John Keats (1795-1821)
WHEN I have fears that I may cease to be
Before my pen has glean'd my teeming brain,
Before high pil`d books, in charact'ry,
Hold like rich garners the full-ripen'd grain;
When I behold, upon the night's starr'd face, 5
Huge cloudy symbols of a high romance,
And feel that I may never live to trace
Their shadows, with the magic hand of chance;
And when I feel, fair creature of an hour!
That I shall never look upon thee more, 10
Never have relish in the faery power

I think that I shall never see
A poem lovely as a tree.

A tree whose hungry mouth is prest
Against the sweet earth's flowing breast;

A tree that looks at God all day,
And lifts her leafy arms to pray;

A tree that may in summer wear
A nest of robins in her hair;

Upon whose bosom snow has lain;
Who intimately lives with rain.

Poems are made by fools like me,
But only God can make a tree.

By Joyce Kilmer.

Rhiannon's rewrite:

We are an individual entity
So we have the key.
A damned hard one
With which, we can knock and open.

Such a key, you have taken charge of,
Though a bit too late
Yet I assure you, now no swine
Without permission, can enter your gate

Dogs are not allowed
Now tell them so
Since you are yourself, hence,
As a new life, now you commence.

House rent exploits
Called business enterprises
Draining the tenant’s income
In cyclical repayments
Turned sour upon demand
Merchant vessels perished
In service stormy seas
Landlord calls in due course
Heartbeat of renter skipped
Ran in fear, like Adam of old
On hearing the voice of God
Looked for where to hide
Lest he be driven out of Eden
These rented houses, where I live
Are like traps set for city dwellers

Twisting, throttling and asphyxiating,
shredding, smashing , ricocheting off of walls.
rising then plummeting.

Slammed into pulp
burst like a ripe melon
smacked up against , collision

Haemorrhaging
clawing and raking of flesh
peeling back to expose nerve endings

Grating tissue and grey matter
violating
blood streaking across epidermis

Caustic fluid stripping eyeballs
crimson , point jabbed into bran stem
Wailing, caterwauling

Soaring in oblivion
non-existence
at peace

Things can only help define
her as undefinable;

seemingly frail, oppose her you'll fail
give her one reason, she's had a belly full!

Purely in my interest I notice
all instances start resembling "luck";

she'll always look great, although "fashionably late"
because of you she will not give a "fuck".

Merely an independent sparkle of an act
that's more "smoke" than "mirrors" I think;

wandering lost and cold
I came upon a celler door
I broke the lock
feeling no shame

there, shelves stocked with food
a cot in the corner
and a colorful blanket

were they expecting me?

full bellied
wrapped in warmth
I laid down
and wept at my shameless ways

What an orgasmic feeling
The culmination of the
Ultimate awaited eruption
Anointment
In the soft sweet milk divine

A final sealing of human ecstasy
Soaring,
As it collapses
Two souls bound as one

Poem inspired by raj the poet

A restless spirit has come upon me

How far still can i go

How far have i come

Reluctantly,turning around.

I beheld the path of my life

The trodden grass, molded

The bridges crossed now fallen

Yes, like they fell and scatter across the ground

Broken images, the forgotten.

I see old comrades empty abodes and weep

The stench of time lingers at the doorstep

Eerie greetings from moans beaneth my feet

And in the brush beyond dance the ghost of eternal sleep.

The crimson sun falling behind the mountain

The twilight of the gods is upon us
we shoot the breeze on our knees
what shall we aim for that isn't taken?

The moon already has too many lovers,
and the sun, regardless of intensity,
brings out only a shadow.

This is a dream theater.
There's nowhere to hide in love that is forsaken.