The Web Poetry Corner
The Web Poetry Corner
Midland, MI, US
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House of Laraby
Far behind the railroad tracks,
behind the streets of stone.
Behind broken beer bottle sidewalks,
and rusted cars by the road.
Behind the obscene garden decorations,
and the children with heads of louse.
There was a place I visited often,
It was the Laraby's house.
The house of Laraby was tall and white,
with green grass and tulips on the right.
Inside the spotless windows, clear.
Were trinkets of silver and crystal chandelier
In the back yard was a tennis court and pool
Each garnished with greens all seasons.
The front garage complete with cars,
One for whatever the reason.
Within their walkin dream closet,
Was Mrs. Laraby dressing herself over and over.
Her own private Barbi Doll.
Her life guarded by a satin cover.
Inside the House of Laraby,
were two children, Jane and Gus.
They were happy children with smiles of gold
And laughs of diamond dust
The Larabys lived in a crystal ball,
away from all the rest.
They have class and dignity
that people like me can't even grasp.
Down the street is where I live.
See there? That little yellow trailor?
It isnt that much to look at from the outside,
Not much from the inside for that matter.
Not at all like the Larabys,
In every possible way
That is why I walk to see them
each and every day.
They don't know that i come.
I used to sit against that there stop sign.
But since my daddy ran over it,
their mailbox works just fine.
Mr. Laraby comes home every night at 6
Jane and billy greet him merrily.
He goes in, he sits down,
kisses Mrs. Laraby and sips his sherry.
Not like Mr. Laraby,
my father doesn't believe in careers
He sits at home with his cigarette
and says he only believes in beer.
Jane and Gus are always clean.
They have fair skin and eyes of blue.
My brother used to have eyes like that,
until he killed himself last June.
I dont like to go home,
but lucky for me,
I can take the Larabys
home with me.
No one else seems to see them,
but thats just fine with me.
I never liked to share my things
Even if its only a dream.
Daddy says the Laraby's aren't real,
I never argue a bit.
Though I know the truth and want to tell,
I never liked being hit.
The Laraby's don't know that I am here,
but I know they are there.
The Laraby's are something only I can find in a dream
but still I do not care.
BY: Sarah Agle
I am the all American
With a gun held to my head
The average American Girl
No home, a van instead
I am the American Dreamer,
with the finger down my throat.
The typical American teenager,
getting shot down just for my coat
A true American, am I,
pregnant way to soon.
Independent from caretakers,
Humming my own tune.
I am a living American confession
buying drugs from all I see.
I am the American citizen
The girl no one wants to be
I represent America's reputation.
The same as you, you see.
You ask me what my name would be,
I ask you who you claim to be
I am the all American,
not hiding from myself.
You ask me what makes an "American"
I'd say, look at yourself
Locked Up Inside A Romantic
A hopeless romantic is inside of me
Trying to get out
But there is no one that I can love
No one to write about
How long till a miracle will come
And heal me with his kiss
That kind of man I've never had
But still cant help but miss.
This hopeless romantic is locked up inside,
waiting to be free.
I'm trapped inside these jail cell bars,
his love's the only key
Their is so much love in side this Romantic
So much for me to give
Damn it why do I have to care so much
Why am I so sensitive?
put yourself last
Fine me a love
to complete my eternal cast
No need to cry
You did so much
to help lonliness die
to busy finding love for others
to find her very own
I feel for you
Though through your loss of happiness
other's happiness grew
I understand your thirst
Even a matchmaker needs a match
but find me mine first.
My Fears, My Home
The world is turning all around
My smile had long since turned upside down
My aching heart by which I am bound
Is why I stay were I cannot be found.
I stay in myself where everything makes sense
Or else my sanity would have already been spent
I wish I could say that I am fine and content
But my mind plays tricks on me and it will not relent
Hiding behind my ever changing mask
Pleasing other people is my never ending task
Why can't I just forget my past
Or must my fear forever last?
I put on my smile and pretend I'm all right
But inside my head, you don't know what it's like
Inside my head there is no light
Nothing but darkness to blind my sight.
In side myself there is no one to hold
No one to see my nightmares unfold
Inside myself I'm always alone
Encased inside this wall of stone.
My flowing tears are my understanding companions
They guide me through my memory canyons.
The infinite darkness through which I can't see
is where I can go and where I can be
But things go on like nothing is wrong
So I'll pull out my mask; play the part of someone strong.
Smiling used to make me happy, now it seems like such a chore
I wonder what would happen, if this mask of mine ever tore
But one sweet day when all feels right
I'll peel off my social mask to see the light
But day is still so far away
So inside my fears I'll always stay
Let thy saltless tears of Blood
Fall over thy silent lips
Confessions of thy regretful deeds
Shall never, from that sighlence, drip
Lips though seemingly empty
Hold sweet limericks of Pain and Love
Remain closed, for pain breeds actions of Malice seen
only by those above.
Those lips, if Motivated, could speak Malicious Deeds
Regretfully hold their stance.
Those lips, given eyes, could weep for what they've said
Regretfully don't have that chance.
So with the knowledge of thy spiteful deeds
Thy lips remain bound by guilt's unspoken creed.
Deeds that hath brought him wherest he lay
Rome between his ears in blank disguise
Damned be the deed that flows across his lips,
For in that, would be his demise.
Quiet lips, oh somber grave
Harbor, please, a moments rest
Bring forth more tears to Clense my shame
For in my shame, my sanity's pressed.
Still shameful cleansing from shamefull tears
leave thy conscience to run astray
As scrubbing Dirt with soot and ash
Would not chase the stain away.
So watch thy lips as not to drip
The Murder of thy soul on the ground
For in spilling of that Restles Grave,
You'd shed thy pain to all those around.
You have a way of inspiring me
Sparking the delight and tickling the dreams of my existence with your translucent tongue
You have a way of inspiring me
With your emptiness you call independence that comes with the endowments you hold like daggers to your breast of steel
Words you love to hear and thoughts that bring that darkened grin. Lifting the corner of your mouth to squint your eye ever so slightly as your father did last night.
You have a way of inspiring me
The way you hold your head slightly out the side as you stride across the tilted floor. You catch the ice cubes that people toss at your curled up toes: they melt within your clenched fist, so stiff. Leaving only a puddle of dew where that glassy shard once sat. You, so carefully, wipe it on your pants; turn the corners of your lips up and keep going. Yes you keep going.
Oh you hold your unhappiness so close
In your front pocket close to other precious gems you love.
You pat your pocket once in a while to make sure it still is there. That smile and squint lets me know what you've found. I know that smile very well.
You have a way of inspiring me,
Catching my interest in your palm
It stings through you flesh like a sunbeam loosening your gems to a dangerous extent.
You slam my compassion on the floor
It's not what you've been yearning for
Oh you do inspire me
With your talent of falsehood and misinterpreted style
With how you mislead everyone else
With your "genuine" squint and ever linked smile.
I long to see past your hatred of sanity
To see what caused this pain you hold so dear.
You do inspire me to inquire
For the answers you do not share
As if your fear was to discover what I already knew
That there is more in your pocket than hate.
Oh you love to hate
You love to cry out loud
You love the puddles from your hand to your pocket
You love. Oh yes you do. You love.
To be reborn is to murder what is still virginal within us, along with all of the misconceptions that escort the entire state of mind.
To be reborn is to allow yourself to abandon the lied of your self-indulgence and embrace the complexity and underlining beauty of your own derangements.
To be reborn is to dismiss all of the events that precede this moment as a lesson. An interactive parable of sorts, in order to accept the truth that still lies undefined.
To realize we will never be again, what we were before, for with every breath we are reborn into an enlightenment of either the most dramatic of realizations or the most subtle glimpses of half meanings within every second.
Rebirth is not just a term for the baptized or an option to our final day's conclusion... Rebirth is the natural order for the spiritually enriched and the consciesly driven. And the tragedy is that not many can look passed their morning coffee and cigarette to see the magic of it all.
What I'm Searching For
Here, in the middle of everything new, I find peace.
Under the influence of being deliberately without direction.
Such an attitude is frouned upon, I hear.
Perhaps it is the atmosphere.
Or perhaps the moment that slipped between my lips is coming to the surface of my consiousness again...
In either case... I can smile without resistance from within.
I can release the words I could not say then.
I can breath in all the forbidden fruiets of the land and exhale the chains that load me down.
I spend hours searching for something beautiful..
And here it is...
HaveYou Ever Lost Your Mind?
Have you ever lost your mind?
For a moment nothing does less than overwhelms you.
The simplicities of smiling become complex if not impossible
and the best thing to do, seems to be to run.
To avoid human contact, turn up the radio so loud that the world finally seems quiet.
Hope no one asks you anything because youc an't suffer yourself the pain of warping reality for a moment longer.
Have you ever wanted so badley to reach out someone but being so afraid of talking to them, you run yet again?
Your hybernation becomes rutine and no one looks twice for logic behind it. Do they even care?
What is left of you if you don't think you can handle your own presence for another second? What then?
Do you take a pill?
Do you squeeze in a nap before your next cigarette and your last?
Do you take a vacation and do your best to disorient yourself in the process?
Or do you dive into a taco salad only to emerge two hours later just as empty as when you started?
Scream? And hope someone unties you before the train comes?
Dround yourself in psychotherapy and hope to God they don't see to far in.
Avoid clarity? Because that is what scares you the most.
Becausee you know better than to look that deep.
Is it clear that I am talking about myself yet?
But what good is in dwelling?
The guilt of yesterday hasn't left when I uncover my ears.
What do they all want from me?
Don't they understand I can't deliver?
I should know I worked my hardest to get this way...
but what now?
I pray each night they will keep quiet.
That the conflict between us wont be permanent.
They make so much noise while I try to sleep.
They remind me of all people think but do not say.
Have you ever lost your mind?
Even for a moment?
I Just Like Driving
If the turth wouldn't hurt so much, I would role down my
But I drive on, staring intently through clouded windows.
All I see are roads that I haave been on before, but never
Yes, this is a metaphore.
I once wrote that I can't handle a certain level of truth
in any of my poetry... I suppose that is true.
Even though a certain amount of offense was taken at the
What am I searching for? Why do I invest so much into the
pursuit of merely leaving.
I wish I coudl leave it all behind sometimes.
Just keep driving... never worry about a single thing ever
Does this warrent psychotherapy?
I think I just like driving.
Still Feels Like Home
Such a beautiful day in the wasteland.
Though my cigarettes burn too fast and I can smell regret
on the wind, only then will I relax.
I stand fast, while the world shakes violently with the
The road behind me is so dissimilar from the road before
me and here I sit in a state of indecision and I feel at
home once again.
I feel sanity returning.
Bringing bitter reality as an escourt.
I search for shelter in my glove box. and I pray he will
never find me.
And still I feel at home.