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5506. Ulgine Barrows - 8/23/2005 8:07:12 AM I really like that, it's from The Shins and I heard it when I was watching Garden State. 5507. Ulgine Barrows - 9/13/2005 8:52:23 AM faded Persian
once deep red
decomposed into
a wan maroon
~with thanks to Ellis Weiner 5508. NuPlanetOne - 10/2/2005 2:03:50 AM The Mock Sneer
I’m sorry. How did I know
Twenty-five years would pass
I can see you snarling
From time to time
Darling, in that mock menace
Because you were
Laughing at me
Taking myself seriously
Deliriously in love
I was with you
I found your grave
And sat there
Only we knew
Didn’t we, about that year
We crept behind the backs
Of everyone, tracks
In the sand on Wallaston beach
And each time I held you
We glistened
I don’t know why
I still miss you
So much passed between us
That day on your deathbed
We lived a long life together
In each other’s eyes
I despise that I’m still here
I’m sorry that I did go on
But I see you
Clear as day, snarling
Darling.
5509. Seamus - 10/6/2005 10:25:41 PM I quite like that, Nu.
And each time I held you
We glistened
is luminous.
It very much reminds me, and in a happy way, of something else you did a couple of years ago.5510. arkymalarky - 10/6/2005 11:29:05 PM SEAMUS!!! It's so great to see you in here! 5511. judithathome - 10/6/2005 11:58:26 PM NuPlanet....absolutely beautiful. 5512. Macnas - 10/7/2005 9:56:09 AM Seamus
How's things? you might post some verse, b’fhéidir...
5513. Ulgine Barrows - 10/7/2005 10:04:25 AM Didn’t anybody tell her?
Didn’t anybody see? 5514. Macnas - 10/7/2005 10:13:13 AM Sundays on the phone to Monday... 5515. Seamus - 10/7/2005 10:03:29 PM arky, you are so kind. Are you well, happy and busy?
Dia duit Mac.
Cén chaoi a bfhuil tú?
Your "maybe" inspires this:
On the ontology of poetry
(being an autobiographical inscription for the author's cenotaph or a tattoo, whichever comes first)
verse it
may be
but
worse verse it
could not
On the other hand, Mac, your Angst, eh? is fun.
Greetings to judith, Ulgine.
Yo, Rick?5516. arkymalarky - 10/8/2005 1:06:26 AM All three, Seamus, and I hope you are too, except not too busy for us to see more of you! 5517. jexster - 10/8/2005 10:55:46 PM
Gerontion
By Thomas Stearns Eliot
Thou hast nor youth nor age
But as it were an after dinner sleep
Dreaming of both.
Here I am, an old man in a dry month,
Being read to by a boy, waiting for rain.
I was neither at the hot gates
Nor fought in the warm rain
Nor knee deep in the salt marsh, heaving a cutlass,
Bitten by flies, fought.
My house is a decayed house,
And the jew squats on the window sill, the owner,
Spawned in some estaminet of Antwerp,
Blistered in Brussels, patched and peeled in London.
The goat coughs at night in the field overhead;
Rocks, moss, stonecrop, iron, merds.
The woman keeps the kitchen, makes tea,
Sneezes at evening, poking the peevish gutter.
I an old man,
A dull head among windy spaces.
Signs are taken for wonders. "We would see a sign":
The word within a word, unable to speak a word,
Swaddled with darkness. In the juvescence of the year
Came Christ the tiger
In depraved May, dogwood and chestnut, flowering Judas,
To be eaten, to be divided, to be drunk
Among whispers; by Mr. Silvero
With caressing hands, at Limoges
Who walked all night in the next room;
By Hakagawa, bowing among the Titians;
By Madame de Tornquist, in the dark room
Shifting the candles; Fraulein von Kulp
Who turned in the hall, one hand on the door. Vacant shuttles
Weave the wind. I have no ghosts,
An old man in a draughty house
Under a windy knob.
After such knowledge, what forgiveness? Think now
History has many cunning passages, contrived corridors
And issues, deceives with whispering ambitions,
Guides us by vanities. Think now
She gives when our attention is distracted
And what she gives, gives with such supple confusions
That the giving famishes the craving. Gives too late
What's not believed in, or if still believed,
In memory only, reconsidered passion. Gives too soon
Into weak hands, what's thought can be dispensed with
Till the refusal propagates a fear. Think
Neither fear nor courage saves us. Unnatural vices
Are fathered by our heroism. Virtues
Are forced upon us by our impudent crimes.
These tears are shaken from the wrath-bearing tree.
The tiger springs in the new year. Us he devours. Think at last
We have not reached conclusion, when I
Stiffen in a rented house. Think at last
I have not made this show purposelessly
And it is not by any concitation
Of the backward devils.
I would meet you upon this honestly.
I that was near your heart was removed therefrom
To lose beauty in terror, terror in inquisition.
I have lost my passion: why should I need to keep it
Since what is kept must be adulterated?
I have lost my sight, smell, hearing, taste and touch:
How should I use it for your closer contact?
These with a thousand small deliberations
Protract the profit of their chilled delirium,
Excite the membrane, when the sense has cooled,
With pungent sauces, multiply variety
In a wilderness of mirrors. What will the spider do,
Suspend its operations, will the weevil
Delay? De Bailhache, Fresca, Mrs. Cammel, whirled
Beyond the circuit of the shuddering Bear
In fractured atoms. Gull against the wind, in the windy straits
Of Belle Isle, or running on the Horn,
White feathers in the snow, the Gulf claims,
And an old man driven by the Trades
To a sleepy corner.
Tenants of the house,
Thoughts of a dry brain in a dry season 5518. NuPlanetOne - 10/18/2005 1:46:26 AM
Thanks on ‘Mock Sneer’. I’ve been trying to write that one for years. Perhaps, Haley’s comet Sir Seamus, when you come ‘round again, I’ll have another. Yet seriously, if I might add, as we all grin when you do appear, it’s nice to know you peek in as we all do from time to time. With time to time making more than a decade! Yikes!
…thanks Judith, beautiful is what I had hoped
5519. NuPlanetOne - 10/18/2005 5:58:26 PM Eyes, Blinking and Thinking
It’s not even about
Where I’m going
Because you must believe
In journeys
Of the spiritual kind
I believe in the connection
The feeling of inclusion
Amongst fellow creatures
The herd
You see it in the eyes of humans
In some eyes you see pain
It doesn’t hurt you
Some eyes make you share it
Any human’s eyes tell you something
It seems like a common life force
I saw a similar force
In a dolphin’s eye
Once an ape smirked at me
Many times my dog’s eyes spoke
Yet human eyes go far deeper
The glassy wall of silence
Behind some creatures eyes
Unable to fathom a connection
Suggests humans might be alone
I think of a shared soul
Not going anywhere, exactly
But always just being
And I wonder about extinction
The death of a soul
Sometimes I imagine the stars are souls
So spiritually
I do feel connected
Not seeking, nor worshipping
Going somewhere, I suppose
And you must believe in destinations.
5520. Jenerator - 10/18/2005 11:30:10 PM Very calming, Nu. Thank you. 5521. Macnas - 10/19/2005 9:30:53 AM Seamus
Western Irish, like everything else across the Shannon, it's different!
You'd have no ghrá i do chroí for the weather now, grey sheets of pelting rain sloping in from the West. Best a distant memory for you is doigh liom.
But thanks for the kind words, I'm a poor enough poet God knows, I'm better at rhyme and doggerel! 5522. Ulgine Barrows - 11/3/2005 10:18:30 AM doggerel, doggerel
has dogged me
all my life
But what's a life
without strife? 5523. Ulgine Barrows - 11/3/2005 11:15:33 AM The dog can't move no more, surprised he made it till spring
His pain won't go away and the pills don't do a thing
You've known that old hound longer that you've known any of your friends
And no matter how you let him down he'd always take you back again
So it's one tall glass of whiskey, one last drink for old time's sake
The dog just lays in bed and watches every move you make
Wrap him in his blanket, hold him once more close to you
Lead him out behind the barn with a borrowed .22
Everything slips through these cold fingers
Like trying to hold water, trying to hold sand
~Bill Morrissey 5524. Ulgine Barrows - 11/7/2005 9:21:12 AM Every morning I've got a new chance
I want to land the part of Eddie in The Stranger Dance
Cause he gets to swordfight the duke
He kidnaps the queen
And you think the score's set but you can't truly see
Til you know the two sides of Monsieur Valentine
Til you know the two sides of Monsieur Valentine
~Spoon 5525. Ulgine Barrows - 11/7/2005 9:27:26 AM
Every morning I pull on them pants
Mmm but I don't get out so much since I acquired St. Vitus dance
I turn the news on a while
I practice my scene
You think things are straight but they're not what they seem
Til you know the two sides of Monsieur Valentine
In his coat and his boots and his blackheart machine
No, no one knows the two sides of Monsieur Valentine
~Spoon
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