Luco's all new Scribblings (p10 +)

Not a poem this time, but a song:

Deep Dark Depths

For a real long time I tried real hard,
Tried real hard to express myself,
Tried many a time to make it shift
Shift it from the deep dark depths
Woah… it aint working
Woah… I think I’m going to choke!

I stood on my head stood on my head,
But that was only temporary
Tried hocking it up to get well rid
Shift it from the deep dark depths
Woah… it aint working
Woah… I think I’m going to choke!

[SOLO]

For a real long time I tried real hard,
Tried real hard to express myself,
Tried many a time to make it shift
Shift it from the deep dark depths
Black!
The deep dark depths…
The deep dark depths…
Phlegm.

I just wrote this in Shoutbox but it sounded good so I'll keep it here:

Vai, Satch, EVH,
Slash and May and Gary Moore,
whatcha gonna do when the popsters lose,
what can they use on an axeman dude?
... popcorn?!

[glb]Rendered To Stone[/glb]

Sleepy eyes, tired of mundane days
Want to sleep and dream of
The playful rays, of joy
So often held out of reach
The face tells no stories
Of the current events of the day
The mundane days
Have rendered the face to stone
Emotionless rockface
Craggy and hopeless,
Not a flicker of emotion
Not a smile or gasp of surprise
The mundane days
Have rendered
The face to stone.

Pent-up feelings inside
Don't reveal themselves on the outside
The lexis gets confused
And further alienates
Poor rockface
The mundane days
Have rendered the face to stone
Deep wells of emotion
Long to be left exposed
To break free, but,
The mundane days
Have rendered
The face to stone.

Crying internally
No voice to be heard.

*giggles childishly at the repeated use of the word shag*

Well I reckon that it is playful and loving.

'I don't care if your chest is furry...'
Hehehe.

jack knifing full of glee

f*cking amazing!!!!!! wish that was my line wow

Actually I crumbled and did it over the weekend. He didn't freak out. He's cool. *DROOL* *HAIL*
He told me he used to shout/scream in a band.
What a guy... *HAIL* *LHDEVIL* *LOVE* *NAUGHTY*

NO SALVATION
Notes:
This was written in November 2002.

Classic Lucozade Lover Lyrics

MR GUITAR PLAYER

Mr Guitar Player, will you strum me a chord?
Mr Guitar Player, will you tap me a beat?
Cos I'm sitting here, sitting here so sad,
And I need you,
To play for me.
Mr Guitar Player, give a flick of your hair
Mr Guitar Player,
Please Play for me.

Lucozade Lover

In it's original entirety, but more verses were later added - will be added in future - feel free to give opinions.

*theres no matt bellamy muse here*

I'll read the poems now...

White Rage

I don't feel anymore,
I'm numb inside.
My skin is pale and purple and blue
The fire burns,
And the rage bubbles,
Bubbling like a toxic potion.
I don't sleep properly,
I go round in a haze,
So I call him up
But he's busy for now,
He keeps stalling,
He keeps stalling,
He keeps stalling,
He keeps stalling,
He's giving less away,
He doesn't talk.
The rage bubbles on
But I can't say what I want.
I release a few words
And whilst,
He says I should talk more,
I miss him,
I miss him,
It's different now,
It's hollow and empty.
He's hiding away
He's being awkward.
I want to put my head through a wall.
Yet still the fire burns, rages, rips through my heart, my flesh, my soul.

Well I'm not dehyrated today...
I wrote this a few days a go for 'Zine so here goes another goth-inspired poem:

FRIDAY NIGHT AT THE DUNGEON

Stepping up to the dance floor...
Is a young dude in jacket and jeans,
Moving his arms in time to the beat,
Some time later,
And the old tribe enter,
In full make-up and frills,
It's Friday night.
Tonight,
It is Goth night.

Sanctuary Bay

Walking along pebbled beaches within my mind,
Alone in a private world only I can see,
Hear, and feel, beneath my feet,
The air is cold,
And even here I can't escape,
The call,
It cries for him,
Tonight, tomorrow, yesterday, this morning,
It cries for him in imaginary scapes,
Ghostlike images haunt my vision,
Lonely clouds across a dappled sky,
There is no one here,
Not even me,
Such is the state of my shattered mind.

The sea slops at the edge of the shore,
Chopping and cutting at rocks nearby,
The wind starts to howl without moving a hair,
This place is inside,
Inside me it cries,
This place is inside,
No one can know,
My refuge my prison
How can one ever tell?
I run I hide I chase I retreat,
Falling through the clouds
Of my discontent.

A little ode...

Sitting here, eyes closed,
Head shaking frantically,
Arms waving to a sound,
Sabbath are on the radio!

Liberation of the Repressed

Along an aisle in the old town library,
There happened a most odd scene,
Some would pass through,
With no effect seen,
And others would change most dramatically.

There came one day when two youths were sat,
Reading and talking and writing away,
From the aisle came a sound,
And a shelf began to sway,
Then someone emerged to stop it fall flat.

Another stepped out, looking dishevelled,
The two youths watching from the table,
This time they disregarded,
Until it happened a few times more,
And so coincidence was overruled.

The male walked along looking,
And found himself in the occult section,
Soon followed by the female,
They soon began neckin',
But stopped for some clue hunting.

Sticking out from a shelf was a book,
High the lad stretched reaching,
And brought it down to examine,
Inside there was some Latin scribbling,
Then he noticed the girl give a real saucy look!

Off he went to take out the text,
Checking his friend as she followed behind,
Back at his house they looked at this book,
Extensive analysis yielded a find.
A magical secret - oh what to do next?!

The message was obvious,
A mischievous author had cast a charm,
Upon a book of romantic witchcraft,
They didn't intend to cause any harm,
Aiming to release the repressed and curious.

Where Did The Good Times Go?

Where did the good times go?
Holding hands singing through the centre of town,
Arm-wrestling, as we lay on your bed,
We never had reason or need to frown,
And then you said the words that we all dread,
What such burden could you not share?
The love I once felt has become a bitter pill
While you sit in the dark eating toadstools for thrills.

My problem: I fall in love too darn bloody easily. Yesterday, I found out that Joseph (manslut *cough* I'm such a precocious goth *cough* bullsh*tter) had been filling my head with lies! I had no idea. We'd broke up some time back but he'd lead me to believe things might work out later... I won't go into this here but I have vented lots in rants, cos this is the nice poetry area where manslut talk can be banned... well, unless it's in verse of course.

And to think I was actually concerned for his health! He is actually doing toadstools, ooops pardon me "magic mushrooms" - do I care if the Indians of America use them? No? They're poisonous so... he's a complete and utter idiot. Then he let out he does speed too... oh it's all coming out now. When I've been betrayed, should I really care what happens to him? "I care about you" - he said, care? Words fail me. Apart from obscene ones of course.

How Do I Hate Thee?

How do I hate thee?
I must despise you,
Lust after but loathe you,
For now and 'til then,
Some time will pass you,
When you're still making messes,
And falling over your mistakes,
How do I hate thee?
I must despise thee,
But now I feel free,
In you I still see
Someone I once knew.

Moth In The Heart

This is the feeling
It's kind of a healing
Your heart doesn't race,
But it varies its pace,
You've got the moth,
Moth in your heart,
You've got the moth,
Flapping in your heart,
You've got the moth,
When you recall,
Those special things
Done for you by your friend.
Yeah.


[i]I love you Dave!

Love Is A Disease

Love is a disease,
I don't want to catch,
I can do without the sniffling,
The aches and pains
Thenceforth it brings.

Love is a disease,
We don't really need it,
Pavlova said so anyway,
Therefore it must be possible.

Love is a disease,
They control us through our hearts
And hit the button,
When they want us to bleed.

Yes I think I was trying to liken the heart to like a remote control device. Or something being in the heart which they can control like a remote control bomb detonator.

Aye, it sucketh muchly.

I will try and get a couple of new things up this week. It has indeed been a while. Perhaps some happy/comical stuff. I could do a party poem. That could be a good challenge.

[quote=Ian_Gillans_sock_ link=1049737266/30#44 date=1082398399]This is spontaneous so we'll see what happens shall we?

Oh Mister Ashman

Oh Mister Ashman...
I like you lots,
I really should forget
But its better than not.

I hope I can calm down,
'Cos this really isn't helping,
But I'll take a wee moment first,
To tell you that you're hansome,
If you'll forgive my clich

With Ice, No Lemon

Cool refreshment
Served with ice,
Downed in stages
In the summer heat,
Glass now empty
I need a refill,
No, no lemon please,
Just lemonade and,
Ice.
Please. Here. Thank you.

No Games Right Now, Please

I don't want your wanton glances,
Smirking winks or open smiles,
Don't touch me there,
When you don't know me,
I don't know you,
So what would I want?

Tell me what you see,
Tell me what you hear,
Tell me what you do,
This I want to know.

Then maybe we can play,
It's better this way,
Don't believe me?
Have patience,
Try it, and see.