it was a song in my old band i was in, but my songs are more poetry than songs you know?
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VSB0NK7XrXw i played it once in front of people if you would like to see it on music

it’s called
Suicide River

Isolated by a river that no-one sees
Bleeding by a river no-one can heal
Red waters gracefully riding the wind
Seeing the spirits of those who have sinned
The sky as blue as an Angel’s eye
Dark clouds concealing the majestic sky
Crows soar above the dead trees
Insects drink from the noxious lilies
Tears fall from the darkened clouds
I wonder who cries on top of the cloud
Listen carefully to hear the wails echo
On top of the clouds cries the harvester of sorrow
A bell chimes across the land
Dark clouds rain out blood
I climb into a casket for cover
Drifting along Suicide river
Children dance barefoot on broken glass
They laugh for they cannot die twice
Virgins sing a tune as they cut themselves
I hear them singing to me…
"Cut yourself and show what you bleed
I cut and bleed just for the need
blood runs down my wrist and out my veins
as I scream my lovers name"
Suicidal death greets me so warm on this river
Drifting through the phenomenon
I begin to hear the cry of the lost white wolf
howling its sorrow to me
What am I here… at suicide river
Suicide river, suicide river
I try to glance at my own reflection in the waters
but when I look I see someone else’s face
Forever long I stay in this casket
floating down the murky red waters

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I am looking for creative ideas for the construction of my wind chimes. I have been using wood and want to try something new.

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Aberdeen poured rain. A sheet of it skated down the windowpane. Loch Ness Hall was hidden away in darkness. The lace-edged window drapes swam lazily as air pushed itself under the shingles. In Loch Ness’s ghostly parlor, a girl lounged on the velvet suede couch, bundled in a fuzzy wool quilt. Her dark ruby hair bled together with the plum fabric of the armrest. Her name was Rosamund. Rosamund, with a pointed aristocrat face and a sculpted hourglass figure like a rose vase, was thirty-seven and still unnerved by Scotland’s rainstorms.

The storm swelled. Rosamund shivered. Rain battered the roof, washed against the glass in waves. Lightning flared and thunder crashed.

As she listened to that wind whine and wail like a lonely hound, breathed in the clean, cold scent, and let her sleepy eyes draw shut, she felt her mind coast. She thought of Glasgow. Of the haunted church she’d stayed at. She wasn’t quite sure why she thought of the Glasgow Churchyard, but she did. It came back to her as clear and obvious as if it were yesterday.

And then, just as quick, the fleeting memory ebbed and was gone. She was back in Aberdeen. Aberdeen, she mused, was nothing like Glasgow. Aberdeen was beautiful, green, and like a place one visited in one’s dreams…it had drowsy, quiet stagecoach drivers who’d nod and smile at you like it was their job…sweet-tempered townsfolk…sunset-colored clay shingles on the cottages that burned in summertime and gray marble porches that gave bare feet shivers…. And beauty. Aberdeen was gorgeous, stunning. Breathtaking.

Glasgow, on the other hand, felt cold to her, distant. It was that eerie, dismal city that haunted her at night, brought out her fear of the dark and gave her a reason to sleep with the curtains drawn. It was like nothing else in the world. That places evoked such dreary memories.

The grandfather clock chimed; the humming bells played on for an eternity, announcing the arrival of eleven o’clock. Rosamund started awake out of her wandering thoughts, hugging the blanket closer as more cold air pooled under the shuddery shingles into the parlor. Her teeth chattered and clacked in her head.

At least, she thought, I’m home. In Aberdeen….

Her eyes closed again. This time, she fell asleep.

***

The next morning, Rosamund decided to invite the neighbors for tea.

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With eyes but closed she watched in wonder.
For everywhere they seemed to be…
Like a daze in a storm; its’ lightning came thunder.

There were diamonds in the stream,
the wings upon the trees, and fairies it does seem?
Now laughter echoed through the time, cheer swayed from side to side…
Could all the wind and all the air have fused to wind chimes…?

However, sudden and quick: only I could be discovered.

Slowly, step by step I could be heard…
kneading the earth and the leaves.
“How could all the joy leave without one parting word?”
Then sudden and quick, like tattered glass,
I fell and shattered…

Now the streams are my tears, the leaves my scattered pieces.
I am here forever and left to grieve.
For however magical one day might seem
Remember, it was all but a dream.

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Aberdeen poured rain. A sheet of it skated down the windowpane. Loch Ness Hall was hidden away in darkness. The lace-edged window drapes swam lazily as air pushed itself under the shingles. In Loch Ness’s ghostly parlor, a girl lounged on the velvet suede couch, bundled in a fuzzy wool quilt. Her dark ruby hair bled together with the plum fabric of the armrest. Her name was Rosamund. Rosamund, with a pointed aristocrat face and a sculpted hourglass figure like a rose vase, was thirty-seven and still unnerved by Scotland’s rainstorms.
The storm swelled. Rosamund shivered. Rain battered the roof, washed against the glass in waves. Lightning flared and thunder crashed.
As she listened to that wind whine and wail like a lonely hound, breathed in the clean, cold scent, and let her sleepy eyes draw shut, she felt her mind coast. She thought of Glasgow. Of the haunted church she’d stayed at. She wasn’t quite sure why she thought of the Glasgow Churchyard, but she did. It came back to her as clear and obvious as if it were yesterday.
And then, just as quick, the fleeting memory ebbed and was gone. She was back in Aberdeen. Aberdeen, she mused, was nothing like Glasgow. Aberdeen was beautiful, green, and like a place one visited in one’s dreams…it had drowsy, quiet stagecoach drivers who’d nod and smile at you like it was their job…sweet-tempered townsfolk…sunset-colored clay shingles on the cottages that burned in summertime and gray marble porches that gave bare feet shivers…. And beauty. Aberdeen was gorgeous, stunning. Breathtaking.
Glasgow, on the other hand, felt cold to her, distant. It was that eerie, dismal city that haunted her at night, brought out her fear of the dark and gave her a reason to sleep with the curtains drawn. It was like nothing else in the world. That places evoked such dreary memories.
The grandfather clock chimed; the humming bells played on for an eternity, announcing the arrival of eleven o’clock. Rosamund started awake out of her wandering thoughts, hugging the blanket closer as more cold air pooled under the shuddery shingles into the parlor. Her teeth chattered and clacked in her head.
At least, she thought, I’m home. In Aberdeen….
Her eyes closed again. This time, she fell asleep.
***
The next morning, Rosamund decided to invite the neighbors for tea.

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I have to read a poem in class an analyze it but the poem is completely hard to understand. I read it so many times. Could someone maybe give me an idea of what the poem is about and maybe lists some literary devices? Thanks to those who can help.

Domestic Mysticsm

In thrice 10,000 seasons, I will come back to this world
In a white cotton dress. Kingdom of After My Own Heart.
Kingdom of Fragile. Kingdom of Dwarves. When I
come home,
Teacups will quiver in their Dresden saucers, pentatonic
chimes
Will move in wind. A covey of alley cats will swarm on the
side
Porch & perch there, omens of warm blood, portents with
quickened
Heartbeats you will feel against your ankles as you pass
through.

After the first millenium, we were supposed to die out.
You had your face pressed up against the coarse dyed velvet
Of the curtain, always looking out for your own
transmigration:
What colors you would wear, what kind of jewel,
How it would be cold, if your legs would be tied down,
If there would be wandering tribes of minstrels
Following with woodwinds in your every step.

This work of mine, the kind of work which takes no arms
to do,
Is least noble of all. It’s peopled by Wizards, the Forlorn,
The Awkward, the Blinkers, the Spoon-Fingered, Agnostic
Lispers,
Stutterers of Prayer, the Closet Weepers, the Flatulent,
The Charlatans. I am one of those. In January, the month
the owls
Nest in, I am a witness & a small thing altogether. The
Kingdom
Of Ingratitude. Kingdom of Lies. Kingdom of How Dare I.

I go on dropping words like little pink fish eggs, unawares,
slightly
Illiterate, often on the mark. Waiting for the clear whoosh
Of fluid to descend & cover them. A train like a silver
Russian love pill for the sick at heart passes
By my bedroom window in the night at the speed of mirage.
In the next millenium, I will be middle-aged. I do not do well
In the marrow of things. Kingdom of Trick. Kingdom
of Drug.

In a lung-shaped suburb of Virginia, my sister will be
childless
Inside the ice storm, forcing the narcissus. We will send
Each other valentines. The radio blowing out
Vaughan Williams on the highway’s purple moor.
At nine o’clock, we will put away our sewing to speak
Of lofty things while, in the pantry, little plants will nudge
Their frail tips toward the light we made last century.

When I come home, the dwarves will be long
In their shadows & promiscuous. The alley cats will sneak
Inside, curl about the legs of furniture, close the skins
Inside their eyelids, sleep. Orchids will be intercrossed
& sturdy.
The sun will go down as I sit, thin armed, small breasted
In my cotton dress, poked with eyelet stitches, a little lace,
In the queer light left when a room snuffs out.

I draw a bath, enter the water as a god enters water:
Fertile, knowing, kind, surrounded by glass objects
Which could break easily if mishandled or ill-touched.
Everyone knows an unworshipped woman will betray you.
There is always that promise, I like that. Kingdom of Kinesis.
Kingdom of Benevolent. I will betray as a god betrays,
With tenderheartedness. I’ve got this mystic streak in me.

Technorati Tags: alley cats, blinkers, charlatans, cotton dress, fish eggs, google, ingratitude, literary devices, minstrels, omens, pink fish, portents, script type, side porch, stutterers, teacups, warm blood, weepers, whoosh, woodwinds

I have to read a poem in class an analyze it but the poem is completely hard to understand. I read it so many times. Could someone maybe give me an idea of what the poem is about and maybe lists some literary devices? Thanks to those who can help.

Domestic Mysticsm

In thrice 10,000 seasons, I will come back to this world
In a white cotton dress. Kingdom of After My Own Heart.
Kingdom of Fragile. Kingdom of Dwarves. When I
come home,
Teacups will quiver in their Dresden saucers, pentatonic
chimes
Will move in wind. A covey of alley cats will swarm on the
side
Porch & perch there, omens of warm blood, portents with
quickened
Heartbeats you will feel against your ankles as you pass
through.

After the first millenium, we were supposed to die out.
You had your face pressed up against the coarse dyed velvet
Of the curtain, always looking out for your own
transmigration:
What colors you would wear, what kind of jewel,
How it would be cold, if your legs would be tied down,
If there would be wandering tribes of minstrels
Following with woodwinds in your every step.

This work of mine, the kind of work which takes no arms
to do,
Is least noble of all. It’s peopled by Wizards, the Forlorn,
The Awkward, the Blinkers, the Spoon-Fingered, Agnostic
Lispers,
Stutterers of Prayer, the Closet Weepers, the Flatulent,
The Charlatans. I am one of those. In January, the month
the owls
Nest in, I am a witness & a small thing altogether. The
Kingdom
Of Ingratitude. Kingdom of Lies. Kingdom of How Dare I.

I go on dropping words like little pink fish eggs, unawares,
slightly
Illiterate, often on the mark. Waiting for the clear whoosh
Of fluid to descend & cover them. A train like a silver
Russian love pill for the sick at heart passes
By my bedroom window in the night at the speed of mirage.
In the next millenium, I will be middle-aged. I do not do well
In the marrow of things. Kingdom of Trick. Kingdom
of Drug.

In a lung-shaped suburb of Virginia, my sister will be
childless
Inside the ice storm, forcing the narcissus. We will send
Each other valentines. The radio blowing out
Vaughan Williams on the highway’s purple moor.
At nine o’clock, we will put away our sewing to speak
Of lofty things while, in the pantry, little plants will nudge
Their frail tips toward the light we made last century.

When I come home, the dwarves will be long
In their shadows & promiscuous. The alley cats will sneak
Inside, curl about the legs of furniture, close the skins
Inside their eyelids, sleep. Orchids will be intercrossed
& sturdy.
The sun will go down as I sit, thin armed, small breasted
In my cotton dress, poked with eyelet stitches, a little lace,
In the queer light left when a room snuffs out.

I draw a bath, enter the water as a god enters water:
Fertile, knowing, kind, surrounded by glass objects
Which could break easily if mishandled or ill-touched.
Everyone knows an unworshipped woman will betray you.
There is always that promise, I like that. Kingdom of Kinesis.
Kingdom of Benevolent. I will betray as a god betrays,
With tenderheartedness. I’ve got this mystic streak in me.

Technorati Tags: alley cats, blinkers, charlatans, cotton dress, fish eggs, google, ingratitude, literary devices, minstrels, omens, pink fish, portents, script type, side porch, stutterers, teacups, warm blood, weepers, whoosh, woodwinds

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I’d like to buy pots that don’t detract from the lovely green color of my three new plants, ZZ, Pathos and I can’t remember the name of the third one. Decorations in the room include colored glass bottles, (jewel tones of turquoise, blue, purple, green), a colored glass wind chime and a painting of the turquoisey-blue color of the ocean. Also, any suggestions on what color to paint my new wooden tiered plant stand? Thanks. Although I am not color blind, I do have trouble figuring out color combinations. Thanks again!

Technorati Tags: color blind, color combinations, colored glass, glass bottles, glass wind chime, google, jewel tones, painting, pathos, plants, pots, script type, text javascript, tiered plant stand

Slice
A slice on her arm formed by a knife,
All because she wanted to give up life.
The cuts deepened in time,
And soon the church bell might begin to chime.

I stood at the side,
While my heart died.
As she sliced away,
My heart died more with each passing day.

Soon I stopped rolling the dice,
Stopped hoping that it was the last slice.
I stopped turning to my blind eyes,
And I looked pass the lies.

I decided to help her,
To keep her away from the lure
So I gave her my hand,
And I told her that I understand.

Now she lives this very day,
But she lives in a different way.
No more lies or lures.
Just your average teenage girl.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Slice
A slice on her arm formed by a knife,
All because she wanted to give up life.
The cuts deepened in time,
And soon the church bell might begin to chime.

I stood at the side,
While my heart died.
As she sliced away,
My heart died more with each passing day.

Soon I stopped rolling the dice,
Stopped hoping that it was the last slice.
I stopped turning to my blind eyes,
And I looked pass the lies.

I decided to help her,
To keep her away from the lure
So I gave her my hand,
And I told her that I understand.

Now she lives this very day,
But she lives in a different way.
No more lies or lures.
Just your average teenage girl.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A person stared back at me.
They aren’t who I used to see.
Their eyes were dull and a miss.
Within them, you would fall into an abyss.

Where did the person I knew disappear?
The person who knew my tears.
To where did they depart?
The person that knew my heart.

There was a loud crash
And scattered pieces of glass.
The mirror had a chink,
And my heart began to sink.

I didn’t comprehend
I had lost a friend
Because the person I now see
They are in fact me…

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
A Noble Steed
Her coat shined,
And her hair blew in the wind.
She ran with grace,
And her muscles moved from within.

She ran fast,
And her body showed its heat.
Blood shot through her body;
It kept her heart a beat.

Her rider pulled her to a stop,
The rider knew her way;
The steed knew her as the rider knew her
For together, they rode every day.

They both wore black.
Together they were a shadow in the night.
The rider’s cloak flapped behind her
As they ran towards the fight.

She was a noble steed.
She was of noble dawn.
In the night with the enemy,
Together, they rode on.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Hi, my name is….Well i go by Shadow.
Anyways, I am 15 and wanted to know what you think about my poems. So i would appreciate you to leave a comment.
Have a happy night/day…whatever srry about the double copy of slice. The secound one was suppose to be this one. srry ’bout that.

Life’s Hard

I sit in my room
My head is pounding
I am not sure what to do
Stress is becoming over powering

On my desk sits a knife,
It has been looking inviting,
But I can’t start without it ending my time.
It has been sitting there for hours.

I don’t know what to do.
I can’t admit defeat.
I need to move on.
I have to continue without you.

I look at the knife.
Nothing can make me do it.
I pick it up, and throw it outside.
I am done with the thought.

I am not going to give up.
I have so much more to live for.
I am done with that thought.
All I can say is good-bye.
i shall not complain. i did ask, and everyone is in titled to their opinions. you might not like them but others might. i just thank you for answere

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I will snip you out of the barbwire;
I will dress your wound.
I will pull you from the quagmire;
I will lift you to the bonnie doons;
I will pour for you my brandy;
I will put flowers in your hair.
I will fly in gourmet candy,
and fill that place T’was bare
.I will swirl for you the winds of time;
and raise my glass to you; my wine.
alas! Do not ask "why the bells do chime"
you will return to the wire and sacrificial swine!
all in your own time…all in your own…due time

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I used to have a glass bell from Japan that you’d hang near an open window. It would ring (the bell was connected to a small ball (the ringing part), which was connected to a long strip of paper (to catch the wind). Supposedly it’s used to keep evil spirits away. Is there anywhere, besides Japan, I can get one?

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I am married to a woman who has a 2 young girls–6 and 3.

A few days ago, I’m not sure exact what got into her, but she was having a difficult time either trying to get the children to eat, or to behave–I’m not sure exactly what happened, but she started screaming something incoherently. That was when I went into the kitchen to try to diffuse the situation.

She threw a glass against the wall and screamed at the children, "You are my worst f*cking nightmare! I HATE BOTH OF YOU! F*CK YOU!"

I grabbed her by the arm and roughly escorted her into the living room while saying, "You want to act like a 2 year old? Then you’ll get treated like one!" and then forced her into a tiny timeout chair in the corner of the room and made her face the wall. I told her that if she got up, I would personally bend her over my lap right in front of her kids, and I wasn’t joking either. Then I wound up a chiming music box that we always play for the children at bedtime and said, "This should cool your nerves."

Afterwards, I went to calm her children down and read some books along with them in the living room while my wife sulked in the little timeout chair with the music box chimes playing.

Now for the past 4 days, my wife has slept in the guest room and she absolutely refuses to speak to me or even be in the same room with me. I just now looked at her myspace, and she has the status switched to "Divorced" and has deleted me off her list.

Honestly, I was extremely offended and appalled that she would use such venomous language towards her own children for any reason like they were 17 and 18 year olds. And I seriously doubt me calmly saying, "Calm down, take a deep breath" would have worked, either. I wanted to drive home a message that she needs to realize she is the parent–NOT THE CHILD. And by forcing her into the timeout chair, I was showing her she was acting like a child.

Or did I really go too far and just need to start looking for a new apartment?
John: It doesn’t matter whose kids they are. Are you saying that if I see someone beating a child, I should say, "I’m not the dad, so it ain’t MY business!" and go on like nothing is happening?

You do NOT curse at a child, I don’t care who is the parent!
John: Why don’t you just zip it, now? By the number of thumb downs you are getting, it doesn’t look like anybody here is listening to you.

Technorati Tags: 18 year olds, bedtime, deep breath, few days, google, living room, music box, myspace, nerves, nightmare, script type, text javascript, young girls

>>Before anything else thanks in advance
to all who will answer,,,

>>I found a diamond somewhere and i was wondering
if its a real one,,I already tried to cut a glass using it
and the damage was made although it didnt totally cut
as im not strong enough,,and i also put it in the dark
room and i saw it glowing,,i also compared it to our
wind chime who has diamond like accessories and its
totally different from imitations,,me and my mom looked
at it we’re both undecided if its real or not.

>>Now im totally confused,,,please help me guys if
theres any way to know the genuine diamond
without going to pawnshop or asking anyone,,,

>>any techniques or advice i can do to test it
within my home?.

>>Thank you again in advance to all,,,TC,,winks

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