Forums
By suggestion, a place for the poets among us to post their words.
too cool thanx marye
here i sit afraid i`ll rot
I beg of you to tell me not
I don`t want to rot
my brain to stop
my heart to drop
so i beg of you to tell me not
you will not rot
brain won`t stop
your heart won`t drop
so here I am to tell you not
1-30-08 bad day wife had been in hospital for abt. a week when these words come to me.
If your love is true
you can make it through
1-30-08
Thank you very much Marye ..
Agree w/above
Thanks alot Marye-very appealing topic, and will have to dig out something from personal collection to post!**********************************
Don't part with your illusions. When they are gone, you will still exist, but you have ceased to live.
Samuel Clemens
A propos
Drops fall softlyWhile the notes flow through our ears
We keep on dancing
Our fingers draw the music
Patterns in the air
Our feet mimic the rhythm
Drums on the grass
My neighbor smiles at me
As a rainbow appears over the stage
The melody changes
Sunshine daydream
We are still dancing
Twirling our own rainbow
Along the moon-path
Is one I wrote many years ago, after a show at Alpine Valley, so should be appropriate here. Is one of the few that was not written in a depressed frenzy.
**********************************
Don't part with your illusions. When they are gone, you will still exist, but you have ceased to live.
Samuel Clemens
Thanks, Marye
Wrote this last Spring before a reunion of sorts. Some of us hadn't seen each other in over 20 years. Had such a good time we're gathering again this Spring.
Seems I've been gone so many years
So many ports and storms
But, no matter how the time had passed
Still the memories kept me warm.
A hazy time of twirling daze
And friends who shared the road
Life's biggest burdens don't seem so big
When someone shares the load
Faded image on a photograph
And a song from far away
Though the road grew long between us
I knew we'd meet again one day
We all know life is a journey
With so many twists and turns
But, tell me, ain't it funny how
The roads all lead us home.
(Yeah tell me, ain't it funny how
The roads all lead us home)
words words words
I am so excited about this new topic. Stuman is my hero. Thanks you guys for the great words. I love it.
udaman stuman
a great idea for a new forum stuman....thanx and thanx to the mods as well! i njoy the poems plz keep them coming.....if u havent allready done so "ontheroadagain", u should put urs to music...grate job!
stay safe and feel good! (~):-}
poem for Marjie
your soft hair on my pillowyour sweet smell in the morning
I watch you sleep
beutiful words
I never expected this kind of respons. really mind blowing to think what i started .. I never expected to be someones hero, thanx hozomeen .. I am just me ..
a soul with so many words just waiting to reveal themselves.
seeing all this really just made my day !! and it started on a bad note ,
but i really feel great now !! Thank you everyone !!
I will post more when the words come to me
Keep the words flowing !! Keep smiling !! I am now !!
peace and a Grateful Day to all !!
Stu .........
Playing Hooky (For Boston Billy)
The Weather Channel said "Cold Front"
"Last one of the year? its Loop Road time!"
We cancelled our Palm Pilot schedules and drove
West of South Beach, towering glass condos, clubs with velevt fences, west of Little Havana and men still fighting on the Bay of Pigs
on Tamiami Trail
The 4 lane road to the Gulf od Mexico
You turn at the little sign before 40 Mile Bend
drive past the Miccosukee mansions built with gaming money
Roadtrips 79 on with Sirius GD ready to fill in if needed.
Its cold for Miami
No clouds no humidity
Toklas's formula has kicked in gently and sweetly
Oak trees bent with blooming tislandia shooting red and purple spikes towards the cold blue sky
A group of snowy egrets stalk misquito fish in dark water dyed brown red by cypress tannin.
The Loop is busy many rangers and scientists and others appreciating a cold day
its quiet no jets or cars or verizon we sit outside watching cold gators float in the shallow
river.
Terrapin begins we sing softly aching always for Jerry and Brent
There is a tunnel of pidgeon plums and mastics drooped over the stream like a covered bridge the wind whips the pine island ridge we have reached the end and its time for a double decker pork sandwhich at the Pit BarBQ and cell service.
Damn.
And the road goes on forever....
BobbaLee
good morning!
i dreamed i was a potter's wheelspinning freely thru the nite
resting bones so comfortably
suddenly awakened with a fright
nostrils fill with smell i dread
dog shit in house again
Keep The Door Closed!!
What happened to innocence? Burned like a book at a fundamental gathering, tossed like a stone into a pool of adulthood. Does it seem hard to understand that the very things we throw towards the sun are the very things that will come back down upon our heads? I want to walk a long road for a day or two. Not to look for anything, but to let the road speak to me. Let it call my name. I long for Kerouac's highway and God's navigation. To speak through my fingers like cosmic rays. To tell stories through an A minor. Would anyone listen? Burn in me, oh call of the road. Burn, burn, burn until it swells. Let me never dream of this empty chair. Let me never pine for this central air. Let me never wish for perfect hair. I want to be flawed and dirty. To be viewed as an anomaly, not a citizen. I have no place on this earth. I have no country that wants me. We, who ask too many questions, who seek more than material, who reach for more than more are the ones who are asked to leave. There's the door! Open the door! Don't come back through that door! But when it's time to be represented by the underground, the door swings open! "We've always been open!" they say through perfect teeth and sculpted lips. "We are your friends!" NO, NO, NO! My friends are still outside. My friends are the ones who reach for the road as well. My friends speak through E strings and parchment. My friends lay their heads on beds made of rejection and wake up feeling refreshed, renewed, inspired, desired. You have never understood the underground, the under-educated, the under-dressed, the under-nourished, the under-showered, the understood. Put your manicured hand back in your wallet. Keep your perfect face away from the faces of anguish. Leave the door closed. We children of a homeless king do not need your hand. We need His. We need the road. We need each other. We need to sing.
“Let there be songs to fill the air.”
Today
Is one of the Dark DaysNo red, yellow, or orange
Just blue, purple, and BLACK
Is no music inside
Only cold silence
Lethargy, fear, and doubt
Have to pretend for a while
Til the rainbow comes back
**********************************
Don't part with your illusions. When they are gone, you will still exist, but you have ceased to live.
Samuel Clemens
Another One. . .
OK. So, this one is sort of a follow-up to one I wrote, and a good friend of mine put music to, a long time ago. We'll see what the future holds. . .
"Suzie's Still Gone"
Her mama wondered where she'd gone
Until the day the angels came
She cried herself to sleep each night
In her heart she held the blame.
She left her home somewhere down South
With dreams of where she'd go
But never in her young girl dreams
Could she feel cold rain and snow.
Now Suzie's living turning tricks
Shame cuts her like a knife
She feels too damn dead for dyin
For her, living ain't much life.
There's heartache on the streets tonight
So many lifetimes full of pain
Faces filled with "want-to-go"
But they'll be back again.
Stories made to melt a heart
Coax the dollars from your fist
Eyes of stone cold emptiness
Staring at you thru the mist.
(The Dead) 6-29-03
(The Dead) 6-29-03
Pray for world peace and for those around you.
In this lifetime and when of this world
You must live to see it through
So let's live as one as never lived before
Cultivate destiny, leave the circle, piece together a Patchwork map.
Follow the people of a similar glimmer.
For the way that stays one to never sway
leaves the weary to rest upon its resplendent plateau.
Nothings impossible while everything possible is being done.
Ten years ahead of its time from a town nine years behind the nearest city.
Curiosity, pending probability, simplified stratagems' intuitive glint
Recreating yesterday while all the while innovating tomorrow. Reliving being born tomorrow
Politics of fun are not that different from day to day.
The Ethereal community self policed utopian nuance
A sacred dance in the shadow of their wingspan
Sun pours and sometime it seems as if it's ours to offer.
Spontaneous arrival, what happens to you happens to me
Good people doing well towards each other
Best to better yet, can't be done any better.
Purpose and intention of those attempting to bridge the distance,
Freeborn dancers swirl, fade not. Under the sun or hiding behind the clouds
Recreating yesterday, all the while innovating tomorrow Images, objects, issues, aspects of interaction
As if this where spontaneous, and in turn adhere, In the theater of humanity
An audience of identical nuance Manifesting presence as people of similar glint
All at once declare there's nothing strange about free speech.
----------------------------------------------
on watch
pushing pulling whirling filling overflowing
words spill out
on the ground
leaving stains residue and moving around
talking talking talking talking
relentless energy impossible to ignore coming from
all around
this tank is filling overflowing spilling staining
everybody watching pointing talking seeing
taking taking taking taking
impossible craziness
strange weirdness
pumping pumping spilling moving staining
hurting swelling bursting
loneliness
my notebook
my life is in a notebook not a book of wishes
not a book of hopes
not a book of magic
not even a book of dreams
just a simple little notebook
i ramble on
2/27/06 nooneheregetsoutalive
livelearnloveenjoylifeits
tooshorttowasteandworry
aboutnothingthatreallymatters
livelearnloveenjoylifeyour
timeislimitedmakeitmatter
written on my birthday, 2 days after my sister passed over
fundamental
he is what he eats
i am what i see
he is what he consumes
i am what i hear
he is what he collects
i am what i love
he is what he takes
i am what i choose
I had a dream
I had a dream I was a great travler of all space and time
I have no control of this journey
I own nothing but the clothes on my body
and an old tatterd road map
I have no freinds
I have no familly
no knowlege of where or when i would travle
only the knowleageto help people i did not know
I was tired.
I did sleep, only to awaken in a different place
a different time
just wandering, looking for road sings
and checking my old tatterd road map
to determin where i was
every day every hour
a different senario
different people, different places
I would fall into peopls lives
like the leaves falling in autum
I would help these strange people
no matter of their situation
they did not know me
they did not remember me
so so very tired
scared to sleep
I never know where
or when I will wake
It is off to sleep I go
where i will wake ,I do not know
Is this a dream at all ?
Oh so very strange where the road leads.
Awesome reading, folks -
Awesome reading, folks - keep `em coming!!! Stuman, thanks for getting this started!
*Starr*
Just a little bit more of the Madman's Ramblin'
Stray cat shufflin’ down the street at dawn
Don’t know where he’s been, but
it’s time to go home.
Blind rat hiding in
the shadow’s light
He’s too old to run, but
not afraid to fight.
Storm clouds blowin’ in
from miles around
Gotta seek shelter, or
your soul might drown.
Sometimes it’s hard to hear
what’s harder to say
Have to keep living, Lord,
for one more day.
There’s no way out, and just
one way down
Devil’s gonna catch you
just hanging around
aerobic excercise
dancin' with Jack on my shoulders this morning...my heart is going good and...Lord knows I'm a voodoo child baby...Jack pat pat pat on my crew cut head and hoot hoot hoot as I spin and dance along and suddenly I throw my dreads back in the hot southern sun of Alabama with all twelve fingers outstretched from the end of my spine shooting acid electricity screaming cause I'm a voodoo child...........voodoo child.......and jack holds on smiling and laughing and digging every bit of it all the way back to our living room...
Criminalize the Dali Lama
This graffiti ridicules the criminalization of the Dali LamaBrother james, cousin simon are here to help you hide the family picture of the Dali Lama.
Buddha shaped hourglass turns over aspects of charity into sinless acts of sacrifice.
Turtle shell fell into pieces here forth the national future action will leave neither without.
Chant neutral bible quotes with help from strangers,
Abandon status as Moses under house arrest
An integration of meditations going to church barefoot
The code of China is embroidered on prayer sleeves.
The privileged offer no dialog over the satellite which set aside the rights of human beings
Reinventing the myth of being arrested in front of his family
Martial law students subvert their subculture feeling abandoned by progressive societies
People in power are doing wrong kick down the door and be taken away Panchen Lama
Poet's Corner
A few Haiku
scaring the children
with his shaggy beard--they come
back to tug on it
well tended garden
rows and rows of organic herbs
most of them legal
passing the peace pipe
community of gentle souls
rests between sets
morning dew
never quite the same
since walking thru it
i've got a couple...
This one's from a couple of years ago, and doesn't have a name:
The star-studded wet green fields
Sway to the time of a northern breeze.
Walking out in the sweet rhythm
Drinking in air
Thick and soft
In the mystery of a night
Crowded with ghosts
Of a thousand dead butterflies
The living air
shimmers and ripples.
But I don’t look back
As I swim through it, away.
This one also doesn't have a name, and i believe it's from last year:
I’m sitting in the TV Coney Island
Watching the rides
Presiding.
I gotta go to a new place every day
Paris is next,
To whenever paris was Paris.
After that it’s the bus station on 178th street
From there who knows
I flew in the morning while the fog was still clearing from my windows
Walking down the streets
Heavy with dew and grey
Flew to San Francisco to see some real fog
But I never stayed on there more than a few days
Sleeping peacefully among the flowers, lost souls,
The bookstores and the beats.
Well then I drove down to Los Angeles but I didn’t care
For LA LA land and
the drive was all I wanted anyway
since I lost mine somewhere in summer
way back when
I was laying way down in the mad jungle
Again
Is there ever a timeThat
Is there ever a time
That was never to dim
When the moment just right
Still glass captures the light
Frozen in time’s haste
Foolishness is a waste
Don’t Go, Don’t Go
Stuck within the moment
Won’t you let me go now
Struggle from some, not all
The impulse’s shadow
Casts these memories
Thank you for a real good
Thank you for a real good timeYou make me happy, make me shine
Lucky are we who can smile and say
I'm on the Bus and here to stay
We trip around the country catching all the shows we can
And we just keep on dancin while the music plays the band
We know a little something that the rest won't ever know
We live in peace, we laugh, we dance and hold on to the rose
Bad-Jerring
The omitted spring velocitiesOf ever widening permissions
We wildly anti-see a gap
When all is sometimes free at last
Oh, The Badger of Cosmics plants a seed
Or two, for us to grin
I can but wonder where the light is from
I can only ponder
been a while since this came thru. hope its ok to park it here.
IN THE REALM OF THE WIZARD GARCIA A Parable for Deadhead Children of All Ages
by A. Mandala
c. 1990 All rights reserved.
Once upon a space of time,
On a bright ball spinning free,
There lived a race of humankind,
Not unlike you and me.
But these folk were having a terrible time
Finding a free way to be,
And the notes that they sang in the cosmic chord
Curdled the heavenly harmony.
They'd built bombs to kill everybody several times over,
But they couldn't make sure every body could eat;
They'd poisoned the air, their own food, land and water,
They'd rarely cooperate, but they'd always compete.
Their world had become a planet divided
By hard hearts, closed minds and hate,
And since they'd never learned to blend together in love,
Self-destruction shadowed their fate.
But in the realm of the Wizard Garcia,
And his bands of merry fools,
They were striving to find some gentler ways
By stretching all those rules
That were stopping joy and kindness
From glowing from within,
And blocking hearts from beating
With the pulsing life rhythm.
You see, the sickness that afflicted that world
Was not that hard to fix,
It came from keeping things locked up
And protecting them with sticks,
Or knives, or guns, (or words) or bombs,
Or other means to scare,
'Til all the time 'twas meant for play
Got trapped inside of fear.
And it became easier to keep others away
Than to learn to let them near,
And it became easier to fret about a future of days
Than enjoy the one that was here.
Their minds had locked out everything,
But having and getting more.
They were so afraid to lose what they had,
They were scared to go out their own door.
But in the realm of the Wizard Garcia,
At the edge of this Land of Afraid,
They were dedicated to going further than this,
To dance in, not watch, life's parade.
For they'd found a musical magic
Where the boundaries could stretch everywhere,
And they all could let go together,
And not fear that others were near.
They followed that magic right out of their cages,
And escaped from the dungeon of feeling alone,
Their spirits would shimmer (and heal) and mingle;
Fear could no longer freeze them like stone.
Their minds would all meld and spark with connection,
Their bodies would ripple together like waves,
Their souls merged in oneness; they stopped dreading dying;
They could see, from those peaks, they might dance beyond graves.
In their bliss they knew life is transcendent,
It's immenser than just you or we,
And whenever we try to box it or lock it,
We just jail ourselves with no key.
They celebrated the joys of coming together,
In a free-zone where each one could be
Wherever their fantasies happened to take them
And still blend with the whole harmony.
Now sadly, most who most needed their magic
Only saw them as weirdoes and freaks,
And made fun of their smiles and their twinkling eyeballs,
And then returned to that world that was bleak.
But the realm of the Wizard Garcia
Is always near for those who will dare
To soar o'er the limits and bondage of boundaries,
To find the freedom that rings beyond fear.
Garcia Tribute
written 8-27-95
Ouroboric Sunset
Jerry … where are you?
A sustained note hovers angelic over the stadium
Remembering the hypnotic music
Bubbling up from subconscious wellsprings
Forming whirling universes of electric blues
Mingling elements of fire and air
Swirling question marks in the Zen void
And in the center of the cyclone
Garcia rides the inner edge
His beard flying in the winds
His head residing in the calm central eye
Skull an alembic vessel of chemical transformation
Flames lick through the hollow eyeholes
And a wisp of incense rises up to heaven
Jerry … where are you?
Awaiting Ouroboroic sunrise
Back again with more of the Madman's Ramblings
Actually recorded a rough copy of this one last time we got the band (?) together. Getting back together in a couple of weeks to "flesh out" some old ones, and write some new ones...
It’s in the quietest of times
That hope speaks the loudest
And sometimes in the darkness
Is where you’ll see the light
All the love you give away
Comes back to you in time
Memories grow like flowers
In the garden of your mind
How many years has it been
Since we danced the night away
And stepped out of the bright lights
Into the early morning gray
Want to hold you like new memories
Of the way I dreamed it should be
They grow like ripples in still waters
We’ll watch them flowing to the sea
nineteem eighty-five
nineteen eighty-five....two tone, silver and black.....throaty three fifty coughs happily alive, through ceramic headers, collectors, straight pipes and out.....split fire plugs gaped zaped hot sparks and the rods push down around.....flywheel fly and lights flash dash board Vanillarama smell with summertime Armor All....vinyl bench seat, short box, short cab no riders......womp womp womp, cam drops drops drops d d d duh.....d d d duh.....d d d duh....she idles and waits while I pack my Copenhagen.....step on the gas....one two shift screech.....get up on it and loose the ass end a bit....back off the foot slightly for the ole two-three slam......rack and pinion steering loose in my hands.........back down to the floor, pickin' up speed.......numbers on the tach climbing, higher, higher, whining, winding, speed speed speeeeed......stall converter drop, tires catch burn rubber ninety miles an hour......overdrive nineteen eighty five.....and cold air blowin'.........I should have never sold that truck.....
A poem by Gigi
I am a hippie dead head Standing tall and sweet
Loving all the friends that I got to meet
From shakedown shopping and going to many a show
I thought I was lost when Jerry did go
He made it sound so soft and sweet
I did not care that I had dirty feet
From dancin and twirling to falling dowm
It's all to sad now I have a frown
I miss those daze one and all
Someone catch me I'm going to fall
So I am here now to share with you
about the daze when dreams came true
No Offense Intended
Dreaming of peace in this free flowing age of chaosToken Jesus pictures proclaiming morality
Please!
The Passion?
My ass!
It's mythology not religion
Dogma doggin' my trail in the Bible Belt
Blue laws restricting me
Look Inside for christ's sake
It's all you
Not the devil out to get you fool!
Love flows from my fingertips
Passing out positivity
Freely given and eagerly spent
Offering up a whole new realm of possibilities
Forget dreaming
Practice what you preach
Who cares what god you claim to be
Love Free
...sleep ...
as i sleepmy mind just creeps
where it goes i do not know
maybe to hell it goes
i do not know
perhaps to heaven it goes
i do not know
there is no gain in this
it is only sleep i miss
it seems only pain i gain
from this
only the pain in my brain
is all i have to gain
pain in my brain
is all there is to gain
just pain in my brain.
4-10-08
A poem for us Deadheads
1Have you ever been so happy to see these boys arriving with their truckloads full of music,and their eyes just shining? Yes,I see the questionmark twirling round your head the answer is,my unknown friend,here came to Grateful Dead. Refrain:And we are the people allways waiting for our Boys first song which grabs us from the start and makes all dance along We are just funny cosmic hobos,and were proud to be The Deads own gand who allways tryin to spread harmony 2.Thousand languages are spoken on our planet earth but only one is understood by everyone who cares Its the golden notes of Jerrys guitar playin with the band and when this tunes sets in wer happy like little kids in wonderland Refrain:Thats because we are the people who allways wait for another note of Grateful music that were sharing and the lyrics we can quote so like i told you we are hobos from the world of sound proud to be the Deads own gang,were allways be around.
submitted for your approval
Magic in the Valley
It was the summer of 85 and I was feeling very alive
Dancing with the Dead and spacing in my head
With an audience of pine trees and rain clouds
Weaving through the mass of swirling crowds
As the band left the stage for the first set break
My mind was peaking with all I could take
I slowed to a small bouncing rhythmic twirl
And then I saw the most beautiful girl
She wore a pink and blue dress
As she danced amid the mess
She had flowers in her hair
And her dirty feet were bare
It seemed as if we were completely alone
Then I hear the theme of the “Twilight Zone”
She whispers to me “Women are Smarter”
And that was the second set starter
She vanished somewhere during the song
So I just keep on trucking along
And finished out the show that night
Remembering her smile, what a lovely sight
The second show was anything but one more Saturday night
The band was so in touch it gave me a fright
The energy kept on growing as well as my smile
I two stepped and half stepped for what seemed like a mile
As I was grooving along with the sound of drums
From out of nowhere here she comes
Her smile alight like a lost sailors beacon
I knew that she held all I was seeking
She breathed “Dear Mr. Fantasy” into my ear
And at that very moment Jerry shifts into gear
The sweet melodic twangs of his steel guitar
Take me to a place quite distant and far
She looked deep in my eyes in a special way
And said “I need a miracle every day”
We kept on dancing as she called out the tunes
Next song they play will be “Stella Blue”
As she named “Throwing Stones”
I felt a chill in my bones
And I thought “What are the odds,
Is she a messenger from the gods?”
“Not Fade Away” will be the end of the set
But don’t worry it is not over yet
This dark haired beauty with big brown eyes
Was guiding the music to my total surprise
For an encore she paused and then said with a wink
We will hear “US Blues” I think
But “Brokedown Palace” was the encore song
How could my angel get it wrong?
She frowned then smiled and laughed so sweet
And said, Well “Us Blues” would have been neat
But hey, I can’t always be right
Maybe that one’s tomorrow night
Then without a sound she twirled away
Leaving me alone with a touch of gray
I will never forget that magical night in June
With the fallen angel of “Name that Tune”
Tim
wave that flag
The White snow mountain in the center depicts the land of the great nation of Tibet.
The six red rays emanating from the sun symbolize the six original peoples of Tibet: the Se, Mu, Dong, Tong, Dru, and Ra.
The blue rays symbolize the commitment to spirtual and secular rule.
The pair of snow-lions symbolize the complete victory of the spiritual and secular rule.
The three-sided yellow border reresents the flourishing of the Buddha’s teachings. The side without a border represents Tibet’s openness to non Buddhist thought.
The raised jewel symbolizes Tibet’s reverence for the three Precious Gems:
the Buddha, the Dharma and the Sangha.
trippy 66slim, sounds like a real story
Unless chaos rules constant the lives of men, My future must certain my past replevin.
And ere yet I finish, with gainful intent,
Applying my craft, with respect due dissent.
Giving metre it's purpose and weaving with rhyme,
So that men might gain focus from years worn with time.
Fact past and present, forevre entwined,
With one common purpose, continuation of kind.
Or how about something really dark and dismal...we're talking a fat bummer...
Loneliness is a force that steals life's precious moments drop by drop, bled to the beat of drumming angst, frustration, or resignation.
The unfulfilling satiation of the flesh and the paring of hope from the bleeding exposed bone. Mis-spent minutes fade to hours, then to years, stoicly plodding towards death.
The hearts magic tickle grows fainter as dreams become worn memories. Unrequited fantasy, unparalleled waking excitement feed secret longing and desparate hope.
Longed for visons and possibilities demand unanswered devoted action and grow the black fruit of bitterness and envy.
The answer to the heart's cry goes unheard by ears straining to hear as its muffled voice is kept wrapt in a bloody woolen rag.
The pulse, once spurred to beat so strongly and quickly, rising to the moment in anticipation, grows stagnant and thready.
Its purpose never realised, the flesh it fed, only filling out form, shrinks without filling the mold. Time grinds the bones towards dust.
Grasping fingers claw for any hold as the fall from potential reality accelerates the backwards plunge into the dark anonymous abyss.
So many others falling, all in silence, each alone. Each grasping and straining to hear the muffled voice wrapt in a bloody woolen rag.
Thanks Mom...
Mom, how you made my world sing:With stories of the Summer of Love in Frisco and everything;
About supergroups you saw when they were brand new;
About Jerry and the Boys living next door to you.
With characters like Leary, Kenyon, and Steve Miller,
What more could you ask for, sounds like a thriller.
The experiment seemed such a sucess, I wish it were true
That society evolved at the pace you all set it to.
Down at the Purple Onion, Steve Miller jammin' Indian style,
Pigpen beltin' out the blues if only for a while.
Joni Mitchell on the wall, shy as a mouse,
Janis and Big Brother tearing down the house.
Must have been a trip as a working artist in that town.
I can remember the SF scene from my perspective near the ground.
The change in the air, it seemed like revolution;
The times since then seem such a dilution.
I wish I could go back and live it for a while,
Seems like I'd have a permanent A-time smile.
That groove you all set, it still lingers on,
Though the torchbearers seem all but gone.
When Jerry went, I felt a part of me go.
Now that you're gone, it seems like the end of the show.
But I realize this is the hardest part of the test,
Cause when things get rough, you've got to be at your best.
We are the torchbearers, it's our turn to fly.
The world we live in is our alibi.
It's our song now and we get to sing it,
So don't be afraid, just get out there and wing it.
buttons
machine
chain reaction
push the button and go…no stopping
do the job built to do
designed to do
mechanism
jester
twelve-fingered freak entertaining at best
push the button and let’s see what he’ll do
family distraction, common bond, golden child link to humanity
dance, make us laugh, but don’t make us think
back back back now you twelve-fingered freak
push the button, start the machine….wake that motherfucker up
push it again I’m bored
until………..
eight leathery fingers and four leathery thumbs close tight around one soft throat, skin stained with black resin, fat strong fingers, scared, cut, bleeding, scabbed, used, useful…..push it again motherfucker, I dare you….pulls one arm back, slowly cocking, muscles tightening, bulbous, salty, years and tears of steel out at sea and they have no idea what they have on their hands now, chaffing hemp rope leathery black resign stained acrid skin around throat uncomfortable to the touch beyond the pressure alone…..every time you push that button, my son pays…..four fingers and two thumbs and the strong right hand balls up into hammer fist….
go ahead, push it again….I dare you….my son is standing right there behind me, take a good look at his face and push it again…it’s right there in front of you…all you have to do is push…..and…..laugh……and…….see what happens next….
…and with his tongue he pushes the Copenhagen tighter into his lower lip, and with a click click click he moves his head side to side and pop pop pop on his muscle of a neck and with brown dribble on his chin….how funny am I now?
My magnetic life
The sky is the ocean above our little lobster heads.
The waves of clouds create,
the waves of clouds move to make
the wind and the sea bed.
Formations of rock and stone
from the surgical whisp
whirling and swirling
fumbling and twirling
as it whistles through and around my head.
Feelings of harsh sincerity
harsh reality and
harsh naivety rush to me.
These feelings, they rush right through me
consuming all of what I thought I knew.
Consuming all of who I thought to be true.
Now I am left swimming here,
and crawling here, in this ocean of atmospheric pressure.
It relentlessly keeps pushing itself down on me.
My shoulders ache, my head aches, and my stomache screams.
I don't think my compulsions or my
con-vul-sions
could have kept me from something so
emancipated and inhumane.
This distraught loss I feel I have suffered
is now a new awakening.
My life is nothing but materialistic.
I thought these things had meaning and purpose,
but what is purpose without a soul?
It's a vicious cycle with my footprint stamped in time.
From a single seed I grew,
now 5 feet 8 inches tall
and left with an empty soul.
Degredation stemming from the 11th hour.
It is our time now to shine.
This generation of ours so behind.
Industry came on the e-train
and the time has come for it to go again.
Deep within I have found another way to be free.
It's this bright light that shines so deep into my eyes.
Blinded by this path of perfection that I had to be.
But this light, with it's scathing little intricacies
and delicasies and in-for-malities.
Inside we must learn.
Inside we must grow.
Inside we must follow.
This little winding road, that twists and turns
until silence overcomes.
We must watch as the ground below us slowly dissolves away,
slowly spreads itself and connects in so many forms.
Staggered little dots creating this painting of the big picture.
We have no idea where the earth and sky meet,
there is no line beneath my feet,
and this... rocky path.
My fingertips extending into this
distant whistling ocean in the sky.
The clouds, like waves,
rumble and roll atop my head in my
magnetic life.
~littlebri
numbers
one two three four my number is three but what’s it for, some system of three like one two three three plus one three plus two three plus three three plus three plus one three plus three plus two three plus three plus three….arbitrary names for things we call numbers and we all have one
words
words…..why why why so many floating searching seeking falling tripping slipping groping feeling stabbing cutting blunting crushing killing all around like smoke it smells like the thing it used to be and swirls around itself making patterns breaking rules taking fools along for a ride up up up and around through and out without knowing seeing hearing glaring starring till the cloud is just dust falling and calling scalding and balding the surface of everything we see