Poster:	paco_p
Date:	2005-07-29 11:43
Subject:	Ultimate Poets shirt: Do not use near lakes or wars.
Security:	Public

This is just priceless




:D Scratch that, it's worth $69.99 ^_^

Poster:	ileana_lily
Date:	2005-06-16 04:38
Subject:	Texas4000
Security:	Public
Mood:	sleepy

This cycling trip is awesome so far. Today we are crossing the stateline into Colorado, it's only about 15 miles so the guys are probably going race, and hopefully they won't get lost like last time:) Anyway, hope everyone is doing well wherever they are!!
ileana

Poster:	stardancermer
Date:	2005-05-10 15:24
Subject:
Security:	Public
Mood:	My geekiness previals!

Hey guys! This week has been hectic but SO great! I got my first waitressing job back home at a new restaurat called the Gruene Onion Grill. I'm excited and nervous. If you guys are ever in New Braunfels, stop by. Anyway, I also did a multimedia project which will be updated onto the site by sometime today. I took pictures of bits of poetry on fliers that I made and put around campus. You'll get to see the wacky places I put them when I upload them. :) Good luck with your finals!



~Mer

Poster:	darkthanatos
Date:	2005-05-10 12:51
Subject:	Webpage
Security:	Public

The Failed Attempts of Girls and Gods to Fly Orphaned Box Kites near Volcanoes

That's the name of my final portfolio for the class which you can see on the webpage I made as part of my multimedia project, which I have posted from webspace at:

https://webspace.utexas.edu/chipls/www/

It is also an update of an old website that I used to display my old poetry which you can read at:

Old Website

Feel free to look around. I think the new website shows just how much this class has helped my poetry writing skills if you compare the new stuff to my old stuff.

Comments are welcome.

Poster:	kayla_kitamorn
Date:	2005-05-10 12:36
Subject:	multimedia project
Security:	Public

For my multimedia project I made a web page. You can find it here

Poster:	r_phil34
Date:	2005-05-09 04:26
Subject:	Multimedia
Security:	Public

Here is my multimedia poetry project. I did two of them:

A Meeting This is a movie so it might take a while to load.

The Tragic... This is drawing/comic strip type thing.

This is the first poem:

A Meeting

The telegraph wires blew wildly
on a rainy night in Manhattan.
She huddled in the doorway of
an abandoned bakery
with a former Indian chief.
He was making a living shining shoes
on Fifth Avenue
and drinking loudly in taverns every night.
In his hand he still held one of the mugs,
it was now filled with rainwater and it sounded like
the thunder when he smashed it on the wet cement.
In a passion his leather hand cradled her neck
and he whispered in her ear,
“The ship leaves at two o’clock,”
he pointed towards Battery Park,
“there are giant whales only a few miles out.
I’m going to catch one and name it after you.”

She was going to reply but,
the Indian ran back into the streets,
dancing like he was on fire.

The second poem I posted for an assignment a few weeks ago.

I hope you enjoy them.

Poster:	darkthanatos
Date:	2005-05-08 17:32
Subject:	"Last Chance" Workshop
Security:	Public

Hey guys. I just wanted to remind anyone that is interested that I will be up on campus tomorrow from noon 'til 2pm for anyone that wants to bring one of their poems and sit down with others to talk about how we can all revise our works for our final portfolio.

We'll probably do it in one of the "group" rooms on the third floor of the FAC (the building where we have class), but let's meet up at one of those tables on the first floor entrance of FAC at noon so that it will be easy to find one another. I'll have Kate send out an email with my cellphone number so you can call us if you get there late and we've already moved from the first floor lobby.

Hope to see a few of you there,

Chip

Poster:	tresimaximus
Date:	2005-05-03 20:29
Subject:	Tres Unplugged
Security:	Public

T-Shirts and Jeans Kinda Girl
Lyrics: Tres Segler
Vocals & Guitar: Luke Chapman
Audio Coordination: Aarron Ricks

T-Shirts and Jeans Kinda Girl (Click for song...12 second delay for song to start)
by Tres Segler

Your a t-shirts and jeans kinda girl.
Once in a while you give your hair a little curl.
Don't care when you look a mess
But they all stop and stare
When you wear that little black dress

You'd rather play sports and have fun.
Once in a while you go and get your nails done,
Don't care a thing about stress
But they all stop and stare
When you wear that little black dress.

You'd rather do the things you dream of.
Once in a while you admit your in love,
don't care about sweet caress
But they all stop and stare
When you wear that little black dress.

Your an ear to ear smile kinda girl,
once in a while you take me for a whirl.
When I'm with you I am my best
But they all stop and stare,
and I only get to have you in that little black dress

When I'm with you I know I'm blessed,
and I only get to have you in that little black dress.

-3-

Poster:	betsiec
Date:	2005-05-01 08:51
Subject:	Poetry Slam
Security:	Public

Hey, I just wanted to let everyone know that the Austin Slam Finals are at 8pm. on Friday, May 13,
at Ruta Maya
(3601 S. Congress Ste.D-200
Austin, TX 78704).

It sounds pretty cool and the winner goes to the National poetry slam. If you want more information their website is "www.austinslam.com".

Poster:	betsiec
Date:	2005-04-27 07:16
Subject:
Security:	Public

renascence


I wish my window was deceiving.

The reflection
on smudged glass
reveals a shriveled figure
sitting alone – always alone.

My eyes once glowed
before their round edges
were weathered down
to the grey core.

My curved spine protrudes
past the bars on my chair's back
as I rock back and forth,
creaking loose boards on my porch.

My blurred vision
can barely
make out
the walking stick
in the quivering grip
of my knuckles.

My sharp left cheek is dimming
with the sun’s departure
as winds flee from darkness that slowly
creeps up on my right side.
The arriving breeze chills my leathery skin
and whips silver hair about my blank expression.

My heavy lids almost shut on their own
as my frail lungs take their fill
of cool, crisp air.

Suddenly, I’m swept to my feet.

The sound
of a wooden cane
hitting the floor
echoes in my ear.

Eyes open
without the weight of thick folds
to clearly see my creamy arms
that luster like butter in the sun.
My smooth fingertips press plump, yet firm, cheeks
before being drawn to spreading sunlight
that wasn’t smothered by dense night,
but ascending from western skies.

From above, rising yellow rays
playfully project shadows
through my eyelashes.
My arched back stretches upward,
as nimble fingers open
reaching toward growing warmth.
I gaze into the brightness
until beams of light
encompass my vision.

I gently close my eyes
and smile-lines form around my curved lips
as they release their last breath.

Poster:	kayla_kitamorn
Date:	2005-04-25 16:20
Subject:	free skate
Security:	Public

I deleted the first free skate poem I posted because I decided I like this one better and I think it's more fitting to my other work. Sorry if you already read the other one.


Enjoy the Show

Guys on stage
wear tight t-shirts
from other bands
(or maybe even Goodwill)
and jeans too small,
torn and worn out
by either use or design.

They hold cigarettes
between their lips
while hands are busy
with drumsticks,
fret boards, picks,
and keyboards,
keeping their eyes closed during songs.

Girls in the crowd
are in their vintage
(or “vintage”)
shirts and skirts
and hair dyed black
to match
their nails and eyeliner.

Some shriek with pleasure,
and others simply nod
along in approval,
with arms around their boyfriends
or keeping near to girlfriends;
they’re never alone.

While the male fans
have their Converse All-Stars
(black, of course)
and purposely disheveled hair,
but no one really wears
those plastic-framed glasses
like before.

They sing or scream the words,
to show they know them all
and push through the crowd
to maneuver their way
right up to the stage
where they block the short girls.

It doesn’t matter
that we all sort of look the same,
with carefully chosen outfits
and expressions
to look like we don’t care,
or a t-shirt to prove,
“I was at the _______ concert,”

because we’re here
to see the same thing.
Whether we’re rocking out
front and center,
or just chilling out
by the back wall,
we’re all here to enjoy the show.

Poster:	linked_up
Date:	2005-04-25 15:51
Subject:
Security:	Public

The Road is My Zoloft

Roll the windows down Meg.
I need to breathe the air of inspiration
Rising from the roadside flowers.
I need nature’s CPR to fill my lungs
And to revive me from the dead.

Put on some tunes Meg.
I need to lower the volume in my head.
Things have been too loud these past few days.
Bluegrass is fine, so long as it’s not too fast.

Hand me my sunglasses Meg.
The road is starting to reflect
Future responsibilities and possible meltdowns.

Pass me some water Meg.
My throat is parched
From society’s prescription for success.

Tell me about your day now Meg.
I need something to distract me
From the frustrations of yesterday.

I’m feeling good now Meg.
Only a million more miles to go
With an eternal sunset to drive into.
What a vacation Meg.

Poster:	r_phil34
Date:	2005-04-25 13:49
Subject:	Free Assignment
Security:	Public

The Parade

The parade wandered past
in the midnight rubber
of boot-soles and tires
rattling in a calloused hand.

There were no simmering trumpets,
no marshmallow clowns,
no linen orchids
laced into lavender Cadillacs.

There was only
a cotton candy ballerina
condemned to a confetti of ants.

A child tugged at the sleeve of the ringmaster,
pointing…

but the troupe could not forget their race
with the steel sandals of invisible giants
and stop to mourn the silent feast.

Poster:	stardancermer
Date:	2005-04-25 11:01
Subject:	Assignment FREE SKATE!
Security:	Public
Mood:	Morose, like the poem says

"Introspection"

Well, there she goes again.
Fucking up everything
in and around her.
It's like she's not happy
unless she's unhappy.
We should all be happy.

She drifts through time and space,
gaunt and disconnected,
encased in a bubble of sorrow;
Unjustifiably morose.
There are others in the world who deserve
the sadness she feels.

Sharing the heartbreak sustained throughout her existence
is simply out of the question.
I question why it is so -- she replies
"It is what it is and I am what I am.
Don't try to change me
because changing a girl never works
unless she changes herself first."

I know her words are true, yet I continue;
Stalking this embodiment of unneeded emotion --
trying in some way to alleviate her pain.
She won't let me help.
She won't let me in.
She never has.

If I had it my way, I'd break into her imagined microcosm;
her dreamed-up consciousness and free her from
the seas of sorrow in which she's drowning.
What potential, what dreams
are made dark due to this anguish
she inflicts on herself.

The weight of the world rests on her
back, but she bears it
willingly. Being an earthly man, I would never understand
what thoughts go through her mind.
Instead, I'll watch and wait
and pick her up again.

Poster:	juliehanus
Date:	2005-04-25 10:51
Subject:	A simple, understated poem.
Security:	Public

A Moment in the Kitchen

Lemon light
Seeped through dusted blinds,
Tracing your slender silhouette
Against a sunlit palette

A purple plum
Lay bruised in your hands.
Bruised, Soft
Ready to be sampled.

Traversing the space
From counter to lips
It lost most of its skin.
To your delicate appetite.

Leaning over the sink,
You rained down
Sticky sweetness
Over China Plates.

Poster:	ryan_c_123
Date:	2005-04-25 10:28
Subject:
Security:	Public

L.A.

the crowded street flares before my eyes
as neon light from a downtown sign
dabbles at the tips of my polished shoes.
tonight i grew weary mingling with stuffy, smoky people
with their powdered noses and corky wigs --
they are fossils, left behind by the evolution of the mind.
(i am a dreamer; i dream in beautiful colors
and nondescript languages,
unseen and unheard by those self-possessed cretins.)
i want more; i have the urge to write and she is my muse.

what a place to find divinity--
she was made to be worshiped by the masses,
ably driving everything but herself from our senses--
no small feat.
she is sinful; polygamous; a marvelous flower,
she paints her lips with scarlet poison
and wears black dresses that cling to her hips;
desperately, like the fools who latch to her ankles
even as she crushes their colors into the limy earth
with her spiked heels.

i am far too wise
to not do a foolish thing now and then,
and she knows this truth as well.
in each of us dwells a sliver of heaven and hell,
and as i cherish both, i cherish her--
as my goddess and my enchantress,
interpreted according to my desires,
asking no questions and being told no lies.

soon she will murder me and I will wake up dead,
with a handful of teeth and a mouthful of lead,
a screwdriver to the spine for good measure.
i ask her, "could you, would you ever kill a man?"
she says she thinks she could, she thinks she can--
that she would leave me a skeleton
lingering in the doorway, bobbing my skull,
babbling incoherently and assuredly insane.
i am vexed by her answer
and respond with a guarded laugh,
for there is no wealth but life--
say the street-corner preachers who fear death.

as i turn home she envelopes me like burning incense
and her smoggy sky opens and pours flames into my eyes,
simultaneously punishing and pleasuring me like a natural sadist....

a dog barks outside, windows open wide
as i lay my back on the rooftop
and watch the city lights go out tonight.
Sirens whine and headlights shine a bright white
on the star-stained streets of L.A., the city of angels.
maybe tonight will be the night
I sneak to the water and sing my song,
I don't know how it will begin,
nor how it will end,
but I will sing only to the ocean,
because the ocean doesn't know my voice is gone.

Poster:	cantuvm2
Date:	2005-04-25 04:49
Subject:	etaks eerf
Security:	Public

Another Brick in the Wall Part 1 & 2 and The Happiest Day of Our Life

driving back from Colorado
it’s dark in the back seat

guitars start winding
copters start spinning

My dead uncle is sitting next to me

He died when he was my age –
drunk driver, you know

Joe’s got a little blood running down him
I have a lump in my throat
he tells me
(with his mind)
that it doesn’t hurt
we’re comfortable back here in the dark

this is his favorite song –
my mom used to say

He died years before I was born

my brother knew him –
my brother’s driving

He was a cowboy –
my grandmother’s house burned down;
only a couple of pictures survived

He’s wearing that orange shirt

“How can you have your pudding if you don’t eat your meat?!”

the song ends
I fall back to sleep

I’ve never been to his grave

I’ve never been so close to him

Poster:	darkthanatos
Date:	2005-04-25 00:35
Subject:	The Volcano
Security:	Public

The volcano
smoldered
and ash
rose
black
like roses
on a
small tree
with petals
which fall
like rain
at dusk
hissing
as it
cools
the lava,
flowing
and ebbing
endlessly
from the
cratered
heart
created
as he
rose
in the
rain
near the
black
rose tree
with
falling petals
as tears
cooled
her cheeks
covering
the volcano.


Comments: I purposely left it minimal punctuation (at the midpoint and at the end), but let me know if you think it really needs some more and where I should put it.

Poster:	tresimaximus
Date:	2005-04-25 00:09
Subject:	anything goes
Security:	Public

Catching a Glimpse

The air is crisper in the bay
when you start the day
before the sun rises.
You find little surprises
when you look around,
and open your heart to the sound
life can make when its slowed.
Time like water has flowed.

The boat ran straight and true
as I followed the ‘gulls as they flew.
They dove at the waves like drops
of rain landing with fluttering flops,
and the smaller fish tried to flee
while flying hunters showed me
where my prey was lying.
I alone saw this scene by spying.

Under the wind pushed rolling blue
swam one of Nature’s finest few.
She was crimson and pearl to match
the sands she cruised to snatch
her meals. A carbon spot on her tail
breaks the surface like a sail
when she hunts in the morning light.
She is beautiful in underwater flight.

This spot was where my quest
forced my senses to their best.
I required every glint from my sharp eyes
to penetrate the tide and make out her disguise.
This cove was where she stayed
through wind and squall she never strayed
from this sacred wind brushed place.
My heartbeat kept this moment’s pace.

I slipped off the boat that gave me speed
into waves that made me take heed
of every errant step*. I waded heart high
into the world of this creature that I
never knew as my own,
and I noticed that the wind had blown
the sun from the horizon up into the sky.
My courage was in great supply.

I drew my weapon above the surf
and cast my missile out into my prey’s turf.
Hours past as my lure swam inches from her,
and longer still did my determination render
details from every retrieve. I learned with each trial
the movements that made her dial
those brown and black eyes into a mode of attack.
I wanted to make my hidden hook look like a snack.

Remembering all the days I have sought
this trophy lead me to a moment’s thought.
For a respite I left my focus to dream
about the feeling of capturing this gleam
of glistening scales. Just as my concentration
failed my weapon drew tight from her motivation
to escape this razored lure she had taken prisoner.
Suddenly, I realized the strength she had within her.

My line and staff were strained
to places far beyond where they were trained.
I fought as she swam beyond her home
into water that she had never known.
This game of ancient chess
was now a measure of which creature’s muscle stress
would force them to meet their fall.
I began to pray and then to call.

“You must stop fighting against my will,
and cease your surge from where you lay still.
I was wrong to think I could catch your grace
and hold you high with a smile on my face.
This pool is where you hunt and rest,
and I have disturbed you as your guest.
The natural power and poise that made you old
was all I wanted to see and hold.”

As if she was listening she paused her escape,
and she stopped as I did to let the moment shape.
Her tail broke the surface as she turned back
towards her captor she gave my line its slack.
She stopped her approach inches from my stance,
and I witnessed the glory of her colored elegance.
She opened her jaw as if to speak,
and I removed my razored lure from her cheek.

After I removed our only physical bond,
she darted away, because she was fond
of the freedom I had taken as my lure
captured what God had meant to be pure.
To my surprise she circled back,
and looked up with her brown and black
eyes in hopes that I would give her lift.
My adversary was giving honor’s gift.

My hands grasp her slick skin
while my heart beat fast within.
She shone in the sun like a jewel of pearl,
and I noticed the wind beginning to swirl.
The breeze reminded me that she was out of place
instead of swimming where she held her grace.
I took one last glimpse then set her home,
and I decided it time for me to find my own.

As I made my way back I tried to find
the number of times my heart made my soul climb
out of bed in search of a prize as my task.
When all I had to do was give God an ask.

-3-



*When fishing in the shallows or "wade fishing" every step that is slammed down sends silt and mud flying toward the fish you are trying to catch. This spooks the fish.

Poster:	silentbluesky
Date:	2005-04-24 18:50
Subject:	Anything I want? ok.
Security:	Public
Mood:	contemplative

These are two separate poems about the same person Pablo Neruda, a famous Chilean poet. I couldn't decide which one to post so I posted them both. The poems are somewhat similar. Their beginnings are the same and a line or two is repeated in both, but they go in different directions. He wrote in spanish but the links I gave you below to two of his poems are the english translations. Put together they make only one long poem so don't worry, it's better than two long ones. ;)

Neruda

What were you thinking
sitting there with your hand on your cheek,
and your eyes engraved with thought?
Were you mourning your dear lost Lorca;
the injustice of your bother killing your brother?

What were you thinking
when you wrote the first line,
“Puedo escribir los versos más tristes esta noche”?
Did you know it was greatness right away?
Did you feel like greatness?
I have this desire to understand you.

I have been told that to
achieve greatness you
must suffer a great deal.
Is this true?

I have suffered, but not
nearly as much as you
nor in the same way.
Is it wrong of me to
want to suffer the way
you have suffered?

You make pain sound so beautiful.
I want to swim in it, absorb it
with my entire tiny being.
I ‘d like to gulp it down
vivaciously without
consideration to consequence.

Yet the realist in me knows that
there is much consequence
in your words, in your experience.
Injustice, sadness, pain
have plagued your life.
What you write is really not
beautiful at all.

You probably think me silly,
for that I am. Think it an injustice
in itself to yearn for such things.

But I want so much to understand.
Be your equal; so on a off chance we
meet in a different life we could have
something to share, reflect upon, change.

I sound desperate, yes I know.
But you’ve created such a romantic world
on paper with words; I sometimes do the same.

I’m curious…

Do you love the way you write?
Did you sincerely hunger for your lover?
So much you ate her whole like an almond?
Did you search through the jungle of your
room for one slow lick of her hot, salty skin?
Did her sweet sweat beads quench your
unnerving thirst? Is that you in those lines
craving her mouth?

The way I crave your world.


Neruda II

What were you thinking
sitting there with your hand on your cheek,
and your eyes engraved with thought?
Were you mourning your dear lost Lorca;
the injustice of your bother
killing your brother?
Wondering how the exiled life would be?

Or maybe it was something far more complicated.
Your life was more than
consulships and politics.
More than injustices and suffering.
In between all of that there was love.
Am I right?

Your most known for your love sonnets.
A man who wrote like that
with such passion, such truth
must have been an excellent lover.

Were you hunting the image of your lover
in that photograph? Did you thirst like an animal
for one slow lick of her hot, salty skin?
Were you reflecting on a time when she
tore at your flesh?
Destroyed your strong exterior,
so that you sobbed like a child
fragile like flowers, you
embraced the warmth that only a woman
could give you.

Did you love the way you wrote?
Eat her whole like an almond?
Hunger for her heart like a puma
in the jungle? Crave her every
spontaneous movement as you
fell into her soft heat?

Maybe no? Maybe so?

Your eyes hold a thousand poems,
a thousand poems and more.

Note:
The second stanza in the first poem contains a quote from his most known love sonnet.
Sonnet 20. it means "I can write the saddest lines tonight."
"Lorca" in the fourth line of both poems refers to Neruda's close friend Federico Garcia Lorca who was assassinated during the Spanish Civil War. He was also a great poet.
The last long stanzas in both poems make some references to one of his sonnets
I crave your mouth.