Lozi's Thread

[Lozi]

sorry littleskinny i nicked your idea!:p :eek: i think twould be a lot kinda if i updated one thread when i have a new poem ratherthan keeping adding different threads otherwise i feel like i'm clogging up everything pluz it is more organised!:D

and to celebrate the beginning of this thread, i give you one of my old favourites....shirtless infinity.


Shirtless Infinity

A time and place,
Out of your depth,
With the chicken wings,
And flirtatious dwarves,
With your sadistic envelopes,
Of paper and halves.
The true confusion and confessions,
Of a ten stone carrot.
Defenceless and weak,
Understraught with its foulmouthed endearment,
To a fish.

Slipped between the finery of diatonic,
And betwixt a hard blooded hound,
Constant pressure of the band around your waist.
A mystical glitter of sequins,
Anoints your farce.
Tangles and messages of fate,
Weave sensuous particles,
So sure of their intensity,
(and lust)
They continue their better thinking.
And then they sit.
And star.
And frown.
And glare,
At your shirtless infinity.

A fiend of justice,
And fear,
Twiddles their fingers,
Round your knots.
And finds a leak of the tassels,
Of which you have no knowledge.

Troubled soul,
You sigh,
With a discordant throttle.
Carry on living through your jeans,
And pause as the momentum sways you.
Caught up in the Nike and Gucci’s of this age,
And you say of yourself you need them not,
But you wear them still.
This is one shirtless infinity,
One you cannot escape.
Only a release of yourself,
Would give you a right,
Of living your shirtless infinity
Watch everyoneelses shirtless infinities,
And crucify this mind brace.
Mind melded
With the intention of rest.
And you cram your head,
With the frolics of water,
So disposed in foam,
They float downstream.
On to waterfalls,
And awesome infinities,
Of shirts.

[Lozi]

couldn't help myself, here's theTravels of Mook.............................................. ..................................................

Travels of Mook


You soared up from the lyrical fountain,

The pine needles scattered at your feet.

In the dark shade of eventide,

Your voice echoed softly.

As feet touched earth,

And hands brushed wood,

The siren call of a turtledove,

Sang a gentle lament to sleep.

In the half-light,

The creatures awoke,

And peering through gloom and shadow,

They paid no heed to the wanderer.

Stealthily you crept,

A phantom deer,

In search of an unknown treasure.

And by and by, you halt.

Raising your minty eyes, a maiden.

Wood nymph, so lovely,

An angel clothed in leaves.

She beckons, the springdew sparkles,

You come, the nature of red autumn.

She leads; you offer her a polo,

You follow, as she declines...

…and then you wake up.







Mook



A man with a brown jacket.

A man with a brown jacket and blue jeans,

Accompanied by torn and faded, white trainers.

His face, a chiselled rock, etched in tea,

His stubble anointing his once proud chin.

Reaching up, he pushes a lone wisp of hair from his brow,

His choppy brown cut blowing directly east.



Those eyes stared blankly out,

Far over the pedestal on which he stood.

Of ancient roman architecture,

And white.

More of an aged grey…

Placed on a perfectly rounded hill of green,

Surrounded in clumps of buttercups and dandelions,

Far away daffodils grew amongst the sheep.



Oft a twinkle would pass over his face,

A ghost of a smile,

A hint of a breeze.

For the wisped cloudpuffs swam in the blue sky,

And he was glad.

When they said unto me,

He smirked with a newfound knowledge.

Like he heard the song,

Like he was in with the crowd.



But there came a day,

That fateful night,

When the man must fall.

Swaying hypnotically,

Giving in to the imitation,

The body floats off the pillar.

But fall it does not.

Broken up and scattered his shape lay.

He is sprinkled over the buttercups in tears.

Liquid ice arrays the unformed earth,

As he turns into a solitary feather.

White with a smudge of grey.

Similar to a pigeon.

[fulmah]

The Travels of Mook had such great flow, a great story well written and elegant. Shirtless Infinity though, is right up my alley! It has such a strong beginning, going in unexpected directions. I really loved the twists, especially,

And then they sit.
And star. <--"stare" right?
And frown.
And glare,
At your shirtless infinity.
The orange part was a little hard to read, but I highlighted it and made it blue, and got through it... very good stuff, immensly enjoyed, it was; mucho thanks for sharing these gems :)

[Lozi]

yeah it was meant to be stare

[Lozi]

riCh FActOr



Diffuse the air, oh bonny key drummer,

Diffuse the air, hey jolly cute strummer,

Some things in life are funny, like your hair...



Play the beat back, you're addicted to the leader,

Show me this riff, it was last in e flat minor,

And respond in many genres,

Some things in life are funny, like paint sealer…



Corporation light, lift over the hills and mounds,

Exhalation night, shift above and through the coffee grounds.

Maverick oh Maverick, your trench coat is tar black,

Again.
Some things in life are funny, like Vin Diesel in the rain.



Diffuse, the skies, oh Johnny the band drummer,

Diffuse the skies, hey bonny cute strummer,

When things in life are different, also funny.

[Lozi]

Notions of Pot

Are you scared of me?

mushroom headed soul of iniquity?

are you bent towards another pot?

when all is lost and slandered:

Bert,

Edward,

Sam,

and Marv.

You are all forest-haters.

All forest burners,

Until when you finally decide to wake up,

sleepy hotel slumberers from their mould,

in french and italian,

and jump out of their windows.

[Lozi]

Floyd Ripoff

All that you cook,
All that you see,
All that you taste,
All that you feel.
All that you love,
All that you hate,
All the brown crust.
All that you save.
All that you give,
All that you deal,
All that you buy,
beg, borrow or steal.
All you create.
All you destroy,
All that you do,
All that you say.
All that you eat,
And everyone you meet,
All that you bite,
And everything in sight.
All from a cow,
All of the scone,
All that's to come,
and everything under the sun is a spoon,
but the sun is eclipsed by the mould.

"There is no dark side of the mould really. Matter of fact it's all dark."

[primevel_jm_livid]

Lozipot you are awesome.. and... o so ... glowy mmmmm

Some things in life are funny, like paint sealer… and vin diesel in the rain.

I am cooking potatoes in the oven so they cannot flee, simultanously getting increasingly intoxicated by father painting stuff/// OUCh.. xxxxxxx

[Lozi]

paint sealer is funny. It represents the relationship of the band that are playing. 'rich factor' is about 'nib', a band i have heard. It's sort of about their gig, ish. not sure....

[Lozi]

The Parody of Graham
Inhumane, ghastly fellow,
with pink-white eyes and steely tum.
And face of raw, metal edges savoured,
Prefered at distance under the influence.
Of rum I like to ponder about-this flowing, burning substance.
As bonneted cloak surrounds his lean corpse,
his teeth glare out a happy smile.
To whisper from a mile off,
"you kiss your mother with that mouth"

[primevel_jm_livid]

O delicious lozi, graham sounds like a zombie.. made out of sharp things. o how i wish i knew him. My beloved is not astonishingly exciting. i think i poisoned him. Accidentally ofc. with mouldy icecream. which tasted of keys. he has.. sore bowels.
Your mouth is only full of sweet nothings .. no obscenities. &:-) delirious? rock

[Lozi]

Fresh out of the oven,
Continueously bemused,

but significantly shining through a lightbeam,

which, when she came closer to the lens,

fed off another source of a frequent kind.


Diminishing fury,
unsettling thrills.
Created from scarlet tears,
and baked apple hiccups.
Framing a solitary rose in her hand,
that, when caressed,
trills flourescent canary notes.

Bard of tomorrow,
When will you wake?
When will you sit by my side and consist?
Across the wide wide ocean someone searched for you,
only to find an empty island full of palms and laurels.
With obvious multicoloured felines, and birds and grasshoppers.
Again, she looked for you.
"Where are you?" she cried.

Blind imperiority focused His eye on her plural figure,
as she wept for Zeus's touch on her back.
Feeling nothing, wailing something dreadful,
She leapt towards the fjord and basked in it's ice blue current.

Bathing in it's clearheaded sight,
At last she begins to notice,
After a thousands years of living,
and another hundred of yonder,
Isn't it funny that He was the stream and the empty island full of palms and laurels with obvious multicoloured felines, and birds and grasshoppers?