|
6045. Ulgine Barrows - 3/5/2008 10:27:52 AM aw, c'mon, lyrics aren't dirty words! 6046. NuPlanetOne - 3/13/2008 3:16:43 PM How Free Am I?
Not paths, but choices
How will I choose?
Because any road, after all
Will decide your fate
You can not compare
What could have been
Unless you have chosen
As even a slave
Will evaluate his options
And decide upon a role
Freedom?
How free am I?
On the one hand,
I ask myself,
Is vice and addiction
My master?
On the other,
Sits my god and salvation
Am I truly free
To choose my fate?
And if I chop off one
Can I with the other
Carry the burden?
Or could I gently
Put one down,
Place it off to the side
And fill that hand
With something else?
That is what we do
I know that
In my worst nightmare
Choices come flailing
With no hands
Out of the depths
Of reason and superstiton
Because they have put
Everything aside
And they come from
Every possible road
And I awake screaming
And sweating cold droplets
Hoping I have fingers.
6047. Ulgine Barrows - 3/16/2008 9:03:10 AM Yeah, NuPlanetOne, I gave up 20+ years of corporate jobs to do something different.
It's scary, but go for it. Loved your poem. 6048. Ulgine Barrows - 3/16/2008 9:45:42 AM Raine Maida:
Today i got to thinking
the world's in a strange way
feels like i'm at a 7-11 when a robbery takes place
do i hide behind the counter with my hands covering my face
or do i dive for the gunman
before he makes his break,
does a 45 go off
and the bullets richochet
this is not some random nightmare
see for me, this is everyday
chorus:
i've been waiting for this train to come round
i've been waiting for this deal to go down
i've been looking for the things not found
so far, so far away
i'm just doing my best today
cigarettes and alochol
and a few minutes to pray
but it don't do what it used to
so we'll have hell to pay
a penny for your thoughts
a penny for my cliches
i tried to get some distance
i tried to espace
but this nightmare's so persistent
in a shakespeare kind of way
be not afraid
oh, f**k that, be very afriad
chorus
who sold out
we did we did
who let you down
we did we did
who...crown
we did 6049. Ulgine Barrows - 3/16/2008 9:51:32 AM More Rainer Maria:
I remember the days when we talked for hours
And we were young; we thought we had superpowers
We kissed the sky, expanded our minds, thought we could fly
We were dreamers, and we'd never die
We were young punks but we showed potential
Us against the world, we weren't sentimental
We weren't our problems, our age or our paychecks
And we weren't taking anybody's shit
If I knew now what I knew then, I'd
Back up do it all again, I'd
Take a bow, take it real slow
Take a ride down the yellow brick road
Knew now what I knew then, I'd
Back up do it all again, I'd
Take a bow, take it real slow
Take a ride down the yellow brick road
Come on, come on wise up
Come on, come on wise up
Come on, come on wise
The winters were cold but we had your parents basement
This underground was for sinners and we embraced it
Magic pills, fairy tales, Syd Barrett's ghost
Oh, we'd all get on that spaceship
We measured our lives in coffee spoons
And those Friday nights quickly turned into Sunday afternoons
We weren't our money, our muscles or our regrets
If I knew now what I knew then, I'd
Back up do it all again, I'd
Take a bow, take it real slow
Take a ride down the yellow brick road
Knew now what I knew then, I'd
Back up do it all again, I'd
Take a bow, take it real slow
Take a ride down the yellow brick road
I remember the days when we talked for hours
And we were young; we thought we had superpowers
We weren't our problems, our age or our paychecks
And we weren't taking anybody's shit
If I knew now what I knew then, I'd
Back up do it all again, I'd
Take a bow, take it real slow
Take a ride down the yellow brick road
Knew now what I knew then, I'd
Back up do it all again, I'd
Take a bow, take it real slow
Take a ride down the yellow brick road
Take a bow, take it real slow
Take a ride down the yellow brick road
Come on, come on wise up
Come on, come on wise up
Come on, come on wise 6050. Ulgine Barrows - 3/16/2008 10:22:27 AM keeerist, my father-in-law said he stopped drinking when he was 60.
I don't think I can another 15 years of this. 6051. Ulgine Barrows - 3/16/2008 10:23:27 AM I don't think I can TAKE another 15 years of this. 6052. Ulgine Barrows - 3/16/2008 10:25:13 AM Maybe I'll wise up. 6053. NuPlanetOne - 3/30/2008 1:44:51 AM Unfaithful Flowers
I do begrudge the blossoms
The cuttings, the pruning
Those hours you spend
Amidst your vibrant daffodils
As you call them, by name
You claim they know you
Petunias, Geraniums, the Morning
Glory walkways that bloom
On my early stroll to the car
Then gone, yet greeted by Moon
Flowers in concurrent rows,
As I return in the evening
The Glories closed up to sleep
Then the rows of blue back
With the sun, now the white asleep
And that wild amusement
In your eyes, like you and a lover
Had put one over on me
Because I was astonished
You could conspire like that
I guess there is some jealousy
That you could plot with another
That in obsessive trysts
You sneak out there, to commiserate
To be alone, to experiment
As if golf or poker were comparable
Which you say is my time
I don’t know if the two are equal
Distractions, because watching you
Through the greenhouse panes
You are not distracted
You are in love.
6054. NuPlanetOne - 4/21/2008 7:21:34 PM Motion Sickness
If there is no friction
There is no motion
That is why
Nothing really moves
In space
It is why we do not feel
Motion, unless something
Blocks our path
A gas, a obstacle, a liquid
And can all provide
The sensation
All motion is enclosed
Within a membrane
Ours is the atmosphere
The object we are part of
In any real sense
Stopped moving long ago
Should anything
Cause it to move
In any real sense
It would disintegrate
Individual consciousness
Is finite
Your body will travel
Forever through space
If nudged
But you will die
Long before
Forever
6055. Seamus - 4/24/2008 12:03:03 AM Words fail
Words cannot explain gauze curtains that wheeze
morning's soft blows, sun that chooses sides
between blankets and legs pulsed carelessly
akimbo, your beryl eyes which haunt black
tea steams for news and clues. I cannot sing
kitchen lyrics--you untangle bunches of off-
kilter coriander leaves, grate parmesan
for bread sticks, zest lemons for pizzelles,
daub anise oil over springerlee dough.
I make nothing. I should have learned to play
an instrument. When I turn south to you
in the roiling dark of the room you choose
to wake in, I bring no art and no book
of poems ever sits on the bedside table.
Seamus 6056. NuPlanetOne - 5/4/2008 5:29:51 PM Seamus…
I like that one. A different structure for you. A kind of stream of consciousness soliloquy. Very nice. And I can’t decide if you share a bed with the one you turn south to, or just share a universe. I’ll call it run-on imagery. All good.
6057. NuPlanetOne - 5/4/2008 6:28:10 PM On the lighter side……
Panting Schnauzer
I am like a dog
Humping the leg
Of life
It shakes me off
And sends me flying
But it is near me
When I get that urge
To be part of it
How can I know
It can’t bear fruit?
I’m just a dog
I hump everything
If there are no other
Dogs nearby
Besides,
Life is always receptive
I never know
When to pounce
It always mounts me
It seems,
What is the fruit
Of that?
6058. alistairconnor - 5/5/2008 10:08:42 AM I like the way 6055 seems to respond to 6053, reflections on what we share or don't share in a relationship.
It makes me ponder what I would have to say on the subject, were I to find a voice. 6059. NuPlanetOne - 5/11/2008 10:34:55 PM Mine Forever
How do the seconds tick by
If you are worse off than me?
I think about that, that type
Of thing. Because if I feel
Hopeless and lost, and I am
How do you survive the thud
Of a second going by
Because you are twice
My pain. You are suffering
A sting by swarm, and I know
You are bitten all over
As you sit there stunned
In front of that huge hourglass
Skyscraper tall. Do even the tiny
Pellets of sand whiz and clang
Onto the pile and avalanche
Down the slope. My time goes by
Quicker than that. My hourglass
Sits on the sill of a panoramic
Window looking out at a waiting
Mountain. I might be like a
Cartoon cat that was hit in the head
With a colossal hammer. Stars and
Sparkles whirl around my ears
You must be in a serious drama
In shock from an explosion
A possible survivor wandering
Out of the cloud of dust and debris.
I also think, at times, about forgiveness
And fault, but what if I survive this?
What if I leave you to wander, forever
That must be a longer time
Than the last hour gone by.
6060. NuPlanetOne - 5/25/2008 2:00:20 PM Class of ‘08
They are, after all
Half of what we want
Them to be
And half of what
They want to be
Our half, drilled
Into them, taught
Enforced, shown
Us, remaking ourselves
Into them
Feeling every second
Of their emotions
And when they begin
To think
For themselves
And contemplate
Our motives
Childhood ends
And if we learned anything
From our parents
From that second on
We can only hope
They will survive
The choices
That lay before them.
6061. Ulgine Barrows - 7/14/2008 3:22:10 AM yeah, to be that age again...thanks be i managed to survive 6062. wonkers2 - 7/14/2008 4:30:21 AM Stick around, Ulgine. 6063. Seamus - 7/25/2008 7:44:55 PM Quite liked Panting Schnauzer, Nu. Loved the ending. 6064. Seamus - 8/5/2008 4:46:39 PM Convergent evolution
Cast through grasses
with your hawthorn staff;
I'll be four again
so you can carry me
and instruct:
Old leaves tent
the morels
and give them up.
Explain again how
two must never fight
the tide
off Inisheer
unless there is faith.
Say Boyo,
when the whitebeam shows
her silver side,
there's a wind
with a worry in it.
Then prove you'll never stand still
if the fuss is over you--
Tell me how there's no profit
in fruitless protocols
in pharmacology.
I'll be manoeuvred
by your voice gone
garlic, becalmed
as if I were still away at university
and you'd come, absent
whistles or steam, by train
for a drop in and a pint up.
On that last platform, each of us
will discover: Everything runs
from Heuston Station.
But years after I've carried you at last,
my back will still strain
over shipped oars
when I watch
a laggard teal pull hard from Corrib's cold waters
and dip,
dripping,
over my skiff--
wafting
above the water
until he turns west
to the hills of Clifden
and the sea.
Seamus
|
