sickle_stories: (Original)
Let's go out for a walk,
make the whole town talk,
'cause in my town, baby,
they talk all day long,
going on 'bout how we're wrong.

But you and me,
it's plain to see,
will prove them all the fools
and we'll break all the rules.
'Cause you and me,
it's plain to see,
were meant to be.

Walking down the street,
greeting everyone we meet
like it's our right -
we shouldn't have to fight for it -
hand in hand
and shoulder to shoulder.

We don't need to play their game:
we got our own to show 'em.
sickle_stories: (Original)
These are samples of stuff I wrote back in 2001. I'm skipping most of the emo stuff. (Well, most of it.) I'm not necessarily proud of all I'm posting, and I'm often not even posting the whole thing. (Good lord, did I write crap sometimes.)

Each number is a separate poem thing.

Read more... )
sickle_stories: (Original)
Days divide into minutae
Small acts retain an hour
Time passes ignoring clocks
And you can't see outside the box.

A/N: The first two lines were spontaneous, the last one construed to rhyme and not suck (so much).
sickle_stories: (Original)
We're just taking turns
holding each other's hands.

Walk me down the hall,
I'll walk you through the door.


I closed my hand into a crush
and berries burst in a gush
at the mouth of the river.

* This last was formed listening to the band Fair to Midland, thinking how it's like Waiting for Godot's Lucky singing, or EECummings on crack.


May. 12th, 2007 07:03 pm
sickle_stories: (Original)
Poem which is 99% Christian Kane’s LA Song, but rearranged, misheard and added to. Read more... )

Original Poem:

Don’t leave them in the dark
Take them by the hand
Tell them promises ain’t
All they used to be.

Or: )

The songlist of [ profile] frodolyn’s fanmix, From Grief to Grace, seems at times to be a poem. Read more... )

Poem inspired by Dr. Who (or at least the concept of the Time Lord, immortality and the inevitable loneliness as witnessed by the following lines:

Read more... )
sickle_stories: (Crack fics)
What the hell was I on? Thought that first verse isn't half bad...

I once danced on the head of a whale,
and walzed all the way to its tail,
singing hallelujiah
wondering how I knew ya.
I went swimming with the fishes
who say I'm quite delicious.*

Did you know I'd nevah, evah,
sing al capella?
I'd rather get a ticket
from a cop who'd a cricket.

My jam was stolen by a platypus,
and that makes me a hungry sourpuss.

Alternatively, "One was quite delicious."
sickle_stories: (Original)
It's got some good bits, though the first few lines may need a bit (or a lot) of tweaking. Particularly order-wise, I think.

Fine, thank you, and how are you?
They look confused.
As I awake, an answer.
Who are you today?
A perplexing question.
I know when I awake.
Then after that first cup I change.
Don’t we all.
Give me a moment to think.
They ask again: how are you today?

Variation: Attempt 1 )

Spam Poem

Mar. 20th, 2007 08:09 pm
sickle_stories: (Original)
Original spam poem )

My rearrangement and slight alteration of the spam poem:

What I see: wind, sleet.
The branches sway
against this sky no longer of our world.

Glimmering of light:
a kind of snow which hesitates,
hiding on this surface, guarding the edge.

Away from the profundity of space
people might see the opening.
This gap in time, this season not their own,
will be pencilled on the coffee-shop menus
for a few dreamy dollars.

Open before me,
brought to life
in Winter Haven,
sputtering, smoking:
the mortal architect.

His sightless eyes horribly watch the air:
left and right,
and far ahead into the dusk.

Variations on some stanzas: )
sickle_stories: (Original)
This revolution is the solution
or maybe just an illusion, baby.
It's just like a bomb diffusion,
dainty and fair.
You'd sell your life for a taste of it, darling,**
and spend every last penny
on a repeat of the show.
Don't know what I'd do if I were you
but one thing's sure:***
I'd never put my soul at stake.
But who am I to say,
I tried to trade my heart away
but no one would give me theirs.
An old woman at the fair told me
they all taste the same anyways.
There's no appetite left in me.

* To my mind, there's a bit of a change of subject here, because the "it" isn't the revolution.

** This is where I started directing the lines a bit.


sickle_stories: (Default)

January 2011



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