tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37873362011-12-14T18:43:24.937-08:00online depot of mushy poesiaJdaviesnoreply@blogger.comBlogger271100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3787336.post-1106406689531225012005-01-22T07:10:00.000-08:002005-01-22T07:11:29.530-08:00

i love you in many languages, but Worst, in many Names. Such is the Malady of a Silent Sip: An Inner Friend whispering 'This is the moment' - Criticizing my own Voice and observing my every dialogue warning me about the expense of this fakery of the Seventh Cup. Dare i trust him - Them. This debate with oneself? Or should i believe The Facade that tells me 'No this is not the day'. Perhaps,

Jdaviesnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3787336.post-1106400635463588702005-01-22T05:29:00.000-08:002005-01-22T05:30:35.463-08:00

filipino writers, bloggers and poets in english, this is for all of us why do colonials write in a language not their own is it but compulsion to reconquer enslaved souls or trickery of tongues desiring the master's scrolls is it acting out plays that we were told to be grandiose or - affiliation to the master's gourmet choice is it altruism that we share this enclave do we but compensate

Jdaviesnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3787336.post-1106214106988153302005-01-20T01:39:00.000-08:002005-01-20T01:41:46.986-08:00

what kind of love is this? i do not feel your kiss! click, type, lick, type, lick, post-modern webcam flick!

Jdaviesnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3787336.post-1106213700717134792005-01-20T01:34:00.000-08:002005-01-20T01:35:00.716-08:00

Peg this word to rhyme And bind its feet in fire, Proclaim meaning as crime And nail grammar as desire. “Are you the king of poets? Yet it’s your people that decry: Fancied fakery in your voice Mouthing syntax is not divine!” “Say or link or write it! Do you not see the Light? God’s gift is merciful tongue Uncinquered in every word’s flight!” “Caesarian pride hails you… Reason and rhyme

Jdaviesnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3787336.post-1106213409385772302005-01-20T01:29:00.000-08:002005-01-20T01:30:09.386-08:00

littla fella in the womb, you are named a freakish name! Xhristian saints presume your soul - yet you are Buddhist when you're old! Twenty years of placeholder games - A first name 'Boo' too often called but a second Nick left undervalued. Names too Manny for a billion passwords: Juan cantaré for the Spanish girl, A contracted version for kewler songs, another Zip for returning roots, a ghetto

Jdaviesnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3787336.post-1098372551804081722004-10-21T08:28:00.000-07:002004-10-21T08:29:11.806-07:00

This is the first of a series of poems that I'm making which incorporates songs from The Beatles. I try to mix the song with my experience, and others, giving it some new meaning. They are not supposed to be a version of the song, but rather one inspired by the songs themselves... Apologies to The Beatles for this frail attempt ------------------------------------------------- I once had a girl

Jdaviesnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3787336.post-1098372456923492722004-10-21T08:26:00.000-07:002004-10-21T08:27:36.923-07:00

i was twelve when i met her and in b-side owned her Song. in my room-world i give her all i will fold in slumber in loving her tenderly, violently, in her i get angry, mad as Mad can be, i will not lose her, I said. if you'll see my love you’d love her too, tenderly, violently, you'll see her and hear her, pretty soon you'll sing her Song and more, walk with her to the park, and more, watch

Jdaviesnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3787336.post-1098371159426822552004-10-21T08:04:00.000-07:002004-10-21T08:25:56.916-07:00

"Dedicated to the Beatles, René Magritte, and this certain Lady..." There are kisses I remember Though some have gone, some remain Still, I am kept reminded of their works. All these places in my head All kisses and all their shades, hues and sorts: Rivers, Dorm Rooms, Schools, Deserts, Tropics and Beaches, and their Dark Nudes, Farms, and Church and City Squares, Theatres and Orchards and

Jdaviesnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3787336.post-1088597119672170202004-06-30T05:04:00.000-07:002004-06-30T05:05:19.673-07:00

when you slip into your aussie twang and I can't understand a word i know it is time to kiss you

Jdaviesnoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3787336.post-1087803054272792762004-06-21T00:30:00.001-07:002004-06-21T00:30:54.273-07:00

none, including the rain can weather the pain of daily downpours even the drops break their bond, and hug the ground in their fall what more I.

Jdaviesnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3787336.post-1087803028270164812004-06-21T00:30:00.000-07:002004-06-21T00:30:28.270-07:00

In between sauvignon whispers You and I do not rememeber, read motives, or forward days, regret, or dream, or suspect a kiss; We re-enact a persistent covenant: Every dish is an illicit wanting.

Jdaviesnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3787336.post-1087802912980140562004-06-21T00:28:00.000-07:002004-06-21T00:28:32.980-07:00

Trace this weekend longing to aged grapefruit on your spine... there is no record here for our silent smiles it was all fun in communion but was it in Florence that I have forgotten you and I had names.

Jdaviesnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3787336.post-1087802831649665512004-06-21T00:26:00.000-07:002004-06-21T00:27:11.650-07:00

Pry this chest with your chef knives and sharply wound me with your surmising eyes I tire of the shout and the ever-present angst-manifest on the table: Why must you hail it in bold in the living room for all to see? It was done. Must I see it on breakfast upfront with fat bulging pancakes and be damned to remember this fault? Reminds of your cooking and him. And me and her and all

Jdaviesnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3787336.post-1087802201415240072004-06-21T00:16:00.000-07:002004-06-26T08:04:32.516-07:00

(finally found you finely founded: your foundations never truly rooted on truth and trust finally found your ego tripping on mine how easy you twist your tongue) last night was a thousand years of discoveries and civilization, suddenly in a half-step you showcased your accomplishments through the ages. how well you dance! in was industrial revolution over live music. i can see

Jdaviesnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3787336.post-1087802153931171702004-06-21T00:15:00.000-07:002004-06-21T00:15:53.930-07:00

Proem? Feeling, Fleeting, Pun, On, Monday I am down Humpy-Hump, Blam, me, Bang! You, Zing, Zang, Do, Damn! keyboard bleeds on-screen ink: Thumps Veiny-Bloodwork Vague Poem I talk to myself and Wham!: I love you little I love you alot I love you when it matters I love you when it does not I love you not little by little alot matters when love does not love oh i still (I supposed I was ranting

Jdaviesnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3787336.post-816922982002-09-16T15:14:00.000-07:002004-06-23T02:49:10.406-07:00

indulge drink dance smoke and cafe walk afterwards among these smells, where dances are but shadows of emotions where every beat and bent is a hidden lustful gaze nothing godly and moral remains: everyone is on the lookout i forget that you are you, and that everyone else around has a name they are all but skin under the wave cover of pulsating lights and rippling throbs of addictive

Jdaviesnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3787336.post-816922022002-09-16T15:12:00.001-07:002004-06-26T07:55:03.013-07:00

Go abuse the web! Think we are but great poets, but our work is crap. a/n: I myself am a hypocrite.

Jdaviesnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3787336.post-816921822002-09-16T15:12:00.000-07:002004-06-26T07:55:39.126-07:00

Blanket honesty in Darkness and remind me how we rolled and rolled and rhymed each other's sigh and whisper and oohs and love. Such is like your fingertips walking though my nape plateau Must the shadows outside this cloth as we see it at play scare the bejesus from being exclaimed in praise for love? I grew fond of this teepee netting our bareness underneath its fold; it was how

Jdaviesnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3787336.post-816921542002-09-16T15:11:00.000-07:002004-06-26T07:56:08.683-07:00

in so short a nap after coffee and croissant i forgot your name

Jdaviesnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3787336.post-816921252002-09-16T15:10:00.000-07:002004-06-26T07:56:46.280-07:00

It's in little ways Such as these That I am reminded Of us: Of how known bodies Known arms And known dreams Have been fashioned From our cradling arms Delighted In such little ways As looking through the mirror Beyond the window Beyond walls And with eyes Horizon-bound I am reminded of us. The flowers The brook water That old whishing well in Florence Your letters It is

Jdaviesnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3787336.post-816920652002-09-16T15:09:00.000-07:002004-06-26T07:57:07.073-07:00

you charm me into this believable lore: your eyes for instance, in their glance teach me of casting traditions of how to freeze, of how to enchain, of how incinerate and to banish a memory of a past lover your hands, when they play on mine in their usual ripitty-tap flaunt age-old dances and ordinance of exotic sensations that are my great salve. suddenly in those moments I no

Jdaviesnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3787336.post-816920342002-09-16T15:07:00.001-07:002004-06-26T07:57:30.403-07:00

There are too many windows in our room It chills me beyond words, That these windows are each worth Every voice, Every angered voice That was yesterday's. These windows are transcendent. Speaking of scenes of neighboring Fights not unlike ours. They caution your tongue And mine, and it was kept at that. It is thus when curtains Were brought down that the ironic Babel ensued like

Jdaviesnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3787336.post-816920012002-09-16T15:07:00.000-07:002004-06-26T07:57:56.876-07:00

do not take me to be me i am many more than me i have my deranged self past crimes and webbed recollections do not take me to be me i do not love i only hurt i only remember my runaway Lara i shout and hit and plaster my walls with ghosts of her smiles i don't know whisperings and their sweet sorts i get tired easily talking about love i do not believe any flowering bud i

Jdaviesnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3787336.post-816918912002-09-16T15:04:00.000-07:002004-06-26T07:58:27.640-07:00

a/note: this poem is separated by commas to show a series of thoughts, and ends with a comma as well to keep it hanging... hopefully it is a good device. feedback please How frequent it is that my room rhythm is Silence, the guitar is out of tune, all but noise and screeches of strings, Funny that at the very least I get drowsy and sleep, I try to play, form this hand to tap whatever note

Jdaviesnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3787336.post-816917832002-09-16T15:01:00.000-07:002004-06-26T07:58:51.783-07:00

so this is how it is inside the mind of a madman: one sees no other colors but a lover's skin hear no other word but a name that rings on and on no other recluse but an old embrace one tries and tries to to hold a lover create from mist past scenes of the love and it's making one tries and tries to understand why it ended one tries and tries to resolve the pain maybe paint a

Jdaviesnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3787336.post-816915382002-09-16T14:57:00.000-07:002004-06-26T07:59:29.363-07:00

a/n: this is experimental. it is supposed to hang...i think. feedback? i could not be home on other nights when career's famed clasps tighten on me. i tire. i dream. and watch tv. but it is not true that I love you on Fridays only.

Jdaviesnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3787336.post-816880692002-09-16T13:36:00.000-07:002004-06-26T07:59:47.136-07:00

recipe for an online journal entry your purpose here is to entertain yourself and hope your sharing act is appreciated 1. you can start by typing anything: what nonsense typing diary day this morning is you can talk about how you wanted to kill yourself or somebody else or whine about how things are done, (read: typical teen angst or cite rule number one: "don't fall in love")

Jdaviesnoreply@blogger.com