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Below are the 16 most recent journal entries recorded in The Poetry Underground Project's LiveJournal:

Thursday, March 1st, 2012
7:54 pm
The Dream

I found myself 

Walking along a distant road

Covered in pure, sparkling snow

Looking for something I had lost long ago

One night, in a dream I dreamt 

I stopped only to pick lovely flowers

And gather them in my arms

I felt a warmth spread into my bones

And as I gazed upon them, 

I felt oddly clean

I touched their velvety petals 

And allowed myself to cry 

I laid them softly to rest

Buried beneath that virgin snow

And I continued on

Feeling so lost and very alone

I came upon a small house

That beckoned to me

Promising me shelter and protection 

I struggled to the door

The snow now around my knees

Gathered all the strength and courage I could muster

And gave a soft knock on the door

The door opened

And I trudged in

Longing for something I knew

My breath caught in my chest 

For sitting there was you

I felt happiness sweep away the cold

And I ran to embrace you 

I whispered lightly in your ear

All things I had always wanted to say

And felt you pull me closer

An understanding passed between us

Took my words away and left me calm and assured

I knew you must of felt the same

Because of those three words you had uttered 

Tears came to my eyes 

Because I knew no longer would I walk that snowy path alone

Searching for something I thought I would never know

I found what I was searching for

I found you

I awoke 

With lovely sun caressing my face

And a smile touching my lips

I knew that it just wasn’t a dream

I knew it was all to real 

And for that I must remember to thank you

For making my dreams and my reality as one 

Friday, April 15th, 2011
7:31 am
Mission One (only two years after the inception)
OK, folks.  It's National Poetry Month, and it's HIGH TIME we started taking poetry to the people, yes?  So say we all?  Well, regardless, I started yesterday.  I went to Sears in the Mall, crept up to the appliance section and ... well, just check the photos, that'll tell you the whole story.

I went back 2 hours later, and the staff had yet to notice!  heh!  I'm going to try again at Best Buy and see if it works there too!  

OK, poetry guerrillas, you have your mission, you have proof that it CAN be done, now GO TO IT!!! POETRY TO THE PEOPLE!!!
Sunday, January 18th, 2009
12:48 am

Keep Your Ear To The Stethoscope

You're disaster wrapped in reason,
a thick, cotton mess of lackluster love.
A sugar rush. Ephemeral. Nonsensical.
And you want to harvest this thing,
this feeling? These violated strands of
frightened surrender? This darkly heroic
suicidal tic? Let's just call it a lapse,
let's just call it a fuck. People do it all the time.
They ignore the twitching, beating, violent thing
that claims it owns us.

If one of us is alone, one of us is alone
Tuesday, September 9th, 2008
9:27 am
2am ponderance

And so I sit here pondering this particular evening

Silently smoking cigarette after cigarette

Watching the smoke withering into nothingness as it passes from my lips and out my window

These are strange days

Best taken with consideration and a straight liquor chaser

So I imbibe deeply

Trying to find meaning while reading between the lines

Deciphering semantics

And finding myself at the same starting point from years back

There are thoughts here

Silently spoken between lines of ambiguousness and obscurity

And I prefer to keep it that way

Simply spelling out my thoughts in the most cryptic manner possible

Cheerleading from the sidelines of my own life

Just watch me shake my pompoms

Gritting teeth into a pseudo grin

I mark the chapters of my life by how much my jaw hurts the next day

Shedding enamel to stop myself from saying too much

About what I know too little about

And so i let my thoughts wander

Like lost birds fighting the wind towards a destination they never thought to go after

And so I sit here

Pondering this particular evening

Silently smoking cigarette after cigarette

And I wonder how much smoke it will take for me to create

Before I can finally clear my vision

And find a path towards unclouded tomorrows

Wednesday, April 2nd, 2008
12:49 am
Choke, Icarus
Choke, Icarus
Your suicide note was pointless;
a ramble, a talk-show-radio rant
your wife had said death would become you
your children were crying with purple, cosmic skins
knitting themselves back together, after you
you: a rage, a lividity; you threw the sun agaisnt cement
he cried, his sister watched, his mother -
she downed a vodka before coming to his rescue
shaking, ink-stained hands ‘stop, icarus’
and you did.
and you flew:
your wings, made of wax
sizzled on the electricity lines
that snake from our houses to our streets
it worked as good as any other means; your wings
stitched together and ochre (of the earth), they fluttered
your final valediction: blue and red feathers, fluttering down
machinery whirred onwards, and we got your suicide letter in the mail
i asked ‘could icarus die?’ and my mother nodded, sombre
we lit a candle for you, and we saw your burning in its very middle
we held a service, and we wore your favourite skin shade
we said goodbye to your rotting face – i even kissed it
i kissed you, i mean
you: a quiet, choking, bloated face
emmett till without the rage
peaceful in your cartoon disgrace
Thursday, May 31st, 2007
7:19 pm
what what?
Every Wednesday we run a little spoken word show downtown St Petersburg, FL.

Here's a few shots from last night

Current Mood: accomplished
Friday, May 18th, 2007
4:30 am


poet & operative, so worth a look.

Thursday, May 17th, 2007
2:58 pm
i thought people might be interested in this.


i dont know who wrote it, but its worth looking at.
Tuesday, May 15th, 2007
4:43 pm
Da mihi basilia mille
When you stopped me
In the wal-mart parking lot,
I mean to say
I love you.
When you asked
How I’d been,
And I laughed,
I meant to say,
Mother-fucking crazy
And, I love you.
When you smiled
And said good,
I meant to
Kiss you senseless,
Instead I smiled
And asked if you
Could drive yet.
When you laughed
And said ‘yeah’
I meant to say good,
Because I still love you.
When you asked if I
Still had emo tendencies
I meant to slap you
Upside the head,
Because I’ve never in my life
Painted my fingernails black,
Worn baggy pants
And a black band shirt
With unwashed hair.
And then I meant
To say I love you,
 You Fucking prat.

Current Mood: lethargic
12:36 am
Left behind a container of Morton Salt in a Grocery Store...

Love Like Salt - Lisel Mueller

It lies in our hands in crystals
too intricate to decipher

It goes into the skillet
without being given a second thought

It spills on the floor so fine
we step all over it

We carry a pinch behind each eyeball

It breaks out on our foreheads

We store it inside our bodies
in secret wineskins 

At supper, we pass it around the table
talking of holidays by the sea.

Current Mood: artistic
Monday, May 14th, 2007
6:02 pm
What's it mean, to be a poet?
Left in college cafeteria...

Current Mood: complacent
Thursday, May 10th, 2007
3:03 pm
here it go
first poetic post; latest piece (as of this minute anyway)

fuck a poet

i used to write out of some grim necessity
like poetry was my clot to stop the bleeding
as if in pouring into pens my experiences
and insignificant insecurities
would tie off some cosmic knot
and stop life from being so very mean to me sometimes
like bitching in retrospect was the sum total of my assertion to artistry
as if there isn't enough ex girlfriend poetry in the world already
or angsty, self-righteous calls to the indignity of american culture
delivered by some loudmouthed ass who can sure call out the bad points
but doesn't know step one in the direction of good
this is not another interview poem
this is a poem protesting poetry
presented like a picket sign held proudly front row centre at the venue reading
"fuck a poet"
for trying so badly to be what the crowd wants
trying to make sure you model your inflection best fitted for whatever demographic might be in front of you at that moment
poetic marketing, some make the stage a board room table
microphones a power point presentation of possible ploys to parley
pursuint to pushing puffed up plagerisms of personal proclivities and perspectives too pussy to please passing pedestrians purely off the proof of their own personage
and especially those who abuse alliteration
for thinking that revolution starts behind a microphone
when this isn't even the wick to spark fire on
the streets are the canvas on which to paint change
so if you really want to see those so-called egalitarian laws you keep spouting off about so much actually put in place
march to the white house, not to the stage
after a while, it's just fucking boring
for poets who think that angry scowls are the best gameface to approach a person with
like being intelligent and well-spoken are excuses to act like an asshole to those you don't know
or thinking you get to pick who in the crowd most appreciates your words
fuck a poet
for taking themselves so seriously they even start to hear their own words as truth
fuck a poet
for treating crowds like they owe poets shit
don't get pissed if you can't garner enough attention
that should tell you something about the performance
not the participants
fuck a poet
for assuming word placement alone marks you above anyone else
most of the poets i know can't accomplish shit else but poetry
so where the hell did we develop these collossus egoes from?
thinking we stand above the rest of civilization like some literary gods of man
and with each resounding breath we can change the flow of life itself
and reset the spinning of the earth to a more pleasing pitch
when most of us can't balance our checkbooks, significant others, jobs, bills, performance schedules and family affairs
without twisting completely out of focus
but finally, and most importantly
fuck a poet for simply being a poet
for being underappreciated and underpaid
misunderstood but very well stated
third string entertainers with first rate presentation
broke from day one but never trying to get fixed
existing if only through persistence
linguists and wordsmiths
hammering verses into the minds of a generation
pounding out the heartbeat of an entire generation
and very rarely getting that simple and very much needed honest
Thank You
so instead, poets, i offer a fuck you
but only because i love you

7:16 pm
Hey =] New to Livejournal, liking what you're doing here.

Come to London, street corners are perfect platforms to spread poetry from
12:25 pm
what other communities regarding Spoken Word does everyone belong to?

My list:

poetunderground (der)

also on poetbay.com and the Un.P.S. Online Open Mic
Wednesday, May 9th, 2007
8:59 am
poet roll call, damnit

First I would just like to open things up with a general "Where the hell is everyone" post: i'm constantly performing and am moving into the idea of traveling about the nation and beyond. always good to have contacts abroad, PLUS if any of us are local to each other it's great to be able to share new venues; so i'll start.

David W Durney
St Petersburg, FL
host of RESURRECTION @ The Lobby (217 Central Ave)
Wednesday nights 1030pm - 130am

I'll also be opening a weekly Ybor City show May 27th, more posts to come. I'll put some poetry up in a bit, although ATM i have nothing new, so... whatever.

where you at, poets?
Saturday, May 8th, 2027
6:55 pm
This is the first post in what we hope will be an exciting new movement.  The goal is to take poetry to the people.  We want to get the words off the page, and into the streets!  The rules are simple:

Anonymously post poetry in a public place.  Be it on a notecard left in a coffee shop or restaurant, written on a sidewalk, overpass, wall (preferably in a way that won't get you arrested for vandalism) or a spontaneous performance, take a photograph or a videotape or a voice post of the "mission" and share it with the community, then fade away into the day, night, et al.  Or simply post a copy of the poem you left behind here in our forum.

Our goal is to take poetry to the people.  To celebrate, shout, shine!  You have your mission, get moving! 

Current Mood: Poetic
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