Hello, i have made this page for aspiring (or accomplished, if there are such things) abstract poets. You can define 'abstract' however you want, but as long as it is original, inventive and not about fantasy or razorblades (sorry), then submit what you want. Remember, it doesn't have to make sense. (Alternatively just look at the picture below). So, juts use an example below, copy and paste then change it to fit your own work in. If you have any suggestions for why this page is shit, then do say. I just want to see how it goes first. Okay, submit away.
Just thought id put this in, clarify some stuff maybe. It's according to Oxford Dictionary, just incase you were wondering.
Current Poem Contibutors [@71890] [@60147] [@27386] [@5405] [@61342] [@36034] ([sarah's poetry@wiki]) [@60468] [@67683] [@80834]none of this is original its already been done. [@84248] [@110506] [@29433] [@84118] [@87698]
See all old poems since 29/4/04 in [abstract poetry: backlog@wiki].
Mind trip Time slip Exit Exists Extends Everywhere - [@67683]
"all for one and one for all" call me a fool, because I don't believe their words at all, "Is this gun loaded?" "no, but hold it to yourself and fire it to see. Prove that you trust me." - Dale Beckwith [@5405]
Tears fall from my eyes As i let go of my painful cries Thoughts ramble in my head As I lie awake in bed Misery takes over my heart As I continue to fall apart -[@87698]
My mind wanders in and out in and out of waking and sleeping of seeing and dreaming percieving and believing seeking answers seeking solace seeking comfort seeking something sadness alone misery confusion in the end accepting the idea that i dont know that i dont understand that i am unhappy that all of this all of this doesnt matter because, in the end life happens whether i do or dont [@67683]
The night the music died part 1 Those two colours remind me of that special christmas feeling, I stood, watching them, transfixed on the oily swirls, gliding across the glistening mud, trampled, over and over, those feet still massage its surface milling across the projection, they turn their heads to laugh at my smile, the look of child like awe, posessed, hypnotised and intoxicated, the swirls, toxic looking themselves, a trigger happy poison, not smoked, injected, snorted or injested, absorbed, through large, dark and dliated eyes. The trees leaned over, comforting and parental, dowsed in that toxic light, alive and warm, a peaceful nook in chaos, their arms beckon me futher into my fungal stupour, there I was led away, I held hands like that fascinated child who cast its shadow not so long ago, pulled into the cold and chaotic current of the hysterical night, it was a feaver, no one could see it, or Identify. their wide, dark and crazed eyes glinting like rocks in the stream, they welcomed me, we all understood that none of us did, An epic, living line, swooping like a streak of matt paint across a glazed plate, veering to an uncertian halt, where elusive shadows, celebrated their uncertain and sinister cause. There it was, there, hit by nothing, empty, sad, gone, silent and dead, thrown away, I slipped back into the current, again, silent and dead, an empty shell, refracting empty light, I felt it, this was, the night the music died. I'm not sure how abstract this is but what the hey. Its about taking mushrooms in glastonbury festival. Dale Beckwith - [@5405]