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5333. NuPlanetOne - 10/14/2004 8:33:25 PM It’s a dread I suppose. You know the feeling
That voice that says follow those bird formations
Heed the splashes of gold and orange and red
That tell your eyes to tell your skin to coarsen
That warn of shorter days and colder nights
Oh yes, it does not chill all at once
The early autumn can be a bath of sunshine
Idyllic afternoons with a sun so bright with
glistening noise that the surreal beauty of the
leaves cause one to stop transfixed in awe
and admiration and allows one to absorb
the warning, yet marvel with the moment
Thankful for the harvest but ever wary
Knowing that as October begins quietly,
there crouching behind the veil of color,
is the hoary beast that welcomes the North Wind
You know how quick that wind can come
And with it, you know how abrupt the season
can go, how in an instant, the sun glows silent.
….cont
5334. NuPlanetOne - 10/14/2004 8:33:44 PM And yet, you do not know, really, why you love it
Why the sounds and ticking down of the season
are as much of you, are as a part of your soul
as living itself. You remember that somewhere
hidden deep inside is that winter hermit that
needs that reclusive spot by a warm hearth
That place to reflect and hibernate and rest
in ignorance of that world outside. You long
to bundle up and wander into the cold. You love
the feeling of getting back into the warmth. You
love the battle with the fierce chill and flying snow
That with time you adjust and a normalcy settles in.
And as leaves scuttle across the hardened road,
and squirrels scamper as night comes quickly,
you wonder if your new England bones will
again weather the season. For it seems they must
You wonder if it is a sadness or a quiet promise
that the first few flakes will deliver as they blanket
your outside world. Will the cold and dark and
fire lit nights, the slushy treks and icicled panes
be worth the wait. Be worth the incomparable
hope and rebirth of feeling that will come again in spring
You know that feeling. And you long for it.
As all about you, the trees go bare.
5335. Ulgine Barrows - 10/15/2004 4:32:00 AM That makes me think about spring, it does, that last line.
Funny how some people die thinking they won't reach spring
And others are too stubborn, not to 5336. ElliottRW - 10/23/2004 2:56:18 AM Here's a song I'm working on:
You've got your own money. You've got a body that's fine.
You've got brains, beauty, and time. Sweet time.
Your world is an oyster. Your world...is better than mine.
So...
What the hell do you want with a loser like me?
Huh?
What the hell do you want with a loser like me?
Am I a fool, or a curiosity?
Tell me...
What is it you see in a loser like me?
It works with the music, but something about it doesn't work. It lacks...balance. I don't feel like it communicates enough hope and longing. It seems shallowly cynical, even self-pitying.
I'm trying to achieve something more mature. What I want people to visualize is a middle-aged man, a divorcee perhaps, not unattractive perhaps, but mostly used up talking to an attractive young woman
I'm open to suggestions here. Rip it to shreds. 5337. Ulgine Barrows - 10/24/2004 3:26:22 AM IMO, the self-pity is in this line
Your world...is better than mine.
Expand on the Sweet time part of it, maybe?
How you would do that, I've no idea.
I like the refrain
What the hell do you want with a loser like me?
Am I a fool, or a curiosity?
. 5338. ElliottRW - 10/24/2004 5:32:10 AM Thanks Ulgine.
Thanks for the good advice and the kind words. I've decided to ditch the world line; it is half-cliché, half self-pity. I'm not sure what to replace it with.
Still, I'm optimistic I can make it work now. 5339. Bill Russell - 10/24/2004 9:56:55 AM Life is a Witch, and then you fly
Bumper Sticker
5340. Bill Russell - 10/24/2004 10:10:08 AM Hauku Poems:
Midday
Middle of the street:
Leaf-fall
......................................................
Refreshing shower
Falls from my watering can
Catching a rainbow.
......................................................
Evening Prayer-Call
Voices colour the spaces
Outlined by swallows.
......................................................
Among hedgerow roots,
Crisp leaves and patches of light:
Blackbird's wary eye.
..........................................................
Saturated mist;
Clear jewel on the leaf-point,
Drip! The river starts.
.........................................................
Glint of dragonflies
Here and there, beside the reeds
Of the Red River.
............................................................
Exploring the world
And yet never far from home:
Snail crosses my path.
.....................................................
Winter comes:
Books pile a foot high
By my bedside.
....................................................
New building site screens
Acres of corporate green
And just one handprint.
........................................................
5341. Bill Russell - 10/24/2004 10:14:49 AM Correction:
Those are HAIKU poems .... 5342. RickNelson - 10/25/2004 4:13:34 PM 5336. ElliottRW - 10/22/2004 8:56:18 PM
Here's a song I'm working on:
You've got your own money. You've got a body that's fine.
You've got brains, beauty, and time. Sweet time.
Your world is an oyster. Your world...is better than mine.
So...
What the hell do you want with a loser like me? (lose this)
(Replace with)when hell comes knockin' look me up
I'm up for you
I'm up for you...
Huh?(lose this)
We'll make fun of the pain baby, we'll make fun
Are you a curious fine thing?
Tell me...
Where you gonna find another like me?
It works with the music, but something about it doesn't work. It lacks...balance. I don't feel like it communicates enough hope and longing. It seems shallowly cynical, even self-pitying.
I'm trying to achieve something more mature. What I want people to visualize is a middle-aged man, a divorcee perhaps, not unattractive perhaps, but mostly used up talking to an attractive young woman
I'm open to suggestions here. Rip it to shreds.
5343. RickNelson - 10/25/2004 4:19:07 PM New building site screens
Acres of corporate green
And just one handprint.
This one is very interesting. Are you getting this from your past work or just coming up with them as you post?
I find that it's just a mood that I'm in when writing Haiku and most of it just happens in real time. 5344. RickNelson - 10/25/2004 4:24:09 PM Elliot, I found you put too much self-pity in it. I also hear another song... "...loser, so why don't you kill me..." when I read your lines. It's not that song, but I can't help hear myself connect to it. I'm not sure if it would be better for the song to add clarity to the person of infatuations personality?
My take of your song:
You've got your own money. You've got a body that's fine.
You've got brains, beauty, and time. Sweet time.
Your world is an oyster. Your world...is better than mine.
So...
when hell comes knockin' look me up
I'm up for you
I'm up for you...
We'll make fun of the pain baby, we'll make fun
Are you a curious fine thing?
Tell me...
Where you gonna find another like me?
5345. ElliottRW - 10/25/2004 4:39:27 PM Rick,
Thanks! I now see how the word "loser" is just too loaded to be used effectively. And the lyrics you suggest have a lot of appeal. I'm not sure I can use them as is, though.
Perhaps it will help if I show where I'm going with the song. The song is an attempt to juxtapose a man's carnal desire, and vanity, with his authentic virtue, kindness. He's not really insecure or self-pitying; he's conflicted.
In later verses I intend to expose that while this guy would love a roll in the hay, he believes it would be wrong to have a long term relationship with such a young woman. Wrong for her, but also wrong for him because the guilt would kill him. This is the tension I'm trying to achieve. It's about temptation. 5346. RickNelson - 10/25/2004 4:52:08 PM Sounds good.
5347. RickNelson - 10/25/2004 5:04:44 PM I know what I missed
picturing your posture
while walking halls of memory
to seek beautiful curves
your walk, your talk
your body I sought.
5348. RickNelson - 10/25/2004 5:13:30 PM We listened to music
and questioned the art
your intellect
my mental fart.
Your need to see Van Gogh's
Olive trees suspended,
sky a glowing movement.
I see glowing. I see light.
The drugs mess with clarity
your body pulled me along.
There I see Van Gogh,
drug induced mind
that moved me far from you.
5349. ElliottRW - 10/25/2004 10:22:21 PM Rick,
I say you might be channeling William Burroughs in those last two but there's not enough violence.
I notice now Bill Russell's pile of Haiku. I've recently become accustomed to quickly scanning Bill's posts (Sorry!) That's obviously innappropriate in this thread. Of this bunch, I think this one has a lot of promise:
Saturated mist;
Clear jewel on the leaf-point,
Drip! The river starts.
Here, the only thing I'd like to change is the leading word "Saturated". While descriptive, it has (to me) a clinical quality, an abstract quality that is somewhat at odds with vibrant specifics of the rest of the Haiku.
Unfortunately I can't supply an alternative. Help me out Rick! 5350. RickNelson - 10/25/2004 11:22:30 PM
Perhaps,
Mountain, downy mist
5351. RickNelson - 10/26/2004 3:43:57 PM The Wild Swans at Coole
W.B. Yeats (1916)
The trees are in their autumn beauty,
The woodland paths are dry,
Under the October twilight the water
Mirrors a still sky;
Upon the brimming water among the stones
Are nine and fifty swans.
The nineteenth autumn has come upon me
Since I first made my count;
saw, before I had well finished,
All suddenly mount
And scatter wheeling in great broken rings
Upon their clamorous wings.
I have looked upon those brilliant creatures,
And now my heart is sore.
All's changed since I, hearing at twilight,
The first time on this shore,
The bell-beat of their wings above my head,
Trod with a lighter tread.
Unwearied still, lover by lover,
They paddle in the cold,
Companionable streams or climb the air;
Their hearts have not grown old;
Passion or conquest, wander where they will,
Attend upon them still.
But now they drift on the still water
Mysterious, beautiful;
Among what rushes will they build,
By what lake's edge or pool
Delight men's eyes, when I awake some day
To find they have flown away?
5352. RickNelson - 10/26/2004 3:50:42 PM I Am Much Too Alone in This World, Yet Not Alone
Rainer Maria Rilke, Annemarie S. Kidder translator (2001)
I am much too alone in this world, yet not alone
enough
to truly consecrate the hour.
I am much too small in this world, yet not small
enough
to be to you just object and thing,
dark and smart.
I want my free will and want it accompanying
the path which leads to action;
and want during times that beg questions,
where something is up,
to be among those in the know,
or else be alone.
I want to mirror your image to its fullest perfection,
never be blind or too old
to uphold your weighty wavering reflection.
I want to unfold.
Nowhere I wish to stay crooked, bent;
for there I would be dishonest, untrue.
I want my conscience to be
true before you;
want to describe myself like a picture I observed
for a long time, one close up,
like a new word I learned and embraced,
like the everday jug,
like my mother's face,
like a ship that carried me along
through the deadliest storm.
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