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    marye
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    By suggestion, a place for the poets among us to post their words.

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  • trailbird
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    To Believe
    To Believe11/10/17 I have died a thousand deaths Still you take away my breath And Lord I need you by my side Or I won't make it through the night You've shown me things I never knew There's mystery in all you do And even if the sun don't shine I'll love you 'till the end of time You lift me up and lead me on You gave me hope when it was gone I saw your smile through my tears And knew there's nothing left to fear Some things we aren't meant to see And some things they won't ever be As long as it's still you and me There's still a reason to believe chorus And yes, there's still a magic we can share It's running through our fingers and it's floating in the air And yes, oh baby yes I still believe If we try we can find everything we need The seasons come the seasons go There's always something new to know Cause nothing ever stays the same The weather always wants to change So feel the sun and watch the storm And let each day a new love form A vision of what's meant to be To hold us for eternity And yes, there's still a magic we can share It's running through our fingers and it's floating in the air And yes, oh baby yes I still believe If we try we can find everything we need
  • Randall Lard
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    The Manifestations of the Voyage
    my house's stairway is seizedwith vertigo. Matter having forsaken its laws, we land in hell, ascending to heaven. Shadows move along ladders under the silence of ordinary things there is another silence: it belongs neither to the leaves nor to the dead with a crown of birds circling him a child is running in an abandoned house the stairway takes the measure of its own emptiness I myself am the stairway that Time has used in its funeral course wheels lift water in the gardens of Hama and come down not waiting for the river to put out the fire Here we are left with the river Seine and Paris's poisons. I prefer gardens where linden trees get ready for a lunar voyage The stairway that separates my room from my memory whispers in my ear... I am not at the mercy of men since trees live in my fantasies men and trees long for fire and call for the rain I love rains which carry desires to oceans. Between one airplane and another space is disoriented stars sneak into holes and brides go naked to wells their innocence wanes under our eyes You and I are made from a worm-eaten wood The Word has sunk we are left with no cry gesture or gaze silence to us is forbidden. We are threatened neither by life nor by death nor forced to admire the Spring I found earth-castles on the edge of the desert's torrents I took their marble stairs but could not find my way either up or down then I understood that I was in a state of non-reason and non-madness and that the gardens of Andalusia were standing ready to die. Two cities Two tears Let insanity keep between its skirts legs within its black eyes the fright of my adolescence and the nocturnal walk on the hills: which hill? I mean the kingdom that a man carries in his gut when his love's fulfilled. Two cities which are neither Beirut nor Damascus two tears: neither of alcohol nor of rain Yes there has been a truck and a blue-eyed woman from Russia —grey olive tree— I was a butterfly caught by a fire: neither the day's not the night's but the incandescence that radiates from the body like a receding sickness, Let tombs stay open! The stairway which leads to my room borrows its metals from Babylon The Prophet's Ascension had two movements we fell into whirlpools of mud and the wind followed his horse A tempest went after the sun's steps The Prophet swam through waves of clouds a river of gold carried his vessel and away from the sun he reached Paradise a Paradise made of light. The stairway which leads to my room leads to an observatory I own two telescopes to observe stars and black holes and take mechanized stairs which advance with no advance my hair spins with sunflowers Illegitimate is this linden tree which shakes by my door let us get ready for Hell! Cursed be messengers tossing about water's tranquility and building forest fences Oh that the wind go quicker than us! that we may be smothered by light! This linden tree standing by my door weights heavy on my days I will finally marry it and we shall bring children condemned to terror this tree looks at me with insistence: It will be kept waiting until Time's end. - Etel Adnan from "The Manifestations of the Voyage" from The Spring Flowers Own & The Manifestations of the Voyage.
  • jacob sackin
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    Story that includes over 150 Dead songs
    Check out my new 75-page novella, 'The Grateful Dead' that includes characters, places, scenes, and phrases from over 150 Grateful Dead songs. See if you can find them all! Synopsis: Jed tries to decide whether to return to Tennessee or stay in the land of Fennario where he lives the good life in a house with his friends: Cassidy, Mason, Stephen, August West, and Jack Straw. Here is the link to the story: https://wordpress.com/posts/drawingsstories.wordpress.com Jacob Sackin www.jacobsackin.com
  • Randall Lard
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    The Artist's Duty
    So it is the duty of the artist to discourage all traces of shameTo extend all boundaries To fog them in right over the plate To kill only what is ridiculous To establish problems To ignore solutions To listen to no one To omit nothing To contradict everything To generate the free brain To bear no cross To take part in no crucifixion To tinkle a warning when mankind strays To explode upon all parties To wound deeper than the soldier To heal this poor obstinate monkey once and for all To have kids with pretty angels To display his dancing seed To sail only in polar seas To laugh at every situation To besiege all their cities To exhaust the primitive To follow every false track To verify the irrational To exaggerate all things To inhabit everyone To lubricate each proportion To experience only experience To deviate at every point To offer no examples To dismiss all support To make one monster at least To go underground immediately To smell the shark's ass To multiply all opinions To work only in the distance To extend all shapes To acquire a sublime reputation To consort forever with the runaway To sport the glacial eye To direct all smouldering ambitions To frequent only the exterminating planets To kidnap the phantom's first-born To forego no succulent filth To masquerade as the author of every platitude To overwhelm the mariner with improper charts To expose himself to every ridicule To ambush their blow-nose Providence To set a flame in the high air To exclaim at the commonplace alone To cause the unseen eyes to open To advance with the majesty of the praying serpent To contrive always to be caught with his pants down To sprinkle mule-milk on the lifted brows of virgins To attach no importance whatever to his activity To admire only the absurd To be concerned with every profession save his own To raise a fortuitous stink on the boulevards of truth and beauty To desire an electrifiable intercourse with a female alligator To lift the flesh above the suffering To forgive the beautiful its disconsolate deceit To send the world away to crawl under his discarded pedestals To have the cunning of the imperilled wave To hide his lamentations in the shredded lungs of the tempest To recommend stone eyelashes for all candid lookers To attribute every magnificence to himself To maintain that the earth is neither round nor flat but a scomaphoid To flash his vengeful badge at every abyss To be revolted by only the sacred cow which piddles at the toes of the swamp To kneel with the blind and drunk brigands and learn their songs To happen To embrace the intemperate hermaphrodite of memory It is the artist's duty to be alive To drag people into glittering occupations To return always to the renewing stranger To observe only the funereal spectator To assume the ecstasy in all conceivable attitudes To follow the plundering whirlpool to its source To cry out nervously with every knock To stock his shelves with plaintive confessions and pernicious diaries To outflow the volcano in semen and phlegm To be treacherous when nothing is to be gained To enrich himself at the expense of everyone To reel in an exquisite sobriety To blush perpetually in gaping innocence To drift happily through the ruined race-intelligence To burrow beneath the subconscious To defend the unreal at the cost of his reason To obey each outrageous impulse To commit his company to all enchantments To rage against the sacrificing shepherds To return to a place remote from his native land To pursue the languid executioner to his hall bedroom To torment the spirit-lice To cover the mud with distinguished vegetation To regain the emperor's chair To pass from one world to another in carefree devotion To withdraw only when all have been profaned To contract every battering disease To peel off all substances from the face of horror To glue himself to every lascivious breast To hurl his vigorous cone into every trough To unroll the hide from that repugnant rhinoceros Time To refrain from no ownership To crowd the squat-rumped centuries into his own special residence To plunge beyond their smoking armpits - Kenneth Patchen
  • Randall Lard
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    Prerequisites for Preservation
    we're gonna need to get organizedlive beyond boundaries soften our hearts talk to each other we're gonna need to leave behind our baggage relinquish our comfort release our control co-exist we're gonna need to give up our addictions confront our pain ask for help give more than we take we're gonna need to dream bigger work harder get dirty take time we're gonna need to remember we're gonna need to forgive we're gonna need to let go we're gonna need to let go we're gonna need to feel fully revive our intuition make up our minds enact change we're gonna need to look at ourselves reconcile our ignorance sacrifice shame make amends we're gonna need to need less peel away the nonessential go hungry break a sweat we're gonna need to heal our fears tell our secrets share with our enemies love ourselves we're gonna need to study existence refine our dreams mediate our shadows cure our disbelief we're gonna need to practice magic we're gonna need to cherish water we're gonna need to grieve we're gonna need to move on we're gonna need to stay focused we're gonna need to be strong tend our commitment to beauty fuel our devotion to truth we're gonna need to pray we're gonna need to follow through endure burning we're gonna need to surrender we're gonna need to trust we're gonna need to give light we're gonna give light we are light we are - Naima Penniman
  • Randall Lard
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    American Smooth
    We were dancing - it must havebeen a foxtrot or a waltz, something romantic but requiring restraint, rise and fall, precise execution as we moved into the next song without stopping, two chests heaving above a seven-league stride - such perfect agony, one learns to smile through, ecstatic mimicry being the sine qua non of American Smooth. And because I was distracted by the effort of keeping my frame (the leftward lean, head turned just enough to gaze out past your ear and always smiling, smiling), I didn't notice how still you'd become until we had done it (for two measures? four?) - achieved flight, that swift and serene magnificence, before the earth remembered who we were and brought us down. - Rita Dove
  • Randall Lard
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    Love Dogs
    One night a man was crying, "Allah! Allah!" His lips grew sweet with the praising, until a cynic said, "So! I have heard you calling out, but have you ever gotten any response?" The man had no answer to that. He quit praying and fell into a confused sleep. He dreamed he saw Khadir, the guide of souls, in a thick, green foliage. "Why did you stop praising?" "Because I've never heard anything back." "This longing you express is the return message." The grief you cry out from draws you toward union. Your pure sadness that wants help is the secret cup. Listen to the moan of a dog for its master. That whining is the connection. There are love dogs no one knows the names of. Give your life to be one of them. - Rumi
  • slo lettuce
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    Happy Bicycle Day :)
    All the plans That were made Let them die Let them fade... After all's said and done Only here a moment Then the moment's gone I'll spend the day in my own way from In My Own Way - Ray LaMontagne 'Ouroboros'
  • Randall Lard
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    monk music
    Music functions in a pattern. Patterns. Patterns function in a whiz; the worse for patternistry which is not there. The gems of few lines. Then - music functions whole, patterns into system patterns. Thus do patterns become history and music - forms. Yes, do pages of phrases write motion, still things - that move, that have lines in mystery, because the best music then forms benign of misery. Blues yes! The blues do. But there is the music -in the blues that do and mercuriate to fire straight lines, non-curve, in monohorizontal unperplexed – in placate history with story-flight that flies faster than the bumblebees, yet with a blue aura: time in history does form this semblance, gravity in norm as unquested and easy, easily drawn. Straight go: time as music alive between the heats -plus-non-plus quicker in deed than Hurricane Jackson the heavyweight, more Alice in Wonderland before the feet think twice is Monk's music is. Feeling driving non-driving diz. - Henry Grimes
  • Randall Lard
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    Being Human
    I wonder if the sun debates dawnsome mornings not wanting to rise out of bed from under the down-feather horizon if the sky grows tired of being everywhere at once adapting to the mood swings of the weather if clouds drift off trying to hold themselves together make deals with gravity to loiter a little longer I wonder if rain is scared of falling if it has trouble letting go if snow flakes get sick of being perfect all the time each one trying to be one-of-a-kind I wonder if stars wish upon themselves before they die if they need to teach their young how to shine I wonder if shadows long to just-for-once feel the sun if they get lost in the shuffle not knowing where they’re from I wonder if sunrise and sunset respect each other even though they’ve never met if volcanoes get stressed if storms have regrets if compost believes in life after death I wonder if breath ever thinks of suicide if the wind just wants to sit still sometimes and watch the world pass by if smoke was born knowing how to rise if rainbows get shy back stage not sure if their colors match right I wonder if lightning sets an alarm clock to know when to crack if rivers ever stop and think of turning back if streams meet the wrong sea and their whole lives run off-track I wonder if the snow wants to be black if the soil thinks she’s too dark if butterflies want to cover up their marks if rocks are self-conscious of their weight if mountains are insecure of their strength I wonder if waves get discouraged crawling up the sand only to be pulled back again to where they began if land feels stepped upon if sand feels insignificant if trees need to question their lovers to know where they stand if branches waver at the crossroads unsure of which way to grow if the leaves understand they’re replaceable and still dance when the wind blows I wonder where the moon goes when she is in hiding I want to find her there and watch the ocean spin from a distance listen to her stir in her sleep effort give way to existence - Naima Penniman
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By suggestion, a place for the poets among us to post their words.
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It was Faith, was it not? Ensuingit was what it is and not arrived by common means but every unique avenue and footpath. To be able (even as in a study) to find a maliceless state-of-being, as we are assured we all know, exists. But alas can it exist while bearing flesh. Fleshless bones do tell a story all their own. And ashes are never what they were anyways and everything has been ashes already. Many of them are their own graves. Then, like the rhyme...ashes, ashes. I am going to make a fire to only but really...make some ashes, making ashes all the day. Even the incense that smells of rose and stone are henceforth ashes... ashes, ashes, ashes, dropping ashes, ashes. Ashes are the key in reverse to all, 360 circle. And the malicelessness in pretty ashes will remain a part me, I am ashes, indeed. ------------Ashes-Ashes-(-----@ "Faith, Hope and Love... the Greatest of these Love" The ashes of lovingkindness, a gift of this day, not only to me but to all of you, xo. -sherbear
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In thinking of metaphors,with all their correlations, showing what it was like, with a hope it might validate, the reader and writer to a, common ground of mutual-ness, within any topic of chance. In 2004 I jotted this after dear friends of many years went their own way. I oft took care of their three kids as to make the best of the worst. We had fun as I watched over them with nothing to say or that could be said. I still love them all and some love is impossible change, go figure. Well, this is a piece I wrote during that. It's all about the...like! Marriage... ...is like a good wine paired with the perfect entree. ...is like a career, something you are always working at. ...is like a vase holding both- fresh and wilted flowers. ...is like a hinge that works well for years then just rusts and rots. ...is like delicate onion skin paper that you must hold gently. ...is like God. Mighty and praise-worthy. ...is like a kiln, hot and able to make sand and clay rock hard. ...is like a shower, refreshingly comfortable and renewable. ...is like a patched roof that will eventually leak again. ...is like a silk straight jacket, feeling the restrained pleasure of it. ...is like water contained in a glass slowly evaporating as it is not being drunk.
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fat, wet snowflakesswirl on the wind melt quickly
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Imaginationis the location of all creation
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Wise words from the departingEat your greens, especially broccoli And always say Thank You especially for the things you've never had While working the soil we cultivate good manners And cultivate a vegetable kingdom of your own making we're working the soil by working the soil by working the soil we cultivate the sky And enter the vegetable kingdom of Heaven by working the soil by working the soil by working the soil by working the soil The death of your mother and the death of your father is something you prepare for all your life for all our lives Wise words from the departing eat your greens especially broccoli always wear sensible shoes and always say please and thank you especially for the things you've never had especially for the things you've never had especially for the things you've never had Eat your greens, especially broccoli by the working the soil You cultivate the sky and enter the vegetable kingdom of your own making - Jhonn Balance
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GOD is a little like General Electric-He lights your path. GOD is a little like Bayer Aspirin- He works wonders. GOD is a little like Hallmark Cards- He cared enough to send the very best. GOD is a little like TIDE- He gets the dirt out others leave behind. GOD is a little like VO5 hair spray- He holds through all kinds of weather. GOD is a little like Dial Soap- Aren't you glad you know Him? Don't you wish everyone did? GOD is a little like Wal Mart- He has everything. GOD is a little like Alka Seltzer- Oh, what a relief He is. GOD is a little like Scotch Tape- you can't see Him but you know He's there. GOD is a little like a Copper Top Battery- nothing out lasts Him. GOD is a little like American Express- don't leave home without Him. MAY GOD BE WITH YOU Sher'd from a recipe book from S.S. Peter & Paul Orthodox Church
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May all sentient beings come to dwell in happiness and the causes of happiness.May all sentient beings be free from suffering and the causes of suffering. May all sentient beings never be separated from the happiness that knows no suffering May all sentient beings abide in equanimity free of attachment and aversion, holding some close and others distant. An old Tibetan prayer
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The friendly and wise advice given, that once taken, like good medicine, makes one and all feel better.
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Sitting in silence in a mountain temple in the quiet night.Extreme quiet and stillness are original naturalness. Why then does the Western wind shake the forrest? A single cry of cold-weather geese fills the sky.
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Take time for 12 things 1 Take time to Work- it is the price of success. 2 Take time to Think- it is the source of power. 3 Take time to Play- it is the secret of youth. 4 Take time to Read- it is the foundation of knowledge. 5 Take time to Worship- it is the highway of reverence and washes the dust of the Earth from our eyes. 6 Take time to help and Enjoy Friends- it is the source of happiness. 7 Take time to Love- it is the one sacrament of life. 8 Take time to Dream- it hitches the soul to the stars. 9 Take time to Laugh- it is the singing that helps with life's loads. 10 Take time for Beauty- it is everywhere in nature. 11 Take time for Health- it is the true wealth and treasure of life. 12 Take time to Plan- it is the secret of being able to have time to take time for the first eleven things. By Patricia Bragg With blessings for Health and Happiness
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Her pathetic childUntethered ran wild Leaving her beguiled So she seldom smiled Her logical side Reasoned a child bride Wed would turn the tide With her sense of pride Her ethical bent Given up for Lent Left a fulsome scent Like a sewer vent And me I just write Often late at night Under a dim light Like a parasite
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I am a queen of the circulating libraryI have declared an amnesty All books may be returned without a penalty Return the books to me Return the books Don't burn the books You cut down the trees to make paper disease It's in the trees: it's coming Return the book of knowledge Return the marble index File under 'Paradox' The forest is a college, each tree a university I am a queen of the circulating library I'm here to answer your enquiry All knowledge resides within me Your membership has expired You are way past expiry dates Words, words, words, words You may as well listen to the birds - John Balance
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Like a sewer vent? Like a parasite? I like the style but needs a tad of refinement. B plus. (Like I should be giving grades based on the doggerel I write)
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First Child Twice Her pathetic child Untethered ran wild Leaving her beguiled So she seldom smiled Her logical side Reasoned a child bride Wed would turn the tide With her sense of pride Her ethical bent She gave up for Lent Left a fulsome scent Like a mildewed tent And me I just write Often late at night Under a dim light Blessed by second sight
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MY DECLARATION OF SELF ESTEEM I AM ME IN ALL THE WORLD, THERE IS NO ONE ELSE EXACTLY LIKE ME EVERYTHING THAT COMES OUT OF ME IS AUTHENTICALLY MINE BECAUSE I ALONE CHOOSE IT- I OWN EVERYTHING ABOUT ME MY BODY, MY FEELINGS, MY MOUTH, MY VOICE, ALL MY ACTIONS, WHETHER THEY BE TO OTHERS OR TO MYSELF- I OWN MY FANTASIES, MY DREAMS, MY HOPES, MY FEARS- I OWN ALL MY TRIUMPHS AND SUCCESSES, ALL MY FAILURES AND MISTAKES BECAUSE I OWN ALL OF ME, I CAN BECOME INTIMATELY ACQUAINTED WITH ME- BY DOING SO I CAN LOVE ME AND BE FRIENDLY WITH ME AND ALL MY PARTS- I KNOW THERE ARE ASPECTS ABOUT MYSELF THAT PUZZLE ME, AND OTHER ASPECTS THAT I DO NOT KNOW- BUT AS LONG AS I AM FRIENDLY AND LOVING TO MYSELF, I CAN COURAGEOUSLY AND HOPEFULLY LOOK FOR SOLUTIONS TO THE PUZZLES AND FOR WAYS TO FIND OUT MORE ABOUT ME- HOWEVER I LOOK AND SOUND, WHATEVER I SAY AND DO, AND WHATEVER I THINK AND FEEL AT A GIVEN MOMENT IN TIME IS AUTHENTICALLY ME- IF LATER SOME PARTS OF HOW I LOOKED, SOUNDED, THOUGHT AND FELT TURN OUT TO BE UNFITTING, I CAN DISCARD THAT WHICH IS UNFITTING, KEEP THE REST, AND INVENT SOMETHING NEW FOR THAT WHICH I DISCARDED- I CAN SEE, HEAR, FEEL, THINK, SAY, AND DO I HAVE THE TOOLS TO SURVIVE, TO BE CLOSE TO OTHERS, TO BE PRODUCTIVE, AND TO MAKE SENSE AND ORDER OUT OF THE WORLD OF PEOPLE AND THINGS OUTSIDE OF ME- I OWN ME, AND THEREFORE I CAN ENGINEER ME- I AM ME AND I AM OKAY -On a poster like a picture with No Name (A toast to the Unknown, xo!) -------------------------------------(-I-AM-ME---@ @@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@
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Mailed some technology todaysent it on a westerly way it contained music-a-plenty total cost was four-twenty. I got this device from a friend who found a means to an end and through his endeavor reasoned, "better late than never". -woof
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How free is versein the current academic climate? Sprawling or terse It's all good so long as you don't rhyme it.
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Both Sides3/20/13 Some days are darker than dirt Other days Heaven's shining through Sometimes I wake up in this town Been sitting here too long it's time to take a look around I want to see both sides of the story Life's way too short to let it get too boring Next stop is "doin' fine" Time to gun the engines gonna beat it down the line Some days I'm down under the gun Other days I want to have some fun Oh my, you're looking fine I'm headed down to Boone's Farm if you want to take a ride Then we can see both sides of the story It's you and me, we might be bound for glory Next stop is " out of sight " And we're gonna keep on going 'till we finally get it right Ohhhh what I'm thinking of Ohhhh it's all about Love Ohhhh what I'm thinking of Ohhhh we're Stardust and Love Some days are darker than the dirt Other days Heaven's shining through Sometimes I wake up in this town Been sitting here too long it's time to take a look around I want to see both sides of the story Life's way too short too let it get too boring Next stop is doin' fine Time to gun the engines gonna beat it down the line
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Where have all the poets gone?Maybe their out on the lawn Or is that one up in a tree? Their words of life might help us see
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Where have all the poets gone?Maybe their out on the lawn Or is that one up in a tree? Their words of life might help us see
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i hear everythingthose aren't voices in your head they're just the echoes of your indecision don't ask me ask yourself i know everything those thoughts going around in your head trying to figure out what's right and what's wrong don't ask me ask yourself i feel everything wast it me, us, or them? or was it you? don't ask me ask yourself i am everything why listen to me i'm just the voice inside your head i can't help you help yourself - R.H.
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night turns to dayturns to night tide goes out comes in goes out spring follows winter summer follows spring fall follows summer winter follows fall waking, eating, washing working, eating, sleep happiness, sorrow happiness it is all transitory why fight against it? at all costs do not deny it in this saha world all is impermanent attachment to anything causes suffering let go of your collections and you can keep them
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I agreean excellent life philosophy consumerism only causes drag learn how to let go of the price tag and when pain and sorrow become acute simplicity should be the sole pursuit by doing this we reduce our needs to little more than spores and seeds - {%} ; - )
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Happy Birthday Bob Dylan! May your '72nd year be filled with everything you love best! You're the poem and the song, in my soul, xo! In Harmony and Bliss, Sherry B.
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Where are theGrateful Dead and when did they stop following me
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This summer will come and Pulling ourselves out of our flower gardens We'll find our favorite shed To see that old group of men Play those songs That have composed The soundtracks of our lives We'll mourn those who have passed And listen to others sing their songs And wonder how anybody Can appreciate this band Who hasn't heard Jerry play At least once in their lives In the end Who sings what With how young a crowd Who never smelled the master bouquet Never does really matter As long as you wore a smile And helped pick up the garbage...
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once again, it's time to fly that flag,pop a bag, and remember those whose freedom is gone yet I can't help but wonder, maybe in blunder, exactly what it is that I'm not dependent upon
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New directionsSay it out loud Then picture them clad
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MY DECLARATION OF SELF ESTEEM I AM ME IN ALL THE WORLD, THERE IS NO ONE ELSE EXACTLY LIKE ME EVERYTHING THAT COMES OUT OF ME IS AUTHENTICALLY MINE BECAUSE I ALONE CHOOSE IT- I OWN EVERYTHING ABOUT ME MY BODY, MY FEELINGS, MY MOUTH, MY VOICE, ALL MY ACTIONS, WHETHER THEY BE TO OTHERS OR TO MYSELF- I OWN MY FANTASIES, MY DREAMS, MY HOPES, MY FEARS- I OWN ALL MY TRIUMPHS AND SUCCESSES, ALL MY FAILURES AND MISTAKES BECAUSE I OWN ALL OF ME, I CAN BECOME INTIMATELY ACQUAINTED WITH ME- BY DOING SO I CAN LOVE ME AND BE FRIENDLY WITH ME AND ALL MY PARTS- I KNOW THERE ARE ASPECTS ABOUT MYSELF THAT PUZZLE ME, AND OTHER ASPECTS THAT I DO NOT KNOW- BUT AS LONG AS I AM FRIENDLY AND LOVING TO MYSELF, I CAN COURAGEOUSLY AND HOPEFULLY LOOK FOR SOLUTIONS TO THE PUZZLES AND FOR WAYS TO FIND OUT MORE ABOUT ME- HOWEVER I LOOK AND SOUND, WHATEVER I SAY AND DO, AND WHATEVER I THINK AND FEEL AT A GIVEN MOMENT IN TIME IS AUTHENTICALLY ME- IF LATER SOME PARTS OF HOW I LOOKED, SOUNDED, THOUGHT AND FELT TURN OUT TO BE UNFITTING, I CAN DISCARD THAT WHICH IS UNFITTING, KEEP THE REST, AND INVENT SOMETHING NEW FOR THAT WHICH I DISCARDED- I CAN SEE, HEAR, FEEL, THINK, SAY, AND DO I HAVE THE TOOLS TO SURVIVE, TO BE CLOSE TO OTHERS, TO BE PRODUCTIVE, AND TO MAKE SENSE AND ORDER OUT OF THE WORLD OF PEOPLE AND THINGS OUTSIDE OF ME- I OWN ME, AND THEREFORE I CAN ENGINEER ME- I AM ME AND I AM OKAY -Author Unknown "ENGINEER ME..."
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Hey, René!Shit or get off Descartes You think Therefore You think You are Clever Me too, Only you Don't think So much Anymore
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My words now flow whereOnce they had been dammed My sense of myself Commences its run Atop a high peak In the sound of snow Falling, melting down P R E C I P I T O U S L Y Plunging through gullies Ravaging ravines Burnishing boulders Carving canyons clean It breaks for the sea Across a wide plain Before entering The estuary Where I speak with you
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mike!
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Still warm at the beachWalking a five mile crescent Labor Day leaves a few
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12 years 2 months
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My wife with the hair of a wood fireWith the thoughts of heat lightning With the waist of an hourglass With the waist of an otter in the teeth of a tiger My wife with the lips of a cockade and of a bunch of stars of the last magnitude With the teeth of tracks of white mice on the white earth With the tongue of rubbed amber and glass My wife with the tongue of a stabbed host With the tongue of a doll that opens and closes its eyes With the tongue of an unbelievable stone My wife with the eyelashes of strokes of a child's writing With brows of the edge of a swallow's nest My wife with the brow of slates of a hothouse roof And of steam on the panes My wife with shoulders of champagne And of a fountain with dolphin-heads beneath the ice My wife with wrists of matches My wife with fingers of luck and ace of hearts With fingers of mown hay My wife with armpits of marten and of beechnut And of Midsummer Night Of privet and of an angelfish nest With arms of seafoam and of riverlocks And of a mingling of the wheat and the mill My wife with legs of flares With the movements of clockwork and despair My wife with calves of eldertree pith My wife with feet of initials With feet of rings of keys and Java sparrows drinking My wife with a neck of unpearled barley My wife with a throat of the valley of gold Of a tryst in the very bed of the torrent With breasts of night My wife with breasts of a marine molehill My wife with breasts of the ruby's crucible With breasts of the rose's spectre beneath the dew My wife with the belly of an unfolding of the fan of days With the belly of a gigantic claw My wife with the back of a bird fleeing vertically With a back of quicksilver With a back of light With a nape of rolled stone and wet chalk And of the drop of a glass where one has just been drinking My wife with hips of a skiff With hips of a chandelier and of arrow-feathers And of shafts of white peacock plumes Of an insensible pendulum My wife with buttocks of sandstone and asbestos My wife with buttocks of swans' backs My wife with buttocks of spring With the sex of an iris My wife with the sex of a mining-placer and of a platypus My wife with a sex of seaweed and ancient sweetmeat My wife with a sex of mirror My wife with eyes full of tears With eyes of purple panoply and of a magnetic needle My wife with savanna eyes My wife with eyes of water to he drunk in prison My wife with eyes of wood always under the axe My wife with eyes of water-level of level of air earth and fire - André Breton
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17 years 4 months
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Time unfoldsin the autumn afternoon. The birds are singing a grateful song that celebrates this day on the Earth. As I waited for the next pack- pack of wild geese flying in formation to a different home an arrow head approach that makes the traveling easy. All knowing it's better together. Singing the song they sing. Someday...
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13 years 9 months
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Taking & Giving10/18/13 I wake up and raise the shades Is it sunny - is it grey? Dreamland slowly fades away, into the daily grind I slip into my comfort zone Check messages on the phone Grab the keys it's time to go Who knows what we'll find? We're taking and giving Making a living We're looking for thrills While punching the clock and paying the bills We're out on the town Just cruising around The lost and the found One big family This life is a dance Of time and circumstance And taking the chance To make somebody smile Life's up and it's down It's turning around It's thorns and it's crowns And love is a fine wine Taking and giving Making a living Looking for thrills Punching the clock and paying the bills We're out on the town Just cruising around The lost and the found One big family
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13 years 9 months
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Make It Count hot summer nights cold winter days sometimes I got to go out get up above all the haze go sliding down mountains or floating down streams maybe fall from the sky through a sea of dreams it's a once in a lifetime day today it's a once in a lifetime day today it's a once in a lifetime day today so make it count we're out on the field playing the game waiting for the deal the cards are never the same the clock is running on empty it's hail mary time fly with me to the end-zone where everything is all-right it's a once in a lifetime day today it's a once in a lifetime day today it's a once in a lifetime day today let's make it count I'd like to go back to where it all began kids on a slide playing in the sand down by the boardwalk memories in hand a tower has risen celebrations are planned and I want to be there when it's time for the fair dancing for freedom wave your hands in the air it's a once in a lifetime day today it's a once in a lifetime day today it's a once in a lifetime day today go make it count
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17 years 4 months
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A formal poemWhose seasoned lines signify Short attention span
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13 years 9 months
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Rowing Gently I'm rowing gently down the stream They say that life is but a dream But where the walls come closing in That's where the rapids begin I feel the rushing of the stream I hear the laughter and the screams So hold on tight for the ride We'll make it to the other side I'm walking gently up the trail Into a land of fairy-tales A grizzly bear hands me a flower While pointing to the Rocky towers The trail leads up onto a Table Where people gather telling fables Pilgrims singing nature's song With the Grand One looking on Singing, I believe in your Love I believe it's enough Be it easy or tough I believe in your Love I sail a board upon the sea The wind has come to set me free And as I dance upon the waves Thanksgiving washes over me And suddenly I want to sing I feel the wind beneath my wings While gravity is letting go I get the feeling that you know That I believe in your Love I believe it's enough Be it easy or tough I believe in your Love I'm rowing gently down the stream V1-Am-C-G-F V2-Dm-Am-Em-F Chorus-C-G-F
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17 years 4 months
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...and there I was all curled upin a song, remembering the words I had etched on paper from a summer writing I had done about what I had done. So for sport, today I'll type what I read...so you can read it too. I slipped a rolling paper from the pack. I gently wiped the sweat from my sweaty brow and laid it to dry. I had some tobacco on a tray and I spit at it for as thou it were a blessing on it. The dried roses in the vase had many a thorn, I snapped one off. I pricked my skin, like a diabetic, to bring blood across the external threshold that keeps me. As the blood revealed itself I dragged the rolling paper into it and it turned red in spots, then, placed it to dry. I took some time to think... as thinking is to be. I thought about how I was just near dead so near dead, it was close enough to... um yeah, I thought of good and I thought of bad, I thought of my favorite people that lay dead and all the skin, unable to be. My blue eyes filled with silky tears I did not think but then I knew cry into the tobacco and let it dry. I returned hours later after being participatory in breathing. There was a moment to never before; having just arrived. I picked up the skin of now ten thousand chuckles and bent it. I was inside and outside of me and going to beat death one more time! I pinched and put and winced my eye as I rolled a cannon to point to the sky. It was handcrafted and unique and no one around (so to think). I evened it out and twisted it up and with a special kinda lick then made it stick. To bring this one to life I had to get my 40th Anniversary BIC lighter to bring the flame with one special light. I tipped up and in festive supplication pointed it to the sky then woosh it lit. ( insert high cheeky grin). Then next round of thoughts were so jokingly serious. I can't forget Willie on this one so, yeah---one for Willie! I was take back to Rothbury when we smoked the roses from the World Peace Roses before the Dead started. The remorse intact that Willie Nelson didn't get his Roses from the World Peace Mandela Sands. I gave them to My Uncle who was one of Willie's best fans and he had them with him to his dying day. My Uncle is still one of the greatest men I have ever known. My Aunt will not let us smoke him however. My love for him was in those tears, he's in. I have so many beautiful gifts to remind me of his love, we will be forever together in spirit. He loved to smoke Camel's til they cost ten bucks a pack in NY. I inhaled again, sweet and tasty was I. I exhaled and laughed with silliness; it was innocent and robust. As I went for another hit, I knew I had smoked myself, and that I indeed...was good, xo!
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15 years 2 months
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THE LEAFS HAVE WON THE STANLEY CUP!!!THE LEAFS HAVE WON THE STANLEY CUP!!! HOLY SHIT!!! THE LEAFS HAVE WON THE STANLEY CUP!!! I hope to hear it my time
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13 years 9 months
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St. Distaff's Dayby Robert Herrick (1591=1674) Partly work and partly play You must on St. Distaff's Day: From the plough soon free your team; Then come home and fother them If the maids a-spinning go Burn the flax and fire the tow. Bring in pails of water then, Let the maids bewash the men. Give St. Distaff all the right; Then bid Christmas sport good night And next morrow every one To his own vocation
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12 years 3 months
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I sleep on a high blue bedbetween clouded mountains. I am growing a new brain. This one will be sparkly and fine; it will float in the fluid of compassion. I sleep flanked by two fine dogs on a high blue bed between brushed green cotton and purple flannel. I am growing a new heart. It will beat to the rhythm of dreams. Who is it that wakes in the mornings on a high blue bed in this bowl of thick cloud? Is the waker fashioned from this real, or this imagined, world? - Sharon Brogan
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12 years 3 months
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When one wakes in the nightdespite sleeping pills, white noise machines, orthopedic pillows, and thinks of oranges --such sweetness-- there it is, that orange, floating brilliantly in this dim room -- and all the things that one must make sense of -- Nehru jackets, bouffant hairdos, threatening French nails -- your attachment to top- less bars, those artificial orbs, that tooty fruity booze -- all this demanding explication in the swooney night with its train whistles and sock-it-to-me buzz, love, American style, the ed- ification of this planet's turn to darkness, the rebellious suicide of the sun, the sweetness of oranges -- where is Lawrence of Arabia when you need him to peel this open, to hand you, one-by-one, these white-veined crescents, dripping with light? -Sharon Brogan
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17 years 4 months
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Answering an arbitrary alphabetical advertisementBy boldly brandishing bombastically brilliant bytes Can certainly comprise cacophonous caterwauling (Desire deems derivable daunting dialectic deeds Elastically expanding ego's ersatz erotic extremes Fearless few find flawlessness flowing forth freely)
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12 years 3 months
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It is an ordinary deathfor its time, family in a clot around the high, white bed, gull at the window. The man on the bed sticks and twigs, remnants of pain. He opens his hand, lets mine go. The gull lifts from the sill into the solid wall of sky. - Sharon Brogan