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5620. RickNelson - 3/21/2006 6:32:03 AM Nu, I concur with your regard for Maria and JW. Truly missed.
Regarding your poem. I rather like the first writing, yet can follow both.
I've just plopped some words down, and haven't considered much mending them yet. As usual, I rarely do.
Hopes and aspirations, without contingent controversy.
The whiles of a clear mind. Set into pattern,
complimentary attitudes; whilst delaying dissatisfactions.
There is vast expanse there, tillable, rich soil.
Sagacity plays distant tunes, and distracts,
a form of sheer raiment billows, unsettles the mind,
There is compelling gesture and articulation,
loosed to trundle, having a close and detectable scent.
Some guise to lay companion and guest at ease.
Where this confounded conundrum of cacophonous comparison, creates confusion? 5621. wonkers2 - 3/31/2006 4:35:27 PM Jack's House by Hart Seely
These are the men
That fleeced the tribes
That paid the money
That made the bribes
That purchased the Congress that
Jack Built.
This is the Duke
That sailed the yacht
That raised the eyebrows
And got him caught,
Who helped Mitch Wade,
Who bought Duke's land
And kicked in 700 grand;
Which raised Duke's taxes,
And gave Duke pain;
So Wade paid the tab
On Duke's capital gain.
Bigger than Abscam:
Randy "Duke" Cunningham!
Top gun in the Congress that
Jack built.
This is Bob Ney,
Who knew the fine print
That could pass a casino
And rev up its mint,
Who spawned the email
Where Jack foretold:
"Just met with Ney.
"We're fucking gold!"
And Ney in 2000,
A moment quite checkered
Ripped magnate Gus Boulis
In the Congress'nal Record.
His tirade was meant
To frighten the fellow,
Who cops say was shot
By Big Tony Moscatiello,
Who got a small fortune
From Jack's pal in D.C.,
A guy Ney said was known
For his "honesty."
Their pal was indicted
And then copped a plea
Guilty of fraud
And conspiracy.
For creating the vibes
That condoned the bribes
That corrupted the Congress that
Jack built.
This is DeLay,
Who built the machine
That redrew the distreicts
And raised the green,
That decided the races
That claimed the new seats,
That made the new friends
That owned luxury suites,
That held big galas
That brought the donations
That helped him to greet
The great Coushatta Nation!
with 800 members
And fund-stream support
From the famous Coushatta Casion
Resort!
Which paid several million
For Jack to abort
A rival tribe's parlor
In nearby Shreveport,
Which prompted the letter
That outlined their claims
That went to Gale Norton,
Co-signed by these names:
Tom DeLay, Eric Cantor,
Royo Blunt, the chief whip,
Speaker Dennis Hastert.
That's the House leadership!
They played the game
And wears the shame
That hangs over the Congress that
Jack built.
This is the Jack,
Jack Abramoff,
Who bought the souls,
Then sold them off,
Who shook the hands
And financed the houses
And feted the staffs
And hired the spouses,]
And fleeced the tribes
And spread the bribes
That ransomed the Congress that
Jack built.
5622. Ulgine Barrows - 4/1/2006 9:38:02 AM NuPlanetOne, given that I hate squirrels about as much as rats, I liked the first version best.
The whole premise of your work, crows outlasting squirrels.....I dunno.
I guess I'll go have to watch some more. Last I looked, the squirrels were winning.
The crows are bombing because the squirrels are attacking the crow's nests, but what the hell do I know. 5623. Ulgine Barrows - 4/1/2006 9:52:26 AM Maybe it's a cyclic, neigborhood phenomenon. 5624. Jenerator - 4/4/2006 9:20:13 PM NuPlanetOne, memories of Maria and a Phillip David sighting.
That's poetry. 5625. Ulgine Barrows - 4/6/2006 5:27:27 AM And that's politics, mentioning Maria and Phillip David yet nothing of the content, isn't it?
Glad to see ya in the poetry thread after all these years, Jenerator. 5626. Ulgine Barrows - 4/6/2006 5:46:52 AM bow down before the one you serve.
you're going to get what you deserve.
bow down before the one you serve.
you're going to get what you deserve
God money's not looking for the cure.
God money's not concerned about the sick amongst the pure.
God money let's go dancing on the backs of the bruised.
God money's not one to choose
~Nine Inch Nails
5627. NuPlanetOne - 4/9/2006 3:26:16 AM
…yes, Ulgine. It is nice to see Jenerator hereabouts. Back in the day I could count on some nice words from her and some mutual flirtations. Course, then she up and married and procreated and flew off across the pond. And I thought I had a shot at her! Oh well.
..Hi Jen. Yes, PD did stop by with input on my style crisis, (I value his take as he has followed my progress from the get go, as have you), and I can’t help but reminisce on Maria as she had faithfully served as my muse, in a sense, in this virtual anonymity in which we exist here. I just never expected anyone could die here. Damn reality! You are still married? (Smiling wryly)
5628. arkymalarky - 4/9/2006 5:10:33 AM I will always associate the Poetry thread with memories of Maria, Cigarlaw and Verdeazul. 5629. alistairConnor - 4/9/2006 9:35:45 PM Verdeazul! A truly twisted spirit, and I mean that in the best way. Awe-inspiring wit and visionary metaphorist. What became of him? 5630. arkymalarky - 4/9/2006 11:36:42 PM I don't even know where I got the impression that he was chronically ill, but I know he was in the Mote when we first started here. When he disappeared I assumed the worst, but I'd love to find out I'm wrong. 5631. Seamus - 4/10/2006 10:21:54 PM As if viewing and describing a gem from different angles...
Nu says: 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.
arky says: I will always associate the Poetry thread with memories of Maria, Cigarlaw and Verdeazul.
and aC says: Verdeazul! A truly twisted spirit, and I mean that in the best way. Awe-inspiring wit and visionary metaphorist.
and I feel a sharp stab of realisation of something I've tried not to know, as if I've turned around in a familiar room where the light is bright and the breezes strong to catch sight in the mirror of a tired old man who refuses to look me in the eyes. 5632. arkymalarky - 4/10/2006 10:48:55 PM Oh Seamus, it's wonderful to read your expressions of that reality we all share that poets can help the rest of us perceive, if not understand.
The recent posts put me in mind of the Sioux Ghost Dance that scared the white American settlers nearby but was a very sad and unthreatening wish that anyone who appreciates the past and the people who have passed with it has felt--a wish that it could be as it was, if only to reexperience the people and their insights that we can't reach any more--whether they're gone from the world or just from us. It's what many people seem to find most appealing about the idea of heaven. 5633. Jenerator - 4/10/2006 11:32:42 PM Nu,
You are my warm, soft blanket.
I have enjoyed your beautiful poetry over the years. I wish I had your talent.
P.s. I like your wry smiles. 5634. Seamus - 4/10/2006 11:43:01 PM arky, a chara, how good it is to see you here.
"a wish that it could be as it was, if only to reexperience the people and their insights that we can't reach any more--whether they're gone from the world or just from us."
That's a hauntingly exquisite way of putting it.
"It's what many people seem to find most appealing about the idea of heaven."
Something has inexorably led me to conclude that *this* (stomping foot and pointing at ground) is as close as we are intended to get. Or, for a happier spin, *this* (spreading arms wide and noting individual subatomic particles and infrared waves floating by) was the idea in the first place.
Now, them's neither particularly original nor mature forms of thinking, but then again, those aren't traits I'm associated with in the first place.
But if my poorly concocted apologetics turn out to be correct, then it follows that some people will be well able to "reexperience the people and their insights that we can't reach any more" because they will simply have the human capacity to re-summon them. And then there will be those of us without this ability to conjure them correctly along with just enough self-awareness to make that hurt like, well, hell.
That's why I'm not altogether upset that that tired old man won't meet my gaze. He looks, somehow, familiar, and I do not think he would be pleased with me. 5635. judithathome - 4/10/2006 11:47:10 PM Seamus, how good to see you...and you are stating one of my thoughts so eloquently...that hell is loss of memory. Because memory is all we have, really. 5636. Seamus - 4/10/2006 11:51:12 PM And to jump upthread in agreement with PD earlier and Jenerator, just now...
Nu, the form your work takes isn't haphazard. If you can't see the beauty in the words you use and the form they take, then please take it from us, it's there in abundance. 5637. arkymalarky - 4/10/2006 11:55:13 PM Emily Dickinson said, (and I love this line) "Parting is all we know of heaven and all we need of hell."
I do not think he would be pleased with me. I can't envision why that would be.
5638. Seamus - 4/10/2006 11:57:27 PM I am so lucky, judithathome, to barge in here and find you and other friends.
Part of my developing "philosophy" as it were is that if I'm not going to be very skilled at conjuring, then I'd damned well better be able to hold onto what I can see now.
So I am holding on, and I am blessed to have you here, talking to me. 5639. arkymalarky - 4/11/2006 12:05:55 AM I hope you continue to be blessed and bless in return, Seamus. I don't get to post from work any more, and it's a huge thrill for me to come home and see the name of an old online friend like you here.
While we're on the subject of conjuring and all, I've thought about something and where to post it and here's as good a place as any, I guess.
When I had my surgery last year--which was a very common and not dangerous procedure, but I was worried since I hadn't had surgery since a tonsilectomy when I was eight--I went through a morbid spell and decided I wanted to know where I would be buried. I had a place picked out on a lonely hill between our house and where I work, so I hauled my poor husband along and we went up to look at it. It just wasn't what I hoped at all. It didn't feel right and I wasn't comfortable (not scared, just not comfortable). But I don't want to be buried with Bob's mother's side of the family because they're right on a highway. All this is silly, I know, but when I edited my dad's book about his experiences in the Korean War, one of the things that most struck me was his description of Korean graves on hillsides that rural men chose for burial, with a good vantage point of the place they and their ancestor had spent their lives. So Bob and I are going to try to be buried here, if at all possible.
At the other end of the spectrum is a friend of my dad's who wrote a song called "Send me to Glory in a Gladbag," the chorus of which ends with "just set me on the curb on Thursday, and let the sanitation locals take me home."
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