Juan
You single handedly caused
The crash of three trains
You wanted to end it all
But in the last moments
You walked away
The people on the trains
Just wanted to go to work
The people on the trains
They didn’t get to walk away
You stood and watched
Were you horrified?
The noise deafening
The twisted metal
The fires
The screams
The public running to pull
Victims from the trains
A veteran sheriff riding the train
Is survived by his widow and four kids
Just yesterday she was a wife
Another passenger’s legs buckled
And crushed his pelvis
One passenger said bodies
Were flying over her head
Another said the train went from 60 to zero in 2 seconds
All you wanted to do is take your own life
But you ended at least 11 lives
Eleven counts of murder
If you get the death penalty
You commit suicide by default
More of my poetry is at Poetic Muse http://hubpages.com/profile/Poetic+Muse
Thursday, January 27, 2005
METRO
I wrote two poems about the Metro Disaster today. Poets have always dealt with life shattering events. It is part of what we do. It was a tragedy, and writing about it is a way to make sure we never forget the lessons to be learned.
Metro
Every day thousands of people choose to take the train
And on this day one man named Juan decides to commit suicide
He was depressed and tired of feeling like a victim
He was fraught with anxiety and mentally twisted
Somewhere down the road his life had jumped the track
The voices inside his head wouldn’t stop screaming
Every time he saw his wife they’d end up screaming
He even told his friend he would drive down to the train
And that he would park his SUV on the tracks
For weeks all he could think about was suicide
He devised a plan in his head that was definitely twisted
A way to punish everyone that made him feel like a victim
What he hadn’t visualized were all the innocent victims
Or that three trains would collide and all the awful screaming
And the chewed up train cars and glass and bodies would be twisted
Did he think about all those passengers on the trains?
He couldn’t even follow through with his own suicide
He got out of his car at the last minute when it was stuck on the tracks
And with his own eyes he saw the flames as they twisted
Around the crashing train cars on the buckled up track
Passersby ran to rescue people off of the burning train
Rescue crews ran past the injured looking for the more severe victims
Listening in the dark for sounds of life melting away in all the screaming
No one on those trains agreed to participate in Juan’s suicide
His orange car was so obliterated and twisted
Viewers couldn’t even see where it was on the track
It was lost somewhere under that first rushing train
“We went from 60 miles per hour to zero in 2 seconds,” said a victim
The lights flickered and went out inside the train and next thing there was screaming
Did Juan imagine thousands of people being involved in his attempted suicide?
Was he hoping to get the death penalty as a legal form of suicide?
Who can understand the rationale of someone so obviously twisted
Now it is the families of the injured and dying and dead that will be screaming
So many who have suffered greatly and somehow gotten onto the wrong track
All of us have to work each day to encourage each other so there are no more victims
Of all the things we have to learn, it is our own minds that we have to train
How many people do we know that are always screaming about suicide?
We need to train ourselves and not let our thoughts become so twisted
That we get off track and by our actions create more victims
Metro
Every day thousands of people choose to take the train
And on this day one man named Juan decides to commit suicide
He was depressed and tired of feeling like a victim
He was fraught with anxiety and mentally twisted
Somewhere down the road his life had jumped the track
The voices inside his head wouldn’t stop screaming
Every time he saw his wife they’d end up screaming
He even told his friend he would drive down to the train
And that he would park his SUV on the tracks
For weeks all he could think about was suicide
He devised a plan in his head that was definitely twisted
A way to punish everyone that made him feel like a victim
What he hadn’t visualized were all the innocent victims
Or that three trains would collide and all the awful screaming
And the chewed up train cars and glass and bodies would be twisted
Did he think about all those passengers on the trains?
He couldn’t even follow through with his own suicide
He got out of his car at the last minute when it was stuck on the tracks
And with his own eyes he saw the flames as they twisted
Around the crashing train cars on the buckled up track
Passersby ran to rescue people off of the burning train
Rescue crews ran past the injured looking for the more severe victims
Listening in the dark for sounds of life melting away in all the screaming
No one on those trains agreed to participate in Juan’s suicide
His orange car was so obliterated and twisted
Viewers couldn’t even see where it was on the track
It was lost somewhere under that first rushing train
“We went from 60 miles per hour to zero in 2 seconds,” said a victim
The lights flickered and went out inside the train and next thing there was screaming
Did Juan imagine thousands of people being involved in his attempted suicide?
Was he hoping to get the death penalty as a legal form of suicide?
Who can understand the rationale of someone so obviously twisted
Now it is the families of the injured and dying and dead that will be screaming
So many who have suffered greatly and somehow gotten onto the wrong track
All of us have to work each day to encourage each other so there are no more victims
Of all the things we have to learn, it is our own minds that we have to train
How many people do we know that are always screaming about suicide?
We need to train ourselves and not let our thoughts become so twisted
That we get off track and by our actions create more victims
Tuesday, January 18, 2005
Garden Plaza~ a word substitution poem
There is an assignment in Creative Poetry by John Drury that is called a word substitution poem. You take a poem you like, and substitute words, matching verbs to verbs, nouns to nouns, etc. and leaving some of the original words. I used words from Twelfth Night to base mine on.
Shakespeare's
Come away, come away, death
And in sad cypress let me be laid;
Fly away, fly away, breath;
I am slain by a fair cruel maid.
My shroud of white, stuck all with yew,
O, prepare it:
My part of death, no one so true
Did share it.
Not a flower, not a flower sweet,
On my black coffin let there be strown,
Not a friend, not a friend greet
My poor corpse where my bones shall be thrown.
A thousand thousand sighs to save,
Lay me, O where
Sad true lover never find my grave,
To weep there.
And here is mine:
The Plaza
Dance away, dance away, life
And in garden plaza let me be kissed
Jump away, jump away, lust
I am revived by a homely kind fool
My gown of silk trimmed all with beads
O, declare it:
My art of dance, clad all in blue
Did dare it.
Feel the power, feel the power, leap
On my long hair let there be thrown
Flower petals, flower petals sweet
My limber body, where my joy shall be grown
Spin me, no cares
Happy kind fool dance upon my grave
And play there.
Fayme Harper, copyright 2005
Shakespeare's
Come away, come away, death
And in sad cypress let me be laid;
Fly away, fly away, breath;
I am slain by a fair cruel maid.
My shroud of white, stuck all with yew,
O, prepare it:
My part of death, no one so true
Did share it.
Not a flower, not a flower sweet,
On my black coffin let there be strown,
Not a friend, not a friend greet
My poor corpse where my bones shall be thrown.
A thousand thousand sighs to save,
Lay me, O where
Sad true lover never find my grave,
To weep there.
And here is mine:
The Plaza
Dance away, dance away, life
And in garden plaza let me be kissed
Jump away, jump away, lust
I am revived by a homely kind fool
My gown of silk trimmed all with beads
O, declare it:
My art of dance, clad all in blue
Did dare it.
Feel the power, feel the power, leap
On my long hair let there be thrown
Flower petals, flower petals sweet
My limber body, where my joy shall be grown
Spin me, no cares
Happy kind fool dance upon my grave
And play there.
Fayme Harper, copyright 2005
Monday, December 20, 2004
What's a word morgue?
A word morgue is a box full of words used to trigger creativity. Add as many words as you like. Choose them at random and use them to launch poetry or journal entries or blogs or stories. 
Think Pink
Think Pink
Today I'm going to stay ahead of negativity.
I'm going to put on my rose colored glasses.
I'm going to stop being such a cynic.
I'm going to close my eyes and remember what my kids looked like when they were babies.
I'm going to think about my best stage shows.
I'm going to sing my favorite songs from childhood.
I'm going to put on my make-up and pretend I am a princess.
I'm going to remember what I was like when I was a virgin,
Before I knew how much it hurt to have a lover reject me.
I'm going to look for the best in people.
I'm going to be kind to strangers, even the seedy looking ones.
And I'm going to smile on the outside even if I don't feel like it on the inside.
Today I'm going to stay ahead of negativity.
I'm going to put on my rose colored glasses.
I'm going to stop being such a cynic.
I'm going to close my eyes and remember what my kids looked like when they were babies.
I'm going to think about my best stage shows.
I'm going to sing my favorite songs from childhood.
I'm going to put on my make-up and pretend I am a princess.
I'm going to remember what I was like when I was a virgin,
Before I knew how much it hurt to have a lover reject me.
I'm going to look for the best in people.
I'm going to be kind to strangers, even the seedy looking ones.
And I'm going to smile on the outside even if I don't feel like it on the inside.
Thursday, December 16, 2004
The Last Dance
I just finished this a minute ago. I'm sure I'll be making some changes. It's R rated so if such things offend you, don't read it. Otherwise, enjoy.
The Last Dance
She watched him in the shadows as she danced with great lust
Her garments laced tightly but not so tightly her breathing would suffer
Within the boning and velvet her buxom cleavage was embraced
Her fashionably tattered skirts topped by her blood red corset
And spilling over it were her spiraling auburn tresses
The drums played faster and she could feel the pounding of her caged heart
In the end it always came down to matters of the heart
She knew in the long run it would take more than lust
She danced faster, her dark eyes flashing under her wild tresses
She was proud that she had made men suffer
Made them long for what was under her skirts and corset
Made them pay dearly to pull her into their drunken embrace
But she’d had enough of sweaty drunken embraces
While those encounters wet her thighs, they never won her heart
She felt chills as she saw his eyes wander down her corset
So she danced closer to the shadows just to feed her own lust
Licking her full lips, staring into his eyes, watching him suffer
Close enough to feel his fingers entwine in her tresses
Feeling his lips suddenly on hers, his elegant hands dragging her by her tresses
Dragging her behind the heavy velvet drapes, pressing her into a hard embrace
And she kissed him back just as fiercely, as if he would by her passion suffer
As if she could stoke the fire of his need until it was hot enough to win her heart
For she was quite the savant when it came to deepening a man’s lust
She felt his nails slide down her neck, her chest, to her corset
She felt consumed by his fire, suddenly wishing to be free from her stiff corset
His other hand pushing aside her sweaty tresses
His body pinning her firmly to the wall behind the draperies, the musk of lust
She couldn’t focus, she was gasping in his embrace,
She wanted him more than she had wanted anything, wanted him with her whole heart
And she who wants it most will be made the most to suffer
And then she felt his nails pierce her breast, and in her eyes he saw her suffer
Blood dripping slowly down her décolletage, splashing on her corset
His acute other worldly ears heard her ragged heart beating
He buried his face in her hair, sinking his fangs in the pale flesh beneath her tresses
And she knew, too late, too late, this was her final embrace
She was paying the highest price for her passion, paying with her soul for her lust
Finally a being that could take her heart as no human could, could make her suffer
And so heightened was her lust that she had a final orgasm, even as the blood flowered like a rose on her corset
And he lifted her into his arms, her tresses sticking to the blood, as he finished the embrace.
The Last Dance
She watched him in the shadows as she danced with great lust
Her garments laced tightly but not so tightly her breathing would suffer
Within the boning and velvet her buxom cleavage was embraced
Her fashionably tattered skirts topped by her blood red corset
And spilling over it were her spiraling auburn tresses
The drums played faster and she could feel the pounding of her caged heart
In the end it always came down to matters of the heart
She knew in the long run it would take more than lust
She danced faster, her dark eyes flashing under her wild tresses
She was proud that she had made men suffer
Made them long for what was under her skirts and corset
Made them pay dearly to pull her into their drunken embrace
But she’d had enough of sweaty drunken embraces
While those encounters wet her thighs, they never won her heart
She felt chills as she saw his eyes wander down her corset
So she danced closer to the shadows just to feed her own lust
Licking her full lips, staring into his eyes, watching him suffer
Close enough to feel his fingers entwine in her tresses
Feeling his lips suddenly on hers, his elegant hands dragging her by her tresses
Dragging her behind the heavy velvet drapes, pressing her into a hard embrace
And she kissed him back just as fiercely, as if he would by her passion suffer
As if she could stoke the fire of his need until it was hot enough to win her heart
For she was quite the savant when it came to deepening a man’s lust
She felt his nails slide down her neck, her chest, to her corset
She felt consumed by his fire, suddenly wishing to be free from her stiff corset
His other hand pushing aside her sweaty tresses
His body pinning her firmly to the wall behind the draperies, the musk of lust
She couldn’t focus, she was gasping in his embrace,
She wanted him more than she had wanted anything, wanted him with her whole heart
And she who wants it most will be made the most to suffer
And then she felt his nails pierce her breast, and in her eyes he saw her suffer
Blood dripping slowly down her décolletage, splashing on her corset
His acute other worldly ears heard her ragged heart beating
He buried his face in her hair, sinking his fangs in the pale flesh beneath her tresses
And she knew, too late, too late, this was her final embrace
She was paying the highest price for her passion, paying with her soul for her lust
Finally a being that could take her heart as no human could, could make her suffer
And so heightened was her lust that she had a final orgasm, even as the blood flowered like a rose on her corset
And he lifted her into his arms, her tresses sticking to the blood, as he finished the embrace.
My first Sestina~The Last Dance
The Sestina is a 39 lined poem developed by the French in the 12 century. Here is a page that explains the format. http://www.baymoon.com/~ariadne/form/sestina.htm
Monday, December 06, 2004
blue elf
Today's five words:
Doe-eyed
machinery
ephemoral
merriment
blue
Doe-eyed
machinery
ephemoral
merriment
blue
ESCAPE
Leave the machinery behind
Join the blue doe-eyed elf
in ephemoral merriment
Sunday, December 05, 2004
Random Five Poem 2
Wordlist:
poetess
saint
unicorn
myth
kisses
Dewy Kisses
She's a saint on a unicorn
She is dewy kisses on your brow
She is hot fudge and teddy bears
And warm fuzzy bunny slippers
She is not a myth
She is a poetess
She lives in your memory
Fayme Harper
copyright 2004-2005
poetess
saint
unicorn
myth
kisses
Dewy Kisses
She's a saint on a unicorn
She is dewy kisses on your brow
She is hot fudge and teddy bears
And warm fuzzy bunny slippers
She is not a myth
She is a poetess
She lives in your memory
Fayme Harper
copyright 2004-2005
Poetry Assignment~Random Five
For this assignment, you make word lists, print the list, cut out the words and put them in a bag or hat or box so you can draw them out.
Then draw out five words, and use them in a poem.
Random Five Poetry
cirque de luna
moan
calliope
prestidigitation
fingerpainting
Circus of the Moon
The circus is like a living fingerpainting
Cirque de luna bathed in moonlight
Elves on prancing ponies
The mesmerizing calliope
Prestidigitators in tails and top hats
Ladies so beautiful the audience moans
As they swing on the trapeze
Pink poodles and diamond eyed divas
Fire eaters and ferocious tigers
Under the midnight stars
by Fayme Harper
copyright 2004-2005
Then draw out five words, and use them in a poem.
Random Five Poetry
cirque de luna
moan
calliope
prestidigitation
fingerpainting
Circus of the Moon
The circus is like a living fingerpainting
Cirque de luna bathed in moonlight
Elves on prancing ponies
The mesmerizing calliope
Prestidigitators in tails and top hats
Ladies so beautiful the audience moans
As they swing on the trapeze
Pink poodles and diamond eyed divas
Fire eaters and ferocious tigers
Under the midnight stars
by Fayme Harper
copyright 2004-2005
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