[x]

I.Am.Not.An.ArtistI am not an artist
I do not believe I am someone with a creative mind
someone who can make something so bland into something so magnificent
I am not that
I will never be that
I see art and the world it is in
and I see nothing
I see no beauty
no creation
just shapes and colors
I do not see the beauty someone has created
or the depth and emotion that is hidden between the lines
I don’t see how someone can see so much within so little
to be able to create a life by just a few lines
and to be able to recreate something with their minds
I wish I could be able to do this
just a little of this
but I am not an artist
I am my own person

unrequitedyou make my words
gather at the hollows
of my throat
until i choke on them.

my fingers ache to
hold you--
but my eyes ache to
cry.

you're nothing but heart break
wrapped in a bow
of something beautiful,
like the dust of grace from
fallen angels.

i drink a little faster and
cry a little harder
because the way whiskey and tears
mingle on my lips
tastes suspiciously of love.

The HourglassWatch the hands go round and round.
Ahhhh, how long have I been sitting here,
Listening to the grandfather clock?
Watching him ticking away?
Watching the polished wood yellow and rot?
And with every sound he makes
More maggots eat his wooden flesh.

Every grain that falls is an eternity!
In the firelight you can see the glass.
The dust that coats the cracking bulb,
Listening to the sand that trickles down.
Listening to the passing hours.
With every grain that filters through
Another man sleeps eternally.

The sundial stands defiant!
From my leather chair I see it!
It stands defiant in the plaza below me!
Standing in the moonlit night.
Standin

I Don't Miss AdolescenceMy sister calls to ask me if I'll do her makeup;
Mami promised that she would, but she's tired
and screamed when Maria reminded her senior prom
is tonight. She says, "I have a hickey on my neck,
something she doesn't want to cover, and you've always
done a better job of highlighting the subtle graces
inherent to my bone structure, the angles we share."

I say, "That's okay, but I can't pick you up,"

so she arrives in a flourish of exasperations,
telling me all the family business, waving her nails
in my face and talking about the pain of her extensions.
She says, "Do you think we need yellow concealer?
I plan to take pictures, and the last

7 - The Pet PoetI remember when Mommy bought you
a black-haired pet for your sweet sixteenth.
Its bronze collar said its name was "Poet."
You fed it noise from the out-of-tune piano,
intense moments involving flesh and razors,
and the occasional walk by the lake.

At first, he knew only the wolf's howl,
purging blood and flames onto the carpets.
Everywhere was a smell of extravagance --
like that woman's cheap perfume on the train to work.
But you cried a little less,
smiled a bit more.
And that was when Daddy stopped
trying to send it back to the shelter.

Soon, you even started watching T.V.
(and enjoyed food, dressed nice, made friends.)
But T

Onyx DreamsOnyx Dreams

Fluctuations of sound waves vibrate the floor,
While the lights of my room glow brilliantly,
But as time winds down and my energy starts its decline,
My vision gets blurry and listening becomes hearing,
And hearing becomes simple background noise,
While Palaceer Lazaro’s words become filmy intonations
Yet, still creating a motion picture full of abstract images,
In my mind full of words and phrases that do nothing but stay stagnant,
And Slumber begins to wrap her warm hands around my head,
As she sweetly begins to pull me into black depths of rest,
A state of unconsciousness that will take me on a journey,
Through the grey abyss we call the center of our nervous system,
And once I fall into the pit of nothingness, the pit of onyx, for those few hours,
I will transform into an atramentous being with aphotic wings,
Because “black is free……..”

All-Seeing EyeAll-Seeing Eye

We’re not moving, but He is……

Smoker's EpiphanySlipping through a puff of smoke
exaggerated wisps slipping through my subconscious
and I am emptier than before, less than I was
something subtle and hearty

Softened
smoothened and soothing
it's almost relief

almost.

Equestrian StormEquestrian Storm

I was walking through Canterlot,
as rain beat my plot.
I just didn’t feel right,
before it came into my sight.

The princess of the night,
alone and broken.
What a pitiful sight,
out of my slump, twas awoken.

“Princess, why are you here why are you crying?”

“Because nopony loves our night, I would be better off dying!”

“No Luna no, now that you shouldn’t say!”

“And why ever not, what reason hath you that I should stay?”

“Celestia for one, your sister whom you love.”

“Right sure, the sister from whom to the moon I was shoved.”

“Lu

DilemmaToday in class
You moved to sit beside me
And my heart missed
A beat

Your friends followed,
All sitting nearby
And I sat in silence
Afraid of being judged

The presentation started
And I tried not to look at you
But instead peeked
From the corners of my eyes

The presenters spoke
And I tried to focus
On the droning voice
But you invaded my thoughts

What we had talked about last night,
What I should say to you,
How I should instigate the conversation,
If we were to have one at all

I peek over
And you look miserable
Sick, I remember,
And feel an instant sympathy

Time passes
And fear of being judged
By those around me
Keeps me silent

You

All Systems are Shutting DownI shut down
Kicking everyone out
I sit alone inside myself, while other pieces of me close the gates around my heart
And lock the door to my brain
I refuse to let anyone in; I pretend I’m not home
“Please leave your message after the beep…”
Beep.
“Where are you?”
I don’t know.
“Are you okay?”
I don’t know.
“When are you gonna let me in?”
I don’t know.

No wordsI don't like to talk.
I feel that words cannot truly express what I feel.
When I am filled with emotion, I can find no word that can express what I feel to the fullest.
There is no word beautiful enough to describe this joy, no word horrible enough to describe this hate, no word ugly enough to describe this miserable existence.

nothing specialthey tell you not to give up
because you have potential--
and to the ones who simply enjoy
you're probably fantastic
but to those who do
you're simply mediocre,
nothing to bat an
eyelash at.

you're not quite bad enough
to quit, but you're not
great enough to be
remembered.

a small dosage per daysorrow makes its way into my cup of tea every morning
and I add more spoonfuls of sugar into it,
hoping the sweetness will overpower the bitterness;

yet, this clever feeling still seeps through the sweet substance
and clings itself to the sugar's particles,
which in return races through my veins
and scatters in my blood,

making an entire day feel ruined
already.

Never open the window... Never open the window...

I see you're here.

Pay attention, don't fall. It's dark.

What? No, I don't want to light up the room. Yeah, nor open the window. It's useless.
And actually, the only light I need...
...is that one that is so distant for me.

She asked me why I was saying that.
But best of all, I knew that actually she didn't care
I saw too much faces ready to wipe away all my tears and all my fears
But best of all, I know that actually they didn't care.

Seems like destiny put me in this world to help others.
Oh, I'm tired, but I won't show you.
it has been four years, right?
Four years that I'm holding all of you on my shoul

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Where Souls ReclinePoetry dead; is
Lifted on grandeur to heady heights.

Untaught, hidden in dusted halls, where hallowed words are uttered
Do you hear mutters?
And a holy hush refrain.
It is prayer, not fiction. Not willing outreach in creative burst
For poets are dead, but its religion lives.

On the day it grew hazed, it was clouded,
You held sticks, sat upon a shore - wished for days
When ink-to-paper flew easily
Held minds actions and was not alone.

Yet, how are you alone? Patient flutter -
Sun, air, birds trees shade - ah, in shade
She is air, tickle
Wind dances light and in poetic glance does entertain

The day is alive; the verse rests undis

The Pauper and the Prince

Blasphemic torrent, under cold cloud or
Sky, air drenches panes in warped
Waves.

Age sat the threshold, his thumb upon the switch
And I argued not once. He knew little things
Of me.

Four boys, escaped of Age and laughing, always
In laughter, mocked - capered up on poles
Obscenely.

In wide worlds abandoned, without sound, in speaking on loss
Or in slashes delivered against bastard night
I howl noiseless.

Age presses the switch.

Transit - Street In Life

It sinks -
Like vitriol,
   Like acid, not a globbed dissolving mass
      Or spray to melt in seconds
But the burning internal a half minute before I\'d explode
In a pop and fireball -
I feel it.

It enters like a disease.
The sun, the air
   Lodges in my throat and the wind
Would call it out by ruffling my hair.
Giddy.

It mutters and I mutter
As we walk along the street
   arms together
      yet not seen at all (invisible, quite).
Fickle wind and I; to smile one way, look another.

Anger, target: nothing/everything, not helping.
Rage sparks bent-double beggar to hack -
   Caustic like glory natures, painful though heat
Is

Stablize - And LeaveLeaves crash violently.
The front porch swings, upon hinges that are not made
In America or for our boys protection.

Let lists pile, empty - forlorn - much once beloved, on corners of end tables
Once $24.99 at your local convenience,
Death which might lick its way across drainpipes into
Basements
And they would dish
The love into your slack jaw while you hung on.

Let them wickedly rampage down, up, never not on the sidewalk.
And oh, they destroy but never rebuild, how nasty unrepetant and
Hateful.
Boys will be boys, four on a bike each and grinning, cloaks flapping behind.

Leaf piles rampage.
And a will to abstain, abstra

Market the StreetHit the streets and roll,
Sidetracked wide-eyed glimpse
Of pocket street exchanges, which
when compared against the day-to-day
Is not so marketable.

Would you sprint up the sidewalk,
Bus moves fast, you move faster
And the girl in the backseat giggling as you leap,
Grab,
And hold the doorframe,
Is your love, forever and always, though neither notices as you
Drop off the side and cease to exist.

Smoke which billows from a tailpipe formerly pointing away
Though turned directly in your face would blind, smother,
Hex your future ideal of clean lungs, clean shirts and a brilliant bursting white smile.
American Dreams Unite.

The sm

Trees In the NoiseI remember the scars on trees,
That kooky way you got cockeyed - bent backwards and screamed
At me
Every single time I smirked
And said something unkind.

I\'d remember the day we met,
I would, I swear -
If I hadn\'t been bleeding on your kitchen floor
While you were screaming
As usual.

Funny how life goes, in one ear
Then down your sink,
We both know you\'d yowl about that too, babe,
If I wasn\'t so smiling charm you pause to breathe.

Kiss and catch, you\'d love it
And me,
Though you never stopped your noise.
Pause to breathe again.

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Fischer

by ~altruisticlies, Nov 12, 2004, 12:42:18 AM
Literature / Poetry / Narrative / Free Verse

Bobby Fischer played blitz matches
on Yahoo chess
until the Japanese caught him running.

So I was told one morning
out on the deck,
with a newspaper in one hand and an eye on the sun
coming up over the trees.

I hadn't known he was running;
but standing with my hand on the railing,
I saw Bobby in a small cell with both hands in his lap
and a scowl. Bobby Fischer scowled in my dreams.

Was his nemesis aware?
Sitting behind a curtain and alone,
with a glass and a cigarette, and a view of the Urals outside.

Did he know?

And I heard Bobby mutter
All I want to do, ever, is...
forget.
Yeah, Bobby. Yeah.

Fischerby ~altruisticlies

Literature / Poetry / Narrative / Free Verse

In 1992 Bobby played Boris.

~adahplatha Dec 10, 2004

and a scowl. Bobby Fischer scowled in my dreams.

The use of Bobby Fischer's full name didn't really work for me here, though I could see how such a repetition would be deft... and I agree that this poem might improve with tightening up, though it's a delight now.

~wu-wei Dec 1, 2004

I like the narrative, but this could use a little tightening up. Do you really mean to ask the same question twice? It didn't seem that important to me, but I don't know. Also, I'd like to see a tighter description in the nemesis stanza. The line breaks created heavy endings, and that is one where I can see a better way of showing us a Russian environs.

Good to see you back.

~altruisticlies Nov 13, 2004

Dear Mr. Hanft,

Your poem lacks in rhythm. Why do you call your work poetry? Do these line breaks exist only to mask what is otherwise uninteresting? Your 'poem' has little cohering it, and nothing in the way of legitmate creativity in structure and wording. You could perhaps make your language more quaint if only you added a reference to sock hops or ebay.

Also, you butchered that Fischer quote, and italics should only be used for the latin names of plants and animals.

Sincerely,
Boris S.

~Fancydelic Nov 13, 2004

Yes. Thank you...for being a writer.

~Vesiculae Nov 12, 2004

Goddammit, thank you.

You comin'-back-from-hiatus-with-a-bang-ing son of a bitch.

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