Grateful Dead Poets' Corner

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March 20, 2008 - 6:20pm

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marye

Joined:
May 26, 2007

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

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November 10, 2017 - 11:46pm

#31

trailbird

Joined:
January 8, 2011

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
September 20, 2017 - 11:49pm

#32

Randall Lard

Joined:
July 30, 2012

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.
August 22, 2017 - 3:47pm

#33

jacob sackin

Joined:
August 22, 2017

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
June 8, 2017 - 12:16am

#34

Randall Lard

Joined:
July 30, 2012

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
June 3, 2017 - 12:30am

#35

Randall Lard

Joined:
July 30, 2012

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
May 18, 2017 - 10:48pm

#36

Randall Lard

Joined:
July 30, 2012

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
May 7, 2017 - 12:24am

#37

Randall Lard

Joined:
July 30, 2012

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
April 19, 2017 - 8:10pm

#38

slo lettuce

Joined:
July 20, 2012

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'
February 15, 2017 - 7:18am

#39

Randall Lard

Joined:
July 30, 2012

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
February 1, 2017 - 11:20pm

#40

Randall Lard

Joined:
July 30, 2012

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

John Perry Barlow

John Perry Barlow

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News and Talk

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

take your pills

take your pills swallow them whole and hold them in your stomaches fist fast and strong and pull them down deep into the well of your soul and let ‘em go

the blurred vision distorts what is outside and not what is in but the light refracts and lies and what is in is not what is right bu it might get stirred and blurred and spat back at us, bad habits, and the things that are true just cigarette butts crushed under dirty ashy sole

hooks for hands

hooks for hands sitting smiling smoking passes the joint from metal hook to fleshy hand his box of false flowers resting on expensive coffee table. he goes outside and is home for a while, and he smokes in his house but keeps it meticulously clean inside the outside of his home and back in my living room assholes spew out words while outside inside his house hooks for hands sells false flowers but speaks the truth for free

SS America

Sniff snip stick-shift shlock,Shuddering schlong-slobbering, salutitious Saracen's soul-smattering snatch-scathing salubrious saponification....speed! Masticating mindless mandibles meticulously matriculate mindless masses, mandating more classes. Fat asses, seat plaster, faster faster fornicate... Love lost, spines tossed, what the cost, look who's boss. Halitosis Hallelujah, How the Hell are ya! Spectral expediency want more wait and see... Serve it up, swerve it up, stick it up, slick it up. Pestilent platters, Nothing else matters. World-whacking, mind-cracking, ass-jacking, shit-sacking, Lip-smacking, fresh packing. Wal Mart, war world, Internet porno, little girls. Wise-cracking ass-smacker Constitutional hijacker. Crack-smoking whore-poking, hometown loser mind-rot boozer. Camelot, came alot, who got shot, compost pot. Transsexual hermaphrodite, Natural Born Killers, Michelob Lite. Plaster-caster, alabaster, Masturbator of Disaster.

aliveintherain

There's just nothing like walking through the backroads of a rustic old town in the rain.Nothing rivals it, except maybe wandering through the deserted aging warehouse/cannery district of a rotting metropolis like SF. Maybe it's the smell of the rainwater soaking into the old rotting timbers or the old tar smell of the road which the rain magically brings to life again. But the rain is an integral part of it all. Drip drip drip, and it's all comming to life; like some supernatural elixir trickling down to where the spirits are lurking within; Reincarnating them to live for a time in the shadows. You can feel them then, if you have a soul, there's a depth of feeling that transcends the senses; Surrounding and enveloping you, adding multiple layers of time until the density becomes almost palpable. Whoever thought that old tar and rotting creosote soaked timbers could hold lifeblood within them? But it's more than that; more than the rusty iron railings and smooth rail tracks. There is a tangible residue of things done and times past here. There's a warmth of human blood. There's a feeling of things accomplished and an assurance of continuance. And lurking beneath it all: The strong thoughts of someone before seem caught in the chinks and cracks of the walls, teasing to be thought again; To be recycled in the places that bore them.

poet?

Perhaps---Pathetic wanderings in lonliness oneOnly------Only seeking Lonely-----Lonely in heart without sun Exhaust---Exhaust in intellect reeking Mad--in---Mind speaking I see-------I see a lie, a lack of any sum Catalyst---Change remain mum

some toys

Roving dark masses eat light,Morphing procession never lingers. Streamers flying, fat underbellies soaking up sound. Spoon floating, canned heat...showing some, most not. Shades to keep out the sheep. Wet work for the pros fixes the intrepid and the soft. Jam happy tune toys and bill loads tie most, Buy and sex the rest. Fly 'em low and test the works. Freak the civs ha ha ha...

what happened

what happened when the sea swallowed me whole and salted me through slowing time and speeding events that shaped my life while I was preoccupied with fixing my shoes

skin

can’t stop scratching itching bitching and calling out loud the pain in my brain bursting forward and out through never stilled eyes that burn like ice feels nice then itch and scratch and bleed straight through until skin becomes a burden constricting conflicting and it has to be removed

dead afternoon

Clattering chime mumbles as myriad breezes blow.Clunk chitty chunk, clunkety clunk. Numb noggin knockin' against knee, Memories turned to dust and spider sacks. Chug chug chug, hill thug inhales deep Then smoke curls through lonely eye sockets. "Wanna dance punk?" Spinning cord holds it for now. Boo woo woo, old dog grumbles and farts, Spasming, dreaming, pawing wood pile, Fat tick still sucking as legs dissappear. "Fuckin' bug!" Thick fingers pop it like a grape And leave it dangling for amusement. Greasy dust cakes old bike parts with years of intended use. Lost lipstick case fills with dirt to adorn lips already covered. Piney breeze stirs carpal strands to aimless tickling While numb noggin knocks out of time.

Working on the music for this one

(words will probably change a few times before all is said and done. . . ) Clouds blocked out the sun today Like they did the day before Now the world's a little colder Since you walked on out the door Guess I should have seen it coming They're right though, love is blind Thought for sure we'd make it Never dreamed I'd be left behind Heartache seems to follow me Love's here and then its gone Well the hardest part of losing you Was finding me alone What am I gonna do now Can't face another day Wondering how it all went wrong And why you went away Now the bed's so cold and empty And my pillow's turned to stone Yeah the hardest part of losing you Was finding me alone

dead family

I smiled inside...I finally got a ride it was a bus all filled up with heads they looked me over and checked me out and I just smiled behind the guy in the back was eagle eyes cautious the girls up front took my pack my black pocket tee says nothing about me my pants are dull and brown, the road is all they've seen... but my boots, my boots, steel toes and, brown leather, epoxy and glue and sheet metal screws...and soles I cut out of cork from the bulletin board...they're covered in salt water and blood and tears and grease and diesel and sand and mud...ash and humus and dog shit too, oh yes, my boots will tell stories to you... it didn't take long I knew the words to all the songs and they knew the words to my soul the bus rolled on to where I was goin' and my mind reeled out of control it went this way and that with significant facts hey dig this man, until thwack... that awful familiar sting it was the guy in the back he gave me a whack a flat handed smack like something I'd felt somewhere before I stood there in shock as the tears welled up and caught a smile out of the eyes in the backs of my feet it wasn't a whack, or even a smack it was my brother from my dead family

Pacific West Coast Holiday

(One of my favorites. Maybe one day I can get the recording online. . . ) As the four winds slowly blow away The leaves all run While the palm trees sway Pacific West Coast holiday Like the river flowing Up to the sea Some force of Nature's guiding me There's no need to run Run and hide We'll stand alone and side by side Watch the river flow Pacific West Coast holiday Two weeks have gone Now the time has passed We're not the first and We're not the last The play has surely lost its cast Its time to go Farewell my love don't you cry no more We'll meet again On those distant shores And there again We'll laugh and we'll play Pacific West Coast holiday

Round rain is always

Round rain is always rain.Medulla oblongata is always brain. =================== moc.swencigolyzzuf.www ===================

Glory

Creating, light from the darknessShining, this is who we are Growing, falling down and getting up again, and again Searching for our God Glory, from the mountains to the sea Beauty, on everybodies face Holy, is the way I feel when you hold me TELL ME, do you believe in Love? Waiting, for the liberating force to call on me, and finally set me free Going, to a land of everlasting love, and peace Where everything's OK Glory...

Firefly by Flowpoetry

Firefly
This is not for the squeamish and those afraid of dark, Afraid of gone to new day like fireflies without a spark, Those rubber ducky babies with silver spoons all tucked in bed, Hyena howling tiger lillies stretched waiting for the dead, Wooky bearded babas squatting in the dust smoking head.
This is for the hurried few dragged along by teams of dogs, Stuck beside heart’s ditch of mud cast ashore like driftwood logs, Sand strewn nymphs red ball bounce upon the beach, New York bound cats grin ants stuck in their teeth, Bowler capped boys chuckling tweak the beast.
So come all ye’ hula hooping maidens gamboling on the lawn, Frogs a’courting moonbeams and velvet painted dawn, Silver saddle stirrups and guitars made of rain, Wing footed fleet streeters dancing out the pain, Tree hugging butterflies with no need to explain.

Lyricist for the Zen Tricksters to Perform on June 21st in NY

Writer for the Zen Tricksters, Pozzy Ghuru, The Dave Diamond Band, The Mighty Underdogs and others.....Billy Capozzi (Poem of the day guy)...will be reuniting with his band (that has played and recorded many times with Buddy Cage on Pedal Steel (from New Riders of the Purple Sage) "FINALLY BALANCED," at Lefty's in Long Island, NY on JUNE 21ST for the first time since 2003. The intense poet of improvisational feel is coming into town from the California desert where he's been working on sounds for tv and movie gigs to NY for the first time since he left in 2004. You don't want to miss this! For information call 661-972-0907, or, 661-406-2806 .......

Rise from the Bottom

every day I awake quaking fire heartknowing that I'm part of the heavy soul existence of God, Ja, Jehova I'm just a lover, but society keeps getting in my way everyday it happens I'm learning that I can't escape raping me of what I am I'm just a lover and, society keeps getting in my way everyday I feel the pain draining energies/pure ache I'm just a lover, but society keeps getting in my way

the engine room

the engine room, a safe place; it’s where I’m supposed to be. nobody complains when I’m working, except maybe the chief. and nobody cares about him, he’s just a fat old version of me. but I can’t find the door to where I used to be. so what happens now? we’ll just have to wait and see.

Climb

You know the darkness of the nightIs overcome by the light And the bondage caused by fear Is released when Love shines clear May you find, some peace of mind Just don't give up, keep looking up And climb The clouds they come, with tears of rain And then the sun shines down again These tears they make us grow We shed our skins and then we go On to find, some peace of mind Just don't give up, keep looking up And climb And like the moon we're born a-new And grown until we become full Then slowly, we fade away So let your lovelight shine today And then you'll find, some peace of mind Just don't give up, keep looking up And climb

From the Mind of a Decomposing Polar Near (vision 1)

Endangering the worlds supplyLavish carpetbaggers exploit loopholes, their actions are backed by real bullets. Shoot the messenger, god died for you so you can now again die for it. The trailer park monarch of skin head shampoo Feels commercially betrayed by the failed expectations of rebellious imports. Organizing the common protest for a free lunch, picking over the bones of a lower degree of public response. Lets get complicated, politicalizing the policy. A freewill condition is naturally pious with enough authority to satirize the tragic. Capitol turmoil, Dixie privilege, harmful as the wrong law. Negative news, lets do noise, that's a violation of patriot commitment? The basic world condition, the neighborhood pipeline, eminent domain. In the year of martial law it's all about maintaining the infrastructure. Without warning or indication the nation changed. The madmen's dress rehearsal is a matinee at the empire museum. Titan crusade plays off of contemporary fears The physiognomy of weaponry Fills the country with voter apprehension. Puppets pull their own strings, their secrets are used against them. Primeval warriors are again the cruelest, forever praying with attitude. Global unemployment, underground economy, a subcultures industrial ghetto. They turn their the children over to the institution, then turn their family over to the reconditioning. Who controls the images, the illegal expressions, the state of the art is the art of the state. The updated monopoly game has a hotel on ground zero. Offering the oppressed only more oppression Presidential wealth diminishes the ordinary, while denigrating the common.

Very Good!

JerseySchwartz!********************************** Don't part with your illusions. When they are gone, you will still exist, but you have ceased to live. Samuel Clemens

One Third Of The Rebellious Seraph Followed the Presidential Pre

Obedience holds a twisted cross of self righteous interpretation.Think small it fits your personality. Those who have nothing to offer the public dialog, confuse the revisionist. Forsaken advisors, seduced by the beauty of the beast Are being taking advantage of by those who oversee their own worst enemy. Remaining afraid of what can’t be manipulated. Guaranteed minimal transparency, the mediators randomness lacks warmth. Regrets are individual, not political. Shaking hands with their evil twin, aggressively reasoning their sense of priority. Denied the access to prove a professional responsibility Rationalize a changing world, they openly offer servitude That's despised for the wrong indication, while honored for the wrong warning. Desperate technology, a broken map, tributes of oil Impersonal percent of citizen influence hangs on a popsicle stick crucifix. Martyr's master a difficult opportunity to pacify innate abstracts of being By living the way of those who must. Prove themselves- By rebelling against the terms of this nations court appointed theocracy.

i like!

wow, peakin that strikes deep chords with-in,very nice and thx! and jerseyswartz, i like the way you think and write, pleeze more spewing forth of taloned word thrusted towards au THO r I zed op PRESS i ON of the mindnumb instant gratification masses swaying in front of the i got mine now i want yours ticks feeding on the underbelly of the beast we call home... well said, well spoken peace

collectable

blintzes sparkle inside twined marshalled cabinetssprinkles and frosting coupled with barbed sugar disasters municipalities fail in the clutch of the drip one for the agents and the scribes portals into frozen shark-muscled wings no trails to dessert nothing to follow | Wait until the veil is shredded, then reveal it |

Elysian Hide & Seek (two sparrows)

Watercolor glint, intricate as the Vespers templateLiberates its aspect of daylight. Cerulean particle, solitude Orb at stationary form. Mind to mind, the simplest of light enveloped the purest of silence. The mystic anomaly dissolves its ethereal obstacle. Stubborn illumine interacts alongside the paradigm of our illuminant characteristics. Ah actualization, perpetual focal point, neutral projection. Suffused disappearance in the distance, guided through a charged ion of transformation. Incessant after-fade, what's left to be rearranged ? For this transparent hint, invisible clue, redeemed in a great sense of nothingness. Drift, harmonious nuance, epoch of the light, recoiling cerulean fury. Innate presence, hidden in a delicate rain, resolved to be as a tears' Individualized sense of oneness, as if time itself, returns unto it's original form. Elysian ever present, plays hide and seek amongst two sparrows. Integrated similarities, cultivated common ground. Here forth acknowledging the inner spirit's beginnings, the outer soul's continuation.

on the trail

I looked at life as I was walking down the trailSearching for the Secret that would finally lift the veil Through the pines, to a ridge out in the sun The river down below me said "Be forever young" And as the wind blows through the trees It whispers there's a world that is still free The eagle cries, and suddenly you see Ain't that the way it's supposed to be

I hate you more than I hate

I hate you more than I hate my enemiesI hate you more than I hate my opponents I hate you more than I hate my adversary I hate you more than I hate my rivals I HATE YOU BUT..... WHY I STILL LOVE YOU? ________ :- )

love

We love you too!

This goes out to JerseySchwartz- I hear ya!!

I thank all of you who have posted on this forum. It's great to see all the flowers of creativity. Interstate Samhain Blues The rolling view from the car window mimicks the clicking of an antiquated sixteen millimeter motion picture movie projector. It's playing a bizarre B-rated horror flick dreamed up by a weaning neophyte from the jack-o-lantern's teat. An all saints chorus of cirrus and sun sprays Segrada Familia magentas of flame that melts the crystalline vapor of an Itascan morning flowing into the Mother American river. [yes, I know. It's a road song like BTW :)] The barren cornmeal soil forgotten by the harvest, yet familiar to summer's ghosts expose tricks and treats to the hard pressed rock candy, salt water taffy of the earth. They're wearing yesterday's masks, hiding in homes all saccharin bloated on waxy candy corn dreams, and trying to atone for the sins loaded with artificial colors of red, white and blue. Yellow dye no. 5 stains the road east with it's jaundice justice. The second half of electricity's sigh is the pentagram spokesman, a skilled vetriloquist of warfare might. America has become a puppeteer who's lost control of the marionette, a Potomac Pinocchio of Bush, Cheney, Powell, Rumsfeld and Rice. (poem c. 2005) Yellow dye no. 5 stains the road east with it's callous cowardice. An alternating current of citizen thought should mold marzipan martyrs from America's backwaters. If not, the blistered sun will be eclipsed in crude blackness, bloodened with a viscosity similar to the caramel upon the golden apple that hides the razor blade we all must swallow. The eye of the hawk performs helixes on the heartland horizon. It zeros-in on the military snake bleeding from the apple's blade and soaking in Eden's perpetual rain. Lazarus is walking, adorned with bandages to cover Hades' transgressions and the lacerations of Cerberus' rage. Lazarus is talking of a reversal in fortune. In three days we'll be dead, sans ascension. The desert storm troopers are painting their own Hieronymus Bosch imitation. "War on!", is an erroneous Bush insinuation. Soldier sacrifice bloats the U.S. economy with artificial colors of truth, might and heady delusions of prosperity that even Mark Twain coudn't fathom. Hannibal waits with elephant bombs to whitewash our faces and brainwash our Huckleberry dreams of lollipop rivers and Pollyanna prairies. The American dream is an illusion of exclusion from the rest of the world. Globilization is the world's affliction of the American predatory zombie engulfing anything with a pulse. The sarcophogus is empty, so the indigenous shamans are concocting potions of protection from the top-of-the-food chain mummy who believes wisdom is in the brain. Bottlenecked in Coca-Cola corporations our cheetah capitalism is on a sorghum grass safari, soon to climb a tree and die a slow, molasses death. The technological spider has spun it's web and forgotten about the agrarian barn that's shelters it's lattice haunt. The road reels on, and as I exit the heartland passed the Arch and the river Styx, I see Charon's ferry churning south. The sign reads 'no vacancy'. All is ready to engorge the Mardi Gras meat of debauchery and sin. I shiver my last polar chill and feel the chemotherapy fever of the ever closer latitude of cancer. The tropics warm with leucocytic power. A hurricane is no longer just a drink you order in the French Quarter. Mother Nature's archery rivals that of the new rising Orion. I cover my eyes. The veil is too thin. The dependence upon Earth's black death, and the subsequent wars to establish pallbearer status, has made the corpse bride of the widwower soldier all to familiar with her own death. When her man comes home as a letter shroud in the army lieutenants' words of solace, describing her as a newborn daughter of America, she touches her belly knowing more than he says. The Liberty Bell's crack is the cause of it's own ineffectiveness. Our Graceland is no longer a new frontier of mountains and valleys carved of glacial melt and thrusting magma. We have exhausted the wilderness paradise. It rivals the ruin of ancient Memphis, choked with barbed wire fences and bled dry with concrete needles that replace Earth's plasma with embalming fluid of unknown consequences. Until our streams of consciousness can set new courses toward oceanic thoughts with tsunami magnitudes, we'll be stuck on the Land Between the Lakes surrounding doldrum marshes of methane, peat and rotting carcasses. Our media heroes and technological warriors are dressed in camouflage and performing marches for the lofty feats that democracy promises. The tug of war of the two-headed snake, in lands of asbestos dust, suffocates tolerance like a creeping radon death. America's AC/DC, worldwide, iridescent glow sits in a spinning limbo, like the dark side of the moon, when viewed from Olympus Mons. Shadowed in the harvest moon, pumpkin-hued light, a feared new Tartarus, just a part of our collective consciousness and a synaptic firing of the new world brain reaches Mars upon Mercury's wings. On the war planet of the celestial pantheon, A false idolotry of a mysterious god suffices alien criterion and a new, foreign religion is born, adding to the hodge-podge of public opinion. Alas, my metaphoric muse just makes me another minion of our current controversy, another Mary Shelly fantasy reiterating the spiral energy of life immemorial. The saints and souls wearing masks of science and ritual or mystery and chaos are singing the same chant from behind the veil of Cronus and Christ. They're dethroning the old with knowing grace, celebrating the monarch of chrysalis faith and dancing a jig of universal taste. As the clock strikes midnight on a new day, month, year and century our ancestors are urging us to plant a golden apple tree worthy of Atalanta's ruse by Aphrodite. *I know it's a bit long, but I hope you all enjoyed it. ......And there were days I know when all we ever wanted was to learn and love and grow.

broken arrow

There you go, movin across the waterThere you go, turnin my whole world around

silly putty

Warning: levity ahead We're just a bag of skin and bones Amino acids and chromosomes Made to think, and built to roam A mystery that's ours on loan We've evovled since time unknown Planting seeds and throwing stones Then we learned to write and read The written word began to feed Whatever light shines within you If it's for Love I'm with you too It's nice to have something to do Come walk with me I'll walk with you And in the end we'll know the truth I hope we find fountains of youth Till then I'll live day to day And hope for you to walk my way

very interesting

very nice to see all this beutiful poetry ,, keep up the nice work of words folks .. it is amazing just how far my suggestion for this forum has gone .. i need to post more of my words soon .. Take care everyone !! Peace and sunshine to all !!

play Silly Putty

Play Silly Putty on guitar! G-Em-D-C with a reggaeish feel.

Silly Putty

Two times through each verse, right? Sorted! Fun and bouncy! Conversation is always more interesting than recitation, so speak your mind and not someone else's.

That works

Plenty of room for jammin too. Thanks for trying it. And a big thanks to Stuman for suggesting this forum. My favorite.

the beast

I have long hair and I just don`t care watch out for that bear I must say do you see the tree`s sway we better stay away from here is what I hear for the great beast has no fear don`t you hear what i say look at the tree`s sway we better stay away from here for the great beast has no fear. 4-7-08

in the shadows

in the shadows of the moon I heard a great boom like the sounds of thunder coming from down under I stand and wonder what kind of blunder could posibley come from down under could this just be thunder ? do`es this make you wonder ? 4-7-08

Stuman

Stuman!!!!!!!!!!

Daystar

There is day, and there is nightThere is wrong, and there is right Some find peace, while others fight, oh yeah In the cities, and in the towns There are smiles, and there are frowns Some see the priest, I'll take the clowns, oh yeah You'll be up, and you'll be down You'll be lost, and you'll be found Look for Love, it's all around you, yeah There is sunshine, and there is rain There is laughter, and there is pain May your love, always remain, oh yeah All I see is illusion, the hands of man have built Don't give in to confusion, or be haunted by guilt, oh yeah

dreams

a dream is only a dream or is it for life is the aftermath of our dreams and our dreams keep us in the fullest of life a man must dream or he will never achieve almost all we do are the reflections of a dream

your love

7/27/08 Sunlight splatters Nothing matters Without Love Take me and awake me Don't forsake me With your Love And I'll try, to do the best I can To get by, and give ourselves a chance It's time to make a plan And leave it up to Love Jam Reason tattered I've been captured By your Love Give your dreams A set of wings And give yourself a shove And you'll find, that the world was made for you If you try, there's nothing you can't do So to your heart be true And let Love see you through

inside my head

my head is throbing my head is pounding I try to smile but can only frown like being a sad clown I can not shake this frown as my head keeps pounding I continue my frowning and the twinkle in my eye`s starts to slowley die drownding in my oun tears 8-5-08

Stuman

so sad...turn that frown upside down :) Nothing left today but smile smile smile..... I hope your migraine's gone!!

ditto what Gigi said ..

Feel better Stuman :) PEACE

what they said!

headache begone!

Gigi , Leanne , Marye

Thank you very much !! Thank anyone else who may be sending positve vibes !! it`s gone for now but Doc. said it could come back anytime ,, hope it don`t ..

Wrote this many years ago

when I was in a deep, dark place. Don't know what made me think of it today. It has music as well. You wake up all alone and remember that they're gone and you have to wind it down. It's not the same old place, it's missing another face and you have to wind it down. You know you hate this part hoping for something to fill the void. Try to find another way to deal. Then waves of dread come crashing in reminding you that pain is very real. The empty pillow there you toss it in the chair cause you have to wind it down. They won't be coming back their life is on another track and you have to wind it down. Staring blankly into space try to focus anywhere but there. Searching for a sliver of the sun. It doesn't help to scream again no respite from your life that's come undone. You sort through some old things and fight back the tears they bring cause you have to wind it down. Sad, and all alone. So sad, because they're gone and you have to wind it down. Conversation is always more interesting than recitation, so speak your mind and not someone else's.

nice, mr p

i sense a dark rocker with spiraling leads

Mr. Pid

That "wind it down", really nice.