Tragic Rabbit
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Posts posted by Tragic Rabbit
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meat eater
tacit carnivorous
eyes of the beast
dark watching from shadows
ready to feast
young boys in the station
men in the park
hard plastic predators
hunting a mark
prowl savage at rest stops
blooding your kill
rend out the soft bellies
swallow your fill
sink sharp fangs into flesh
eat till you scream
slick cock slayers take coin
then stalk your dreams
beasts snarling at back doors
stark on the streets
so many cold choices
such sweet surfeit of meats
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Umm . . . say I had another chapter. You know, sorta pulled it out my bum. Is anyone interested?
Yes!
...that's actually one of my favorite sources of inspiration. :pottytrain2:
Kisses...
TR, big Angel fan
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quiet girl
long and lean
a catlike curl
silent, serene
a quiet girl
black hair massed
along white flesh
a stark contrast
onyx enmeshed
glistening pearl
swan neck, dark eyes
a moody girl
soft disguise
ache to touch
that creamy skin
angel nonesuch
let me in
*
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The Review
Like angels in Byzantium
Who never have been kissed;
If I simply disappear
Would I even be missed?
Like hot pants and the midi
And satin white as snow;
Would anybody notice
If I were just to go?
Like insects caught in amber
Or dinosaurs in dirt;
Were I a thing remembered,
What would my absence hurt?
Like mushroom clouds from atoms
Or locusts on the farm;
Is presence beneficial?
Have I done any harm?
Like letters in the attic
Like trash along the street;
Would I be best forgotten
When I?m beneath your feet?
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I Remember
I remember swimming in summers
laughing
as the waves broke white
against sun-kissed sand
I remember your green eyes like gemstones
glistening
gazing at me with
dark, drowsy passion
I remember hot and humid nights
breathless
dripping, drenched in sweat
grappling in the dark
I remember brisk days in the park
handfast
love-struck, loving, careless of the eyes
we two, just holding hands like children
I remember winters wide and white
curled up
warmed up by the fires
that licked hot inside
I remember, oh yes
I remember you
but like a story
that happened long ago
dimly, darkly, do I remember
distant
faded photographs
images of love
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Hmm...I'd personally rather you wrote poems in a speaking style that fit you better, Blue, no offense meant. Esp as this one is a sort of quasi-Black-urban thing and, well, you're pretty White. The various slang words come from different eras and locales, which I'm sure adds to the dissonance I'm experiencing. But I'm glad you've starting writing, or at least sharing what you write. The poem comes off kind of like an oldstyle blackface routine, the kind with white folks acting like fools aka 'Negroes'.
Can you try writing more from Blue's own headspace?
Kisses...
TR
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you stand there in your Italian suit
wearing hate on your skin like perfume
money gleams in those Aryan eyes
virtue shiny as your tasseled shoes
leather bible in hand like a whip
glittering gems grace each fat finger
calling on God like your errand boy
wrath of the mighty, smite them all down
cocooned in your own cold complaisance
you name the sin and blame the sinner
while at home you diddle your daughter
and divorce a dozen desperate wives
*
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with his ?p?e (fencing foil).
An ?p?e and foil are not the same weapon. A foil is much lighter, more supple.
TR
(I can outgeek Blue, I know I can, I know I can...)
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I used to have ESP but couldn't afford the monthly charges.
:D
TR
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Well, gee whiz.
What I did was take a somewhat suggestive, old poem and make it more obviously sexual...including the anti-romantic last line. I thought it a nice contrast to Byron's original and tribute, too, as that's one of my all-time favorite poems.
TR
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This might be obvious, but maybe a few people might not notice it at first:
"Touch?" means "touched" in French. Its basic meaning is like in English: to have touched or to be touched. He touched me, I touched him, something he said touched me inside. All those, we have in common, with "touch?."
"Touch?" means "touched" in French but the overall imagery is of a fencing match, love versus love, feints, lunges, parries and ripostes. One says 'touch?' in fencing when your opponent scores a hit, a touch.
So 'touch' in this context means many things, the touch of lovers, the touch of steel on skin (or mesh mask or padded vest), the hit of a well-aimed insult during a lovers' fight. Touch can be dreadful; touch can be delightful.
'Left handed' and 'sinister' are synonyms, based on the long-standing idea that left-handedness is a sign of evil. The first stanza is the 'salute', traditional in fencing but also indicates that the fight is about to begin when one raises one's 'weapon', again all of which can have more than one meaning when discussing lovers. And aren't we often, too often, 'on guard' when in love?
Third stanza, 'how sweet, how sharp your steel' means more than a foil or saber, just as surviving is also of the heart. When the last stanza claims the win, yet concedes the final loss, it's definitely of the heart. Sometimes relationships are sparring matches...of all kinds.
I did mix the metaphor on the last stanza, using 'Love' and 'game, set and match' which are from tennis, but I wanted them anyhow to, maybe, add depth to the idea of one-on-one competition within a relationship. A few other images of coldness and hardness: diamonds, mesh, steel, metal, 'how hard and spare you seem'. And of course, the feared 'score' here is not the act of drawing literal blood but the metaphorical blood we draw when we fight with those we love.
So, yes, "Touch?".
Thanks for the compliments, they are few and far between for TR these days.
Kisses...
TR
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Guys, I have to agree with you. It's not encouraging when a writer spends a huge amount of time and thought writing and doesn't get much response. That has nothing to do with how good the story or the writer is, either.
So why don't readers respond? Let's look at the audience and the medium.
Many readers (of any genre) have the idea that a writer is some hallowed, wise being on a pedestal
Yeah, lack of response (like nearly zero) to Murder on the Oscar Wilde is one reason it's on Hold. While I may be wise, I'm not hollow and I do need strokes (ahem) to help me complete the act.
It's very discouraging, worse than being turned down for a date, when your story/poem is ignored entirely. Esp stories that you work on, research or slave over, then get zip...well, you just feel downright unworthy and rejected. You also begin to question the worth of the story itself, in addition to your writing skills. So...you maybe don't finish or don't write another soon or...something. Sulk maybe, or gorge on chocolate.
Pity the busy monster, authorkind.
TR
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Read Heart of the Tree , the new novel by Graeme. Meet Rhys, Mia and Vince, then please let Graeme know how much you like the story. Chapter One online.
http://www.awesomedude.com/stories/HOTT/he..._tree_title.htm
The Tree was old. It had watched over many generations of local inhabitants. Settlers moving west from Sydney, recognising that the area was suitable for farming, had formed the small township of Mourton around The Tree. Even then, the residents recognised something special in The Tree and preserved the land around it as a park. Their discovery of land nearby that was suitable for grapes assured the prosperity of the town.
The children enjoyed clambering through the gnarled roots, up between the multiple, twisted trunks, and along the huge, curving branches. The middle of The Tree, between those trunks, was a safe haven, a fort, the room at the top of an enchanted tower, the meeting place of a secret society, the cabin of a sailing ship, or the centre of a wild forest ? whatever the children imagined. Without knowing it, The Tree became a part-time babysitter, as it entertained the youngsters while their parents performed their strange adult rituals.
An educated man once declared The Tree to be a magnificent specimen of Ficus Macrophylla ? a Moreton Bay Fig Tree. That name said so much about The Tree, but left so much more unstated.
Young lovers enjoyed the cool shade the spreading canopy provided. Many a tryst took place under the protection of The Tree.
Slowly, a legend grew.
Vows of love taken within the cover of The Tree were true and binding. The Tree was given the appellation ?The Lovers? Tree?, though most locals would shorten that to ?The Tree?. Many a wedding was held under those leaves, and the district enjoyed the lowest divorce rate in the country.
The story is still told of a young man, hormones running wild, professing his love to the latest target of his lust, only for the purpose of gaining the momentary pleasure he sought. He?d done that before, but never under The Tree. It was the last conquest he ever made; no other girl would have him from that time on.
The townsfolk loved their tree and protected it to the best of their ability.
Three times, though, that protection wasn?t enough.
Three times, The Tree started to die.
Three times, a young maiden, despairing of ever finding love, found her beau in a stranger to the town.
Three times, a wedding was held under the canopy of the dying Tree.
Three times, The Tree recovered.
Three times, a young maiden was given the sobriquet of Heart of The Tree.
The last time had been just after World War II. Since then, The Tree had faithfully cared for the children, protected the young lovers, and comforted the older couples.
One night in late November, a drifter came into town. Filled with a sickness in his heart, he lay down beneath the tree and fell asleep.
He never woke up.
The sickness in his heart, though, spread to the tree.
The fourth time had arrived.
Read Heart of the Tree , the new novel by Graeme. Meet Rhys, Mia and Vince, then please let Graeme know how much you like the story. Chapter One online.
http://www.awesomedude.com/stories/HOTT/he..._tree_title.htm
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http://www.awesomedude.com/stories/SOF/sea..._fate_title.htm
'I remember my first gay thought. It came to me during a sleepover when I was twelve years old, and I woke in the middle of the night draped over Benjamin?s backside.'
If you're starved, as I am, for more of Josh's sexy scenarios, unforgettable characters and the flavor of teenage Texas, try Sealing Our Fate, his new coming of age novel, set again in Josh's native southern Texas. Fall in love with Ben and Kipper right along with Aaron, SOF's charming and self-conscious narrator. Is it ever easy for a young boy to discover how much he wants, and maybe even loves, his best friends? And what if he doesn't want to be gay?
From Sealing Our Fate by Josh:
'I?d been dreaming about Linda Parks and that we were snuggling naked. But I woke up and? it was Ben!
I didn?t realize it right away, though. I woke with my heart racing and with my chest and belly pressed to the warm, soft skin of his back. I woke to the smell of his curly brown hair and the feel of my hard cock, resting against his firm butt, ? I?d never pressed my hard cock against someone before, even through briefs.
I almost pulled him closer. I almost ground my cock against his butt before I was fully awake. But then I was awake, and I quickly rolled away.
As I lay there in the darkened room, my breathing ragged, I hoped that Ben hadn?t been awake. I strained to listen. His breathing remained regular, and I slowly started to relax. I reached into my briefs to close my hand around a rock hard and demanding cock. I?d only been masturbating a few weeks; maybe that?s what had me horny that night. And I was horny. My cock had never felt so hard.'
:lovestory:
Two boys, a fishing shack on the bay, and a summer to change their lives. READ Josh's Sealing Our Fate here at Awesome Dude! Chapter One and Two online now!
http://www.awesomedude.com/stories/SOF/sea..._fate_title.htm
LET JOSH KNOW JUST HOW MUCH YOU LOVE SOF AND ALL HIS WORKS BY EMAILING HIM AT btomandback@hotmail.com :love10:
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monk?s hymn
angry injun music
and wylde electroclash
i?m looking for a target
someone i can smash
filled with rage & hormones
1 hand stuck in my fly
i say u can lick my ass
tell me who am i?
lonely roads and darkness
and death by suicide
i write my words so putrid
mainly coz i?m fried
peeple say i?m hateful
but i don?t give a dam
i hand out psychic wedgies
tell me who i am
love to read ur poems
tho mainly coz they suck
i live to make u squares cry
just don?t give a fuck
who posts the most insults?
who lays the truth on thick?
if u guess my secret name
u can suck my dick
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We?ll go no more a-shagging
(with apologies to Lord Byron 1788-1824: http://www.bartleby.com/101/599.html)
So, we?ll go no more a-shagging
So late and through the night,
Though my lust it be not flagging,
And your baldrick be as tight.
For the sword outwears its sheath,
Weary dicks they doth protest,
And a guy must pause to breathe,
Desire itself have rest.
Though the night be made for screwing,
And the day returns too soon,
Overuse was our undoing-
Give me a call in June.
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Reindeer Games
Waiting at the doorway
Just after English class
Only one quick question
Maybe a hallway pass
Boy without direction
Young thing with something more
Glowing with affection
Leaning against the door
Focused on the teacher
The object of his heart
Legendary creature
That years would keep apart
Waylay him at lunchtime
Wait patient past the bell
Sweet cinderella chime
Just pray no one will tell
Hope no one will notice
Elated secretly
Ripe and ready lotus
Your lock awaits his key
What risk you for his sake
What do you hope he?ll do
Martyred for this mistake
Too obvious a clue
He?s frantic and fearful
He?s trying to ignore
Sighs and smiles so tearful
Impassioned eyes implore
At his side like shadows
And at his desk each day
Will your rain bring rainbows
This blatant teen display
On his desk leave love-notes
A flower on his car
Presents in his book totes
Your heart in a bell jar
Yes, he?s only human
And you are youthful fair
He?s lost his acumen
Forgotten to beware
Each time your head leans close
Each hand upon his knee
That much further he goes
Though he?s too gone to see
Breathless at your nearness
And aching with desire
Hoping you grow careless
He?s helpless under fire
The bell rings too loudly
To him it is a blow
Watching him so proudly
You see his face aglow
He?s forgotten rulebooks
Forgotten social law
He?s felled by your love looks
Unable to withdraw
At the teachers? workroom
You?re waiting at the door
This far do you presume
This deep do you adore
This picture has problems
And gossip has begun
Love and all its emblems
Light up his face like sun
Follows you like flowers
Unable to resist
Secret teenage powers
Though you are yet unkissed
Hoping for redemption
You?re sure he is the cure
Asking for exemption
You?ve caught him with your lure
Going off to study
But you fool no one there
Morals have grown muddy
But you no longer care
What price for his passion
Is he prepared to pay
Your seductive fashion
Has made him easy prey
You?ve caught him in your toils
Finally have him alone
He?s yearning for the spoils
And faint from your cologne
Whisper ?do not worry?
And wrap him in your arms
He wants you to hurry
Is weakened by your charms
Finally lets you touch him
And when you draw him near
He?s bubbling at the brim
And shivering with fear
Not blind to the danger
His body trumps his brain
Better than some stranger
He can no more abstain
Gives you what you?re craving
He?s finally called your bluff
No more cold behaving
But will it be enough
Is it what you wanted
Will you be happy now
Will you be undaunted
Have you forgotten how
Did you really want him
Was love your true first cause
Was it only a whim
And did you never pause
Finished and you fly off
Him spent, content, confused
Stunned by your parting scoff
His confidence is bruised
Hard to think of daytime
Instead of fantasy
Imaginings sublime
Shift to apostasy
Now when you see teacher
You look right past his eyes
Love?s a fickle creature
And romance often dies
But always more certain
When young hearts try their wings
Scenes end with a curtain
That blots out all sweet things
Beware the springtime heart
And youthful handsome face
That which keeps you apart
May be your saving grace
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Using myself as an example, I consider myself to be gay, not bi. However, I'm in a monogamous heterosexual relationship, which many people would think makes me straight....
Sleeping in a garage doesn't make you a car, Graeme.
TR
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Excerpt from Love and Death in Venice:
?Death in Venice? is one of those movies you can?t forget. I saw it for the first time when I was twenty. I had just moved to Indianapolis in 1972. I took my only day off and went to the Woodlands Theatre to see the movie...I was only one of about twelve in the audience. I knew it was a gay themed movie, but I watched anyway. Even with the thoughts that were circulating in my own head, I didn?t get the subtext to the movie itself. Not until now.
Love and Death in Venice, by Jerry Miller, is an exclusive to Awesome Dude, a very personal story by one of our best new authors. Jerry has already given us Behind the Silver Screen and Born to be a Missionary, both of which touch on his experiences as a gay Mormon.
You can contact Jerry at gaymormonwriter@yahoo.com and you can read Love and Death in Venice only at AD.
After sixteen months in Waco, I was offered a new theatre in Orlando, Florida. I accepted, a decision I regret to this day. I didn?t let Chase know I was leaving Texas. He found me though. I figured he would. We agreed to stay in contact. Chase amazed me that he wanted to continue our friendship. One Sunday morning, after being in Florida for seven months, he called me. It was a conversation I would never forget either.
?Hello,? I said, answering the phone from a deep sleep.
?Hey there,? he said. I recognized his voice.
I glanced at the clock radio and said, ?Hey, why aren?t you in church??
?My father won?t let me come right now.?
?Why not??
?I got into trouble with him.?
?I can?t imagine your ever being in trouble with your Dad,? I said.
I heard him breathing softly for a few moments before he said, ?I got into some personal integrity trouble.?
?Well, that would only have to be drugs or sex,? I said, jokingly.
?It wasn?t drugs.?
Sex! A healthy eighteen-year-old boy with hormones found his own discoveries, I thought.
?Wow! Chase. Some girl had her way with you,? I said, with a chuckle.
The next few words were ones I never expected to hear, at least not from Chase.
?It wasn?t with a girl.?
Chapter One online at: http://www.awesomedude.com/stories/LDiV/lo...enice_title.htm
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Ahem. I'm underwhelmed by you guys' posts here, Nevius is new to writing and could use some feedback. Capishi?
TR <stern bunny face>
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Hmm. Okay, some of youse major fans, can ya recommend one or two titles of short works that are more representative of Grasshopper?
Danke.
TR
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I'm not clear on why Ex Gay doesn't fall into those categories, JS. And I'd love to be a high-brow fag but figure I'm too pedestrian to pass.
Falling into the 'By' category is easier than the 'Bi' category, and that might be what Gabe's talking about. Either way, I liked it, as I've told him. I found it interesting and slightly creepy.
Kisses....
TR
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Well, yes, a tad corny. More of a feelgood story than anything, Cinderella in the Little Woods.
I haven't read much by Grasshopper. Is the brevity and, well, sort of sparse form the norm for his stories? I liked it and it did make me cry but it was a bit more like a detailed synopsis than a whole story. It was very sweet, truly, I'm just curious.
It seemed to move fast and the point be to have that, admittedly corny, happy ending despite death. The blink of an eye is the title, so maybe the speed and sparseness were specific to this story, a sort of LD view of a life and a love. Are they?
Kisses...
TR
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I dunno about loose metaphors but, dayum, that was a sad and sweet story. Made me cry in several places. Great job.
:sad11:
TR
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balloon, by TR
in Poets' Corner
Posted
balloon
convex exhilaration
balloon in the wind
higher than happy
bright blood color of sin
full-blown, i?ve expanded
and learned how to fly
yet years leave me winded
and longing to cry
the rising excitement
is nothing but air
i?m sky high with dying
and god doesn?t care
*