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5597. Ulgine Barrows - 2/22/2006 5:41:25 AM NuPlanetOne
I know you only write these words to suit yourself.
I can see many of your pieces set to music, get an agent!
The most difficult part will to be get a band that flows with your words, a lead singer who can interpret them with voice, but my bizess, if you can make that happen... it will be great to listen to! 5598. Macnas - 2/22/2006 10:41:50 AM
Since the majority of me
Rejects the majority of you,
Debating ends forwith, and we
Divide. And sure of what to do
We disinfect new blocks of days
For our majorities to rent
With unshared friends and unwalked ways,
But silence too is eloquent:
A silence of minorities
That, unopposed at last, return
Each night with cancelled promises
They want renewed. They never learn.
Philip Larkin
5599. alistairconnor - 2/22/2006 12:21:54 PM "Saving for hell to pay"
I spent the weekend discussing this theme with friends...
How dare we have children? How to prepare them for the future?
Teach them how to grow potatoes, and chop wood. Yoga and judo.
I am less optimistic than you Nu
5600. Macnas - 2/22/2006 1:16:12 PM Disconnect, Part 2.
Family ticket to Dublin please
the bottle blonde girl behind the glass
is pushing buttons and typing.
I daydream for half a second
to when printed cardboard was all the rage
and an ink stamp sealed the deal.
"Do I have to go?"
some words half-formed catch in my throat,
looking at you looking at me in that way you have,
Not if you wouldn't like to I suppose.
"I'll stay with granny so".
And on the way up
and on the way down
I look at where you might have sat
and think of things to say to you
when you ask about the day.
But you don't. 5601. NuPlanetOne - 2/25/2006 5:23:27 AM //
I fear you find song in most things Ulgine. Truth be told, so do I. Song is poetry, poetry is song. I have always wanted to write songs, perhaps I will one day. As for writing to suit myself, it’s true as well, sometimes I’m like Emily D. I jot small and assorted things down and stuff’em somewhere. I’ll never get around to them. Idiosyncratic and asymptomatic, that will be my next song. Got music?
5602. NuPlanetOne - 2/25/2006 5:24:26 AM //
Yes Alistair, I am oddly optimistic for my times. Even if I do think there is big shit coming. Is it our turn? Then I think it can still go right by me. And land over there. I just wish it all wasn’t grounded in the same ancient standoff. Better that it were a new Khan with a separate agenda riding over the horizon. Same God, three peoples. I’m so over that!
5603. Ulgine Barrows - 3/3/2006 11:52:47 AM oh my god, I totally get that Phillip Larkin, and I know I'm not supposed to
winky
good one!
5601. NuPlanetOne
"fear you find song... I have always wanted to write songs"
Yeah, right. Amyhoo, I like your stuff! 5604. Macnas - 3/3/2006 12:34:03 PM But Ulgine, I posted Larkin especially for you. 5605. Ulgine Barrows - 3/3/2006 12:59:37 PM I won't forget to put roses on your grave. 5606. Ulgine Barrows - 3/3/2006 1:03:44 PM er, Rolling Stones, circa 70s ^^^^ 5607. Ulgine Barrows - 3/3/2006 1:40:47 PM I was touched, and I might cry 5608. Ulgine Barrows - 3/3/2006 1:41:27 PM ah what the hell....
I already did 5609. NuPlanetOne - 3/4/2006 9:47:36 PM
Lost
I really have been lost, you know
Once in the woods on LSD
Because the trees turned evil
And didn’t know me anymore
So I sat.
Once downtown between scrapers
I turned down an alley
I came out in a new place
But I kept walking
And it was too late
It wasn’t my city
And it was big
I called for help.
Once, driving to a reunion
I missed a turn on the highway
Next exit 67 miles
The panic at night
I didn’t have the number
And got off and back on
Then couldn’t find the house
I stayed in a motel
Alone.
Then there was the moment
I realized I was lost
Not in a place
Or looking for one
But me
I lost myself
I sat alone calling for help
And nobody came.
And I’m looking hard.
5610. NuPlanetOne - 3/7/2006 10:04:48 PM
OK. I have finished a poem. I know, I have posted over a hundred here over the years. Yet hitherto, I have never really, officially nor seriously, edited or pained over the final shape each one should take. JamesWright tried many times to get me, as well as others, to realize that our various first drafts were just the beginning of the task. If you could liken a keen sense for poetic structure and content to that of the fine palate in an oenologist, then its likeness is our Mr. Wright.
Of course, Maria G did insist on serious revision and changes when we collaborated briefly back in the day, but I just acquiesced mainly because I was infatuated with her brilliance and feminine allure, rather than any serious attempt to better my poetry. She castigated me on this very point and might have even been flattered, but her explanation of my dilettantish attitude toward writing had more to do with my non-committal nature in general, dooming me to obscurity, (She said that!), unless I took the pain to understand the work involved in really good poetry. Like I wasn’t even more smitten! Ha! Have I mentioned that I miss her?
Anyway, the following is a before and after of a piece I put here before. I liked it then, but it was really, quite flawed. I still am not sure I made my point except to stress the main idea is a notion, not serious science, but an observation run amok in the afterthought of passing by the scene. So, if you are bored, and at your leisure, comment. Is at least the new style more effective? I felt that at least it had a style, as a lot of mine are run ons with lazy line breaks, just a block of marble holding promise sustained by conceit.
5611. NuPlanetOne - 3/7/2006 10:05:50 PM
Beware The Crows (original)
Why did the squirrel just stop?
He had it made. They all do that
It is why some crows chase them
Out there. One keeps him from
The tree. One forces him into the
Road. They goad and place him
In danger. It seems that all creatures
With intelligence use it for gain
As if the only purpose of a brain
Is to conquer. Is to sustain a being
No matter the cost. Always fleeing
The smarter predator. Given
That some creatures are driven
To act out of sheer kindness, humans
For example. This is intelligence,
Perhaps, also evolved for survival
One of the more subtler features
Of flesh and bone. Sharing and caring
And writing it down. Where evil
Has become the crows. Perched
Staring at the picture. Devising. Searched
For weakness. Revising. Swooping
Eating the kill with drooping head
And malevolent eyes. For it knows
It’s business, as it knows the dead.
Beware the crows.
Beware the Crows
Why did the squirrel
Just stop?
It had it made
They all do that
It is why the crows
Chase them
Out there
One keeps it
From the tree
One forces it
Into the road
They goad and place it
In danger
It seems that all creatures
With intelligence
Use it for gain
As if the only purpose
Of a brain
Is to conquer
Is to sustain
A being
No matter the size
Always fleeing
The smarter predator
Given
That several creatures
Are driven
To act out of sheer kindness
Humans, for example
This is intelligence
Perhaps
Also evolved for survival
Pure altruism
An anomalous feature
Of flesh and bone
Within a creature, merciful
Civilizing. Sharing and caring
And writing it all down
Where evil, pure animal
Incubates
Tweaking in crows
Waiting to evolve
Mutating. Perched
Staring at the picture
Devising
Searched
For weakness
Revising
Swooping
Gouging the kill
With a malevolent
Craning head
And T-Rex
Machiavellian eyes
For it knows
Its business
As it devours the dead
Beware the crows.
5612. arkymalarky - 3/9/2006 12:18:54 AM Very nice, Nu. I like the way the change affects the sound and sense.
James Wright--there's someone I'd love to see back in here. 5613. arkymalarky - 3/9/2006 12:19:52 AM Sense as in sensation. 5614. jexster - 3/17/2006 8:48:14 AM Zapped Flashbacks...Mid Life Crisis
Mid Life Crisis
She had that
Camarillo brillo
Flamin’ out along her head,
I mean her mendocino bean-o
By where some bugs had made it red
She ruled the toads
Of the short forest
And every newt in idaho
And every cricket who had chorused
By the bush in buffalo
She said she was
A magic mama
And she could throw a mean tarot
And carried on without a comma
That she was someone I should know
She had a snake for a pet
And an amulet
And she was breeding a dwarf
But she wasn’t done yet
She had gray-green skin
A doll with a pin
I told her she was awright
But I couldn’t come in
(I couldn’t come in right then...)
And so she wandered
Trough the door-way
Just like a shadow from the tomb
She said her stereo was four-way
An’ I’d just love it in her room
Well, I was born
To have adventure
So I just followed up the steps
Right past her fuming incense stencher
To where she hung her castanets
She stripped away
Her ranchid poncho
An’ laid out naked by the door
We did it till we were un-concho
An’ it was useless any more
She had a snake for a pet
And an amulet
And she was breeding a dwarf
But she wasn’t done yet
She had gray-green skin
A doll with a pin
I told her she was awright
But I couldn’t come in
(actually, I was very busy then)
And so she wandered
Trough the door-way
Just like a shadow from the tomb
She said her stereo was four-way
An’ I’d just love it in her room
Well, I was born
To have adventure
So I just followed up the steps
Right past her fuming incense stencher
To where she hung her castanets
She said she was
A magic mama
And she could throw a mean tarot
And carried on without a comma
That she was someone I should know
(is that a real poncho...i mean
Is that a mexican poncho
Or is that a sears poncho?
Hmmm...no foolin’ ...)
Frank Zappa, 19705615. NuPlanetOne - 3/18/2006 3:30:23 PM jex. Zap was the man.
...ain't no way to delay
that trouble comin' every day
...and if a millon more agree
there ain't no great society
...what's the ugliest part
of your body?
...some say your nose
...some say your toes
but i think it's your mind
...your mind...your mind
ooo...ooo...ooo
...it don't mean shit to a tree.
Zappa. Freak Out. (69?)
He was like a Confucius. 5616. NuPlanetOne - 3/18/2006 3:31:28 PM ...I love this girl
Amanda Leigh Lichtenstein
Picture This
Coins and shoelaces
Car keys and clouds
Picture the day
You returned home
Father's dark toenail
Fell off, finally --
Placed on the mantel
Microscope close
Old men shed layers
Of skin and then
Picture the day
Your father dies
And you do not fly
Home – not yet.
A perilous sort of paralyzed
Two eyes, quizzical
A sorrow mirror:
Ghosts sleep in the shower.
First you turn off the lights.
Then you remember your toes.
Tickets arranged, click-click.
Airports full of asthma.
Your father is dead,
All his music stacked
High in sex-closets
Stuffed with feathers.
You box-drag endless
To the curb – and he
Coughs from the porch
Clapping his hands, windless.
*************
Leaving
Adios to the louses who invented longing
Sayonara to the silent narrator in our lives
Livid is the girl who thought she knew the language
Anguished over the age and freshness of the day
A to Z an alphabet of dusk and haze to grope
The interloping hexagon of faith
Goodbye to the good eye and the good lie
Arrivederci to the cherry tree and her fruits
Kwa heri to the hurry lurking in our toes
Languid is the girl who thought she knew to swirl
See ya soon you sea of sighs
Keep in touch, you caped and weary cantor
I'll cry for you Argentina, Eva Peron!
I'll sketch your likeness in white
Totezines you xenophobes who played your oboes
Farewell airy wellspring of fever
Talk to you later all you skating stalkers
Write me while camel riding at sunrise
Call me and cull me a future we'll cheer
So long my letter to forever
**********************
Another Time
Back snapped like time capsule
Bursting with dust from the good old days
Bracketed and packaged in saran wrap,
Parceled and stamped fresh to study
The hair and skin, who needed it? I emptied
The belly of wanting and insisted on despair
I steered the horse into water to see it swim,
Pressed play on its whinny and wondered
Paused its disastrous attempts, the bending
Of knees and eyes wide in horror – oh, dark
Cloud where are you to complete the mood?
I wouldn't look at what was sad, not then.
The hands fold into a second glance, fists
Like knots of crystal waving in the dark
I need to accept boats as decent modes
Of transport and forget the gallant horse.
Accept maps as representations
And not itself any sort of real plan.
I know the difference when I try to call home:
The numbers disappear inside my mouth.
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