|
5384. Ulgine Barrows - 12/20/2004 7:21:48 AM I went to WalMart
I'm sorry
I was my own cashier
and they didn't pay me
Union people
I saw lots of stuff
On the aisles
That made me wonder
Who thought it would sell
Circus, circus
If I could light a fire better
I wouldn't venture in their doors
I checked myself
out of there.
5385. alistairconnor - 12/20/2004 2:01:11 PM I checked myself
out of there.
very powerful image, for me. Loony bin.
Perhaps I should try a Mal-Wart poem. A universal phenomenon. 5386. alistairconnor - 12/20/2004 2:02:05 PM Just spotted this :
Pissing in a river, watching it rise
Piss me a river, piss me a river
I pissed a river over you 5387. RickNelson - 12/25/2004 4:57:42 PM This is from today's "Poetry Daily":
A Winter Night in the North of Ireland
When surly winter ‘gins to blaw,
An robe himself wi’ frost and snaw;
See roun’ the ingle, in a raw,
The rural folks
Sit down and pass the time awa,
In cracks and jokes.
The grey haired couple cozey sit,
Weel pleased to hear the youngsters’ wit;
The guidman maks and coals the split,
And mends the fire,
And snuffs and smokes as he thinks fit,
Like ony squire.
The bleezin fire o’ sod and peet,
Gars some sit back, and ithers sweat,
And thaws the amaist frozen feet
O’ rustic Will,
Wha’ scoured the muirs, through snaw and sleet,
His e’e to fill.
The winsome matron at the wheel,
Wi’ canny e’e keeks at the chiel
She thinks wad fit her Jenny weel;
An sighs to see
Her careless smile, her heart o’ steel,
And scornfu’ e’e.
The waefu’ cause she needna spier,
Why Will, wi’ a’ his weel got gear,
Meets nae return but aye a sneer,
Frae foolish Jean,
For she remembers wi’ a tear,
Wha comes between.
Their cotter’s son, a canny blade,
Right skilfu’ in the wooin trade,
Set a’ his gins, and gript the maid
Fair by the heart;
Nor frae him could they keep the jade,
Wi’ a’ their art.
The rustic smokes, and talks o’ lear,
Or how folk may mak muckle mair,
By risin early, takin care,
An spendin nane;
Nor fails to please the runkled pair,
Into the bane.
They talk o’ houses, lan’ and kye,
When this ane calves, an that ane’s dry,
And how folk’s hurried, that maun buy
Baith milk an’ butter;
For plash o’ tea, it’s waur than whye, –
It’s but het water.
CONT., 5388. RickNelson - 12/25/2004 4:57:50 PM Neist tales o’ ghaists and magic spell –
O’ witches lowin out o’ hell,
And tricks o’ Nickie-ben himsel’,
Gae roun and roun,
Till ilka youngster thinks, pell mell
He’s comin down.
But time, that flies though we sit still,
Brings roun’ the hour, that sorry Will
Maun cross the eerie glen, or rill
O’ murmurin lay:
The auld son puts him owre the hill,
And points the way.
Glossary
a’: all
baith: both
bane: bone
e’e: the eye
frae: from
gars: compells
het: hot
ilk, ilka: each
ingle: fireside
kye: cows
lear: learning
lowin’: flaming
mair: more
maun: must
nae: no, not
neist: next
Nickie-Ben: friendly name for the devil
o’: of
raw: row
runkled: wrinkled
spier: to ask
whye: whey
wi’: with
Source: Poetic Sketches descriptive of The Giant’s Causeway
and the Surrounding Scenery: with some Detached Pieces,
by John McKinley, Dunseveric, Belfast, 1819
5389. wonkers2 - 12/25/2004 5:35:28 PM Wal*Mart,
Foul*Fart.
5390. Ulgine Barrows - 12/27/2004 7:51:56 AM Won't you please read my signs, be a gypsy.
Tell me what I hope to find deep within me.
Because you can find my mind, please be with me.
Of all the better things I've heard,
Loving you has made the words
And all the rest seem so absurd,
'Cause in the end it all comes out unsure.
-Eric Clapton
5391. Ulgine Barrows - 12/27/2004 8:00:33 AM
 5392. Ulgine Barrows - 12/27/2004 8:11:50 AM MONKEY IN YOUR SOUL - Steeley Dan
I got one and you want four
It’s so hard to help you
I can’t keep up with you no more
And you treat me like it’s a sin
But you can’t lock me in
You want me here with you right to the end
No thank you my friend
I fear the monkey in your soul
Won’t you turn that bebop down
I can’t hear my heart beat
Where’s that fatback chord I found?
Honey don’t you think it was wrong
To interrupt my song?
I’ll pack my things and run so far from here
Goodbye dear
I fear the monkey in your soul 5393. Linnea - 12/27/2004 9:22:49 PM Amber called her uncle, said "We're up here for the holiday,
Jane and I were having solstice, now we need a place to stay."
And her Christ-loving uncle watched his wife hang Mary on a tree,
He watched his son hang candy canes all made with red dye number three.
He told his niece, "It's Christmas eve, I know our life is not your style,"
She said, "Christmas is like Solstice, and we miss you and it's been awhile,"
So the Christians and the Pagans sat together at the table,
Finding faith and common ground the best that they were able,
And just before the meal was served, hands were held and prayers were said,
Sending hope for peace on earth to all their gods and goddesses.
The food was great, the tree plugged in, the meal had gone without a hitch,
Till Timmy turned to Amber and said, "Is it true that you're a witch?"
His mom jumped up and said, "The pies are burning," and she hit the kitchen,
And it was Jane who spoke, she said, "It's true, your cousin's not a Christian,"
"But we love trees, we love the snow, the friends we have, the world we share,
And you find magic from your God, and we find magic everywhere."
So the Christians and the Pagans sat together at the table,
Finding faith and common ground the best that they were able,
And where does magic come from, I think magic's in the learning,
Cause now when Christians sit with Pagans only pumpkin pies are burning.
- - continued - -
5394. Linnea - 12/27/2004 9:23:23 PM When Amber tried to do the dishes, her aunt said, "Really, no, don't bother."
Amber's uncle saw how Amber looked like Tim and like her father.
He thought about his brother, how they hadn't spoken in a year,
He thought he'd call him up and say, "It's Christmas and your daughter's here."
He thought of fathers, sons and brothers, saw his own son tug his sleeve, saying,
"Can I be a Pagan?" Dad said, "We'll discuss it when they leave,"
So the Christians and the Pagans sat together at the table,
Finding faith and common ground the best that they were able,
Lighting trees in darkness, learning new ways from the old,
Making sense of history and drawing warmth out of the cold.
Dar Williams, "The Christians and the Pagans" 5395. RickNelson - 12/28/2004 7:49:52 AM Dar Williams official web site
Hi Linnea. I'm not sure, but for some reason your nickname looks familiar. I mean from the Mote, though maybe another thread. Welcome and thanks for sharing something new. I've not read of Dar Williams before your post.
You've likely noticed, this and some other threads are slow most of the time. Once in awhile there's a gathering.
The old links on the right have all gone to the Fray Archive. Though the order and personal listings are lost. I've not spent any time deleting, largely because I regret that all that work compiling disappeared.
One of these days I'll clean it up.
Here I want to say hi to Ulgine and Wonkers2. You too Alistair and NuPlanetOne.
I've noticed some Jexster, Jenerator and others.
resonance pops in too, once in awhile. I go back and reread a lot of his. And others.
5396. Linnea - 12/28/2004 7:26:43 PM Hi, Rick. I'm relatively new here and haven't posted much, but I know some of the characters here from Worldcrossing's "Random International" and "All Things International" boards.
Resonance is currently known as Angelfive, is he not? He is indeed a fine writer. 5397. NuPlanetOne - 12/28/2004 11:31:26 PM
…hello back at you rick……hey, but walmart has the best deals on dvd’s..
5398. NuPlanetOne - 12/28/2004 11:31:53 PM
Racing the Light
I am really getting discouraged
The light in the lens of my telescope
Just arrived. It somehow survived
A billion years. Things are not what
They seem. I put a mirror on my scope
In a dream I traced it
Back slightly faster than it came
Which should allow me to appear
Pretty much near when before it left
That is my hypothesis.
Now awake I figure it might take
A little more observation
And that is because what I found
When my trip had ended
Was that I was once again suspended
In space. Pretty much like the place
I had left. And I felt that just behind me
The light would find me
And I would see me looking at me.
It seems to be true no matter what you do
You can’t outrun the light beam
Unless you were always that fast
Cause a thing can’t occur
Unless first comes the blur
That is, you can’t pass a beginning
Not yet begun and expect to detect
It’s origin, so instead my new axiom
Destroys my hypothesis.
I thought it was clever that a man dreamed
A lever could move a heavenly body
So I dreamed that I beamed my face
Into space and skipped the part where
My beating heart really shouldn’t matter
So I’m discouraged. It’s all about the light
And as I postulate the numbers and write
Out my conclusions they seem mere illusions
So that is my theory.
5399. RickNelson - 12/29/2004 3:55:29 PM I like that last stanza particularly well Nu. Recalling that the heart, though beating juxtaposed with light and beaming your face into space. That's some good sci-fi as well as poetic mindfullness.
Hi Linnea, yes A-5 is the current nickname for our resonance. It's taking me a long time to let go of his former nick. I may never. 5400. RickNelson - 1/16/2005 4:48:15 PM Bio of Percy Bysshe Shelley
I've been reading a bit of Shelley lately. Romantic poetry wasn't my cup of tea until I found Shelley. I started with Alastor and am trying to read his Nature Poems collection. A job I was doing had a copy of his poems from 1911 published by Hutchinson & Co. with prints by William Hyde. It is really nice. I found that copy online going for $50 and I'm not to far from buying it. 5401. RickNelson - 1/16/2005 4:57:34 PM
I picked this at random from the site linked above. It's end rhyme is like I would do, which endears me to it. The whole composition might be somewhere in the recesses of my boggled realm. I'm going to crack a few windows to the greater plane, allow some scattered remnants to form a flock. To leave soaring high and behind it lines without dredge or vacancy, but flowered stems and lush green verdancy will abound.
hmmm.... Gotta keep that in mind.
When the lamp is shattered
The light in the dust lies dead -
When the cloud is scattered,
The rainbow's glory is shed.
When the lute is broken,
Sweet tones are remembered not;
When the lips have spoken,
Loved accents are soon forgot.
As music and splendour
Survive not the lamp and the lute,
The heart's echoes render
No song when the spirit is mute -
No song but sad dirges,
Like the wind through a ruined cell,
Or the mournful surges
That ring the dead seaman's knell.
When hearts have once mingled,
Love first leaves the well-built nest;
The weak one is singled
To endure what it once possessed.
O Love! who bewailest
The frailty of all things here,
Why choose you the frailest
For your cradle, your home, and your bier?
Its passions will rock thee,
As the storms rock the ravens on high;
Bright reason will mock thee,
Like the sun from a wintry sky.
From thy nest every rafter
Will rot, and thine eagle home
Leave thee naked to laughter,
When leaves fall and cold winds come.
5402. arkymalarky - 1/16/2005 6:36:21 PM My dad always had a prejudice wrt Shelley and he loved the Romantic poets. I inherited it, I'm afraid (and I love the Romantic poets too, for the most part), but a former student of mine came to visit a few weeks ago after studying in Florence a semester and was thrilled with having read Shelley in a class on the banks of the Arno.
Great to see you, Rick. Hope all is well with the fam. 5403. RickNelson - 1/16/2005 6:47:57 PM Thanks arky, all is well. Same to you.
after "Alastor" I can see why a romantic poetry fan would favor that style.
I was blown away.
|
 |
Go To Mote #
|
|
