Chak's Poems

[Chak]

Sometimes I get in the mood to randomly make poems off the top of my head (usually when I'm really tired).  When I do get the chance to write them down I'm on Facebook usually, and there I get the secondary pleasure of worrying my mom and grandma with some creepy thing I have posted.  Here is one of my more recent poems:


Fusion of beast and machine.
A mix which seems quite obscene.
A mixture not complete,
yet homogeneous it does meet.
The past, the future, what will we bring?
In us, in me, the two halves are fissioning.


I should be getting around to posting more of my odd rhymingish thoughts in the next installment OF....

[Chak]

This is just some random stuff I found I had written on Facebook:

Paper before me,
pen in hand.
A pressure inside,
an imaginary land.
It won't flow...


Something stupid I wrote.  Look, Facebook rhymes with crook!

I do not like Facebook Sam you are.
I do not want to take a look,
or log on with a crook,
nor...


That, that, that's all folks, on Facebook anyway.

[Bruke]

Not a bad start.   Are you looking for feedback?  Do you consider these "finished" or do you write in drafts?

[Chak]

Hoo, hoo, hoo A little on my life back home, a short message to Kat on Facebook (they were switching places while chatting to me, I never noticed a difference in spelling or conversation):

Kaity, Kat, too similar are these names.
Same person are they to me
while chatting to these silly dames.

To answer the previous post, I just want to capture my still-framed thoughts in time in a central location, I don't feel like saving them on my computer or writing them down for later reference quite yet.  I'm not really looking for feedback, and I'm probably not going to draft or even "finish" these works at all.  These are just the unfinished chaotically rendered ideas of a watchful mind that doesn't have the motivation to describe itself and what it sees.  I'm getting to it...

[Chak]

Yay, something new.  I thought of this a little while ago after talking to my sister I believe.  I was hungry while writing this...

The edifice is too manufactured,
the natural too expensive.
The process churns too fractured,
while the ripe's loss is too intensive.

The fructose price is high,
The fruits turn to fungi
I can only eat my fears,
as our bodies begin to die.
Our cows turn to gears,
as our stomachs begin to cry.