Exclusive to Ninja, Poems by Russell.

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ravenrussell
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Exclusive to Ninja, Poems by Russell.

Postby ravenrussell » Wed Sep 21, 2016 9:40 pm

I don't offer paintings or songs, for I am a poet. I can give to this thing, by bringing poems for only your eyes. This may seem like a very small gesture to some, but it is out of 100% respect to my fellow Ninjas and the queen that I now present these poems, not to be shared by me in any other place. Here are a few small pieces of my heart.

The embattled imparting of wisdom.
The end of shattered fears, sharp tears,
cutting on their way out. A shiv plunged,
shivers expunged from mouthpiece yes men.
Antique angels with their satisfied haloes.
Browsing the slum for coherent bums.
Trying too hard to fit in, peg hole misshapen.
Vacant stares from those who were friends.
Thousand mile destinations, of empty counterparts.
Counterpoint, harmonic establishment,
and me with a half broken kazoo, belting dissonance.
Cruel mistress of the evening, endo maintenance,
ego's on the mike, singing songs by a nodding addict.
Swallow the holes in your arms, spit up the regression.
I'm thouroughly enmeshed, blessed but broken.

Going's on, in full quadraphoic stereo.
Manic depressive canaries, testing my mine.
Feeling the intoxicated beaks speak truth,
as their slandered and pandered feathers fall out.
This grace, the way it mixes our forms of misery,
and turns out a recipe for angel food cake.
We're iced in test tube newcomers. Hoping,
using chemistry as a beginning to spirituality.
Dance until your heart hurts, then shake it some more.
The richter scale of how you crack me.
A faultline, finally objectively looked over.
A spasm, a delerium tremun of past, present, future.
a series of moments, to reach solidarity and structure.
Similarities to the clowns with the painted drobe.
Strobe, the struck and the once twice removed.
The coffee clutch manners in a burnt bean cowboy's getty up.

Stark and utter upheaval, removal of the old us,
a brand new model, upgraded, moves into the garage.
The oil and the steam build up tranquily when we
no longer use them, time to bloom into new crude,
when again as a society we are nude,
exhibiting the cancer of a throat doctor's hum and happenstance.


"Here"
Spoiler: show
"Here"

In rooms of quiet chairs, weighed down by coffee,
several men file galantly smiling.
A disorderd man calls to order,
but there are no orders here.
Suggestions hammered to crawling walls,
next to stigmata laden crosses.
She sheepishly folds her legs around a bookmark,
trying to hold in, or hide her eggs.
Jackals deliver erupting laughter.
13th reasons spill from Big Meat Hooks.
The temperature scales the stories.
as slithering slime trails toward her.
Is she safe here?
Am I safe here?
The title of this poem is left here.
In this butcher's locker,
with its God consciousness crying.
Her legs are spread more than the pages
of the coverless book they salivate over.
Her cornsilk hair, ruffled soon after
her corn is popped.
Many years later, back of a Cobalt,
she'll deliver to the world a bastard.
His name will be Bill, though the thrill
will still ilk her every vein and wrinkle.
Arteries lined with unfulfilled promises,
and a heart stepped on far more than 12 times.
A squall, a constant storm, wave blown port,
no moorage or seawall anymore.
For the halls devoured many souls before her,
and they spit the watermellon seeds,
all over her once wet, young fertile land.

By: Russell Jay Keenan
originally conceived 8/21/2016, rewritten 9/21/2016


"Broken Harlequin"
Spoiler: show
"Broken Harlequin"

I walk by the same damn window
too many times
seeing my reflection like a harlequin dancer
like some shaky mirage
I can't get through the mirror
and i'm still thinking of her
everyday
she's been gone so long
that the fur has fallen off
of the pine trees
she's been gone so long
that my hand aches
from pleasing myself
I just wonder
in all these days,
and all these nights
does she ever think of me
does she sit with her head cupped in
her hands, looking out the window
waiting for the lightning
waiting for the thunder
does she sit there
and remember all the times we had
when these trees weren't bare
when i felt like i fared better
and i could live a life that i
truly deserved
she's so right
she was reserved to be fallen
and I just can't stop from calling
calling out her name
in my dreams
but worse in my nightmares
when the trees all around my house
start growing new leaves
when the spring starts to come
and the winter starts to please
itself on another side of the world
i wonder
does she think of me
does she sit on the toilet
reading a Time magazine
does she laugh
as she remembers the things
we used do together
far more than sex
far more than love
way before any of those things
had ever taken account in
my life
I watch her fall apart
on a daily basis
but it's not her
it's the image of her
walking by a mirror
like a harlequin dancer

By: Russell Jay Keenan
9/23/2016


"misdirection"
Spoiler: show
"misdirection"

In gradients of decreased innocence
Masked by our universal decadence
The children congregate fate unaided
Little Fisher-Price Sherman tanks
Taught yesterday to outlive thanks
Their tender hands braided and faded
But we made it
Baby shower ammunition gifts
Baby proofing Albert Einstein
and his atom bomb tantrums
Coded in our internet floated
Battleships built by the gathered naive
Feathered tikes, arming their bikes
Tiny totalitarian minds striking
Liking memes that burn their dreams
Lost young bloggers fogging up phones
Kittens forced to be fully grown
Packets of hate mail to the all alone
Parents feeding fear with a side of guilt
Asking the developing, to be fully built
On a hazardous foundation
Ever shaking
Enveloping all their days in snippets
Minutes to describe a life well worn
Torn from comic books and life's
False masquerade, a wife's
Terse escalation, said over and over
The children huddle under umbrellas
As acid rain burns away nylon ceilings
Left with lightning rods for feelings
One boy turns his head to scream

"Stop"

And the world reams him
Until he is no longer
Until he is not

By: Russell Jay Keenan
9/25/2016


Unfinished poems, I would love any help. Add to them, chop them up, do what you wish with them. I'm just trying to find an ending or a new beginning to some fragments of poems that I've written.
<3 <3 /ambo <3 <3

"Fragments 1-3"
Spoiler: show
1:

A line-up of the ones I've loved.
All the ones that were above me.
In passionate fingerprints smudged.
Waiting for romance to judge
who takes the stand
only to claim the fifth
smoke on a spiritual spliff
as if
that can take away the burn
take your turn
I can't I D the spurned
wanting more from their spin
when the expectation wins
golden hair that thins
to the silver lining within
age is just a number
until Indian summer
takes the heat

2:

Frogger without the frog
logs rolling to the left
I once was a demigod
Moving, and splashing
Grooving in fashion
Predicting reactions
It may not be factual.
But we'll state it as actual.
My data may be drivel
but I'll snivel it at ya'll.

Mashing the keyboard
Creating my discord
These spilling words
are all i can afford
Scored for cutting
folded and jutting
I create a space
for all your rebutting
and shutting
me out...

Shout it from rooftops
bellowing firm flops
I may not be alone
but I am, the damn boss

3:

Show no hidden object,
no planetary gravitational inter
ruptions.
Don't line me up with the other suspects,
I'll stand out as an enemy.
My suspicious cat's eye,
when the rest are dog's,
lapping at your teat.
I am disregard's stale lament.
I am the taste of steel,
run through

the innards of wailing pregnant missionary.

Snow job on the helicopter pilot
as he writes his suicide note
verbally, whilst drinking Hurricane
in a tornado, while experienc
ing a tsunami of emotion,
quitting the hovering failure,
ball's deep in a sheep's rectum,
pulling the wool over the eye's
of his lover's breasts.
The beasts of the field

bleat and shit and wail
as they are diagnosed

with this and that mental illness.

Mad cow disease, with udders
strapped in straight jacket,
padded room, whipped cream
flavored by harpy misjustice,
she blessed us with egg nog floggings.
Pigs as filthy as the pen
can write during tortured
winter's shortest day,
solstice sadness suckling at the nipple
of negro black day, Christmas crossed

a birthday impatiently frozen in cold fear,
on the arctic ass end of the year.


"Fragments 4-6"
Spoiler: show
4:

Couch surfing my way through your waves.
Leaving tracers in the gossamer of your web.
Red hourglass ass, glass all full of poison.
You know I'm scared for very real reasons.

Dancing, drunk and distant,
took the redbull by the horns.
Asking questions thoughtfully,
drowned out by liquid hot . . . . . .
house music, answers deafening.

5:

Falling from the parapets of fear.
Every second lower,
stories building themselves behind me.
Girders all sinewy, cruel, belligerent.
I can't ever hit the bottom.
A Library of Alexandria burns,
as each match I smoke,
becomes the sulfur smell of lost gray wrinkles.
We'll blacken the sky
with the inside of our lungs.

6:

Ladies lined up so brilliant, spilled in snowflake uniqueness.
Melting crystals, splitting light, before holy water blessed.
The perfect peach plucked, guitar string ringing out, stressed,
harmonic, platonic, reactions mixed under chemistry's mess.

Men, smearing macho on eachother, weakening hearts pump.
Rainforest of Mrs., full grown marriage cut down to the stump.
Breaking message filled bottles on the bows of ships, dumping,
the remnants of hazy things said, window ledge, ready to jump.
Peace to all.
-Raven
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Phara
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Re: Exclusive to Ninja, Poems by Russell.

Postby Phara » Wed Sep 21, 2016 11:50 pm

i love this... what are you doing about getting published? your work is so powerful
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Re: Exclusive to Ninja, Poems by Russell.

Postby ravenrussell » Thu Sep 22, 2016 12:02 am

Thank you Phara. I have no excuse that is viable to explain why I don't try to get published. I think it's because I think of poetry as a river, ever changing, you never step in the same river twice. I guess if I tried to get published it would mean I would have to come up with a finished product. I like the freedom I now have, of fixing, changing, molding any of my works as I see fit. I see my poetry as open source. I hope one day to listen to the radio, and hear some of my words coming through someone else. I feel that poetry has no owner. I cannot claim the words that flow through me. I just hope to supply some literary visual to the me, me universe we live in. My whole life I've been told that poetry doesn't make money, that I'll never accomplish anything with poetry. I'm starting to realize that money and fame aren't what I want out of my words. I just want to touch the planet, and watch its reactions from afar.
-Russell
Peace to all.
-Raven
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Re: Exclusive to Ninja, Poems by Russell.

Postby ghostdogg » Thu Sep 22, 2016 12:10 am

Damn, that's beautiful man.
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Re: Exclusive to Ninja, Poems by Russell.

Postby ink » Thu Sep 22, 2016 4:23 am

ravenrussell wrote:Thank you Phara. I have no excuse that is viable to explain why I don't try to get published. I think it's because I think of poetry as a river, ever changing, you never step in the same river twice. I guess if I tried to get published it would mean I would have to come up with a finished product. I like the freedom I now have, of fixing, changing, molding any of my works as I see fit. I see my poetry as open source. I hope one day to listen to the radio, and hear some of my words coming through someone else. I feel that poetry has no owner. I cannot claim the words that flow through me. I just hope to supply some literary visual to the me, me universe we live in. My whole life I've been told that poetry doesn't make money, that I'll never accomplish anything with poetry. I'm starting to realize that money and fame aren't what I want out of my words. I just want to touch the planet, and watch its reactions from afar.
-Russell

righteous..

maybe soon we can make that happen, listening to the radio, and hearing your words over them
we are, what we allow to occupy us..





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Re: Exclusive to Ninja, Poems by Russell.

Postby ravenrussell » Fri Sep 23, 2016 10:57 am

another exclusive, trying to make myself a bit more understandable. got the feels tonight, feeling like my world's imploding in on itself. glad i got the dojo to behind me.

"Broken Harlequin"

I walk by the same damn window
too many times
seeing my reflection like a harlequin dancer
like some shaky mirage
I can't get through the mirror
and i'm still thinking of her
everyday
she's been gone so long
that the fur has fallen off
of the pine trees
she's been gone so long
that my hand aches
from pleasing myself
I just wonder
in all these days,
and all these nights
does she ever think of me
does she sit with her head cupped in
her hands, looking out the window
waiting for the lightning
waiting for the thunder
does she sit there
and remember all the times we had
when these trees weren't bare
when i felt like i fared better
and i could live a life that i
truly deserved
she's so right
she was reserved to be fallen
and I just can't stop from calling
calling out her name
in my dreams
but worse in my nightmares
when the trees all around my house
start growing new leaves
when the spring starts to come
and the winter starts to please
itself on another side of the world
i wonder
does she think of me
does she sit on the toilet
reading a Time magazine
does she laugh
as she remembers the things
we used do together
far more than sex
far more than love
way before any of those things
had ever taken account in
my life
I watch her fall apart
on a daily basis
but it's not her
it's the image of her
walking by a mirror
like a harlequin dancer

By: Russell Jay Keenan
9/23/2016
Peace to all.
-Raven
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3 hours later...
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Re: Exclusive to Ninja, Poems by Russell.

Postby Corgimom » Sat Sep 24, 2016 7:26 pm

Tiny suggestion?
the line
that the fir has fallen off
of the pine trees

would be more powerful as
that the FUR has fallen off
of the pine trees
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Re: Exclusive to Ninja, Poems by Russell.

Postby ink » Sun Sep 25, 2016 12:31 am

ravenrussell wrote:she was reserved to be fallen
and I just can't stop from calling
calling out her name
in my dreams
but worse in my nightmares
when the trees all around my house
start growing new leaves
when the spring starts to come
and the winter starts to please

By: Russell Jay Keenan
9/23/2016

that really set the tone for me
we are, what we allow to occupy us..





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Re: Exclusive to Ninja, Poems by Russell.

Postby cerrodepedro » Sun Sep 25, 2016 7:12 am

ravenrussell wrote:Thank you Phara. I have no excuse that is viable to explain why I don't try to get published. I think it's because I think of poetry as a river, ever changing, you never step in the same river twice. I guess if I tried to get published it would mean I would have to come up with a finished product. I like the freedom I now have, of fixing, changing, molding any of my works as I see fit. I see my poetry as open source. I hope one day to listen to the radio, and hear some of my words coming through someone else. I feel that poetry has no owner. I cannot claim the words that flow through me. I just hope to supply some literary visual to the me, me universe we live in. My whole life I've been told that poetry doesn't make money, that I'll never accomplish anything with poetry. I'm starting to realize that money and fame aren't what I want out of my words. I just want to touch the planet, and watch its reactions from afar.
-Russell


UGH PHARA WTF WITH YOU MAKING US ACCOUNTABLE TO OURSELVES AND OUR TALENTS AND SKILLS
Once was lost and now am lost; was blind but now I smoke
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Re: Exclusive to Ninja, Poems by Russell.

Postby ravenrussell » Sun Sep 25, 2016 10:31 am

I posted this on Facebook first, for a few minutes, but said fuck it. Took it off of there, because of all your kind words. This is where I roam now. Sorry, you're fucking stuck with me now.

"misdirection"

In gradients of decreased innocence
Masked by our universal decadence
The children congregate fate unaided
Little Fisher-Price Sherman tanks
Taught yesterday to outlive thanks
Their tender hands braided and faded
But we made it
Baby shower ammunition gifts
Baby proofing Albert Einstein
and his atom bomb tantrums
Coded in our internet floated
Battleships built by the gathered naive
Feathered tikes, arming their bikes
Tiny totalitarian minds striking
Liking memes that burn their dreams
Lost young bloggers fogging up phones
Kittens forced to be fully grown
Packets of hate mail to the all alone
Parents feeding fear with a side of guilt
Asking the developing, to be fully built
On a hazardous foundation
Ever shaking
Enveloping all their days in snippets
Minutes to describe a life well worn
Torn from comic books and life's
False masquerade, a wife's
Terse escalation, said over and over
The children huddle under umbrellas
As acid rain burns away nylon ceilings
Left with lightning rods for feelings
One boy turns his head to scream

"Stop"

And the world reams him
Until he is no longer
Until he is not

By: Russell Jay Keenan
9/25/2016
Peace to all.
-Raven
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Re: Exclusive to Ninja, Poems by Russell.

Postby ink » Sun Sep 25, 2016 11:26 pm

ravenrussell wrote:I posted this on Facebook first, for a few minutes, but said fuck it. Took it off of there, because of all your kind words. This is where I roam now. Sorry, you're fucking stuck with me now.


In gradients of decreased innocence
Masked by our universal decadence
The children congregate fate unaided
Little Fisher-Price Sherman tanks
Taught yesterday to outlive thanks
Their tender hands braided and faded
But we made it
Baby shower ammunition gifts
Baby proofing Albert Einstein
and his atom bomb tantrums
Coded in our internet floated
Battleships built by the gathered naive
Feathered tikes, arming their bikes
Tiny totalitarian minds striking
Liking memes that burn their dreams
Lost young bloggers fogging up phones
Kittens forced to be fully grown
Packets of hate mail to the all alone
Parents feeding fear with a side of guilt
Asking the developing, to be fully built
On a hazardous foundation
Ever shaking
Enveloping all their days in snippets
Minutes to describe a life well worn
Torn from comic books and life's
False masquerade, a wife's
Terse escalation, said over and over
The children huddle under umbrellas
As acid rain burns away nylon ceilings
Left with lightning rods for feelings
One boy turns his head to scream

"Stop"

And the world reams him
Until he is no longer
Until he is not

By: Russell Jay Keenan
9/25/2016

/flame

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we are, what we allow to occupy us..





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Re: Exclusive to Ninja, Poems by Russell.

Postby ink » Sun Sep 25, 2016 11:49 pm

absolutely!!!


but allow me to read it at least 5 more times.. /bigsmile
we are, what we allow to occupy us..





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Re: Exclusive to Ninja, Poems by Russell.

Postby ink » Sun Sep 25, 2016 11:50 pm

doh.. too slow?
we are, what we allow to occupy us..





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Re: Exclusive to Ninja, Poems by Russell.

Postby ravenrussell » Sun Sep 25, 2016 11:50 pm

/flame

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Hey Ink, would you like the honor of naming this poem? I have writer's block for a title.
Peace to all.
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Re: Exclusive to Ninja, Poems by Russell.

Postby ravenrussell » Sun Sep 25, 2016 11:54 pm

Corgimom wrote:Tiny suggestion?
the line
that the fir has fallen off
of the pine trees

would be more powerful as
that the FUR has fallen off
of the pine trees

That was definitely the idea I was going for. I'm torn between fur and fir, but I think you may be right.
Peace to all.
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Re: Exclusive to Ninja, Poems by Russell.

Postby ink » Sun Sep 25, 2016 11:58 pm

ravenrussell wrote:/flame

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ravenrussell wrote:Hey Ink, would you like the honor of naming this poem? I have writer's block for a title.



misdirection
we are, what we allow to occupy us..





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Re: Exclusive to Ninja, Poems by Russell.

Postby ravenrussell » Mon Sep 26, 2016 2:48 am

Love it!
Peace to all.
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Re: Exclusive to Ninja, Poems by Russell.

Postby ink » Mon Sep 26, 2016 2:55 am

rly i was worried for a sec lol
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Re: Exclusive to Ninja, Poems by Russell.

Postby ravenrussell » Thu Sep 29, 2016 9:19 pm

Unfinished poems, I would love any help. Add to them, chop them up, do what you wish with them. I'm just trying to find an ending or a new beginning to some fragments of poems that I've written.
<3 <3 /ambo <3 <3

"Fragments"

1:

A line-up of the ones I've loved.
All the ones that were above me.
In passionate fingerprints smudged.
Waiting for romance to judge
who takes the stand
only to claim the fifth
smoke on a spiritual spliff
as if
that can take away the burn
take your turn
I can't I D the spurned
wanting more from their spin
when the expectation wins
golden hair that thins
to the silver lining within
age is just a number
until Indian summer
takes the heat

2:

Frogger without the frog
logs rolling to the left
I once was a demigod
Moving, and splashing
Grooving in fashion
Predicting reactions
It may not be factual.
But we'll state it as actual.
My data may be drivel
but I'll snivel it at ya'll.

Mashing the keyboard
Creating my discord
These spilling words
are all i can afford
Scored for cutting
folded and jutting
I create a space
for all your rebutting
and shutting
me out...

Shout it from rooftops
bellowing firm flops
I may not be alone
but I am, the damn boss

3:

Show no hidden object,
no planetary gravitational inter
ruptions.
Don't line me up with the other suspects,
I'll stand out as an enemy.
My suspicious cat's eye,
when the rest are dog's,
lapping at your teat.
I am disregard's stale lament.
I am the taste of steel,
run through

the innards of wailing pregnant missionary.

Snow job on the helicopter pilot
as he writes his suicide note
verbally, whilst drinking Hurricane
in a tornado, while experienc
ing a tsunami of emotion,
quitting the hovering failure,
ball's deep in a sheep's rectum,
pulling the wool over the eye's
of his lover's breasts.
The beasts of the field

bleat and shit and wail
as they are diagnosed

with this and that mental illness.

Mad cow disease, with udders
strapped in straight jacket,
padded room, whipped cream
flavored by harpy misjustice,
she blessed us with egg nog floggings.
Pigs as filthy as the pen
can write during tortured
winter's shortest day,
solstice sadness suckling at the nipple
of negro black day, Christmas crossed

a birthday impatiently frozen in cold fear,
on the arctic ass end of the year.

4:

Couch surfing my way through your waves.
Leaving tracers in the gossamer of your web.
Red hourglass ass, glass all full of poison.
You know I'm scared for very real reasons.

Dancing, drunk and distant,
took the redbull by the horns.
Asking questions thoughtfully,
drowned out by liquid hot . . . . . .
house music, answers deafening.

5:

Falling from the parapets of fear.
Every second lower,
stories building themselves behind me.
Girders all sinewy, cruel, belligerent.
I can't ever hit the bottom.
A Library of Alexandria burns,
as each match I smoke,
becomes the sulfur smell of lost gray wrinkles.
We'll blacken the sky
with the inside of our lungs.

6:

Ladies lined up so brilliant, spilled in snowflake uniqueness.
Melting crystals, splitting light, before holy water blessed.
The perfect peach plucked, guitar string ringing out, stressed,
harmonic, platonic, reactions mixed under chemistry's mess.

Men, smearing macho on eachother, weakening hearts pump.
Rainforest of Mrs., full grown marriage cut down to the stump.
Breaking message filled bottles on the bows of ships, dumping,
the remnants of hazy things said, window ledge, ready to jump.
Peace to all.
-Raven
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Re: Exclusive to Ninja, Poems by Russell.

Postby ravenrussell » Fri Sep 30, 2016 1:33 pm

"Study of a Room"

Up late writing to an old album.
Cat snoring next to me.
Chairs in perfect disorder.
The ghosts are carrying on conversations.
Who fucked who
and the drag of catatonia.
Sleeping in the next room.
I can feel her projecting her dreams.
Who fucked over who
and the bliss of newborn brushes
with the gates, policed by angels.
I'm polished smoothe by the water
filtration of her aquarium.
Seemingly devoid of fishes.
Transparent guppies, gills without fins.
Speaking of fucking over smaller,
even more insubstantial, ethereal angel fish.
My feet are moist from the day.
Each toe cracking, bound up like
Okinawan little girls, soothing
snaps seem to be screaming.
Fucked aren't we within this node.
Gossamer webbing my fogged recollections.
The music from the Left disc,
breaks from Marshall stacks a decade prior.
A stage light, Reznor commanding my eyes.
Fuck over who fucked you.
Black out the inconsistencies.
The chairs are dancing in reverie.
My inability to live in the moment calling.
Fuck her like the empty day demands.
Draw sleep upon her bosom.
Up late listening to an old album,
as it writes me one more time.

By:Russell Jay Keenan
9/30/2016 6:33am
Peace to all.
-Raven
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Re: Exclusive to Ninja, Poems by Russell.

Postby ink » Fri Sep 30, 2016 6:48 pm

awesome.. /nod

im a bit apprehensive atm to cut/chop/complete any of those unfinished ones. it would probably mess with the flow.

now, if they were drawings or paintings... /bigsmile
we are, what we allow to occupy us..





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Re: Exclusive to Ninja, Poems by Russell.

Postby ravenrussell » Sat Oct 01, 2016 12:00 am

Their are duets in music, same thing, pick an opposing viewpoint, counterpoint. Fucking mangle one and send it home crying. Words are impermanence, embrace the fluidity of poetry. I'm open to a collective madness.
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Re: Exclusive to Ninja, Poems by Russell.

Postby ink » Sat Oct 01, 2016 12:23 am

impermanence.. like uncertainty?
i did google btw.. ive been stuck on that word for about 10 min now
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Re: Exclusive to Ninja, Poems by Russell.

Postby ravenrussell » Sat Oct 01, 2016 1:45 am

Words are transient, never reaching a finish line. Their is no perfect poem, ever changing reality prevents it.

Impermanence, also called Anicca or Anitya, is one of the essential doctrines and a part of three marks of existence in Buddhism. The doctrine asserts that all of conditioned existence, without exception, is "transient, evanescent, inconstant".
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Re: Exclusive to Ninja, Poems by Russell.

Postby ink » Sat Oct 01, 2016 3:40 am

aah, i see now.
we are, what we allow to occupy us..





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