The Web Poetry Corner
DreamMachineThe Web Poetry Corner is a Dream Machine Site
The Dream Machine --- The Imagination of the World Wide Web
Google

The Web Poetry Corner

Erin Allen

of

Oberlin, OH, US

Home Authors Alphabetically Authors Date Submitted Authors Country Submission Rules Feedback



If you have comments or suggestions for Erin Allen, you can contact this author at:
uxmalmsmsish@hotmail.com (Erin Allen)


Find a book store near you, no matter where you are located in the U.S.A.!


Cerzan

...the best independent ISP in the Twin Cities

Gypsy's Photo Gallery


Battle for a pagan Don

by

Erin Allen

I apologize greatly for the future misuse
Immersed in all the haunting
Wisdoms of Igor

"Fool in Christ"

Wandering down the hall
Moments later
Years later

Becoming apparent once
At least twice
Ghostlike and meaningless in
The back of numerous crowds

Psychotic stylism
Only in the mindset that it
Is good
Only when overflowing
Mother Russia,
Feed us more

Mother Russia, feed us more
And I will offer in return
What I have not yet given

To be basked in blue
To feel the deep
To come back, later
Maybe hours days and
Find some meaning
Or view as worthy all senseless patter

Igor great in his solitude
Showing the power of such
An everlasting fault

"Fool in Christ"
"Fool in Christ"

Reiki is this Sunday at 3
"Is it so unbelievable" he said
"That I can feel the energy between
My hands right now?"

Is it so out? Is it sublime?
Days of such poets
Full of lacking
Men one hates to meet
On the street refusing to apologize
For bumping your
Umbrella
In the rain

Thinking I should stop
This
Becoming another two
O clock rant

Where is my nightcap
You see, I have work
Igor...yes, remember
Blundering fool

How weak one seems at
Such an hour
How lost effort seems in
Academia

But to remain is to accept and
Reiki is Sunday at 3


From the tenth foot, stagnant

by

Erin Allen

I wanted this
And I love it so, you know
Cat hissing out the window
Twice

Pause

Once more and immersed back
in the silence of
typ
i
ng.................
from the next door
my only door behind memoribilia
of what finally has become mine.

I wanted this
Sitting under curtains
This curtain
Which blocks nothing but serves to
tone down the light
of the room with the blown
bulb

I wanted this
seclusion
to sit here surrounded with
all that I will never reach
to sit here wondering at night why
my music stand leans
slightly right
and the music doesn't fall off.


Jasper

by

Erin Allen

Why do I do this?
you know? Insist on this atmosphere
These people who
know me and my habits
who I could easily shock
professionally witness
And wonder?
Jasper
who would fit me well
fit the empty spaces
gaps I let them cling to
Jasper with red hair
who in a fit of imagination
became me
She noticed me once
and since has let me become
my intrigue
gothic nights of
mindless existence which are not mine
Jasper around my neck in this atmosphere
and music never fitting
I should be lonely
I should be listening
but I insist on this
Jasper in my words
Hasn't spoken in weeks
Jasper somewhere
Waiting for me
And I insist on living my nights.


Three O Clock Reduction

by

Erin Allen

I read a poem today
And I didnít remember it, though
My computer did (enrollment of a bleeder)

But it makes me wonder,
Rotting Ginsberg
Am I reduced to idolization
Yielding unending commentary
Finding myself devoid of a
Coherent sentence structure

Fragmentation! For the cognitive
Roses for the weak
Is this my Kaddish, Ginsberg, Mescaline
Hinting at something lucid?

I know I canít survive this
Memorize
My guilt, replay it donít
Let them for
Get donít let
Them forget
Donít let them

Forget the answer in space and time
Thirty three dimensions, currently
Chaos
We didnít have an answer
But we can build anything
Walls around it, poles, joints
Like such an empty poem

Is this all a desperate cry
That such a poem should hold for someone
What some ones forgotten poem held once
For me?

What? Inspiration? Canít even remember the name
Kaddish, Ginsberg, is that what makes you so great?
Kaddish, Mescaline, Howl
Still canít find it, canít find Siesta in Xabala, Ginsberg
Convinced it was a dream,
Led me to you

But Xabala, my past Xabala
Canít let it fade wonít let go.
He hugged me today- didnít even see him
Coming
Spotted earlier, I looked away but perhaps he
Ignored my reason
She just disappeared. Nothing to that.
Nothing to that. Nothing to what. What is it now?
"I didnít like that too much - it smalled nice"

Rotten cork grease smelled nice. Old Musty.
Rotting Ginsberg probably smelled nice.
Probably even festive in his filth.

On the way back we talked of movies and
Decided on the regular and nature of the world

Whatcha up to now?
Nothing plus moloko plus milk plus
Do you ever wonder why things run together?
Is my day a blur as this is the world
A blur as this?
Sleep Alex sleep like a good child rise to
Find them waiting
With your key
And that black umbrella you never set down

And everyday this class is different
Everyday I must search like first
Everyday Ginsberg, Kaddish has me and I
Canít quite get out.


Meditation on Your Half Smoked Cigar

by

Erin Allen

We sat there
We smoked
Two rockers, porch watching stone
Three months of fog
Your cigar kept time

I knew ahead of time
That I would find you that I
Would know you
All ahead of time
And you knew
And I ahead of time that
It would pass

Submersion
In an idea and I realize
This isn't turning out
Isn't working out

I had it- in my head I knew it
But with effort I have to
Deal with impulse

Thank you- though
The hug was awkward
Thank you- though
You only smoked is half


Wondering of a Random Him

by

Erin Allen

So what is this now? After last night's confession?
Is this a friendship
Categorized by obsession
Of seeing in flashes of passing
In restaurants
Is he a Japhy - wise in his humor
Hidden in his wisdoms
A drunken bodhitsava
Speaker of prayers
Was that time a reflection
Of myself at the time of my
Projected image was it too blunt?
Is his presence my own?


Blackbox

by

Erin Allen

Woke with dark dream dripping off my tongue.
"Mom I was in a blackbox"
Mom I was living cubism
And it wouldn't stand still
I could have, this was my option
Closed my head and rise
To upside down
Scarfed
As we all should be
I couldahad this, or I could have coffee
To splatter my walls
Blue Black
Blackbox
The night doesn't end.


Skip Poem 270

by

Erin Allen

One two three One two three
I dreamed (some dreamt, I dreamed)
Of ocean malls of caves
The image of a great shadow casting fire
Crossed torches and marching
In circles, through circles, through drums
And this morning
(waiting)
For me there was juice
All mixed up all sworn together
Needles up, neddles down
Down, she tried to play it
(town) never really could
Never really could.
Never really could.
Never could.
Told us once we could succeed
Never really could
Told us once like fierce poetry
Told us
Told me that It Would Fade
Fade
Told me I'd fall
Told me things won't move forever
things aren't pretty forever
And those fractals? They're
----in----your mind
Always in my mind always
You know what I
(think) I
Think you're still wonderful
Even gone, even blind even dead as I know
You
Will be I still think
Of you this way
I still think you will be
Dancing
For
Eternity
To please eternity and to dance forever
That is You
There should be No Separation
Between Music and Dance
(or was it is)
Your wall sings you're truth
And from it that young girl
Pulls
Me
On
Towards something, not sure what
But certainly something urgent
I don't answer
But the hand does
One mistake, one mistake
Only consider there to be one
But people like him matter so little to me
(why do I still listen)
Listen to myself
To the wind (always-wind)
To the sounds of slide in the hallways
At one, two, am

Repetition of numbers
Repeated numbers
Poem that goes on and on
Poem that just doesn't stop
Poem for him to skip
Must be symbolic, must be
Symbolic and how's this one for ya`
My cup, it's purple
(and did the squirrel dance? Is that how you knew?)
Knew, I did
For true, quite sure
Squirrel on stage, squirrel dance in green
And operatic neighbors - ones
That
Don't
Slide
Or balance either
I am the tree
And the tree is nothing, the tree
Is the void
For all is eternity
And the void is eternal
Has this been instilled within me
This early?
This highbacked cathedral chair
Highback and
Dull, scholarly dunce chalkboard
Vertical windows vertical heights
My portico
In which I never stand
In which I never stand
And the Japanese beetle in the
Chair next door
Orange on red
Orange on red and black
On orange
Like they wouldn't be noticed.
Like I wouldn't be noticed here.
Repetition, they say, is the key to
Remembering to memory to Remembering
Remember?
Remember?
Remember?
Remember?
Remember?
Remember?
Remember?
Remember?
Remember? (sneeze twice, short break)
November - month of peace, of
Post Samhain confusion -contradiction-
Month of lore
Wait for Yule
Waiting for Yule
Ridiculous poetry
Ridiculous firejumping.
Didn't you wear wool? Why didn't you wear wool?
You should be wearing wool.
Silly PaGaN
Allow me to start this fire.
Shaking (too much)
Sharing like mulled wine like feathers on a
Windy night two o clock
Twice
More symbolism?
Allow me to expound to create
To examine the patterns in the walls
(different between windows-
in this room)
Horizontal in vertical stripes
Contradiction
In Russian
One could easily be in the sea
Be seven leagues be seven thousand
For the balcony's holes portray
It to be so
To climb out there
(I couldn't)
To feel the wind
(I shouldn't)
Too much freedom? too much power?
Feel locked in this drab room
Feel like I can't escape it, though
I came here early
Of
My own
Free
Will
But free will
Freedom to process the same input
Freedom to analyze our data
And to conclude the same
Conclusion
Freedom to accept our own brainwashing
Happy election day
Happy season premiere
Love losing my religion to words
Should do it more often, really,
Scared of what today truly will bring
And ready to march on Wilder
To Canada
To part the lake
Feeling so unanarchist, so rebellious
Peoples Republic of Oberlin College
Could be done?
Should be done?
Let's not be hasty.
We still have the rest of the day
Least eleven hours of freedom
Much can be done in eleven hours
Of Freedom
Like that bulldozer over there - that's free
(but he was feeling anarchic)
Anarchy on election day
Anarchy on election day
Anarchy on election day
And Bush is leading in the polls.


That Girl

by

Erin Allen

There was a girl that was young and confused,
this girl did nothing but use and abuse,
She'd worry her family going on a binge,
thinking her only true friend was her syringe,
Nothing could make her feel right,
she'd wished she'd die every night,
As she got older the problems got worse,
with dealers and cops, she must of been cursed,
Her family helped her no matter what she did,
but she knows they regret this kid,
It all became to much for her,
she decided suicide would be best for sure.