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5562. Magoseph - 1/10/2006 5:26:57 PM Happy New Year , Nu--starting the year in god form, I see. 5563. NuPlanetOne - 1/11/2006 2:51:10 AM ...god am it all. don't ya hate typos.
thanks mag..happy new one back at you. 5564. Magoseph - 1/11/2006 2:22:41 PM I do, Nu, but not as much as I hate people to attribute talent to a mythical god. 5566. NuPlanetOne - 1/12/2006 5:15:49 AM
Ok. I’ll bite. Which people specifically? Which mythical god? And since all the various gods have specific talents, who precisely is hated most by his attributions? 5567. wonkers2 - 1/15/2006 3:41:35 AM Ballad of the Spanish Civil Guard
Black are the horses.
The horseshoes are black.
On the dark capes glisten
stains of ink and wax.
Their skulls are leaden,
which is why they don't weep.
With their patent-leather souls
they come down the street.
Hunchbacked and nocturnal,
where they go, they command
silences of dark rubber
and fears like fine sand.
They pass where they want,
and they hide in their skulls
a vague astronomy
of shapeless pistols.
Federico Garcia Lorca
1st verse of "Romance de la Guardia Civil Espanola" 5568. wonkers2 - 1/15/2006 4:32:44 AM Song of the Open Road
Afoot and light-hearted I take to the open road,
Healthy, free, the world before me,
The long brown path before me leading wherever I choose.
Henceforth I ask not good-fortune, I myself am good-fortune,
Henceforth I whimper no more, postpone no more, need nothing,
Done with indoor complaints, libraries, querulous criticisms,
Strong and content I travel the open road.
1st two verses of 1st poem in Walt Whitman's "Leaves of Grass." 5569. Ulgine Barrows - 1/18/2006 9:07:24 AM I bite.
There is not one other Beatles song you could have picked to bring me to tears, NuPlanet.
My mom fought with all of us kids to turn the stereo down, but Something, she didn't mind full blast and never yelled at us. 5570. Ulgine Barrows - 1/18/2006 9:08:48 AM ANd i never liked Walt SHitman's whimpering. 5571. Ulgine Barrows - 1/18/2006 12:39:24 PM I prefer a more active poem, such as getting far away from a bad sitch:
Gonna buy a fast car
Put on my lead boots
And take a long, long drive
I may end up spending all my money
But I'll still be alive
~The Who 5572. wonkers2 - 1/18/2006 3:47:04 PM Your taste, your privilege. Whitman's just the greatest American poet, according to my American Lit teacher. I would have guessed that you would have liked Whitman. Have you read "When Lilacs Last in the Dooryard Bloomed?" or "Oh Captain, My Captain," his elegies to Lincoln? 5573. arkymalarky - 1/19/2006 4:29:37 AM I agree with Wonk's professor, at least to the point of being one of the greatest. I like Taps. I especially like "As toilsome I wandered Virginia's woods...." when he comes across the hastily placed wooden marker for a fallen soldier after the Civil War was ended...." Bold, cautious, true, and my loving comrade."
Of course, modern song lyrics they ain't. 5574. wonkers2 - 1/19/2006 5:12:58 AM No, we've got Bob Dylan for that. 5575. wonkers2 - 1/19/2006 5:47:03 AM Arky, much as I'm reluctant to admit it, because I'm, as you know, no fan of Eliot, "The Lovesong of J. Alfred Prufrock" may well be the second greatest poem after the poems in Whitman's "Leaves of Grass." I find Whitman's view of the world so much more compatible with my own than Eliot's cramped and pessimistic outlook in "The Wasteland" and "Prufrock." 5576. arkymalarky - 1/19/2006 6:02:17 AM My dad loves both (I mention because he's a professor emeritus in Literature and Linguistics), but he's much closer to Whitman. I love Prufrock and The Wasteland, but I love reading more Whitman (as opposed to loving Whitman more). 5577. wonkers2 - 1/19/2006 6:14:54 AM Hoping to fashion a mirror, the lover
doth polish the face of his beloved
until he produces a skull.
Erotic Epigrams
John Updike 5578. wonkers2 - 1/19/2006 6:19:25 AM Cog
No, not for him the darkly planned
Ambiguities of flesh.
His maker gave him but one command:
Mesh.
John Updike 5579. NuPlanetOne - 1/21/2006 5:17:51 AM
Beatles, Who, Whitman, Eliot, Dylan. Not sure about the Who. Liked their wasteland better, actually.
5580. NuPlanetOne - 1/21/2006 5:18:25 AM
At least we plan things
Somewhere along the line
No matter how you phrase it
We are going to eat a fresh killed
Organism. That thing, somewhere
Along the line ate some other
Organism. Or killed one to survive
It should be clear by now that
Even the vegetables do it.
They kill organisms that try to
Kill them. Or hitch a ride.
Pathogens, microbes, just simple
Bacterium. Living. Breathing
Shitting, adapting. Learning
Writing it all down. Ok. That
Stuff is weird. Below the surface
But there is no not taking part
In organism slaughter. I don’t
Care who you vote for or where
You go to church. I don’t care
What magical mystical essence
You assign our core existence
The rules are simple. And old.
And obvious. Cellular organisms
Eating each other and in a constant
War to the death of the individual
Entity so the group survives.
The thinking ones new in the
Battle, but fighting well. Outnumbered
Beyond reasonable math,
A foolish amount of organisms floating
All around hoping to devour us
I’m sorry, I know we’re special
But I just can sense all those
Other organisms thinking
we are just a blip on the radar.
And it sucks because they don’t
Really care or have a plan.
5581. wonkers2 - 1/21/2006 6:32:41 AM Nice pome. For some reason it reminds me of "The Wasteland." 5582. RickNelson - 1/21/2006 9:00:56 PM I've lingered on much of the writing. I've been kind of numb minded for words for some time. It happened when my dear aunt passed away last year from lung cancer. She was a writer too, and I wrote a few for her for her Caring Bridge site.
Here's one.
Happiness:
A moment meant for ease,
Walking through willow boughs,
while our baby is babbling.
Stream clear and bubbling,
warbling and vividly iridescent.
Drops of water-
Drops of sun-
happiness arrives anew-- and anew.
By: Rick Nelson, 8/10/2005
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