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The Hick Poem by L Chapman I'm a Hick....this is my poem [288 words]
Waiting For My Guest by Mary Jo Javier - [115 words]
Visions From Hell And Others by Steven K Mitchell A collection of verse from the dark side: includes Bloodlust, Ripper, more. [1,277 words]
Victims by Richard Koss A satirical poem that tells it like it is. The poem confronts a disturbing trend in our society - trans... [255 words]
Unspoken Sentiments by Mary Jo Javier An account about the pain of rejection. [189 words]
Twenty-Eight by Ashley Burdett I wrote this poem for my parents' 28th wedding anniversary which was a few weeks ago. I admire the... [114 words]
Time by L Chapman - [170 words]
Through Me by L Chapman - [70 words]
Those Beautiful Eyes by Jessica G. This poem isn't deep, and it's not quite about love, but it's one of those deep love poems... [74 words]
Stop Your Complaining by Michael Hunter This doesn't strike me as a particularly novel idea, still, after another day of listenin... [151 words]
Ophelia by Redell Turner - [58 words]
Lost And Found by Richard Koss A poem that was originally written as a lyric several years ago for a country western song. [156 words]
Looking Through Glass by Mary Jo Javier - [54 words]
Just The Two Of Us by Ranay Mueller It's about being with the one you really love and just being there for eachother is all that... [166 words]
Jkpayson by Olef Ransom Saulles - [53 words]
I'm Bored by L Chapman - [95 words]
I Had No Idea Misery Compounded by Olef Ransom Saulles - [161 words]
Father by Candace Apple - [20 words]
Douglas Cliche Part Two by Richard Lynch - [255 words]
Consolations After The War by Mary Jo Javier - [132 words]
Chaos Derangements Vol. 1
Chairs by Mary Jo Javier - [34 words]
A Poem About Obscene Language by L Chapman - [153 words]
The Muse by John Thomas Barragan My poem that breaks down my view towards women, that they are not just objects, but queens that roam t... [198 words]
The 30 Seconds Poet by L Chapman - [123 words]
Sleep by L Chapman Another stupid poem [220 words]
Rice Krispy Treat Squares by L Chapman - [48 words]
Please Read My Poem - Again by Richard Koss The inspiration for this poem came to me after reading several poems (good and bad)... [195 words]
Being by Olef Ransom Saulles Poem [124 words]
Another Time by Ann Chu a plaintiff desire for a break from life [65 words]
The Saga Of Douglas Cliche - Part One by Richard Lynch Part one of a series. [243 words]
The Better Man by Richard Koss A poem about a lonely, young, soldier wating for a train to take him back to base. He becomes e... [238 words]
Sonnet by Olef Ransom Saulles - [81 words]
Poem Thread by Olef Ransom Saulles - [110 words]
My Blood Spills Out. by Olef Ransom Saulles - [80 words]
Home To You by Teresa Little Ever drive through the night with that one person traipsing through your mind? Wanting to fly, wis... [139 words]
Happenstance At 79th And Broadway by Olef Ransom Saulles The Dublin House, NY. [154 words]
Darkness by Kishore Daswani It is a poem about being alone, and the feeling that nobody cares if you are dead or not. [113 words]
Daredevle by Olef Ransom Saulles 'they're' is intentional. I am striving for a three-dimensional quality to my writing. The rules of g... [595 words]
Americas Burning, Excerpt. by Olef Ransom Saulles From a longer, unfinished poem. [239 words]
The Sound Of Lovers by Adagio A look at the sadness of lonliness against the contrast of love [147 words]
The Hunger Cult by Martin Rutley Short poem about greed, immorality, and coporate murder in a dying world. [80 words]
The Cartoon Vandals by Martin Rutley The new religion? [66 words]

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Chaos Derangements Vol. 1
An excerpt.
These are 3 poems from my first collection of poems and stories.
[1,048 words]
Tony Seljuk
I reside in Northern California. I wouldn't classify anything I've written as anything more than scraps of emotional outburst and occasional artistic inspiration scrawled on scraps of paper. I've been into some sort of artistic delusion since the age of 11 and it's drive won't quit. It's kind of a sickness. So I try to share it with the world. I have one collection so far, "Chaos Derangements Vol. 1", consisting of poems and stories. It's still being revised as always. Still looking for a publisher as usual, ha ha.
[September 2000]
[email protected]
The Widower (Short Stories) An elderly man, bored with life so much to the point where his own filthy socks are intriguing, takes some pills he receives in the mail in hopes to spice his husk of a life up...an underage girl sex... [1,990 words] [Literary Fiction]
Ugly Love Poems (Poetry) exactly what the title say, my friend. [914 words] [Drama]
Wormshither (Short Stories) a story of a boy and his love interest. typical fodder [456 words] [Humor]
Chaos Derangements Vol. 1
Tony Seljuk

(this is an excerpt from chaos derangements vol. 1)


He prances like his mother to the stream,
lapping the water gently as it kisses his nose.
The trees wave as the breeze flew,
sending tiny creatures askew;
shelter must be sought.
The sky is as clear as the bluest diamonds!
The sun gently kissing the ground,
aside from insect musicians and wind,
there isn't a sound.


The reeds hide the mountain lioness,
who sleeps hungrily
with her fair-furred cubs,
while he runs about the meadow with his brothers.
'Seems like fair game', thought she.
The babies did not know;
they simply dreamt of running the woods.


The young fawn frolicks,
while his friend the Doe joyfully tongues his face.
The Lioness watches the couple.
Her babies slowly follow but keep back;
she was going to make the stance,
and the fawn wasn't in any way of knowing.


He found himself thrown to the grass,
the teeth firmly on his throat;
he struggled until they were at the marsh.
The young fawn's loins were silenced,
once and for all.
The lioness and her babies ate well that night.


He came at dawn the next day.
His friends were there too,
Hungering as they did not get theirs,
not in a long while, anyway.
Seemed like forever;
the scent of the woods filled their nostrils.
There was the Lioness of the Mountain,
pissed royally by the invasion of her space.
A growl and a snarl filled the air,
before cigarette smoke puffed as bullets filled her side.


Sliding off the casing and inside preserved
a pile of dried roses on her pale forehead
both of which lived 300 years before
the sweet smell of ageless beauty filled the room
the petals were on her clothing of silk
she laid there, an eternal smile on her face
I kissed her lips
and she came to me
dragging me to her own wonderful world.

A MURDER (or two)

Cars drifted down the highway,
going places
taking people to work,
passive drones sagging their faces,
dregs far behind.
A dreadful passenger sits in the backseat of one,
stinking up the interior,
but no one cares,
they are all apathetic,
their grim mugs in the windhshield,
fat hanging from their faces like pastry dough overload.
The elder passenger in the backseat tries to relax,
a pup in his lap.
There's the City!
Air in your head.
The blade forgotten,
he walked to the park.
Everyone stands around, away
a relief
there's lots of jobs.
The blade falls out.
claning upon the ground.
No one sees.
Here we are
in the park
a tall woman with
a large retriever chasing a ball.
Autumn's remnants are littered about
upon the path
and the grass-attracting urban sprawl
with their dogs and their balls,
he sat peacefully.


He went into the Coffeehouse.
The place was dim as usual,
people keeping their distance.
12 patrons sat about,
sipping their drinks,
munching the sandwiches,
and sucking in the atmosphere.
One elderly man sat at the bar,
eyeing him over his beer.
'Boy don't seem right,' the elder gent muttered.
He said something to the bartender
and made his way towards the restroom.
The Dreadful looking kid sippsed his cooling espresso,
as a young couple across from him devoured their pastries.
The girls was slightly chubby and had a cute face,
and the guy was skinny, bald, in clothes too large for his body.
His girlfriend was similarly dressed,
her breasts barely evident in her windbreaker.
They chatted with their mouths full,
sloppy and muffled.
He felt envy for these two.
The Yardbird blew some rapid notes through the jukebox.

III. the park, again

Dimming daylight,
the dog walkers in full force,
no doubt coming back from work.
Eavesdropping on conversations,
the Dreadful Young Man learned about
one woman who worked for a video game firm.
Another was a busser for a bagel shop.
He lit up one of his cheap cigars
vanilla cavendish, yum yum
purchased at the Safeway of tobacco shops,
Cigarettes Cheaper!
The busser sat next to him, asking for a cigarette.
He offered one of the vanillas.
She accepted graciously.
'What do yo do?' she asked.
'I study, mostly,' he replied.
'On the side I write penny dreadfuls.'
'So you write odd yarns about cowboys?' she asked.
'No, no, I just write about yarn,' he replied.
'What do you study?' the Busgirl asked.
'Chinese poetry.'
She puffed on the cigar.
They carried on for about an hour,
talking of music, literature and film,
of nature, of city life, and
Darkness loomed over the city.
He wondered when his parents would leave.
He hoped they woudn't before calling him,
but for some reason he didn't know why they should.
The Busgirl invited him to her house for a drink and a couple movies.
Why not? He was old enough to have a little White Wine every now and again.
But he declined,
accepted a phone number,
and headed back.

IV. This is the End.....

He walked by his parents.
They did not greet him and he did not do so to them.
Save for his neighbor, anyway.
He thought of a song.
'I never saw a happy hour around here'.
It related to this neighborhood somehow.
He couldn't understand why,
he lived in a comfortable neighborhood 100 miles away.
He had a room that did not leak.
He had more space to himself,
more comforts
suburban luxury
he did not feel comfortable living there.
The very fact crushed him.
And the very fact was
the fault of his
Who dragged him there,
taking advantage of his weakened mentality.
'I was born here and I was raised here
and I took some stick here.'
He looked at the basement room,
where he spent many hours drawing and writing
when his father was standing around insulting him
around the house
(had to get out and this was my sactuary, dear God)
along with his rancid-assed mother
who piled shit everywhere in the house
without regards to others.
He though to himself,
'Maybe a drink wouldn't be so bad...'
but he couldn't. He didn't know where
the BusGirl lived.
There wasn't any point in turning back.
He shut the door in that little room.
His mother came in.
He did not greet her.
She yelled.
The blade came out,
his eyes clouding with rage.
She yelled again, coughed,
and fell.
His sister came in.
The blade fell and rose, fell and rose, fell and rose, and fell one last time.
A red sticky substance was all over his arm.
His father was outside, talking away.
He asked his son to go pick up some soda and chips.
'For the ride home, you know how your sister is.'
He took the 20 dollar bill and headed off to the Safeway,
up the street,
near the coffeehouse,
where the BusGirl sat outside,
smiling as she recognized him from earlier.
They had chocolate croissants and mint tea.


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© 2000 Tony Seljuk
September 2000

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