The feelings of the o so small bee puts the "O", "B" in obscene.
Down the valley, the small, they careen.
The voiceless scream? Deaf to both you and me.
How can we know what we're not taught, me versus you the battle was fought.
Lessons taught.
And again the bee mocked.
In the frame,, the keys locked.
Can't get inside, to get what's needed out.
All these feeling i buried-dragged out.
Buried, under the millions of miles of sea
Trapped under the murky water that's trapped with in me.
But they don't drown.
Back with a vengeful veracity.
It's not air they breathe.
It's the negative feeling, that leaves this heart reeling, in which they feed.
So tall, yet more small.
A few inches till the rope tightens.
Prolonging the fall.
It snaps.
The clock rings green to black.
Memories of enemies, mouth muttering
"Hey him...isn't he?"
May be voiceless, but my only choices, are to be constantly listening.
Or suffocate in the depths of sorrow.
Live like there's no tomorrow.
Each second, on the color wheel is borrowed.
My watch is hollowed.
Don't look back, I may be followed.
Leave me be, the buzzing bee
Baring the bore brunt, but brain blee's
Clock face frowns, help him please.
Anymore blood tht fills the lungs
-wait-
the inanimate can't breathe.
Leave the humbling, blubbering, breaking bee.
He was all alone from the get go anyway.
Besides, the tears wash the red away.
The minute hand tics.
Looks up through the trees and sticks
see's a reflection of his seas.
A vision he will rue
The hour hand strikes the color blue.
Now inside the the bee the oceans in an up roar.
A beautiful sky a sight he has longed for.
The baby blue, she danced, he wanted more.
Her hands like sun rays, brought light to blank space.
Warm to the touch, caressed his face.
He found her, the new Queen Bee.
A true Q.B.
Calling the shots, the bee begs,
"THROW THE BALL TO ME"
~I needed her to need me~
She didn't.
Skip the sob story.
My times running out
Besides this is all Nonsense i spout.
To the buzzing bee, the world so mean
He opens his eyes they,
And another, hour rolls by.
The clock tolls.
The bell rings.
Head up.
Desk stays down.
Back into the wild, pretending life's a <costume> party now.
He puts on a masquerade mask
Fills up his flask.
Drinking from Amontillado's cask.
His facade on blast
As the stereos Suffocated in his ears, they gasp.
Even iTunes voice gets rasp.
Onto his hands, his pockets-they clasp.
So normal now, he takes pride in finishing last.
This verse, pros being the origin of which it was composed, was put together, and all it did was expose all these heart Aneurysms. Just to show the class an example of poetries
Post-Modernisms.
Everything is written in black and I can't read this, but thanx for the help, man! Honestly...that presentation was...awesome
ReplyDeleteYea not sure why it did tht
ReplyDeleteWhat's the poem called? So I can find it and read it, since it's hard to read on here.
DeleteIt's an original
DeleteI remember because during class you had said those first two lines on the spot :-)
DeleteIk after I said tht line it kinda stuck with me and evolved into all of tht xD
DeleteAnd it's great of you to do this for the class, Tim. Way to be a team player
DeleteI can read parts of this, but its hurting my eyes.
ReplyDeleteI'm going to copy and paste this post in the comments here. Maybe it will be easier to read then.
DeleteThe clock strikes half past Green;
ReplyDeleteThe feelings of the o so small bee puts the "O", "B" in obscene.
Down the valley, the small, they careen.
The voiceless scream? Deaf to both you and me.
How can we know what we're not taught, me versus you the battle was fought.
Lessons taught.
And again the bee mocked.
In the frame,, the keys locked.
Can't get inside, to get what's needed out.
All these feeling i buried-dragged out.
Buried, under the millions of miles of sea
Trapped under the murky water that's trapped with in me.
But they don't drown.
Back with a vengeful veracity.
It's not air they breathe.
It's the negative feeling, that leaves this heart reeling, in which they feed.
So tall, yet more small.
A few inches till the rope tightens.
Prolonging the fall.
It snaps.
The clock rings green to black.
Memories of enemies, mouth muttering
"Hey him...isn't he?"
May be voiceless, but my only choices, are to be constantly listening.
Or suffocate in the depths of sorrow.
Live like there's no tomorrow.
Each second, on the color wheel is borrowed.
My watch is hollowed.
Don't look back, I may be followed.
Leave me be, the buzzing bee
Baring the bore brunt, but brain blee's
Clock face frowns, help him please.
Anymore blood tht fills the lungs
-wait-
the inanimate can't breathe.
Leave the humbling, blubbering, breaking bee.
He was all alone from the get go anyway.
Besides, the tears wash the red away.
The minute hand tics.
Looks up through the trees and sticks
see's a reflection of his seas.
A vision he will rue
The hour hand strikes the color blue.
Now inside the the bee the oceans in an up roar.
A beautiful sky a sight he has longed for.
The baby blue, she danced, he wanted more.
Her hands like sun rays, brought light to blank space.
Warm to the touch, caressed his face.
He found her, the new Queen Bee.
A true Q.B.
Calling the shots, the bee begs,
"THROW THE BALL TO ME"
~I needed her to need me~
She didn't.
Skip the sob story.
My times running out
Besides this is all Nonsense i spout.
To the buzzing bee, the world so mean
He opens his eyes they,
And another, hour rolls by.
The clock tolls.
The bell rings.
Head up.
Desk stays down.
Back into the wild, pretending life's a party now.
He puts on a masquerade mask
Fills up his flask.
Drinking from Amontillado's cask.
His facade on blast
As the stereos Suffocated in his ears, they gasp.
Even iTunes voice gets rasp.
Onto his hands, his pockets-they clasp.
So normal now, he takes pride in finishing last.
This verse, pros being the origin of which it was composed, was put together, and all it did was expose all these heart Aneurysms. Just to show the class an example of poetries
Post-Modernisms.
Ha ha! It Worked!
DeleteThis guy^ nice
DeleteWe have a sleuth in the house. Way to go brotha
DeleteWell Tim this is an interesting piece. I am having difficulty deciphering its meaning, but as for its purpose I must say (pun INTENDED and no offense whatsoever) you have provided an example of post-modernism based off of my group's presentation which left the class in confusion.
DeleteI quite like it for its confusion, though. There's some good " heart aneurysms" in here, if those can be any good for the health at all.
I think you guys got the short end of the stick, post-modernism is tricky for anyone to wrap their mind around, I just happen to really like that genre of poetry which is why I pushed josh to do it but obviously ended up doing gothic instead but another person, and I don't know if he does this on purpose, who writes in kind of an abstract make you think way is Noland which is why I really like his work. As for its meaning that's the beauty of poetry, especially this genre, it can be interpreted an indefinite number of ways and it's just whatever the reader relates to the most so find your own meaning to it :D
DeleteThank you. It was pretty easy to do from the computer.
DeleteCAN I GET AN AMEN FROM THE CROWD?!DE{WVLR-EVJ
Deletethank you, Tim, because YES, it was the short end of the stick we received.