Pinned Poetry Corner - (may contain adult material)

[MissKitti]

A Home To Live In

 

Encounters with destiny

coming together

two hearts beating in perfect harmony

melting into each other

desiring the same thing

finding their home together

in any kind of weather

living the dream

as the perfect team!

 

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[MissKitti]

What Happened America?

 

America, America

What happened to America?

People are fighting

There is war and chaos

There is pain and death

There is turmoil and crime

 

America, America

What happened to America?

People are dying

People are crying

We are striving to stay alive

 

America, America

What happened to America?

The land of the free?

Where did it go?

The home of the brave?

America, America

What happened to America?

 

Morals are diminishing

They don't seem to exist!

This country is doomed!

Move away from your wicked ways!

Turn back from your sinful ways!

Look at yourself America!

 

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[MissKitti]

UP IN THE CAUSEWAY

 

Up in the causeway,

We sit on the broken chairs,

swilling the cheap vodka,

and talking about dares.

 

the colours of our fingers,

are bright aerosol blues,

and the smell of the paint,

filters thru as fumes.

 

as the vodka takes its toll,

we talk about heaven,

and also of hell,

while we throw the empty cannons in the bin.

 

Our hoodies zipped tight,

and the masks sit firm,

we write,

and only think short term.

 

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[MissKitti]

This is an old Norwegian drinking poem passed down in my family that was often sung during weddings back in the old viking days.

It was actually banned in the late 1800's as it was believed to be the devils tune.

---

In the hardened days of yore

when with beer and brawn

 

the knives of Halling Dale

from their sheaths were often drawn

 

when women to the feast

funeral shirts would bring

 

with which they would swathe

their dead husbands in

 

there once took place a a wedding

somewhere in Hemse Dale

 

where song and dance had ceased

and the men did ring the vale.

 

In the center of the floor

framed by broad-shouldered men

 

stood two with knives unsheated

and a leather belt round them

 

And like columns carved

unmoving, serene

 

stood four other men

as guardians of the scene

 

They lifted burning torches

toward the blackened beams

 

where curls of smoke collected

to a dark and brooding streams

 

In vain two women try

howling, to stem

 

the living wall of bodies

raised before them

 

Angrily they're thrown back

and left to despair

 

while the fiddler quietly sidles

towards the cellar stair.

 

Down he goes to tap the beer

for the winner of the fight

 

may have need to kiss

the rim of the bowl tonight.

 

Within the belt they'll duel,

blood running like sap

 

the vein will need refilling

from the beer casket tap.

 

But entering the cellar

he saw a bluish glow

 

someone sitting on the casket

tuning fiddle, holding bow.

 

But this one held backwards

tightly to his chest

 

and as soon as it was tuned

put his fiddle to the test.

 

There came a song of wonder;

It rang like angry words,

 

Like steel bite into wood

Like fists rammed into boards.

 

It jubilantly roamed

Around the darkened cellar hall

 

And came to a halt

At the sound of a fall

 

Quietly the fiddler listened

to the mighty flow

 

It was like the music's eddies

went down his spine and brow.

 

He quickly asked the other

"Where did you learn that song?"

 

The answer: "Don't you mind that,

But remember it - for long!"

 

But as the fiddler bent down

Reaching for the tap

 

He beheld a horny hoof

against the casket rap

 

He forgot to tap the beer

And ran up to the hall

 

Just as the men were lifting

The body from the fall

 

Fanitullen it is called

This wild and haunting spell

 

And in Halling Dale they play it

And they play it well

 

And when its tune is singing

to beer and feast and brawn

 

again knives of Halling Dale

from their sheaths are quickly drawn

 

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[MissKitti]

THE ELEPHANT IS A PRETTY BIRD

 

The elephant is a pretty bird

It flits from bough to bough

 

It makes it's nest in the rhubarb trees

And whistles like a crow

 

It was in the month of Liverpool

In the city of July

 

The rain was snowing heavily

And the streets were very dry

 

(hic)

 

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[MissKitti]

Thorned Rose

I remember a velvet blue rose

In a garden of scarlet beauty

Each petal delicate to the touch

I stole a glance from her eyes

Two endless blue seas

We danced in a moonless night

A blazing star in my darkest night

 

I remember enjoying the silence with you

You painted a picture of daring beauty

Of a new life, where the silence won't be so loud

As I hold you now, I remember

How twinkling stars sung your name

How the moon was graced with your smile

You're the reason song birds took flight

Bravely, towards a velvety blue night

 

You had my heart

My gladly blind heart

I confused every smile with happiness

Every touch with affection

I waited for you

But you never came

 

I should've stopped when I could

But I never could have

I let you go now. But remember, dear one

Your smile will always haunt my soul

 

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[MissKitti]

In The Deep

I lay in deep, dark waters, never will I find my way home

A hollowed doll in a howling void, boundless and bare

Dangling in senseless articulation. I am a broken rhythm

Every decision already made. Every path already taken

I saw a string of memories; colours moving like silk

 

I saw a police cruiser on a clear December night

Red and blue sirens flashed in a lonely midnight road

A truck driver with too much to drink

A mom driving home through a familiar road

Windshield shattered; each piece found a target

A voice broke from deep scarlet red to dead silence

 

I saw fluorescent lights and white coats

False promises made, but faces told the truth

Dear eyes like broken glass; tears crashing down around me

People I knew; phantoms from a distant past

I felt the hour of departure; the quiet before the storm

 

Emotions flashed before my eyes

Smiles and tears. Hopes and dreams

Tonight, I close my eyes and fear not the abyss

For I gave my life for the ones who gave me theirs

Tonight, I close my eyes and fade into blue

 

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[MissKitti]

Poem by Trinketbell

[MissKitti]

THE LONG DARK

 

The Long Dark is beckoning my name

I stare at my sins in shame,

Have no doubt, the future isn’t bright

Have no worries of my blight

 

I have to move on

The Morning Sun, or dawn; It is far off

The cold: inevitable

Fresh Sunshine: inevitable

 

The fake heat, light, from the flame: useless

The cold that bites to the bone, ruthless

The Short Light, tiny light, is here

I stand out, tall and proud

The whispers in my ear, loud and clear

 

 

The Long Dark, empty and cold, shrouds my fear.

 

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[MissKitti]

To Be Called A Man

 

If you want to be called a man

you’ll never stop even for a single moment••

to fight for peace and justice.

You get out on the street, you scream,

your lips will get bloody from yelling,

your face will get bloody from bullets,

but not a step behind.

Every scream of yours is a rock thrown

on the windows of war mongers.

Every gesture of yours is like

ruining injustice.

And make no mistake:

Don’t let yourself been carried away

not for a single moment.

By just relaxing awhile and recalling

your childhood years,

you let thousands of kids slaughtered,

when playing harmlessly in the cities.

If you perish just a moment looking at sunset,

tomorrow people will be dying at the night of war.

If you stop for a moment to dream,

then millions of human dreams

will turn to dust under the bombshells.

You don’t have time,no time for yourself,

if you want to be called a man.

If you want to be called a man

you may need to leave your mother,

your beloved woman or your child.

You will not hesitate.

You will decline your lamp and your bread,

you will refuse your night resting

on your door sill, for the rough road

heading towards tomorrow,

you won’t be coward or be afraid of nothing.

I know it’s beautiful listening to a harmonica,

at night, to gaze on a star and dream,

it’s beautiful leaning on the red mouth of your love,

and hearing her say her dreams about the future,

but you must bid farewell to all this and start over,

for you are responsible for all harmonicas of the world,

for all the stars, for all the lamps and for all the dreams,

if you want to be called a man.

If you want to be called a man

you may need to stay in prison for twenty or more years

but you, even in prison you will remember always

Spring, your mother and the world,

you , even within the square metre of your cell,

you will go on walking the road of yours on earth.

And when,in the vast silence of the night,

you will be knocking on your cell wall with your finger,

from the opposite side of the wall,

Spain will be answering to you.

 

You, even when your years go passing by,

and your hair turns white,you will not get old.

 

You, even in prison,every morning you will be younger,

for always we’ll be starting new fights in the world.

 

If you want to be called a man,

you must be able of dying any morning,

late at night in isolation you’ll write

a long and touchy letter to your mother,

you’ll write on the wall,your initials and the date,

and a simple word too:

Peace.

 

As if you had to write down your whole life story.

To be able of dying at any morning,

to be able of standing before the six rifles,

as if you stood before the whole future

to be able at the battery of guns killing you

to hear millions of ordinary people singing

and struggling for peace.

 

If you want to be called a man…

 

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[MissKitti]

HEADPHONES

 

Through sound, they bring silence

It is isolation

When I desire it

A peaceful sensation

On my own, in the quiet

My preoccupation.

 

 

Through sound, I can now see

As if from the outside

The world, it surrounds me

Passing, I now see time

They help me to feel free

As if my time were mine.

 

 

Sometimes I need to breathe

And watch society.

 

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[MissKitti]

THE FARMERS DAUGHTER

 

You got to break the ice if you want a drink of water.

It's been nice, but the Winter's lasting longer.

And you're feeling old ain't gettin' any younger.

And you want some food, but all you get is hunger.

All you get is hunger.

All you get is hunger.

Well if you want some milk. You got to ask the Farmer's Daughter

And She'll regale you with tales about her father.

Her stride is weak, but her steps will never falter.

And when she comes, She'll be drenched in holy water.

Drenched in holy water.

Drenched in holy water.

If you want some rest, you got to walk a ragged mile.

And, take a look at the taxes you did file.

There's an indiscretion in your social security number.

And it keeps you up; disturbin' all your slumber

Disturbin' all your slumber.

Disturbin' all your slumber.

You went back home, but the town's been ripped asunder.

And, you're still reeling from the spell that you've been under.

When someone says: "You're the witch, and I'm the Hunter."

You can't see the storm, but you can hear the thunder.

You can hear the thunder.

You can hear the thunder.

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[MissKitti]

Gotta share one with you. I came up with it and wrote it down while having a smoke at work (yes, it actually took me less than 10 minutes), some 15-ish years ago. I was around 20 at the time, betting like mad and smoking marry jane more than any person should. The original is in my native language (Croatian), so please bear with me on the English translation. I tried to make it rhyme (which proved to be more difficult than I first thought) so some verses are not exactly and literally translated. But the general idea behind the poem is the same, so here it goes:

 

Croatian Language	English Language

"Pušioničari (ili ti pjesma o klađenju)"

kada u kladionicu uđu i ponudu vide

odigrat razne tekme oni se ne stide
jedinica ili dvojka ili neriješeni čisti
odigravaju parove na dnevnoj listi
no prije nego li sve te parove stave
stanu kod klupice i na njoj se raskrave
izvade papira, duvana i "zelje"
zamotaju brzo i uslijedi veselje
i onda se te nadimljene lude
svako malo zbunjeni čude
što nakon toliko zelenoga dima
sa njihovim listićima nešto ne štima

"Smokers / Suckers (or a song about betting)"

When they enter at bookies and offer they see

they bet on games of different variety
on a home team or guest or a straight draw
playing the matches from that offer they saw
but before on all these games they bet
they stop at the bench and on it they set
bring out the paper, plug and "green for flight"
roll one quickly and soon comes the delight
and then after the green was abused
every now and then they end up confused
that after so much of the green smoke
their betting tickets end up as a joke

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