any circumstances, split infinitives.

10. Hopefully, you won't float your adverbs.

11. A writer must not shift your point of view.

12. Lay down and die before using a transitive verb without an object.

13. Join clauses good, like a conjunction should.

14. The passive voice should be avoided.

15. About sentence fragments.

16. Don't verb nouns.

17. In letters themes reports and ad copy use commas to separate items in a series.

18. Don't use commas, that aren't necessary.

19. "Don't overuse 'quotation marks.'"

20. Parenthetical remarks (however relevant) are (if the truth be told) superfluous.

21. Contractions won't, don't, and can't help your writing voice.

22. Don't write run-on sentences they are hard to read.

23. Don't forget to use end punctuation

24. Its important to use apostrophe's in the right places.

25. Don't abbrev.

26. Don't overuse exclamation marks! ! !

27. Resist Unnecessary Capitalization.

28. Avoid mispellings.

29. Check to see if you any words out.

30. One-word sentences? Never.

31. Avoid annoying, affected, and awkward alliteration, always.

32. Never, ever use repetitive redundancies.

33. The bottom line is to bag trendy locutions that sound flaky.

34. By observing the distinctions between adjectives and adverbs, you will treat your readers real good.

35. Parallel structure will help you in writing more effective sentences and to express yourself more gracefully.

36. In my own personal opinion at this point of time, I think that authors, when they are writing, should not get into the habit of making use of too many unnecessary words that they don't really need.

37. Foreign words and phrases are the reader's bete noire and are not apropos.

38. Who needs rhetorical questions?

39. Always go in search for the correct idiom.

40. Do not cast statements in the negative form.

41. And don't start sentences with conjunctions.

42. Avoid mixed metaphors. They will kindle a flood of confusion in your readers.

43. Eliminate quotations. As Ralph Waldo Emerson said, "I hate quotations. Tell me what you know."

44. Analogies in writing are like feathers on a snake.

45. Go around the barn at high noon to avoid colloquialisms.

46. Be more or less specific.

47. If I've told you once, I've told you a thousand times, exaggeration is a billion times worse than understatement, which is always best.

48. Never use a big word when you can utilize a diminutive word.

49. Profanity sucks.

50. Last but not least, even if you have to bend over backward, avoid clich?s like the plague.

from http://kpbs.org/Radio/DynPage.php?id=2036

[But I don't smoke by Josiah Jacobus-Parker]

I'm not sure what to make of this, and I think that's good.

I can sense there are deep meanings in many parts of this story, but I'm having trouble working them out. I'm going to have to go away and think about it. I suspect it's going to be one of those stories where everyone will take something different out of it.

Tell me what you come up with when you're sure. I'd be interested to hear what different people get out of it.

[But I don't smoke by Josiah Jacobus-Parker]

Graeme says: I'm not sure what to make of this, and I think that's good.

I can sense there are deep meanings in many parts of this story, but I'm having trouble working them out. I'm going to have to go away and think about it. I suspect it's going to be one of those stories where everyone will take something different out of it.

C'mon Graeme... can't you see it's a story about the dangers of smoking?

:p

Oh yeah that's it. Don't smoke. Cause if you do, you'll get... raped... and then blow up in a car crash... and you wont be able to finish your cigarette. THERE IS A LESSON FOR US ALL HERE.

[It is snowing.]

So, after hearing about it all on the news and reading about it here ----> http://www.nytimes.com/2006/02/13/nyregion...ei=5070&emc=eta I got all nostalgic and wistful about the snow and started writing a poem about it. The whole thing sort of took off from there and became a little more self-reflective than I had meant it to be... tell me what you think!

It is snowing.

I see it flurrying down at a sharp angle,

Bigger and bigger pieces

Light as feathers

Alternating between swirls of fanciful misdirection

And bulleting down on a kamikaze mission towards earth.

I see from my six-foot windows

It?s piling on the roof of the building below me,

And the cars iced to the parking lot,

Trashcans frozen shut.

At my very core I am warm,

But on my edge there is a blueness:

My fingers and toes are as chilled

As they might be were I out there.

Just imagining the flakes dampening my hair,

Sprinkling my coat,

Dusting my eyelashes gives me a childish joy

That nearly erases the rest of what I feel.

I want to go out there in it today,

So I might grab some books and walk to the library to read.

It is Sunday, and I have things I must write,

But I am not sure I have the energy at the moment.

If it weren't for the snow to motivate me

I'd not have the energy to leave my bed at all.

I hope I see no one familiar except strangers

I've previously run in to today,

Ones I've never spoken to but know well,

But only as well as that.

If I saw someone whom I have spoken with,

Or a friend,

I'll be trapped in that conversation

And hello's and good-bye's

And pretending that I only look so angry out of habit

Rather than because I always actually am,

Don?t worry,

I'm fine,

And my eyes are only sunken because I have not slept well

As opposed to being because my calorie intake is low

And I am ill with a mystery illness,

One that plagues me tauntingly,

Hardly,

Off and on as if it could not decide

If it should manifest enough to give me proof,

And a disease of the heart.

I wonder,

If I were stranded on an island

With only salt water within reach

Would my thirst be emphasized?

Would not having it at my disposal

Make it that more irrevocably present

And impossible to ignore?

I say this because I am thirsty now

And seem to have not drunk a thing in over a day,

But I am lazy and have yet to find it in me

To get up and make myself a glass of water

--I'm too busy staring at the snow.

Perhaps only it can quench this anyway.

[Dear 'Last Sheet']

you are writing different things all of the time.

that's awesome.

thanks man.

I thought your two valentines poems were amazing and so powerful too. But I couldn't think of anything to say that wouldn't seem platry and weak next to them. So I just held my silence and keep reading them over and over.

[Dear 'Last Sheet']

So... does that mean it's stationary stationery? Inquiring minds want to know! ;D

Thanks for that one. I think I have a Last Sheet in my printer too.

If you have a paper jam, does that mean it likes music? or jelly?

Bad... pun... overload... :oops: cannot function..... ACK!

[Dear 'Last Sheet']

Dear 'Last Sheet'

Dear 'Last Sheet',

Yes, I'm talking to you, my pitiful paper pal.

You, as the last sheet of paper in my printer,

Hold the toughest job I imagine all office supplies

And equipment must hold.

People shriek at the near sight of you,

But you aren't so horrifically deformed as to merit it.

So, here is my apology, and the truth:

I see you today, as I have before,

Laying there alone (and cold, as my room is arctically so),

And I know it is time.

You're pushed to the bottom of the stack continuously,

As I constantly refill my printer

And place you farthest from use.

How many times, I wonder,

Have you been kept from your inky destiny!

I imagine the grief of those numerous rejections,

And I'm filled with it myself.

Oh, Last Sheet, you are not hated.

Make no mistake, for indeed

You also hold the most important job.

If you were to vanish I might find myself

Inexplicably dealing with a paper deficiency

For which there was no warning!

I'd be finishing last-minute projects,

Printing typed-up journal entries,

And so on and so forth,

And suddenly I'd be plummeting into despair,

For I'd have run out of paper

And no Last Sheet was there to tell me so.

Still, however,

Apologies and reassuring importance restated aside,

I fear one day I'll find you dead on my floor,

Having whisked yourself from my upper desk shelf

To float down in a whimsical suicide.

White surface to wood floor.

I know loneliness overshadows most good things.

Like a ton of bricks, it hangs from negatives,

Burdening and highlighting, so that positives,

Though often out-numbering, are still out-weighed.

I know.

Don't desert me though, Last Sheet.

I need you because you mean hope.

You mean promises for more to come.

Sincerely,

Your loving neglecter.

[That is why we look pretty when we cry]

Beautiful, Josiah.

Kisses,

TR

Thanks! :)

[That is why we look pretty when we cry]

Those middle three verses really have something to say. Or anyway, they said something strong to me. I hope they will to a certain few ppl around here too. Thanks, Josiah.

Glad to hear I got my message through. I was just sort of reflecting on a discussion my friends and I had over lunch that day. About how people put on facades with certain people and what they mean...

[That is why we look pretty when we cry]

That is why we look pretty when we cry

I look at you and all I can think is

'Stunning, absolutely stunning'.

How very complicated and strange you are,

My dear.

Oh but how beautifully you wear your identity.

So quick when you seem so slow.

A difficult illusion to maintain, I know.

It is much easier to come across foolish

And simple than to be complicated.

We both understand that.

Make them laugh and they wont remember we have feelings.

It isn?t a horrible, self-pitying thing to do.

It?s just much simpler than thinking

Everything there is to be thought,

And then discussing it with people who may not understand,

Not for lack of intelligence,

But for being different from you...

Me...

Us.

I?m sure they have thought over their very own everything,

And we wouldn?t follow the half of it.

C'ect la vie, my love.

That?s life. Besides,

I think you would agree with me saying

That laughing produces much more attractive wrinkles

Than the lines formed by a brow furrowed in thought.

The thinker's face is etched and creased in such a way

That it gives the illusion of sobriety

Even at the thinker's most joyful state,

Where as the laugher's tearful face still shines

With glorious, forgotten happy memories.

That is why we look pretty when we cry,

My lovely.

That is why we look pretty when we cry.

[All of this, without even a touch.]

with springs in his tail... or tales?

That, Mister, was a bad bad pun. I applaud you good sir.

I do think you're not quite done with it. Where is the narrator going with this and why? Does he find resolution and relief? If not, then that's a place to explore too.

I hadn't really considered the rest of it. I just got to a point where I realised it was already very long and I didn't know what else to write at the time.

I intend to come back and work on it some more eventually... when my muse permits. :roll:

[All of this, without even a touch.]

I think you are a tiger.

Honey, I am a Tiger.

Hear me ROAR. grr.

[All of this, without even a touch.]

Pain.

Little electric signals

Pulsing from the nerve endings in your skin

All the way to your brain,

And back again, in a single second.

That gnawing, ripping feeling

In the pit of your stomach as the internal shockwaves

Fight for a way out.

Why.

The ever-present why.

Why it doesn't hurt at first when

You accidentally brush your fingers

Against a hot pan fresh from the oven,

Until you realize what is happening.

Why it doesn't hurt at first when

You drag a jagged piece of glass across your forearm,

Only to feel the sore, swelling throb

Of the cuts as they begin to heal an hour later.

Why it doesn't hurt at first when

He whispers in your ear,

Wrapping his arms around you,

Until the sweet tingles of ecstasy

Running from your toes to the crown of your head

Turn into white-hot daggers stabbing

At the very depths between your legs.

But it's happening all over again.

A whispered word,

A gap in the story left to the imagination,

And all I can feel are the harsh shockwaves of agony

Vibrating inside of me,

And the feeling of my breath dying in my lungs.

All of this, without even a touch.

And I can't control it.

I have no say in it.

So tell me.

Where's the poetic justice in this?

Knowing that we won't be able to make it past

A timid kiss without my need to curl into a ball

And clutch at my stomach until the stabs of electricity

Die down?

Is that the fucking irony in this relationship?

And he worries for me.

Worries over the pain,

Knowing it's partly his doing.

Worries because we can't even speak candidly

About possible future exploits

Because just hearing his voice whisper

Such luscious things brings about convulsions of pain.

I don't care if it's because our love is so passionate.

I don't care if it's because

I have so much pent up sexual tension and frustration.

The point is simply that it will send stabs of pain

Through me for him to touch me in any sexual way,

And I'll be damned if this isn't some kind of cosmic joke.

It's a pain I can't control.

It's a pain that blocks me from living

Any kind of normal life.

It could easily be only a barrier

That can be broken down in time,

But that doesn't change the fact

That it's harsh electricity coursing through me.

And he's far too hesitant to help me conquer this.

Nothing makes sense anymore.

I was happy until this.

And now I can't help but cry.

It's something I can't control,

Something I can't understand,

Something I've never even heard of happening before.

One moment it's a sweet tingle of arousal,

The next it's a cacophony of pain

Blasting through every nerve ending

From my heart down to my toes.

And I don't understand.

And don't any of you dare lay any pity on me.

It's cruel enough to have this taking place to begin with.

--------------------------------------------------------

No, this wasnt about me. No, I'm not a cutter. No I don't have spasmatical pains. And no I'm not massively distraught or depressed. But yes, this is a work in progress. What do you think?

[rusticmonk asked for more, so here's a taste of the macabre]

Fear

It doesn?t think. It doesn?t feel.

It doesn?t laugh or cry.

All it does from dusk till dawn

Is make the soldiers die.

It will not pause. It will not wait

To set you on a bier.

To make your insides turn to run

And your courage disappear.

You cannot run. You cannot hide.

There is no safety near.

The one thing you cannot escape:

That horrible thing called ?Fear.?

The Mind

A chorus, a choir

Screams and moans

?They merge

The mind sings,

Though at times it sings a dirge.

How to ruin a wedding No. 54

Not something old,

But something new.

A borrowed corpse,

Lips turning blue.

Walk it down the aisle

And sit it on a bench

On the young man?s famlee?s side,

Next to some poor wench.

Wait until she jostles him, turning to the door

And then you?ll see our borrowed corpse

Sprawl lifeless across the floor.

Death

Once,

I dreamt of death

But now it dreams of me

And only rats and rotting flesh

Can hear my silent plea.

Some say banshees are the hounds of Death,

Baying to herd their prey.

Death?s gaze? The closest thing in kin?

The ending of the day.

On my death, I give you this treasure:

The knowledge that life is hard yet too soon past.

The touch of death is never gentle

And to most it comes too fast.

For some though, it comes as welcome boon

And death?s embrace need not be cold

Creeping, slipping across the floor,

Caressing the broken, injured, and the old.

But beware anything born among the dead.

For life and death are two sides of a coin

And all that dies

Ought never be returned.

Nature is an endless dance of life and death

And life has always been the dance

It?s only fitting that death should sing the tune.

Bones you see, never have the chance.

This last one I wrote a few years back for a History assignment during a trip to the WW1 trenches in Belgium.

In the Trenches and the Dark

On watch, I stood, for the full five hours.

Five hours of fire and hell.

Then the platoon stood and charged,

And the machine guns opened fire.

Twice they charged,

And then twice more.

A whistle, a thud, the rattle of guns

And the battlefield lies still.

?Till the next troop marches in,

To charge twice,

And then once more.

Two bearers dash past,

Then the shells begin to fall.

When the smoke and dust clears,

One stumbles back.

His arm dangles as I meet

His pleading eyes.

They sent him home,

To a ?special? institute, with honors.

Freud would have a field day,

Over what we?ve seen,

In the trenches and the dark.

[I'm not sure. Maybe this should go in the L&L section?]

Joey is NOT fine, it's taken. You be good or I'll spill your real nicknames, mate!

Mega kisses,

TR

*GASP!* you wouldn't!

no never mind. we both know that's a lie. you would.

[I'm not sure. Maybe this should go in the L&L section?]

Other subjects and moods would be welcome too. Hmm, I was trying for a nickname for "ArchangelMatthew72" besides your name. Heh, "Archie," doesn't quite fit. (Teasing you.)

hahah

Joey is fine.

Or master. Master works too.

[I'm not sure. Maybe this should go in the L&L section?]

I liked it. Because it is "dark and feral". Your choice of style was fitting and to the point.

Do you have anything else macabre?

hahaha did you read "A Bittersweet Victory"?

i might have a few others tucked away somewhere. I'll try and dig some out. They might need a bit of work though.

[I'm not sure. Maybe this should go in the L&L section?]

Working out some inner aggressive / destructive tendencies lately? I've noticed a couple of your other poems deal with it too.

relationships can be a bitch like that. :(

[I'm not sure. Maybe this should go in the L&L section?]

Bird

I saw him flutter and flap around,

Torn wings useless as he sprawled on the ground.

Feathers soaked in browning blood

Wings caked with brackish mud.

Watching him, it was so sad

But too late! He was had.

As he shrieked and struggled about and flounced

She flexed her claws and suddenly pounced.

She bit, tugged and tore off his head

And carried him away ?Dead.

[Brokeback Mountain--the original story by Annie Proulx]

It's interesting to hear that a large number of towns and cities in the US are not showing Brokeback Mountian anywhere. I saw it on saturday night with eight friends. We ended up seeing it at a late viewing of 11:15--why? Because of the four cinemas in Cambridge, it was the only screening that wasn't already fully booked by thursday night. Incidently, ten minutes after we arrived and picked up our tickets, the ticket office sold the last two seats.

We were all surprised by the turn out. It wasn't just filled with steryotyped gay men and women who love to read gay erotica. Oh no, it was packed with teenagers, elderly, men, women, gay and straight. A group of sixteen year olds arrived after we did, consisting of no less than five straight couples holding hands.

Amazingly, only two people walked out during the movie-- and no, it wasn't during the gay sex scene. It was during the scene when Anne Hathaway pulls of her top. The man left saying (and I quote), "fucking Princess Diaries," while tugging at his wife's hand.

Anyway enough about the audience.

The film itself was absolutely amazing. It had comedy, it had romance, it had heartache, confrontation, remorse... in fact, the only thing that was bad about it, was Jake Gyllenhaal's mustache (OH PLEASE DEAR GOD JAKE DON'T EVER DO THAT AGAIN). There is surprisingly little gay sex in the film-- in fact, hetrosexual sex takes up a much larger portion. The cinematography though was stunning, showcasing the bleak, but majestic landscape.

I won't give anything away about the movie, but I will say that the last scene was one of the most moving I'd seen in years. As the lights came back up, our whole row was crying and half of the audience were clutching tissues. I haven't had that much of a roller-coaster ride of emotions in a cinema since... god knows when!

All I can say, is it was the first time since Hero that I came out of a film feeling like I'd acutally spent ?4.50 on something worthwhile. Even if it meant I had to walk across Cambridge at 2am in the freezing cold to get home.

[Perfect]

Perfect

Let?s lie in the grass

And stare up at the stars

As the moon rolls past

Out here, away from the cars

Away from the city

And the people who rush around

Always so busy

But out here I can feel the ground

I inhale the warm night air

Your breath sweet on my face

I run my hand through your hair

This is the place

It?s perfect for us.

[Company]

Thanks you guys, I'm glad you liked it.

There are a few minor things I'm still not quite happy about, but over all I like how it came out.

Blue, I'm not sure if your comment was meant to sound as dirty as it did to me... so I'm gonna pretend it wasnt.

And thanks TalonRider, I'll take that as high praise. heh. :D

[Company]

Company --(dedicated to the nameless couple in Starbucks)

We sit idly in the corner,

The velvet couch almost too cozy

As quiet music plays softly overhead.

We nurse our coffees quietly.

I can see a man reading,

His foot tips a chair

And he rocks it absently.

The red lights over the counter

And the blue lamps on the tables

Make a homely glow

And I sink deeper into my seat,

Enjoying the caffeinated stupor.

A sophisticated woman in a fur coat

Comes and sits near us.

She takes delicate sips of her latt?

And flips through her magazines,

Reading up on the lives of celebrities

And whatever other gossip

That has found it's way into the latest issue.

The snow piles softly against

The window panes.

And I'm glad we're inside.

I'm glad we're warm.

What are you thinking about?

Should I ask?

You have a bag of books

And when I inquire,

You eagerly take them out to show me

Your latest purchase.

You speak excitedly about them.

But I'm not listening.

I'm just watching your mouth move,

Enjoying the contours and animations of your face.

I make a noise of appreciation.

But I'm still not listening.

Yours is such an open face,

So warm and comforting.

The wind rattles the glass panes

And I break from my reverie.

I'm reminded again

Of how glad I am we're inside.

I know how you enjoy the cold,

The outside.

But it's too wet to be out.

I lean closer to you

And rest my head on your shoulder.

Your hand finds mine and our fingers entwine.

It's subtle, but intimate.

Everyone else is drinking their coffee

--That's what they come here to do.

But we're not.

We're enjoying something better:

Each other's company.