Grateful Dead

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mattseo24's picture
Joined: Aug 31 2011
What creature really am I now?

In a week I tried to be almost like a goat;
Eating all leafy food.
And in a day, I tried to be like a vampire
Eating a half cook liver pork
I tried to become like those two creatures in one person

slo lettuce's picture
Joined: Jul 20 2012

In afternoon, sun
becomes more precious, spare
near evening, as it falls
toward that spot, there

on the mountain. That far
spot, where trees thin
and shale shows through.

You can see the shape
of the world there
at the curving edge
of sky.

In the last moment
sagebrush burns
red. Then

stars. Pale
and countless
as dust

as ashes.

- Sharon Brogan

slo lettuce's picture
Joined: Jul 20 2012
Brother Gull

It is an ordinary death
for 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

Mike Edwards's picture
Joined: Jun 17 2007
Call For Submissions

Answering an arbitrary alphabetical advertisement
By 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)

slo lettuce's picture
Joined: Jul 20 2012

When one wakes in the night
despite 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

slo lettuce's picture
Joined: Jul 20 2012
The Blue Bed

I sleep on a high blue bed
between 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,

- Sharon Brogan

Mike Edwards's picture
Joined: Jun 17 2007
Seeking Systematic Satisfaction?

Resist your reason; embrace entropy.

Joined: Jan 8 2011
Merry St. Distaff's Day and 2014

St. Distaff's Day
by 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

PonchoBill's picture
Joined: Jul 29 2009
Poetry to my ears...


I hope to hear it my time

Joined: Jun 13 2007

...and there I was all curled up
in 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
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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