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About Literature / Professional Lexy Bad Kitty24/Male/Ireland Recent Activity
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Lexy and Kitty from Murrin Road by poetcourt Lexy and Kitty from Murrin Road :iconpoetcourt:poetcourt 0 0 Kitty from Murrin Road by poetcourt Kitty from Murrin Road :iconpoetcourt:poetcourt 1 0 Lexy using free Lineart by poetcourt Lexy using free Lineart :iconpoetcourt:poetcourt 1 0
Literature
Depressions
The Sun streaks its last golden goodbye across the sky,
The whirling fortress hits the shore,
Its hands playing the yacht's rigging like a harp,
Water swells until it claims the banks,
Robbing them of any structure- to seem so temporary,
The river span that took so many has waited so long,
Its final act is to see itself drowned too,
Those twin spires,
Demon towers on the south east skyline,
Now naked frames stripped of their tiles,
Lightning causes their Skeletons to burn,
While the tempest is sweeping what gentle life remained,
What remain are the thousands of bellies belonging to sour hungry beasts,
Out of home and Out of mind,
While in hope this storm is past,
What remains of the Slaney,
That Sunny South East.
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Literature
The Skeleton's Affection
And when I finally found I could admit it to myself,
And when I knew then at last what I had kept back,
With what had lay hidden within my mind,
Without clarity but with trouble and confusion combined,
Forever knowing that realisation is a curse,
Coming out will make it that much worse,
Not controlling what I was born to become,
I lost the feeling of feeling numb,
With my honest heart I'll lie while I can,
But truth being truth does not follow a plan,
And what if fate brings me that penance,
Though it’s not my choice to love both woman and man,
At least I fell in acceptable romance,
Whether coincidence or chance,
I don't want to take life's offering hand,
I wish not to partake in accused sinner's dance.
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Literature
Vinegar
Since when did we start seeing the world through such hateful eyes?
The pink roses that draw blood from their thorny stems,
The veins of Ivy that strangle each soulless stone,
Each haunted tumbledown ruin,
The pretty wildflower meadows that make your eyes sting and your nose burn,
Each wet leaf that makes the road slip,
The mist that leads to direction senses abandoned,
Upon reflection those tired and wearisome eyes,
Grey pallor that hangs below as a permanent reminder,
Teeth rotting where they lay,
The warm saline prison entombs the tongue,
For it speaks before the mind takes control,
Such a horrible selfish processor of thought,
Kept fed by its own tempestuous temptation,
Controlling what remains of weak and feeble body,
It’s angry, sore and worn down bones,
Coffin craving but refusing to give up just the same,
Insides showering in cruel alcoholic rain.
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Literature
Ballinskelligs
The twin strips of sand divided,
The rivulets that deepen in dips between the seaweed,
Wading without fear,
Socks and Shoes removed,
Finding our way to the head,
The last stone bastion stands in crumbling form,
Barefoot up the sharp stone,
The spiralling staircase continues to rise,
Missing my footing but being clutched to safety,
And enjoying the warm Atlantic breeze,
Taking in all that one can see,
Cleaning our feet in the grass,
Putting the foot down,
Speeding through the summer feeling,
Watching it disappear behind us,
For tomorrow we wake and walk to see,
The grey has consumed,
That happiness of me.
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Literature
Wexford in Summer
What thoughts that must enter the unstable psyche,
As time slows at the equidistant point,
Between the black waters of the Slaney's exit,
And the stable, reliable footing above,
What thoughts that mustn’t cross the idle impaired mind,
As they toss away the chance of a life saved,
Between the boisterous loathsome nightlife,
And the soft Sun-warmed breeze blowing early across the Ballast Bank,
What thoughts in minds of unrest,
As uneasiness creeps in silently with the tide,
The morning chorus may never be the same,
And can it stop if there's no-one willing to take the blame,
What thoughts in my mind I do not wish to hear,
Life and death seem futile here,
Losing either way,
Another death here is just another day.
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Literature
Sediment/Sentiment
From long wet tipped grass
To trodden sandy dry blades,
Night into day,
The way I was cut down,
Was the way I began to grow up,
Sat atop the withering dune,
On a coast being swallowed by the sea,
I sat there alone with my thoughts,
Watching the edge of oblivion creep forward,
As the others slept under canvas,
I sat and watched the stars fade,
And listened to the calm night,
Whispering to me between the sound of gentle waves breaking,
And when the next morning had truly broken,
It was I who walked across the young boy's broken glass,
But the tokens were broken,
And I walked painfully on the stone chipped path,
Alone in this summer,
Forever to be my last.
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Literature
Independent
In the end,
It is never the same,
We must keep our minds,
and heads cool,
Some things are good,
Some things,
Interested in him,
After that if they see,
Other options are there,
They want to keep him talking,
Willingness from both parties,
To drown out excellent initiatives,
An alleged breach relating to,
Be able to mix things up, and be able to adapt,
Hand-in-hand,
Blissfully obvious,
Not everyone is infected,
The now abandoned project,
Plagued on the margins,
To the demands,
is not a bad thing for them.
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Literature
No Show For Six Years
The stars shone like bruises and scars on the night sky,
Until the first daylight broke,
Soon it was pouring.
The moon was long gone,and the cats too,inside they went,
The clouds rolled in like thrown blankets;
Their fallen droplets feeding the flowers,
And how the dogs would howl and whine to be let out,
And the postman would whine to be let back in.
The sun was no more than a ghostly shadow,
The snow began to fall in clustered flakes,
The white more brilliant than that of the pages in the books on the shelf,
Or the one that lay open on the table beside the half finished milkshake,
Scattered across the table and floor were crumbs from biscuits crunched.
so long ago was the music,
Those pub nights of beer and peanuts,
now so were the quiet secluded hills,
Pebbledashed from the wintery spring showers.
The people, they were poetry,
And they rolled like waves on the sea,
That would crash heavily against sea walls,
Spray cascading back and the slow draining draw,
As the tide pulls the wate
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Literature
Wexford in Spring
Sipping at the cup of starvation,
Hungering for the sense lost,
The non-sensual numbness,
Muted separation between the fore and aft of where we learnt,
Any feeling felt is not received,
No reflection possible,
What I would give to have things feel so familiar,
Experiences don't register correct,
Orientation is wrong,
Give me the crisp dry crunch of the leaf,
The soft cold crack of the ice to be followed by its groan,
The sun on my forearms and my surface prickling with nervous endings,
The bells toll wrong from twin spires,
Blood of a deck of horses,
The tree is up and the heater is on,
Here he stands forevermore,
New grey paving,
Relining the way, relining their pockets,
The Rapier is drawn,
Is this worth saving?
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Literature
A 12 Minute Wait On Sydney Parade
So long since I put pen to paper,
So long to my morality,
Lost between the waves in the ocean of desparity,
And the rocky shoreline of desperation.
When you wake up and find me gone,
Curl up and bite your lip to fight the cold,
The cold that consumes, tears you right down the side,
Drowning your soul in the incoming tide.
The steel bars that held impulse back have been torn from their homes,
My hands suffocating your sweet persona,
You're the guitar and I'm strumming dischords,
And when the last show is over, I throw you to a splintery end,
Can I control myself before its too late?
Before there is no more love to devastate?
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Literature
North Wall
Sit above in your glass lounge,
Somewhat different to the approach,
Those long, rusted withered fingers,
Broken glass,
The debris,
The bitumin works and your tar tonguing smell,
The tiled mosaic floor,
Village life street signs inside,
Crudely hidden black spying orbs,
Settling waters of black and white,
Motivated down the gullet of the night,
Your sweeping lines,
Your proud bow,
Through still and storm,
Rocking to sleep those who sleep in your belly,
Cast aside your red velvet rope,
To your mock 20s bar,
We're not travelling far,
But you still turn my stomach.
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Literature
A Fine Line Between Intrinsic and Disillusion
Somewhere,
Somehow,
We lost our way,
The sky fell,
We clouded over,
But now I know the truth.
So hard was I at work,
Bleeding my heart dry,
Straining my soul so hard it disintergrated and fell through all the holes,
Pulling together what was left,
And being left with nothing,
That I had wandered too far from the road,
Astray from reality,
A black sheep,
One prodigal son.
There I left myself,
Empty,
But as I made my return,
The way became blocked,
All that was left was to force myself,
Every trial,
And though I'm only at the beginning,
I'm starting from the End.
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Literature
The Rain Soaked Airmail, The Ramshackle Male
Should I stick to structure,
Like a song,
Or rehearsed villan,
Now lying in a hearse,
As the pennies all drop,
And the jar hits the floor,
Dashing all your dreams,
As I'm walking out the door,
Can we keep this a secret,
No-one will ever tell,
Or let it slip past your teeth,
Off your tongue,
Who'll be the kill?
You might as well.
I'm on your mind,
And you know it,
You're full of dirty thoughts,
So come on,
Time to show it.
I am homesick now,
Like I always was before,
But I'll default it out,
And the crops will die once more.
Can we keep in touch?
Your taste will never be enough,
As we're trading tongues,
What will you take from this,
That I am half past,
I'll be the forbidden fruit,
But one you cannot bare to eat,
We are both filled with poison,
You took a bite,
You took too much.
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Activity


  • Listening to: Walk it off, Son by Jody Has a Hitlist
  • Watching: Nowt
  • Drinking: Coke
Went to see KIGH perform their farewell tour at Fibber McGees last night in Dublin and despite showering in my hotel room afterwards I still have the trampstamp they gave us when we handed in our tickets. Supporting were two smaller bands, one of them called Radio Room was quite good and well, they weren't exactly ugly ;) Then Jody has a hitlist came on. I wasn't expecting it to be good, when I saw KIGH in December 2010 they had been support and I hadn't thought much of them but last night, also playing as their own farewell, they were awesome.

As Jody left KIGH started setting up. We had noticed (me and sid and a few other people) that Aled Philips, lead singer of KIGH, had been watching Jody from the crowd, but I wasn't expecting him to push past us to get onto the stage and my arm made contact with his rear :P Then when he was on stage and singing he knocked over the mic stand onto me and I had to pass it back. Fibbers is a pub and it was a very intimate gig, no barriers and a two foot high stage and I was at the front with Sid right in front of Aled, he likes to stand on his speaker and so I spent alot of my time looking straight at his crotch and his skinny jeans flies kept opening hahahaa. On one song he came down into the crowd beside us with the mike and we all just sung into it.

It was sad but amazing this last gig. At the end Iain was still on stage and someone asked for his setlist, Aled's was on the stage in front of me and I asked politely if I could have one and he handed it to me <3 and then the Drummer came up on stage to get something and I got to shake hands with him. It was really really great, like the best of the three Dublin gigs I've seen them at. The first was at the Academy 2, upstairs with ColourMePink and Jody supporting and it was thrilling as it was my first gig, at the end of their Dirt tour and they played the yet to be released 'Not in this world' song from the next album. The Second time was a year ago, in the Academy 2 again but in the basement and far less people and enough space that we did a conga line. Support was a band called Tides who were really good and we were at the railings at the front, where we had also been for the first gig but upstairs, we managed to get right at the front every time. This last gig was more like a celebration and it was so much fun and I will miss them forever now.

Lexy

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Lexy Bad Kitty
Artist | Professional | Literature
Ireland
Current Residence: Wexford, County Wexford, Ireland
Favourite genre of music: rock/punk/alternate/emo
Favourite photographer: Daniel Styles
Operating System: London, Brighton and South Coast Railway
MP3 player of choice: i-Pod
Skin of choice: mine
Favourite cartoon character: Anything Thomas the tank engine
An Old Personal Quote: "Half the people I know have butlers, and the other half are butlers"
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:iconmaplexbeer:
mapleXbeer Featured By Owner Aug 4, 2013  Student Artist
happy birthday
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mapleXbeer Featured By Owner Aug 4, 2012  Student Artist
HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
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:iconpoetcourt:
poetcourt Featured By Owner Aug 5, 2012  Professional Writer
thanks so much xD
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:iconmaplexbeer:
mapleXbeer Featured By Owner Aug 5, 2012  Student Artist
your welcome
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:iconpoetcourt:
poetcourt Featured By Owner Aug 5, 2012  Professional Writer
:D
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JD-Ripper Featured By Owner Jul 24, 2012
Thank you for favouring. :)
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:iconpoetcourt:
poetcourt Featured By Owner Jul 25, 2012  Professional Writer
you are welcome :D
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time-and-a-crayon Featured By Owner Jul 16, 2012  Hobbyist Writer
Thank you muchly for the favourite! -x-
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poetcourt Featured By Owner Jul 16, 2012  Professional Writer
You are very much welcome :D
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moonwalker3000 Featured By Owner Jul 8, 2012  Hobbyist General Artist
thnx for favoriting my pic
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