First Rejection

Ok so I entered some of my poetry into random magaznines, etc. I got my first rejection:

Dear 87PageS,

We are sorry to let you know we won’t be using your work in Sweet. Please recognize that the work that appears in any literary magazine is a matter of taste. Thank you for submitting and please keep writing.

Sincerely,
The Editors

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I'm a bit confused... what is a matter of taste? Did they mean like it's up to them. If that is it. Understandable. If they mean my poetry is tasteless than. IDK

- But I'm not discouraged just baffled...

Ciao

Tepid

I never wanted it to end this way.
I don't remember wishing for death.
I hated all of it.
For what it stood for.
Favortism. Jealousy. Golden. Envy.
I didn't ask for death. Just to run away.
Heartless and evil you said.
I flinched.
I could smell the loatheness and it scalded my touch as I reached for your shoulder.
This isn't pretend. I didn't mean the words.
The glare within your eyes promised retribution.
Who are we. How did this become. Was it under false pretenses we laughed and joked.
Sincere affections posioned with sibiling rivalry.

A Paradigm Shift

Explanation of the Title
:::Paradigm Shift is a popular, or perhaps, not so popular shift or transformation of the way we Humans perceive events, people, environment, and life altogether. It can be a national or international shift, and could have dramatic effects -- whether positive or negative -- on the way we live our lives today and in the future.::

STOP

Repeat that one more time
Repeat that again
till you feel your
spirit is cleansed
Come out of the closet
but keep space in between

AND

Repeat that one more time
Repeat it over and over again
till your mouth is dry
till your heart palpitates with uneasiness
(is it good?)
Look me in the eyes
but keep your fingers still

ANSWER

Does it feel good
To be victorious
Does it feel good
To be supreme

OR

are you claiming you're done
and its lost its power
shriveled into nothingness
You can't imagine how striking it feels
as it raises and whispers against my skin
Repeat it
Once
Twice
Thrice

KEEP

Does it radiate inside you?
Is the heat cool to the touch?
Repeat it again and again
Are you sickened yet?
or still in bliss?

CONTROL

Repeat it again
Don't keep it bubbled inside
Does it burn like the core of the earth
The magnitude of it all
and
will you run and hide when it gets old
Or will you always take pride in calling me

Nigger.

-- Copyrighted. It belongs to me and the Universe.

No Foreclosure In Sight

I wanna feel like Apple Green & Lilac's and have that "He Went To Jared's" enthusiasm but it's really from Tiffany because he lavishes me in splendor. Yet he knows my spirit and that I'd condone the diamonds with gold. So he climbs into my soul and wields a fiery temper and my bosom swells at the raising of his brow. Separate. Apart. Never lonely. Resisting to be the yin and yang. Delighting in the mysteries. Daring to delve into the darkness of our eyes. Disliking the urge to subdue my quirks he parts my lips and soothes me to the edge of despair. The tempest raging within surround my very being and he lays his head within my lap. Sitting fireside we smile because there is no foreclosure in sight.


-- Copyrighted. It belongs to me and the Universe.

Pause!

Ok thanks for viewing my blog.

Just in case you're wondering I did not get a sudden inspiration and popped these out within the last 2 hours.

2 were written today.
-Apple Green & Liliac's
-10=1

The others were written at random times between the months of Jan-May.

To understand the title: "Story of the Hour" visit my other blog and view my original entry.

http://87pages.blogspot.com/2009/02/title.html

I'm a big Kate Chopin fan. I adore Jane Austen. I also love quotes. I also like the dictionary and thesaurus.

I'm in the process of writing a novel or a series of short stories.

I finished my first short screen play (58 pages) however I might make it a feature length. That depends on my dedication.

I'm a poet... I'm a lyricist. I'm a writer. I'm a thinker. My creative juices are flowing constantly. My mind is a web of desire of knowledge.

Don't try to steal my ideas/quotes/written words. I have a lawyer and I will sue. :)

Also, feel free to comment. In the words of E.Badu "I'm a Artist and I'm Sensitive about my Shit" but... feel free to engage me so I can expand my mental capacity.

10=1

I'm a lyricist. I'm a menage-a-twois of incorporable feelings. I'm a cerebral assassin. Please unshield your mind. As I mentally fuck you over and under and over and under and round and around the mountain time zone. I twittered myself to shock and disbelief as I stewed in the abscess of my mind.

I'm a danger to myself as I pleasure myself. Uttering nothing but the delicious grunts of a mind ill treated by the graphic imagery as the little boys eat each other. Insipid men flaunting their cravats and swindling pounds as they measure their dicks. Tough luck in the world as I dance upon the trapeze wishing it was a pole. Charming my way into her bed as I flounder into the sorry depths of your heart. Flea ridden mortals always reaching with their hands. Smothering the temptation to smother the excitement in his loins.

I am not a temptress. I have no wares. I only desire to end the mechanical engineered beatings of a nonsensical trust. Love gushes and gargles within the throats of the blind. Truth become the necessary evil to disguise the inflammation of two and three and seven lifes.

As I tried to fuck you over. I've fucked myself.

-- Copyrighted. It belongs to me and the Universe.

Apple Green & Lilac's

If I could make the perfect dude he'd be the split screen side of me. Doing the ain't and bugging the Mic. I'd wrap my arms around him and squeeze the melodrama of my mother out of his sight. If I could write a poem it'd be defining the memory of gargling my Port as it numbs my lid and sparks my tongue.

Trying to see the better side of me. I don't really know if it's there but I pay no mind to the indescribable feelings that should be inside when I view the world. I change my time and shuffle the pace edging from the turbulent passion in my eyes.

I'm the flipping side of the coin. I'm the rough edge of the cotton soaked in olive oil to decompress the frizziness of Venus. Tasting the warmth of fudge as it slivers down my spine I gulp in the fresh scent of desperation. Seeing my heart run amok in Berlin, I slouch into the nothingness of Ohio.

If I could create the perfect me it would be the softer humane side of me. Reaching forward to clasp her in my arms I dissolve into a pillar of garlic. Doing wrong. Doing right. Take a bite out of my neck. To moisturize the essence of my soul with a gavel and sea water. Moon Beams and galaxies. If I could form the perfect song the notes would weep apple's of green and lilacs.

Glory.

-- Copyrighted. It belongs to me and the Universe.