F U C K E D U P C O L L E G E K I D S ------------------------------------------------------- - t h e p o e t r y v e n t u r e - ------------------------------------------------------- Today is the fifth anniversary of the zine. The poetry side has been around for a couple months now. I curse myself.. why did I wait so long to start this? Freedom of expression in any form was one of the goals, and I managed to overlook this form. It is remedied now. ------------------------------------------------------- Flippant! This quiet night, wind parting summer's slumbered loneliness. Shadows of light, simple is the sorrow of days once had. Laughing nor crying, taste salty bitterness; sadness employs this heart of a madman. Does this, then that, question reality today; aggressing the fortune of history, of tales untrue! Does develop this division; forces sacrifice and delusion! Clearest path - thou holiest markedness now jagged, found still, mind's pounding. Greet sorrow with freedom; stay severed, simple comfort. Be proud like lion, non resolving; into my heart - this mind, non resolving. Of days which darkness severs the temptress, of closeness forbidding and evils enduring. Does shadows remove with time, take comfort; neither him nor thou may stake such preference. Has this portrait faded, or been tainted, by time; for true enemies does create, or the love once binding now unfounded, dissolve as time does work upon colours. Quick encounters, liquid eyes - tears inducing. For fear, for heart, for LOVE! make conversation, severed temptress shadows removed are until then not coming. Myself excused, but time does not; this slow stabbing takes from me my life! Exhausting, everlasting tournament; desperate days turn to memories faded. Quick is the path of diversion; hearts parting and memories diluting. Awaiting unreality, in reality awaiting perfection. Seems in another lifetime exists our togetherness. Retrieve from me my blood, which upon my sleeve does stain. And bring forward to me my love, Pour la peur, pour le coeur, pour l'AMOUR! Dodger Finished 13.12.97 KEYBOARD LOVERS "Hey" a voice called out one night while the moon was dark and the stars had nearly disappeared, "Ya gonna stand all night long?" "Or ya gonna say something back?" it sneered and then began to laugh. And later, the voice began a song, hidden there among the night and lit up by the lights only he could see. And the song was oh so familiar and the words all seems so real and yet I'd heard them not before and yet I wasn't sure. "And now I have a lover" started out the song, and now I am alone. And now I have keyboard that sends no songs aloud. But the world stands outside my door and pays to hear the silence and applauds afterwards. And so by their one-hand claps I must be successful and I guess I guess I am cause I have a lover and a keyboard. And later the song sung so long ago came back to haunt me just a little more. Sitting there within the safety of the crowd and listening to the screams that came from high above, the words had a kind of surrealism that hid away the hurt and the anger of the song. "Don't dream it! Be it!!" he cried and we all applauded at the wisdom of his words. And at that he finally turned away, in despair and in confusion. And as the crowd found their way from the stage, only a dimly heard voice could be heard crying. Looking back upon that night and wondering 'bout the song, it seemed so very real to me and oh so very good. But the audience didn't want to hear and none of us were all we might have been. We listened to the words he sang and mixed it with a drink of gin... But still the song has stayed with me and oft times plays at night. What ever happened to that man? And why did we not care about his words? Or did we, without listening, sing a soft refrain and never heard the song? So the future then is now the past and he is gone somewhere not here. And yet I still remain, second row, left, listening to the song of life and love and pain and never wanting to go home to the keyboard that doesn't sing and the lover that isn't and reality. - FTF FINGERTIP CHORDS feelings fill the throat to try to form words but after being trounced by the larynx mafia they shoot out fingertips - Indiana Poet Dec. 27, 1997 748.2153 seven days a week, we were one four eyes saw the purity between eight months we shared our souls two times a day, we shared our bodies one bad night to bring it down five cuts remembering the pain three years to rid myself of your memory dis ------------------------------------------------------- E D I T O R S: jericho@dim.com & demonika@dim.com ------------------------------------------------------- to receive new issues via e-mail, send mail to jericho@dimensional.com with "subscribe poetry". if you do not have FTP access and would like back issues, send a list of missing issues and they will be sent. ------------------------------------------------------- A V A I L A B I L I T Y: AnonFTP: FTP.DIMENSIONAL.COM/users/jericho/FUCK/POETRY WWW: http://www.dimensional.com/~jericho ------------------------------------------------------- (c) Copyright. All poems copyright by original author. ------------------------------------------------------- F O U N D E D: October 30, 1997