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5100. PelleNilsson - 11/1/2003 12:58:27 AM An illustrated poem by a master wordsmith who shall (mercifully) remain nameless:
Pelle drives a Ferguson,
a Ferguson, a Ferguson.
Yes, Pelle drives a Ferguson,
a Massey, Massey Fergusson.
Repeat and let reverberate in your head. 5101. uzmakk - 11/1/2003 10:22:57 PM Nilsson,
It is clear that you an I share a poetical sense. Btw, it is a near certainty that Suess grated the beets. 5102. RickNelson - 11/1/2003 11:15:50 PM Oh what a beautiful morning, oh what a beautiful day... 5103. RickNelson - 11/1/2003 11:18:25 PM I think a Massey can sound like poetry. cathumpita thumpita thumpita, and Suess would be happy. 5104. ScreamingSin - 11/3/2003 3:56:51 PM I love that picture of
the boy
driving, driving, driving
the
tractor 5105. ScreamingSin - 11/6/2003 2:14:54 PM Girlfriend and I
Spontaneously combusted
We lit out with
An unrehearsed
'Feeling groovy' 5106. RickNelson - 11/8/2003 10:39:02 PM That was a pretty good song SS and I still like it.
I read about the hippie
and I was just like you.
I chanced to meet a hippie
in '88 my year of no clue.
while in advanced learning
at Southern Illinois U
I owned a car with a carving-
to my dash-board it was glued.
The fingers of peace not anger
observed by this man with long hair
who gave me a hug as a stranger.
5107. ScreamingSin - 11/21/2003 2:53:00 PM Joyce vs Nelson
We are comparing Finnegans Wake vs Whiskey River.
Let's have the poetry first, and later the discussion.
5108. ScreamingSin - 11/21/2003 2:56:45 PM First off, the text of Finnegans Wake is not easy to find. I click on link after link, and it is all discussions of The Master, gaaaak.
I click on my first Willie link, and I'm there. 5109. ScreamingSin - 11/21/2003 2:58:15 PM Whiskey River - Willie Nelson
Whiskey River, take my mind
Don't let a memory talk to me
Whiskey River, don't run dry
You're all I got, take care of me
I'm drowning in a Whiskey River
Bathing my memory's mind in the wetness of its soul
Feeling the amber current flowing from my mind
To warm an empty heart you left so cold 5110. RickNelson - 11/21/2003 9:29:00 PM Good ol' Willie.
What might you compare SS? The quality of sound? Willie's good, I like his timbre. 5111. ScreamingSin - 11/25/2003 4:34:22 PM Loyalty's a funny thing
It gets you in trouble
Loyalty gets you in a bed
Where you get tangled in the sheets
Loyalty has a limit
And there's a time when its repaid
Loyalty 5112. RickNelson - 11/27/2003 1:49:38 AM "This is the Minneapolis Police,
The party is over." and no solice
Which stinks, when you sit in the sink,
of this cold life. It's easy to think
there may be a link, inpired of our fascinating
streets, and the prospect of reminiscing.
A replacement may not be your cure, but I contend,
a picture of you proves I'm a regular to the end. 5113. Macnas - 11/27/2003 4:47:50 PM The wagrant wind's awalt'zaround the piltdowns and on every blasted knollyrock (if you can spot fifty I spy four more) there's that gnarlybird ygathering, a runalittle, doalittle, preealittle, pouralittle,wipealittle, kicksalittle, severalittle, eatalittle, whinealittle, kenalittle, helfalittle, pelfalittle gnarlybird. A verytableland of bleakbardfields! Under his seven wrothschields lies one, Lumproar. His glav toside
him. Skud ontorsed. Our pigeons pair are flewn for northcliffs.
You know, I think Joyce was having a laugh.
5114. Macnas - 11/30/2003 4:45:17 PM A bit of a poem, from Yeats:
When her soul flies to the predestined dancing-place
(I have no speech but symbol, the pagan speech I made
Amid the dreams of youth) let her come face to face,
Amid that first astonishment, with Grania's shade,
All but the terrors of the woodland flight forgot
That made her Diarmuid dear, and some old cardinal
Pacing with half-closed eyelids in a sunny spot
Who had murmured of Giorgione at his latest breath --
Aye, and Achilles, Timor, Babar, Barhaim, all
Who have lived in joy and laughed into the face of Death.
5115. RickNelson - 12/11/2003 11:07:25 PM Macnas,
I've meant to thank you for the excerpt of Joyce's Finnegans Wake and the Yeats. 5116. justears - 12/20/2003 9:05:20 AM I've always liked this poem by Emily Dickinson and use it as a reference when I think about pseudo-justifications for war.
SUCCESS is counted sweetest
By those who ne’er succeed.
To comprehend a nectar
Requires sorest need.
Not one of all the purple host 5
Who took the flag to-day
Can tell the definition,
So clear, of victory,
As he, defeated, dying,
On whose forbidden ear 10
The distant strains of triumph
Break, agonized and clear.
5117. RickNelson - 12/20/2003 9:43:54 AM Good to read a post justears.
I've been reading various poems this week.
A few I ponder
and here I wonder
if n'er blue
then what hue?
Robert Frost:
A LATE WALK-
When I go up through the mowing field,
The headless aftermath,
Smooth-laid like thatch with the heavy dew,
Half closes the garden path.
And when I come to the garden ground,
The whir of sober birds
Up from the tangle of withered weeds
Is sadder than any words
A tree beside the wall stands bare,
But a leaf that lingered brown,
Disturbed, I doubt not, by my thought,
Comes softly rattling down.
I end not far from my going forth
By picking the faded blue
Of the last remaining aster flower
To carry again to you.
5118. NuPlanetOne - 1/1/2004 6:06:24 AM Resolution: New Levis and a Carton of Marlboros
New Year’s day two thousand four
Has arrived on time at least I’m sure
Today’s Thursday. I had some dreams
On Wednesday it seems and I swore
To the Gods and the Devil once more
I will change. Set goals. Beat the odds
Re-arrange my priorities. Complete and get
Some direction. But now it is three and
I can already see that resolutions made
Are like jeans that fade with washing
And look better with time. Easy to wear
Put on year after year until it is clear
You need new ones. Desires are the same
Some wishes fit well and no one can tell
You’ve had them before. My dreams
Have faded, torn and frazzled. But they
Fit! A hole at the knee. Busted zipper
Yet they keep me going. Keep me dazzled
Tried and trusted. As if a new sudden hope
Could alter me in an instant. Nope!
I like the old ones. So my new wishes
And dreams will just be different looking
Schemes. Unfaded. And as the years go by
With the washing and the wearing, like my
Jeans, these promises will fit. And no one
Will notice come Sunday, I really didn’t quit
Smoking.
5119. arkymalarky - 1/1/2004 6:29:43 AM Hey, a Nu Year's poem! It must be a harbinger of a great 2004!
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