posted June 30, 2002 10:53 PM            

Here it is. Feel free to post yours.

It was many and many a year ago,
         In a kingdom by the sea,
That a maiden there lived whom you may know
         By the name of Annabel Lee;
And this maiden she lived with no other thought
         Than to love and be loved by me.

I was a child and she was a child,
         In this kingdom by the sea;
But we loved with a love that was more than love-
         I and my Annabel Lee;
With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven
         Coveted her and me.

And this was the reason that, long ago,
         In this kingdom by the sea,
A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling
         My beautiful Annabel Lee;
So that her highborn kinsman came
         And bore her away from me,
To shut her up in a sepulchre
         In this kingdom by the sea.

The angels, not half so happy in heaven,
         Went envying her and me-
Yes!- that was the reason (as all men know,
         In this kingdom by the sea)
That the wind came out of the cloud by night,
         Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee.

But our love it was stronger by far than the love
         Of those who were older than we-
         Of many far wiser than we-
And neither the angels in heaven above,
         Nor the demons down under the sea,
Can ever dissever my soul from the soul
         Of the beautiful Annabel Lee.

posted June 30, 2002 11:02 PM            

Natures first green is gold,
Her hardest hue to hold,
Her early leaf's a flower;
But only so an hour.
Then leaft subsides to leafe.
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day,
Nothing gold can stay.

posted July 01, 2002 09:41 PM            

The thing I loved about Rimbaud is that he always, ALWAYS cut thru the bullshit. Not that his work is always short, but they are gross. They are gross because they are real.

He started writing when he was 14. In Latin, for school lessons. And he stopped when he was 20. Moved to Africa. And no one heard of him again really. Until he died.

Rimbaud is considered the Father of Imagery. Realize that these are translated from French. Only a handful of Rimbaud's poetry were originally written in English. Read slow. Let the words be your paint strokes.

"The Sun Has Wept Rose"

The sun has wept rose in the shell of your ears,
The world has rolled white from your back, your thighs;
The sea has stained rust the crimson of your breasts,
And Man has bled black at your soverign side.

posted July 03, 2002 08:40 AM            

VOODOO GIRL

Her skin is white cloth,
and she's all sewn apart
and she has many colored pins
sticking out of her heart.

She has a beautiful set
of hypno-disk eyes,
the ones that she uses
to hypnotize guys.

She has many different zombies
who are deeply in her trance.
She even has a zombie
who was originally from France.

But she knows she has a curse on her,
a curse she cannot win.
For if someone gets
too close to her,

the pins stick farther in.