angst

hah! i shall valiantly stop thy spamming, oicannotmakeitlah! and yes! angst shall return to haunt this blog! muahahahah!

what's new,
when old wrinkles away forgotten;
what's tender raindrops
when storms slaughter and plunder;
what's the ticking of the clock at night,
when indifference creeps up to throttle;
what's life
when time seeps off leaving us dry.

hah. im going to try spamming this blog-cum-poetry-blog-thingamajiggallyjig. hah. like bing or mostly Mr. Piano. hah. hah. gag. hey. i might be quite good at it. you know. just spam a whole lot of old poems lor. hah. zzz.

reminisence, scraps of nothing,
that cling to hope of revival and success

::Jasper's Reply (editing anyone?):
i wish i hope i wish i hope, the joys of yester fell through my fingers

:: Words Of MacBeth's
abjure from avarice, detraction
from pernicious scruples
insatiable, lascivious epicures

Booo. Semester 2

Hi. A very good welcome to you, dude!
You've been doomed to Semester 2!
It don't ever matter what you even do
You're just gonna suffer along with me too
Hah. Go ahead 'n say boo.

Sigh...(haha the following words after sigh i turned into this poem... not a very good one... but an expression all the same sigh)

in 5 and a half hours
a new semester will begin.
Searching to destroy.
To drain.
To damage.
Forever.

maybe not forever,
not for eternity
because eternity is too long
to suffer
to die
and lie dying.

i ask for power again,
for strength.
for the blooming of new flowers,
the passing of spring showers
to abandon the corner
in which fear cowers

i look towards eternity,
look toward hope,
look upward for help,
to survive.

Because I know,
i know
that eternity is long
but not too long
not too long to live

Untitled

justice is as never was
merit itself decided cause
justice never is as was
merits change with timely cause

morals are what was never known
standards made for broken stone
morals never are what was known
as standards always set in stone

this is known as forced rhythm, forced rhyme and forced poem. its what happens when i only have one line... well ok maybe two to work with... oh no! so sad... yay i shall spam the blog while not doing work... impending doom... impending doom... wheee *splat*... till the hurlyburlys done and the battles lost and won - i shall be awaiting death by homework! yay doom doom doom doom.. oh no im figuring that im sounding a lot like Mr. Piano in hyper mode... or on drugs... well... both...

Boring as Life

sighz... still got quite a bit of work left... and i haven't completed the Fairy Stories yet have i? oh well... oh and for the record.. the fairy tale news thing was my idea first... well actually i just came up with headlines but no story... anyway... last night before i went to sleep i felt like writing something... but only got round to it today, but only some of it is done... i got distracted and started reading Clancy's Rainbow Six half-way... so i decided i had better not finish the story under the influence of such writing... i haven't even gotten to the part that inspired me to write... sigh, oh well... the music from the movie Ray is so distracting...oh and the story's called Boring as Life...

Click. He snaps on the light. Harsh orangey-yellow stabs at his eyes for a moment. He looks about the familiar, boring kitchen. Are there lizards? On the floor, maybe, like the ones he had seen dashing for cover the other day. Or perhaps they could be hiding under the refrigerator? Better there than under his foot, he thinks, and shudders figuratively. He watches himself step into the room, half-reflected in the windows. There is no use wondering if the ones across, with bright light and shadows on bunks, were there. It would bother him, sometimes, but not tonight. He turns, slightly, and reaches for the cup drawer. As always, there are no cups left in the drawer – he supposes – only the dainty little porcelain tea-cups. He had used them before, but decided they were too small. Somehow, though, the drawer feels heavier as he tugs on the tiny curve of metal that is meant to be a handle. There is, amazingly, one cup left, looking lonely and covered in those field grasses of sepia tones and black and purple flowers. He contemplates; he is not accustomed to using such pleasant ones, just the plain blue and white ones that always seem to be breaking every once in a while. He takes it in his hand, and carefully fills it with the cold milk from the fridge before replacing the carton. The door is nudged closed and he hears the gentle thud of attracting magnets with ears that have long taken such sounds for granted.

He liked to drink the milk in one gulp; it seemed to bring out the taste more. This time, though, his teeth seemed to scream with shock, right to the very roots. Far too cold, they said. He would have to wait a while, although, as he glanced at his cup, he realized he didn’t have much left to drink. No matter, really...

maybe i'll finish the story one day... the writing somehow... isn't like bing's... he's good man, he's good... pretty disheartening looking at his totally bombastic vocabulary... whoa..

Murder of Ms Candyhouse

Reuters - The village of Candyville was shaken yesterday with the brutal death of Ms Candyhouse. Ms Candyhouse, 158, was found dead in her oven last monday morning by the milkman. The victim suffered 99% 4th degree burns. An autopsy later revealed that she was hit on the head with a metal object and then roasted in the oven at 300 degrees celcius for over an hour.

Neighbours described the victim to be a small, friendly and caring old lady, who liked having children over at her Candyhouse. However Ms Candyhouse had not been seen (alive) ever since neighbours spotted two children eating her home.

Mr Beadle, a neighbour of Ms Candyhouse's, claimed that he saw two figures running off from the Candyhouse into the woods on Monday evening. "They were running rather quick, so I couldn't recognise them," he said. "But they seemed to be carrying lots of stuff. Like, totally."

Further investigation by the police showed that Ms Candyhouse's home had been ransacked, and that half of the house remained standing - the rest of the house was defouled by bite-sized holes in the walls. Police suspect foul play.

"The two kids she had over at her house - they were really mean," said Dame Chocolate, another neighbour. "Like, totally. They claimed they were starving, having had lost their way in the woods. weird names they had too, Gretsel and Hantle, I think."

"It's a pity that we lost Ms Candyhouse. She was the nicest lady ever. She made lots of pies for the whole village every month," said Mr Beadle.

Police are looking further into the case.

The wake of Ms Candyhouse would be held at the site of the late Candyhouse from tomorrow afternoon till Saturday morning. The casket would leave for the oven at 9am on Saturday.

If you have any information, feel free to call 1900-THI-SHOAX. Thank you.

My Gay Club Entrance Essay

I hate life.
Why does it do this to me?
Jenny must die.

Nothing will satisfy me now.
I crave his absence.
I cannot tolerate
being the only one miserable.

I am always
in love.
But always
the only one.

I want him to read
and immerse himself
in this,
and feel
these lines run across
every inch of lovely skin
like veins
then soak
in this tender milk bath
of my loveless words.
loveless words.
every word a part of me.
every word a part of me.

then let me hear
him scream.
as words turn
to nails.

expected to

staying here, with free food
free lodging. and antiseptic
accomodation.

expected to like it here.

it's a privilege. unlike people
down there, scurrying with their
miserable lives.
or so i'm told.

through the bars, i watch people
frolick in mischief, wishing
all the time
that i could break out and fall down
right there.

but as i stare. people stare back too,
in expected admiration, which happens
to pass for a fleeting second.
they expect me to be inside.

expected to like it here.

i've tried breaking out.
they push me back in,
whether they know it or not.
it's the cage ive built
in unknowing glory
that traps me in.

expected to do my best in here.

forced inside, kept inside.
the guards don't know their
occupation. it hangs on the
Level of Subconscious Thinking.
and Expectations.

polished metal of expectation.
stainless bars of reputation.
i've built it up
only to want them taken away

expected to stay in there.

i confess - a mistake
on my part in the first place.
now that ive repented,
all i ask is their forgiveness.

give me a chance.

"no, you're not expected to."

Wuteva

All in favour of the motion say "aye"
Eye!
I!
Oi!
U heard it! The vowels have spoken!

!

But i haven't!
U aren't a vowel stupid...
Trivial matter, dearies, just form the word!

Wahlau... has anyone even talked about us few at the end?
U aren't vowels either stupid...
Trivial matters, dearies, just settle down..
Everyletter knows WXYZ are not important...
Vat did voo say?? Vhere is our vrights voo spell?
Alright, alright... enough... i think everyletter knows their abc's already...

With compositions like these, you have to be broadminded to consider them poems... but as we have promised... more poems... no blogz! no prose! yeah right... jes' kiddin' yer

the call of nature

caged in cold steel
polished shine leering unintentionally
stiff expectation barring escape
as people outside wave, smile, and take pictures.

wearily pacing upon the past
building up impressions cast
in metal. the jungle outside
wild and free
with boundless valleys and
unlatched marshes
beckons,

the call of nature.

its high but lonely up here
where languid hope lies.
just wistful, wantful thirst
for the sincerity of rivers and streams
gently flowing past.
it seems that im never able
to drink up

the call of nature.

it seems that everything else runs amok
down there, under treetop cover.
while its sanitised up here:
disinfected duty imposed by
the expected.
the people taking photographs.
it never seems to go away
that void that drowns out

the call of nature.

locked up in loss
of that 'ring ring' that never comes
the sound of silence
which would break the bars
steal the repressed
make me fall:
it never comes
and im still waiting for

the call of nature.

Apple-Logies

Dear All (whom we hope actually do pay the slightest bit of attention to this muse-blog),

We (collectively) at pos3rpoets apologise (mostly) for the recent bloggings by one of our members whom we shall not name. Mr. Piano (not his real name, which is witheld to protect his privacy), in his recent terrorisation of the pos3rpoets blog-cum-muse site during the absence of much our members, had attempted over the last fortnight or so to turn the site into one of his bimbotically gay blogs (referring specifically to past 4 or 5 posts). The miscreant has been warned and we assure you that no such terror will ever come to pass (or such we hope). We here at pos3rpoets promise to continue to provide more boring, cryptic and angsty poems of our previously established high quality. Thank you.

Sincerely,

Pos3rpoets

Untitled

By Gay Inc. - Ng Chu Ting, Royce Lee, Lim Khoon Liang & Sarah Teo

Verse 1:
Under the light of the moon
My boyfriend ran off with a goon
That night I cried
Till my eyes were dry
And i turned gay by noon

Interlude:
Heyyyy darling! *winkwink*

Verse 2:
Hey you gay that I find attractive
Even though we know you're defective
I love your hair
Your skin so fair
Getting you is my only objective

Chorus:
It's hard to say why I am gay
Try as I might there was no way
It's dumb but fun - and makes my day
I just can't help but shout "I'm gay!"


lol something me and some cappers did for fun. yay! go read my blog for further details. xD

ok...

i guess im being weird....

but i dont noe, i dont care, i just hope i look alright!

haha some line of the bimbo song. from wad i can remember of it. haha. when i completely learn it from chu then ill post it up here. MUAHAHAHA! i shall echo the throes of bimboism! hear me u big wide world!

...

im missing cap.

bimbos!

hey, baby! im back again! and i lurve being bimbotic! watever that word means. heeheeheeheehee!

although uve got a blotched up face
ive seen past blotches to fall into craze
with chatter, and batter, and golden-brown fritters
i just cant step out of your bimbo phase

i love you, i love you, i love you, the blotches on
her brown face, her fat arms, her flab legs, just need to say
i want you, i want you, i want you, you blotches that have
saved me from the abyss of circumstance and precision.

lol anticlimax. haha. just some screwed up song. haha. FUN! FUN! FUN!

I'm back, baby

[bimbotalk] hey darling! im back from CAP! and for your benefit, its spelt "cap"! now wait. i think its spelt ... ah-hah - its spelt P-A-C! yeah! im brilliant.

well darling, ive had a lovely time at this cap thing. i was acting like an airhead, HEEHEEHEEHEEHEE. [well it aint realli acting ist] hey wads that supposed to mean? oh? that im smart and beautiful? oh yeah! say that one more time for me will you. [well it aint realli acting is it] oh YES!YES!

oh have you seen my "i am GAY" shirt? it has this lovely lovely heart on it. all in red!!! *shivers in excitement*. well i dont know what in the world the words mean, but it looks fantastic! and behind are all these lovey dovey signatures! stuff like hey gurl and hey darling! so cute!!!!

well i'm gonna miss cap. the girls ive met there (hey gurls!), the guys too *swoon*. and my gay club! no well we dont think im gay but i think not too. heeheeheehee. [bimbotic chatter]. excuse me - me bimbotic? ohoh. oh i see. my chattering is bimbotic. yes. well, tata!


-ok. i noe im damn hyper xD-