The Shrubbery
July 1999
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This page copyright 1999 The Shrubbery


Poetry Page

That Thing
There is a thing thatís chasing me
Itís going very fast
This thingís about to catch up to me,
This thing thatís from my past.

This thing which has ahold of me,
This thing that wonít let go,
Itís always been tormenting me.
Itís gnawing at my soul.

This thingís about to get me
Itís snapping at my slippers
Itís just about to catch me
This gopher with hedge clippers.

by Ed Parker


Knees

Knees

Knees I love you
Oh, yes I do

You keeps my legs on
Up from my shoe

You help me
When I walk around

And when I want
To lay on the ground

Knees are the best

Pirates have pegs
Knees Knees

Elbows of the legs

By Ed Parker


Terms of Endearment

I tell him I would like to live within his soft skin, calling the nape
of his neck my home.
I tell him I would go to the end of this world to capture him a rainbow,
every night, just to make sure  he sees every color.
I tell him his eyelashes are my fingertips, and his breath my reason for
existing. I tell him I am existing for only him.
I tell him that the blood that courses through my veins would look
beautiful upon his cheeks.
I tell him I will give him a lock of my hair to tie his noose.
I tell him the tears that run down my cheeks compliment his eyes
perfectly
and when I cry tonight perhaps I should save him a few.
I tell him I want to rip out his eyes
                And tear at his hair
                Steal his rainbows
                And smear his blood upon my cheeks.
I tell him these things because
        The words ďI love youĒ
Too often get stuck in my throat.

By Laura Pye


Reveries Pt. 2

Providence sneers upon deficiency...
"Captivated by illicit chastity!
Adoration for but a reverie?"
Words of affliction lacerate deprivation.

Seraph is severed from frailty.
For the key to his resplendent citadel
'Twas bestowed upon an idler.

Ardour eternal,
Despite this forlorn epoch.
Though tranquillity it is not.
'Tis a pallid cell
'Neath vine sown spires.

Stygian fields, panoramic woe,
Beyond putrefying russet receptacles.
This ravaged soul, a desolate waste.
Frigid with mordant appetite.

Supplicate,
That salvation shall greet thine eyes anew.
Ramble in solace
Loathsome streets with hope.

The verse of vacancy
Enriches destitute scroll.
Weep to forlorn skies?
Ashes of Elysium,
Acrid upon my tongue.
Hope? 'Tis inept!
The folly of fools!
By Matt Chamberlain


F*ck This

Silently Silently
You walk through this life
Trying to stay oblivious
To the world's strife
A little too big to be ignored
The people in power 
Can't seem to 
Do a damn thing about it
Their lies and corruption 
Take up all of their time
Power to the people
They're the ones who can change things
No great change has ever come 
From the twisted mouth 
Of a politician
I don't know what to do
I don't know if anyone does
But I do know that 
Something has to be done
About everything they try
To sweep under the rug
Come on you motherf*ckers
The time has come
The world needs a revolution
It is too long overdue
And it can only be started
By people like you

by Mutant Man


Do you have poetry?

Send it on in! It can be romantic, heart-warming, humorous, or epic--we dont care! But if it makes the cut, you'll see it in the next issue of The Shrubbery. E-mail it to submit@theshrubbery.com

Note: The Shrubbery now only prints 5 pieces of poetry per month, so don't feel bad if your stuff doesn't make it. Keep sending!!!

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