Fred Astair fingers
Staccatoing on the keys.
Ah, writing's rhythm.
16 May 2011
16 April 2011
+ 'Casey at the Bat'
By Ernest Lawrence Thayer
The outlook wasn't brilliant for the Mudville nine that day;
The score stood four to two, with but one inning more to play,
And then when Cooney died at first, and Barrows did the same,
A pall-like silence fell upon the patrons of the game.
A straggling few got up to go in deep despair. The rest
Clung to that hope which springs eternal in the human breast;
They thought, "If only Casey could but get a whack at that —
We'd put up even money now, with Casey at the bat."
But Flynn preceded Casey, as did also Jimmy Blake,
And the former was a hoodoo, while the latter was a cake;
So upon that stricken multitude grim melancholy sat;
For there seemed but little chance of Casey getting to the bat.
But Flynn let drive a single, to the wonderment of all,
And Blake, the much despised, tore the cover off the ball;
And when the dust had lifted, and men saw what had occurred,
There was Jimmy safe at second and Flynn a-hugging third.
Then from five thousand throats and more there rose a lusty yell;
It rumbled through the valley, it rattled in the dell;
It pounded on the mountain and recoiled upon the flat,
For Casey, mighty Casey, was advancing to the bat.
There was ease in Casey's manner as he stepped into his place;
There was pride in Casey's bearing and a smile lit Casey's face.
And when, responding to the cheers, he lightly doffed his hat,
No stranger in the crowd could doubt 'twas Casey at the bat.
Ten thousand eyes were on him as he rubbed his hands with dirt.
Five thousand tongues applauded when he wiped them on his shirt.
Then while the writhing pitcher ground the ball into his hip,
Defiance flashed in Casey's eye, a sneer curled Casey's lip.
And now the leather-covered sphere came hurtling through the air,
And Casey stood a-watching it in haughty grandeur there.
Close by the sturdy batsman the ball unheeded sped —
"That ain't my style," said Casey. "Strike one!" the umpire said.
From the benches, black with people, there went up a muffled roar,
Like the beating of the storm-waves on a stern and distant shore;
"Kill him! Kill the umpire!" shouted some one on the stand;
And it's likely they'd have killed him had not Casey raised his hand.
With a smile of Christian charity great Casey's visage shone;
He stilled the rising tumult; he bade the game go on;
He signaled to the pitcher, and once more the dun sphere flew;
But Casey still ignored it, and the umpire said "Strike two!"
"Fraud!" cried the maddened thousands, and echo answered "Fraud!"
But one scornful look from Casey and the audience was awed.
They saw his face grow stern and cold, they saw his muscles strain,
And they knew that Casey wouldn't let that ball go by again.
The sneer has fled from Casey's lip, the teeth are clenched in hate;
He pounds with cruel violence his bat upon the plate.
And now the pitcher holds the ball, and now he lets it go,
And now the air is shattered by the force of Casey's blow.
Oh, somewhere in this favored land the sun is shining bright,
The band is playing somewhere, and somewhere hearts are light,
And somewhere men are laughing, and little children shout;
But there is no joy in Mudville — mighty Casey has struck out.
The outlook wasn't brilliant for the Mudville nine that day;
The score stood four to two, with but one inning more to play,
And then when Cooney died at first, and Barrows did the same,
A pall-like silence fell upon the patrons of the game.
A straggling few got up to go in deep despair. The rest
Clung to that hope which springs eternal in the human breast;
They thought, "If only Casey could but get a whack at that —
We'd put up even money now, with Casey at the bat."
But Flynn preceded Casey, as did also Jimmy Blake,
And the former was a hoodoo, while the latter was a cake;
So upon that stricken multitude grim melancholy sat;
For there seemed but little chance of Casey getting to the bat.
But Flynn let drive a single, to the wonderment of all,
And Blake, the much despised, tore the cover off the ball;
And when the dust had lifted, and men saw what had occurred,
There was Jimmy safe at second and Flynn a-hugging third.
Then from five thousand throats and more there rose a lusty yell;
It rumbled through the valley, it rattled in the dell;
It pounded on the mountain and recoiled upon the flat,
For Casey, mighty Casey, was advancing to the bat.
There was ease in Casey's manner as he stepped into his place;
There was pride in Casey's bearing and a smile lit Casey's face.
And when, responding to the cheers, he lightly doffed his hat,
No stranger in the crowd could doubt 'twas Casey at the bat.
Ten thousand eyes were on him as he rubbed his hands with dirt.
Five thousand tongues applauded when he wiped them on his shirt.
Then while the writhing pitcher ground the ball into his hip,
Defiance flashed in Casey's eye, a sneer curled Casey's lip.
And now the leather-covered sphere came hurtling through the air,
And Casey stood a-watching it in haughty grandeur there.
Close by the sturdy batsman the ball unheeded sped —
"That ain't my style," said Casey. "Strike one!" the umpire said.
From the benches, black with people, there went up a muffled roar,
Like the beating of the storm-waves on a stern and distant shore;
"Kill him! Kill the umpire!" shouted some one on the stand;
And it's likely they'd have killed him had not Casey raised his hand.
With a smile of Christian charity great Casey's visage shone;
He stilled the rising tumult; he bade the game go on;
He signaled to the pitcher, and once more the dun sphere flew;
But Casey still ignored it, and the umpire said "Strike two!"
"Fraud!" cried the maddened thousands, and echo answered "Fraud!"
But one scornful look from Casey and the audience was awed.
They saw his face grow stern and cold, they saw his muscles strain,
And they knew that Casey wouldn't let that ball go by again.
The sneer has fled from Casey's lip, the teeth are clenched in hate;
He pounds with cruel violence his bat upon the plate.
And now the pitcher holds the ball, and now he lets it go,
And now the air is shattered by the force of Casey's blow.
Oh, somewhere in this favored land the sun is shining bright,
The band is playing somewhere, and somewhere hearts are light,
And somewhere men are laughing, and little children shout;
But there is no joy in Mudville — mighty Casey has struck out.
15 April 2011
+ 'The Highwayman'
By Alfred Noyes
The wind was a torrent of darkness upon the gusty trees,
The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas,
The road was a ribbon of moonlight looping the purple moor,
And the highwayman came riding--
Riding--riding--
The highwayman came riding, up to the old inn door.
He'd a French cocked hat on his forehead, and a bunch of lace at his chin;
He'd a coat of the claret velvet, and breeches of fine doe-skin.
They fitted with never a wrinkle; his boots were up to his thigh!
And he rode with a jeweled twinkle--
His rapier hilt a-twinkle--
His pistol butts a-twinkle, under the jeweled sky.
Over the cobbles he clattered and clashed in the dark inn-yard,
He tapped with his whip on the shutters, but all was locked and barred,
He whistled a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there
But the landlord's black-eyed daughter--
Bess, the landlord's daughter--
Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.
Dark in the dark old inn-yard a stable-wicket creaked
Where Tim, the ostler listened--his face was white and peaked--
His eyes were hollows of madness, his hair like mouldy hay,
But he loved the landlord's daughter--
The landlord's black-eyed daughter;
Dumb as a dog he listened, and he heard the robber say:
"One kiss, my bonny sweetheart; I'm after a prize tonight,
But I shall be back with the yellow gold before the morning light.
Yet if they press me sharply, and harry me through the day,
Then look for me by moonlight,
Watch for me by moonlight,
I'll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the way."
He stood upright in the stirrups; he scarce could reach her hand,
But she loosened her hair in the casement! His face burnt like a brand
As the sweet black waves of perfume came tumbling o'er his breast,
Then he kissed its waves in the moonlight
(O sweet black waves in the moonlight!),
And he tugged at his reins in the moonlight, and galloped away to the west.
He did not come in the dawning; he did not come at noon.
And out of the tawny sunset, before the rise of the moon,
When the road was a gypsy's ribbon over the purple moor,
The redcoat troops came marching--
Marching--marching--
King George's men came marching, up to the old inn-door.
They said no word to the landlord; they drank his ale instead,
But they gagged his daughter and bound her to the foot of her narrow bed.
Two of them knelt at her casement, with muskets by their side;
There was Death at every window,
And Hell at one dark window,
For Bess could see, through her casement, the road that he would ride.
They had bound her up at attention, with many a sniggering jest!
They had tied a rifle beside her, with the barrel beneath her breast!
"Now keep good watch!" and they kissed her. She heard the dead man say,
"Look for me by moonlight,
Watch for me by moonlight,
I'll come to thee by moonlight, though Hell should bar the way."
She twisted her hands behind her, but all the knots held good!
She writhed her hands till her fingers were wet with sweat or blood!
They stretched and strained in the darkness, and the hours crawled by like years,
Till, on the stroke of midnight,
Cold on the stroke of midnight,
The tip of one finger touched it! The trigger at least was hers!
The tip of one finger touched it, she strove no more for the rest;
Up, she stood up at attention, with the barrel beneath her breast.
She would not risk their hearing, she would not strive again,
For the road lay bare in the moonlight,
Blank and bare in the moonlight,
And the blood in her veins, in the moonlight, throbbed to her love's refrain.
Tlot tlot, tlot tlot! Had they heard it? The horse-hooves, ringing clear;
Tlot tlot, tlot tlot, in the distance! Were they deaf that they did not hear?
Down the ribbon of moonlight, over the brow of the hill,
The highwayman came riding--
Riding--riding--
The redcoats looked to their priming! She stood up straight and still.
Tlot tlot, in the frosty silence! Tlot tlot, in the echoing night!
Nearer he came and nearer! Her face was like a light!
Her eyes grew wide for a moment, she drew one last deep breath,
Then her finger moved in the moonlight--
Her musket shattered the moonlight--
Shattered her breast in the moonlight and warned him--with her death.
He turned, he spurred to the West; he did not know who stood
Bowed, with her head o'er the casement, drenched in her own red blood!
Not till the dawn did he hear it, and his face grew grey to hear
How Bess, the landlord's daughter,
The landlord's black-eyed daughter,
Had watched for her love in the moonlight, and died in the darkness there.
Back, he spurred like a madman, shrieking a curse to the sky,
With the white road smoking behind him and his rapier brandished high!
Blood-red were his spurs in the golden noon, wine-red was his velvet coat
When they shot him down in the highway,
Down like a dog in the highway,
And he lay in his blood in the highway, with the bunch of lace at his throat.
And still on a winter's night, they say, when the wind is in the trees,
When the moon is a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas,
When the road is a gypsy's ribbon looping the purple moor,
The highwayman comes riding--
Riding--riding--
The highwayman comes riding, up to the old inn-door.
Over the cobbles he clatters and clangs in the dark inn-yard,
He taps with his whip on the shutters, but all is locked and barred,
He whistles a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there
But the landlord's black-eyed daughter--
Bess, the landlord's daughter--
Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.
The wind was a torrent of darkness upon the gusty trees,
The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas,
The road was a ribbon of moonlight looping the purple moor,
And the highwayman came riding--
Riding--riding--
The highwayman came riding, up to the old inn door.
He'd a French cocked hat on his forehead, and a bunch of lace at his chin;
He'd a coat of the claret velvet, and breeches of fine doe-skin.
They fitted with never a wrinkle; his boots were up to his thigh!
And he rode with a jeweled twinkle--
His rapier hilt a-twinkle--
His pistol butts a-twinkle, under the jeweled sky.
Over the cobbles he clattered and clashed in the dark inn-yard,
He tapped with his whip on the shutters, but all was locked and barred,
He whistled a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there
But the landlord's black-eyed daughter--
Bess, the landlord's daughter--
Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.
Dark in the dark old inn-yard a stable-wicket creaked
Where Tim, the ostler listened--his face was white and peaked--
His eyes were hollows of madness, his hair like mouldy hay,
But he loved the landlord's daughter--
The landlord's black-eyed daughter;
Dumb as a dog he listened, and he heard the robber say:
"One kiss, my bonny sweetheart; I'm after a prize tonight,
But I shall be back with the yellow gold before the morning light.
Yet if they press me sharply, and harry me through the day,
Then look for me by moonlight,
Watch for me by moonlight,
I'll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the way."
He stood upright in the stirrups; he scarce could reach her hand,
But she loosened her hair in the casement! His face burnt like a brand
As the sweet black waves of perfume came tumbling o'er his breast,
Then he kissed its waves in the moonlight
(O sweet black waves in the moonlight!),
And he tugged at his reins in the moonlight, and galloped away to the west.
He did not come in the dawning; he did not come at noon.
And out of the tawny sunset, before the rise of the moon,
When the road was a gypsy's ribbon over the purple moor,
The redcoat troops came marching--
Marching--marching--
King George's men came marching, up to the old inn-door.
They said no word to the landlord; they drank his ale instead,
But they gagged his daughter and bound her to the foot of her narrow bed.
Two of them knelt at her casement, with muskets by their side;
There was Death at every window,
And Hell at one dark window,
For Bess could see, through her casement, the road that he would ride.
They had bound her up at attention, with many a sniggering jest!
They had tied a rifle beside her, with the barrel beneath her breast!
"Now keep good watch!" and they kissed her. She heard the dead man say,
"Look for me by moonlight,
Watch for me by moonlight,
I'll come to thee by moonlight, though Hell should bar the way."
She twisted her hands behind her, but all the knots held good!
She writhed her hands till her fingers were wet with sweat or blood!
They stretched and strained in the darkness, and the hours crawled by like years,
Till, on the stroke of midnight,
Cold on the stroke of midnight,
The tip of one finger touched it! The trigger at least was hers!
The tip of one finger touched it, she strove no more for the rest;
Up, she stood up at attention, with the barrel beneath her breast.
She would not risk their hearing, she would not strive again,
For the road lay bare in the moonlight,
Blank and bare in the moonlight,
And the blood in her veins, in the moonlight, throbbed to her love's refrain.
Tlot tlot, tlot tlot! Had they heard it? The horse-hooves, ringing clear;
Tlot tlot, tlot tlot, in the distance! Were they deaf that they did not hear?
Down the ribbon of moonlight, over the brow of the hill,
The highwayman came riding--
Riding--riding--
The redcoats looked to their priming! She stood up straight and still.
Tlot tlot, in the frosty silence! Tlot tlot, in the echoing night!
Nearer he came and nearer! Her face was like a light!
Her eyes grew wide for a moment, she drew one last deep breath,
Then her finger moved in the moonlight--
Her musket shattered the moonlight--
Shattered her breast in the moonlight and warned him--with her death.
He turned, he spurred to the West; he did not know who stood
Bowed, with her head o'er the casement, drenched in her own red blood!
Not till the dawn did he hear it, and his face grew grey to hear
How Bess, the landlord's daughter,
The landlord's black-eyed daughter,
Had watched for her love in the moonlight, and died in the darkness there.
Back, he spurred like a madman, shrieking a curse to the sky,
With the white road smoking behind him and his rapier brandished high!
Blood-red were his spurs in the golden noon, wine-red was his velvet coat
When they shot him down in the highway,
Down like a dog in the highway,
And he lay in his blood in the highway, with the bunch of lace at his throat.
And still on a winter's night, they say, when the wind is in the trees,
When the moon is a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas,
When the road is a gypsy's ribbon looping the purple moor,
The highwayman comes riding--
Riding--riding--
The highwayman comes riding, up to the old inn-door.
Over the cobbles he clatters and clangs in the dark inn-yard,
He taps with his whip on the shutters, but all is locked and barred,
He whistles a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there
But the landlord's black-eyed daughter--
Bess, the landlord's daughter--
Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.
14 April 2011
+ 'Song'
By John Donne
Go and catch a falling star,
Get with child a mandrake root,
Tell me where all past years are,
Or who cleft the devil's foot,
Teach me to hear mermaids singing,
Or to keep off envy's stinging,
And find
What wind
Serves to advance an honest mind.
If thou be'st born to strange sights,
Things invisible to see,
Ride ten thousand days and nights,
Till age snow white hairs on thee,
Thou, when thou return'st, wilt tell me,
All strange wonders that befell thee,
And swear,
No where
Lives a woman true and fair.
If thou find'st one, let me know,
Such a pilgrimage were sweet;
Yet do not, I would not go,
Though at next door we might meet,
Though she were true, when you met her,
And last, till you write your letter,
Yet she
Will be
False, ere I come, to two, or three.
Go and catch a falling star,
Get with child a mandrake root,
Tell me where all past years are,
Or who cleft the devil's foot,
Teach me to hear mermaids singing,
Or to keep off envy's stinging,
And find
What wind
Serves to advance an honest mind.
If thou be'st born to strange sights,
Things invisible to see,
Ride ten thousand days and nights,
Till age snow white hairs on thee,
Thou, when thou return'st, wilt tell me,
All strange wonders that befell thee,
And swear,
No where
Lives a woman true and fair.
If thou find'st one, let me know,
Such a pilgrimage were sweet;
Yet do not, I would not go,
Though at next door we might meet,
Though she were true, when you met her,
And last, till you write your letter,
Yet she
Will be
False, ere I come, to two, or three.
13 April 2011
+ 'A Wounded Dear -- Leaps Highest'
By Emily Dickenson
A Wounded Deer -- leaps highest --
I've heard the Hunter tell --
'Tis but the Ecstasy of death --
And then the Brake is still!
The Smitten Rock that gushes!
The trampled Steel that springs!
A Cheek is always redder
Just where the Hectic stings!
Mirth is the Mail of Anguish
In which it Cautious Arm,
Lest anybody spy the blood
And "you're hurt" exclaim!
A Wounded Deer -- leaps highest --
I've heard the Hunter tell --
'Tis but the Ecstasy of death --
And then the Brake is still!
The Smitten Rock that gushes!
The trampled Steel that springs!
A Cheek is always redder
Just where the Hectic stings!
Mirth is the Mail of Anguish
In which it Cautious Arm,
Lest anybody spy the blood
And "you're hurt" exclaim!
12 April 2011
+ 'Heavenly Grass'
By Tennessee Williams
My feet took a walk in heavenly grass.
All day while the sky shone clear as glass.
My feet took a walk in heavenly grass,
All night while the lonesome stars rolled past.
Then my feet come down to walk on earth,
And my mother cried when she give me birth.
Now my feet walk far and my feet walk fast,
But they still got an itch for heavenly grass.
But they still got an itch for heavenly grass.
My feet took a walk in heavenly grass.
All day while the sky shone clear as glass.
My feet took a walk in heavenly grass,
All night while the lonesome stars rolled past.
Then my feet come down to walk on earth,
And my mother cried when she give me birth.
Now my feet walk far and my feet walk fast,
But they still got an itch for heavenly grass.
But they still got an itch for heavenly grass.
11 April 2011
+ 'Dulce Et Decorum Est'
By Wilfred Owen
Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs
And towards our distant rest began to trudge.
Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
Of disappointed shells that dropped behind.
GAS! Gas! Quick, boys!-- An ecstasy of fumbling,
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time;
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling
And floundering like a man in fire or lime.--
Dim, through the misty panes and thick green light
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.
In all my dreams, before my helpless sight,
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.
If in some smothering dreams you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil's sick of sin;
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,
Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,--
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est
Pro patria mori.
Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs
And towards our distant rest began to trudge.
Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
Of disappointed shells that dropped behind.
GAS! Gas! Quick, boys!-- An ecstasy of fumbling,
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time;
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling
And floundering like a man in fire or lime.--
Dim, through the misty panes and thick green light
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.
In all my dreams, before my helpless sight,
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.
If in some smothering dreams you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil's sick of sin;
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,
Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,--
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est
Pro patria mori.
10 April 2011
+ 'She Dwelt Among the Untrodden Ways'
By William Wordsworth
She among the untrodden ways
Beside the springs of Dove,
A Maid whom there were none to praise
And very few to love:
A violet by a mossy stone
Half hidden from the eye!
--Fair as a star, when only one
Is shining in the sky.
She lived unknown, and few could know
When Lucy ceased to be;
But she is in her grave, and, oh,
The difference to me!
She among the untrodden ways
Beside the springs of Dove,
A Maid whom there were none to praise
And very few to love:
A violet by a mossy stone
Half hidden from the eye!
--Fair as a star, when only one
Is shining in the sky.
She lived unknown, and few could know
When Lucy ceased to be;
But she is in her grave, and, oh,
The difference to me!
09 April 2011
+ 'Cradle Song'
By William Blake
Sleep, sleep, beauty bright,
Dreaming in the joys of night;
Sleep, sleep; in thy sleep
Little sorrows sit and weep.
Sweet babe, in thy face
Soft desires I can trace,
Secret joys and secret smiles,
Little pretty infant wiles.
As thy softest limbs I feel,
Smiles as of the morning steal
O'er thy cheek, and o'er thy breast
Where thy little heart doth rest.
O the cunning wiles that creep
In thy little heart asleep!
When thy little heart doth wake,
Then the dreadful night shall break.
Sleep, sleep, beauty bright,
Dreaming in the joys of night;
Sleep, sleep; in thy sleep
Little sorrows sit and weep.
Sweet babe, in thy face
Soft desires I can trace,
Secret joys and secret smiles,
Little pretty infant wiles.
As thy softest limbs I feel,
Smiles as of the morning steal
O'er thy cheek, and o'er thy breast
Where thy little heart doth rest.
O the cunning wiles that creep
In thy little heart asleep!
When thy little heart doth wake,
Then the dreadful night shall break.
08 April 2011
+ 'Gunga Din'
By Rudyard Kipling
You may talk o' gin an' beer
When you're quartered safe out 'ere,
An' you're sent to penny-fights an' Aldershot it;
But if it comes to slaughter
You will do your work on water,
An' you'll lick the bloomin' boots of 'im that's got it.
Now in Injia's sunny clime,
Where I used to spend my time
A-servin' of 'Er Majesty the Queen,
Of all them black-faced crew
The finest man I knew
Was our regimental bhisti, Gunga Din.
It was "Din! Din! Din!
You limping lump o' brick-dust, Gunga Din!
Hi! slippy hitherao!
Water, get it! Panee lao!
You squidgy-nosed old idol, Gunga Din!"
The uniform 'e wore
Was nothin' much before,
An' rather less than 'arf o' that be'ind,
For a twisty piece o' rag
An' a goatskin water-bag
Was all the field-equipment 'e could find.
When the sweatin' troop-train lay
In a sidin' through the day,
Where the 'eat would make your bloomin' eyebrows crawl,
We shouted "Harry By!"
Till our throats were bricky-dry,
Then we wopped 'im 'cause 'e couldn't serve us all.
It was "Din! Din! Din!
You 'eathen, where the mischief 'ave you been?
You put some juldee in it,
Or I'll marrow you this minute,
If you don't fill up my helmet, Gunga Din!"
'E would dot an' carry one
Till the longest day was done,
An' 'e didn't seem to know the use o' fear.
If we charged or broke or cut,
You could bet your bloomin' nut,
'E'd be waitin' fifty paces right flank rear.
With 'is mussick on 'is back,
'E would skip with our attack,
An' watch us till the bugles made "Retire."
An' for all 'is dirty 'ide,
'E was white, clear white, inside
When 'e went to tend the wounded under fire!
It was "Din! Din! Din!"
With the bullets kickin' dust-spots on the green.
When the cartridges ran out,
You could 'ear the front-files shout:
"Hi! ammunition-mules an' Gunga Din!"
I sha'n't forgit the night
When I dropped be'ind the fight
With a bullet where my belt-plate should 'a' been.
I was chokin' mad with thirst,
An' the man that spied me first
Was our good old grinnin', gruntin' Gunga Din.
'E lifted up my 'ead,
An' 'e plugged me where I bled,
An' 'e guv me 'arf-a-pint o' water—green;
It was crawlin' an' it stunk,
But of all the drinks I've drunk,
I'm gratefullest to one from Gunga Din.
It was "Din! Din! Din!
'Ere's a beggar with a bullet through 'is spleen;
'E's chawin' up the ground an' 'e's kickin' all around:
For Gawd's sake, git the water, Gunga Din!"
'E carried me away
To where a dooli lay,
An' a bullet come an' drilled the beggar clean.
'E put me safe inside,
An' just before 'e died:
"I 'ope you liked your drink," sez Gunga Din.
So I'll meet 'im later on
In the place where 'e is gone—
Where it's always double drill and no canteen;
'E'll be squattin' on the coals
Givin' drink to pore damned souls,
An' I'll get a swig in Hell from Gunga Din!
Din! Din! Din!
You Lazarushian-leather Gunga Din!
Tho' I've belted you an' flayed you,
By the livin' Gawd that made you,
You're a better man than I am, Gunga Din!
You may talk o' gin an' beer
When you're quartered safe out 'ere,
An' you're sent to penny-fights an' Aldershot it;
But if it comes to slaughter
You will do your work on water,
An' you'll lick the bloomin' boots of 'im that's got it.
Now in Injia's sunny clime,
Where I used to spend my time
A-servin' of 'Er Majesty the Queen,
Of all them black-faced crew
The finest man I knew
Was our regimental bhisti, Gunga Din.
It was "Din! Din! Din!
You limping lump o' brick-dust, Gunga Din!
Hi! slippy hitherao!
Water, get it! Panee lao!
You squidgy-nosed old idol, Gunga Din!"
The uniform 'e wore
Was nothin' much before,
An' rather less than 'arf o' that be'ind,
For a twisty piece o' rag
An' a goatskin water-bag
Was all the field-equipment 'e could find.
When the sweatin' troop-train lay
In a sidin' through the day,
Where the 'eat would make your bloomin' eyebrows crawl,
We shouted "Harry By!"
Till our throats were bricky-dry,
Then we wopped 'im 'cause 'e couldn't serve us all.
It was "Din! Din! Din!
You 'eathen, where the mischief 'ave you been?
You put some juldee in it,
Or I'll marrow you this minute,
If you don't fill up my helmet, Gunga Din!"
'E would dot an' carry one
Till the longest day was done,
An' 'e didn't seem to know the use o' fear.
If we charged or broke or cut,
You could bet your bloomin' nut,
'E'd be waitin' fifty paces right flank rear.
With 'is mussick on 'is back,
'E would skip with our attack,
An' watch us till the bugles made "Retire."
An' for all 'is dirty 'ide,
'E was white, clear white, inside
When 'e went to tend the wounded under fire!
It was "Din! Din! Din!"
With the bullets kickin' dust-spots on the green.
When the cartridges ran out,
You could 'ear the front-files shout:
"Hi! ammunition-mules an' Gunga Din!"
I sha'n't forgit the night
When I dropped be'ind the fight
With a bullet where my belt-plate should 'a' been.
I was chokin' mad with thirst,
An' the man that spied me first
Was our good old grinnin', gruntin' Gunga Din.
'E lifted up my 'ead,
An' 'e plugged me where I bled,
An' 'e guv me 'arf-a-pint o' water—green;
It was crawlin' an' it stunk,
But of all the drinks I've drunk,
I'm gratefullest to one from Gunga Din.
It was "Din! Din! Din!
'Ere's a beggar with a bullet through 'is spleen;
'E's chawin' up the ground an' 'e's kickin' all around:
For Gawd's sake, git the water, Gunga Din!"
'E carried me away
To where a dooli lay,
An' a bullet come an' drilled the beggar clean.
'E put me safe inside,
An' just before 'e died:
"I 'ope you liked your drink," sez Gunga Din.
So I'll meet 'im later on
In the place where 'e is gone—
Where it's always double drill and no canteen;
'E'll be squattin' on the coals
Givin' drink to pore damned souls,
An' I'll get a swig in Hell from Gunga Din!
Din! Din! Din!
You Lazarushian-leather Gunga Din!
Tho' I've belted you an' flayed you,
By the livin' Gawd that made you,
You're a better man than I am, Gunga Din!
07 April 2011
+ 'What a to do to die today'
But a harder thing still to do.
What a to do to die today
At a quarter or two to two.
A terrible difficult thing to say
But a harder thing still to do.
The dragon will come at the beat of the drum
With a rat-a-tat-tat a-tat-tat a-tat-to
At a quarter or two to two today,
At a quarter or two to two.
What a to do to die today
At a quarter or two to two.
A terrible difficult thing to say
But a harder thing still to do.
The dragon will come at the beat of the drum
With a rat-a-tat-tat a-tat-tat a-tat-to
At a quarter or two to two today,
At a quarter or two to two.
06 April 2011
Scars
You know these scars you always see on me?
I think I've never said just where they're from.
There're some that come from certain Odysseys,
And others still that seem a bit humdrum.
At times I wonder, "Should I explain?"
They do unearth peculiar ways of mine.
I think that still I must but just refrain;
It's pride, I think, that they do misalign.
It's hurt you see that still quite lingers there
From pain and agony that I would ask
No other to bear. Instead I often stare,
Remembering all the stories they unmask.
I want to share them all with you, my love,
But shy from all the hurt that be in my past.
I think I've never said just where they're from.
There're some that come from certain Odysseys,
And others still that seem a bit humdrum.
At times I wonder, "Should I explain?"
They do unearth peculiar ways of mine.
I think that still I must but just refrain;
It's pride, I think, that they do misalign.
It's hurt you see that still quite lingers there
From pain and agony that I would ask
No other to bear. Instead I often stare,
Remembering all the stories they unmask.
I want to share them all with you, my love,
But shy from all the hurt that be in my past.
05 April 2011
When We're at Odds
There's times all couples go through this
A little bit of minor tiff
That makes the bond to seem a miss,
And conversation turns too stiff.
It's these odd times that I recall
The hours we've talked through text and speech
That adds to us, our overall
Relationship and memories.
Remembering times of good and bad,
I think of that which gave me joy;
I think of that which made me sad.
Yet times like these I do recall
Ten time more of glad than sad.
I think of bottles of wine we've shared,
The meals of foreign cuisines,
The conversations we've had o'er those,
And how we live off meager means.
Then memories come of your dear smile,
The way your bangs are ne'er in place,
Your laugh that carries for a mile,
And the little wrinkles on your face.
Even in these times so rough,
I know we too'll continue through;
It's just that when I'm in a huff,
I find it hard to see us two
After this with problems none,
And I regret having strewn
A miff until it's ridiculous
That I feel I will soon swoon.
Forgive me dear for what I've said
In a moment that's seemed weird to me;
I may have voiced unfinished thoughts
Lost like Odysseus in hateful seas.
I love you dear; this you must know.
You are my heart, my everything.
I love you dear; with no 'although!'
You give me love unlike anything.
A little bit of minor tiff
That makes the bond to seem a miss,
And conversation turns too stiff.
It's these odd times that I recall
The hours we've talked through text and speech
That adds to us, our overall
Relationship and memories.
Remembering times of good and bad,
I think of that which gave me joy;
I think of that which made me sad.
Yet times like these I do recall
Ten time more of glad than sad.
I think of bottles of wine we've shared,
The meals of foreign cuisines,
The conversations we've had o'er those,
And how we live off meager means.
Then memories come of your dear smile,
The way your bangs are ne'er in place,
Your laugh that carries for a mile,
And the little wrinkles on your face.
Even in these times so rough,
I know we too'll continue through;
It's just that when I'm in a huff,
I find it hard to see us two
After this with problems none,
And I regret having strewn
A miff until it's ridiculous
That I feel I will soon swoon.
Forgive me dear for what I've said
In a moment that's seemed weird to me;
I may have voiced unfinished thoughts
Lost like Odysseus in hateful seas.
I love you dear; this you must know.
You are my heart, my everything.
I love you dear; with no 'although!'
You give me love unlike anything.
04 April 2011
+ 'Walking Around'
By Pablo Neruda
It so happens I am sick of being a man.
And it happens that I walk into tailorshops and movie
houses
dried up, waterproof, like a swan made of felt
steering my way in a water of wombs and ashes.
The smell of barbershops makes me break into hoarse
sobs.
The only thing I want is to lie still like stones or wool.
The only thing I want is to see no more stores, no gardens,
no more goods, no spectacles, no elevators.
It so happens that I am sick of my feet and my nails
and my hair and my shadow.
It so happens I am sick of being a man.
Still it would be marvelous
to terrify a law clerk with a cut lily,
or kill a nun with a blow on the ear.
It would be great
to go through the streets with a green knife
letting out yells until I died of the cold.
I don't want to go on being a root in the dark,
insecure, stretched out, shivering with sleep,
going on down, into the moist guts of the earth,
taking in and thinking, eating every day.
I don't want so much misery.
I don't want to go on as a root and a tomb,
alone under the ground, a warehouse with corpses,
half frozen, dying of grief.
That's why Monday, when it sees me coming
with my convict face, blazes up like gasoline,
and it howls on its way like a wounded wheel,
and leaves tracks full of warm blood leading toward the
night.
And it pushes me into certain corners, into some moist
houses,
into hospitals where the bones fly out the window,
into shoeshops that smell like vinegar,
and certain streets hideous as cracks in the skin.
There are sulphur-colored birds, and hideous intestines
hanging over the doors of houses that I hate,
and there are false teeth forgotten in a coffeepot,
there are mirrors
that ought to have wept from shame and terror,
there are umbrellas everywhere, and venoms, and umbilical
cords.
I stroll along serenely, with my eyes, my shoes,
my rage, forgetting everything,
I walk by, going through office buildings and orthopedic
shops,
and courtyards with washing hanging from the line:
underwear, towels and shirts from which slow
dirty tears are falling.
It so happens I am sick of being a man.
And it happens that I walk into tailorshops and movie
houses
dried up, waterproof, like a swan made of felt
steering my way in a water of wombs and ashes.
The smell of barbershops makes me break into hoarse
sobs.
The only thing I want is to lie still like stones or wool.
The only thing I want is to see no more stores, no gardens,
no more goods, no spectacles, no elevators.
It so happens that I am sick of my feet and my nails
and my hair and my shadow.
It so happens I am sick of being a man.
Still it would be marvelous
to terrify a law clerk with a cut lily,
or kill a nun with a blow on the ear.
It would be great
to go through the streets with a green knife
letting out yells until I died of the cold.
I don't want to go on being a root in the dark,
insecure, stretched out, shivering with sleep,
going on down, into the moist guts of the earth,
taking in and thinking, eating every day.
I don't want so much misery.
I don't want to go on as a root and a tomb,
alone under the ground, a warehouse with corpses,
half frozen, dying of grief.
That's why Monday, when it sees me coming
with my convict face, blazes up like gasoline,
and it howls on its way like a wounded wheel,
and leaves tracks full of warm blood leading toward the
night.
And it pushes me into certain corners, into some moist
houses,
into hospitals where the bones fly out the window,
into shoeshops that smell like vinegar,
and certain streets hideous as cracks in the skin.
There are sulphur-colored birds, and hideous intestines
hanging over the doors of houses that I hate,
and there are false teeth forgotten in a coffeepot,
there are mirrors
that ought to have wept from shame and terror,
there are umbrellas everywhere, and venoms, and umbilical
cords.
I stroll along serenely, with my eyes, my shoes,
my rage, forgetting everything,
I walk by, going through office buildings and orthopedic
shops,
and courtyards with washing hanging from the line:
underwear, towels and shirts from which slow
dirty tears are falling.
03 April 2011
+ 'I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud'
By William Wordsworth
I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.
Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.
The waves beside them danced, but they
Out-did the sparkling leaves in glee;
A poet could not be but gay,
In such a jocund company!
I gazed—and gazed—but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:
For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.
I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.
Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.
The waves beside them danced, but they
Out-did the sparkling leaves in glee;
A poet could not be but gay,
In such a jocund company!
I gazed—and gazed—but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:
For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.
02 April 2011
+ 'Where the Sidewalk Ends'
By Shel Silverstein
There is a place where the sidewalk ends
And before the street begins,
And there the grass grows soft and white,
And there the sun burns crimson bright,
And there the moon-bird rests from his flight
To cool in the peppermint wind.
Let us leave this place where the smoke blows black
And the dark street winds and bends.
Past the pits where the asphalt flowers grow
We shall walk with a walk that is measured and slow,
And watch where the chalk-white arrows go
To the place where the sidewalk ends.
Yes we'll walk with a walk that is measured and slow,
And we'll go where the chalk-white arrows go,
For the children, they mark, and the children, they know
The place where the sidewalk ends.
There is a place where the sidewalk ends
And before the street begins,
And there the grass grows soft and white,
And there the sun burns crimson bright,
And there the moon-bird rests from his flight
To cool in the peppermint wind.
Let us leave this place where the smoke blows black
And the dark street winds and bends.
Past the pits where the asphalt flowers grow
We shall walk with a walk that is measured and slow,
And watch where the chalk-white arrows go
To the place where the sidewalk ends.
Yes we'll walk with a walk that is measured and slow,
And we'll go where the chalk-white arrows go,
For the children, they mark, and the children, they know
The place where the sidewalk ends.
01 April 2011
+ 'September'
By Solveig Paulson Russell
September is a lady
In a russet gown;
She marches through the country;
She marches through the town;
She stops at every schoolhouse
And rings a magic bell;
She dances on each doorstep
And weaves a magic spell.
She weaves a magic spell that goes
Winging through the land
And gathers children back to school
In a joyous band.
September is a lady
In a russet gown;
She marches through the country;
She marches through the town;
She stops at every schoolhouse
And rings a magic bell;
She dances on each doorstep
And weaves a magic spell.
She weaves a magic spell that goes
Winging through the land
And gathers children back to school
In a joyous band.
31 March 2011
+ 'i carry your heart with me'
By ee cummings
i carry your heart with me(i carry it in
my heart)i am never without it(anywhere
i go you go,my dear; and whatever is done
by only me is your doing,my darling)
i fear
no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want
no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)
and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you
here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows
higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart
i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)
i carry your heart with me(i carry it in
my heart)i am never without it(anywhere
i go you go,my dear; and whatever is done
by only me is your doing,my darling)
i fear
no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want
no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)
and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you
here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows
higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart
i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)
30 March 2011
+ 'One’s-Self I Sing'
By Walt Whitman
One’s-self I sing—a simple, separate Person;
Yet utter the word Democratic, the word En-masse.
Of Physiology from top to toe I sing;
Not physiognomy alone, nor brain alone, is worthy for the muse—I say the
Form complete is worthier far;
The Female equally with the male I sing.
Of Life immense in passion, pulse, and power,
Cheerful—for freest action form’d, under the laws divine,
The Modern Man I sing.
One’s-self I sing—a simple, separate Person;
Yet utter the word Democratic, the word En-masse.
Of Physiology from top to toe I sing;
Not physiognomy alone, nor brain alone, is worthy for the muse—I say the
Form complete is worthier far;
The Female equally with the male I sing.
Of Life immense in passion, pulse, and power,
Cheerful—for freest action form’d, under the laws divine,
The Modern Man I sing.
29 March 2011
+ 'For Whom The Bell Tolls'
By John Donne
No man is an island,
Entire of itself.
Each is a piece of the continent,
A part of the main.
If a clod be washed away by the sea,
Europe is the less.
As well as if a promontory were.
As well as if a manner of thine own
Or of thine friend's were.
Each man's death diminishes me,
For I am involved in mankind.
Therefore, send not to know
For whom the bell tolls,
It tolls for thee.
No man is an island,
Entire of itself.
Each is a piece of the continent,
A part of the main.
If a clod be washed away by the sea,
Europe is the less.
As well as if a promontory were.
As well as if a manner of thine own
Or of thine friend's were.
Each man's death diminishes me,
For I am involved in mankind.
Therefore, send not to know
For whom the bell tolls,
It tolls for thee.
28 March 2011
+ 'Chapter Heading'
By Ernest Hemingway
For we have thought the longer thoughts
And gone the shorter way.
And we have danced to devils' tunes,
Shivering home to pray;
To serve one master in the night,
Another in the day.
For we have thought the longer thoughts
And gone the shorter way.
And we have danced to devils' tunes,
Shivering home to pray;
To serve one master in the night,
Another in the day.
27 March 2011
+ 'Life is Fine'
By Langston Hughes
I went down to the river,
I set down on the bank.
I tried to think but couldn't,
So I jumped in and sank.
I came up once and hollered!
I came up twice and cried!
If that water hadn't a-been so cold
I might've sunk and died.
But it was Cold in that water! It was cold!
I took the elevator
Sixteen floors above the ground.
I thought about my baby
And thought I would jump down.
I stood there and I hollered!
I stood there and I cried!
If it hadn't a-been so high
I might've jumped and died.
But it was High up there! It was high!
So since I'm still here livin',
I guess I will live on.
I could've died for love--
But for livin' I was born
Though you may hear me holler,
And you may see me cry--
I'll be dogged, sweet baby,
If you gonna see me die.
Life is fine! Fine as wine! Life is fine!
I went down to the river,
I set down on the bank.
I tried to think but couldn't,
So I jumped in and sank.
I came up once and hollered!
I came up twice and cried!
If that water hadn't a-been so cold
I might've sunk and died.
But it was Cold in that water! It was cold!
I took the elevator
Sixteen floors above the ground.
I thought about my baby
And thought I would jump down.
I stood there and I hollered!
I stood there and I cried!
If it hadn't a-been so high
I might've jumped and died.
But it was High up there! It was high!
So since I'm still here livin',
I guess I will live on.
I could've died for love--
But for livin' I was born
Though you may hear me holler,
And you may see me cry--
I'll be dogged, sweet baby,
If you gonna see me die.
Life is fine! Fine as wine! Life is fine!
26 March 2011
+ 'The Magi'
W.B. Yeats
Now as at all times I can see in the mind's eye,
In their stiff, painted clothes, the pale unsatisfied ones
Appear and disappear in the blue depth of the sky
With all their ancient faces like rain-beaten stones,
And all their helms of silver hovering side by side,
And all their eyes still fixed, hoping to find once more,
Being by Calvary's turbulence unsatisfied,
The uncontrollable mystery on the bestial floor.
Now as at all times I can see in the mind's eye,
In their stiff, painted clothes, the pale unsatisfied ones
Appear and disappear in the blue depth of the sky
With all their ancient faces like rain-beaten stones,
And all their helms of silver hovering side by side,
And all their eyes still fixed, hoping to find once more,
Being by Calvary's turbulence unsatisfied,
The uncontrollable mystery on the bestial floor.
25 March 2011
+ 'Eldorado'
By Edgar Allan Poe
Gaily bedight,
A gallant knight,
In sunshine and in shadow,
Had journeyed long,
Singing a song,
In search of Eldorado.
But he grew old -
This knight so bold -
And o'er his heart a shadow
Fell as he found
No spot of ground
That looked like Eldorado.
And, as his strength
Failed him at length,
He met a pilgrim shadow -
"Shadow," said he,
"Where can it be -
This land of Eldorado?"
"Over the mountains
Of the Moon,
Down the Valley of the Shadow,
Ride, boldly ride,"
The shade replied -
"If you seek for Eldorado!"
Gaily bedight,
A gallant knight,
In sunshine and in shadow,
Had journeyed long,
Singing a song,
In search of Eldorado.
But he grew old -
This knight so bold -
And o'er his heart a shadow
Fell as he found
No spot of ground
That looked like Eldorado.
And, as his strength
Failed him at length,
He met a pilgrim shadow -
"Shadow," said he,
"Where can it be -
This land of Eldorado?"
"Over the mountains
Of the Moon,
Down the Valley of the Shadow,
Ride, boldly ride,"
The shade replied -
"If you seek for Eldorado!"
24 March 2011
+ 'Halfway down the stairs'
By AA Milne
Halfway down the stairs
Is a stair where I sit:
There isn't any other stair quite like it.
I'm not at the bottom,
I'm not at the top:
So this is the stair where I always stop.
Halfway up the stairs
Isn't up, and isn't down.
It isn't in the nursery, it isn't in the town:
And all sorts of funny thoughts
Run round my head:
"It isn't really anywhere! It's somewhere else instead!"
Halfway down the stairs
Is a stair where I sit:
There isn't any other stair quite like it.
I'm not at the bottom,
I'm not at the top:
So this is the stair where I always stop.
Halfway up the stairs
Isn't up, and isn't down.
It isn't in the nursery, it isn't in the town:
And all sorts of funny thoughts
Run round my head:
"It isn't really anywhere! It's somewhere else instead!"
23 March 2011
+ 'Phenomenal Woman'
By Maya Angelou
Pretty women wonder where my secret lies.
I'm not cute or built to suit a fashion model's size
But when I start to tell them,
They think I'm telling lies.
I say,
It's in the reach of my arms
The span of my hips,
The stride of my step,
The curl of my lips.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.
I walk into a room
Just as cool as you please,
And to a man,
The fellows stand or
Fall down on their knees.
Then they swarm around me,
A hive of honey bees.
I say,
It's the fire in my eyes,
And the flash of my teeth,
The swing in my waist,
And the joy in my feet.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.
Men themselves have wondered
What they see in me.
They try so much
But they can't touch
My inner mystery.
When I try to show them
They say they still can't see.
I say,
It's in the arch of my back,
The sun of my smile,
The ride of my breasts,
The grace of my style.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.
Now you understand
Just why my head's not bowed.
I don't shout or jump about
Or have to talk real loud.
When you see me passing
It ought to make you proud.
I say,
It's in the click of my heels,
The bend of my hair,
the palm of my hand,
The need of my care,
'Cause I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.
Pretty women wonder where my secret lies.
I'm not cute or built to suit a fashion model's size
But when I start to tell them,
They think I'm telling lies.
I say,
It's in the reach of my arms
The span of my hips,
The stride of my step,
The curl of my lips.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.
I walk into a room
Just as cool as you please,
And to a man,
The fellows stand or
Fall down on their knees.
Then they swarm around me,
A hive of honey bees.
I say,
It's the fire in my eyes,
And the flash of my teeth,
The swing in my waist,
And the joy in my feet.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.
Men themselves have wondered
What they see in me.
They try so much
But they can't touch
My inner mystery.
When I try to show them
They say they still can't see.
I say,
It's in the arch of my back,
The sun of my smile,
The ride of my breasts,
The grace of my style.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.
Now you understand
Just why my head's not bowed.
I don't shout or jump about
Or have to talk real loud.
When you see me passing
It ought to make you proud.
I say,
It's in the click of my heels,
The bend of my hair,
the palm of my hand,
The need of my care,
'Cause I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.
22 March 2011
+ 'If"
By Rudyard Kipling
If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or, being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or, being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise;
If you can dream - and not make dreams your master;
If you can think - and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with triumph and disaster
And treat those two imposters just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with wornout tools;
If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breath a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on";
If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with kings - nor lose the common touch;
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you;
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run -
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And - which is more - you'll be a Man my son!
If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or, being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or, being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise;
If you can dream - and not make dreams your master;
If you can think - and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with triumph and disaster
And treat those two imposters just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with wornout tools;
If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breath a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on";
If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with kings - nor lose the common touch;
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you;
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run -
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And - which is more - you'll be a Man my son!
20 March 2011
+ 'Aedh Wishes for the Cloths of Heaven '
By W.B. Yeats
Had I the heavens’ embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.
Had I the heavens’ embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.
19 March 2011
+ 'Ozymandias'
By Percy Shelley
I met a traveler from an antique land
Who said: Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert. Near them, on the sand,
Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them and the heart that fed.
And on the pedestal these words appear:
"My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:
Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!"
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away.
I met a traveler from an antique land
Who said: Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert. Near them, on the sand,
Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them and the heart that fed.
And on the pedestal these words appear:
"My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:
Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!"
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away.
18 March 2011
+ 'Fog'
By Carl Sandburg
The fog comes
on little cat feet.
It sits looking
over harbor and city
on silent haunches
and then moves on.
The fog comes
on little cat feet.
It sits looking
over harbor and city
on silent haunches
and then moves on.
17 March 2011
+ 'Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night'
By Dylan Thomas
Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rage at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rage at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
16 March 2011
Conversation
Wherever you are in the world,
Whatever is happening to you,
Other people there will be
To chat and shoot the breeze with you.
15 March 2011
Her
Seeing her again
After days of stress;
Putting all things aside,
And seeing her again
As the one i most love.
There aren't any times
I don't think of her
And the kiss that she gives
That knocks me off my knees.
After days of stress;
Putting all things aside,
And seeing her again
As the one i most love.
There aren't any times
I don't think of her
And the kiss that she gives
That knocks me off my knees.
14 March 2011
Your Parents
Your parents freak me out.
I'm haven't even met them yet.
They tear me up from inside out;
Your parents freak me out.
Family is important to us
We want so much for future to hold
A life of loving with little fuss.
Family is important to us.
A relationship with both sides
That holds us to our roots
From places apart and wide.
We want relations with both sides.
I want your parents to like me--
To accept and no to turn away,
To support the thought of you and me.
I want your parents to like me.
Until that day comes to be
Afraid of your parents I'll be.
I'm haven't even met them yet.
They tear me up from inside out;
Your parents freak me out.
Family is important to us
We want so much for future to hold
A life of loving with little fuss.
Family is important to us.
A relationship with both sides
That holds us to our roots
From places apart and wide.
We want relations with both sides.
I want your parents to like me--
To accept and no to turn away,
To support the thought of you and me.
I want your parents to like me.
Until that day comes to be
Afraid of your parents I'll be.
13 March 2011
To Japan, From the World
Written with Ai
The silent plum blossoms
Ah, an infamous earthquake
Why tragedy now?
Everyone together
Faces of sorrowful tears
All of our brothers
Are you all really okay?
From here we all are
Giving support from the heart
This year too, Sakura bloom
Such a strong spirit
The heart of the Japanese
With spring this era will
Melt away into nothing
And the voice of the Locusts
The silent plum blossoms
Ah, an infamous earthquake
Why tragedy now?
Everyone together
Faces of sorrowful tears
All of our brothers
Are you all really okay?
From here we all are
Giving support from the heart
This year too, Sakura bloom
Such a strong spirit
The heart of the Japanese
With spring this era will
Melt away into nothing
And the voice of the Locusts
日本へ世界より
（亜依と書いた）
梅暦
あ大震災
惨劇や
皆一緒に
悲しい涙
兄弟
大丈夫か
心から
支えて上げて
今年も桜
強い芯
日本の心
この春と
時代終わって
蝉の声出る
::translation tomorrow::
梅暦
あ大震災
惨劇や
皆一緒に
悲しい涙
兄弟
大丈夫か
心から
支えて上げて
今年も桜
強い芯
日本の心
この春と
時代終わって
蝉の声出る
::translation tomorrow::
11 March 2011
I Realized You Loved Me
Before we started going out,
you had a bad Saturday;
To my apartment you came,
and we meant to spend the day.
I was giddy and had levity,
But a friend knocked on the door.
I was angry at that time;
Little i knew what was in store
Again a few months later you came;
unexpectedly you arrived.
We spent the day, then three months.
Now over a year together we've survived.
But there was one unsuspecting time,
I spilt Cava all over my keyboard.
Much later after that you told me
It was me you truly adored.
You loaned me your own so quick
You found you trust in me.
Unexpectedly you realized
I love you, and you me.
you had a bad Saturday;
To my apartment you came,
and we meant to spend the day.
I was giddy and had levity,
But a friend knocked on the door.
I was angry at that time;
Little i knew what was in store
Again a few months later you came;
unexpectedly you arrived.
We spent the day, then three months.
Now over a year together we've survived.
But there was one unsuspecting time,
I spilt Cava all over my keyboard.
Much later after that you told me
It was me you truly adored.
You loaned me your own so quick
You found you trust in me.
Unexpectedly you realized
I love you, and you me.
09 March 2011
Poem #252, I think.
I got tired of my home today,
Homesick for a place never gone.
I'm tired of wanting to go away.
With my usual leisure chair, I'm done.
Typical diversions are boredom.
The walls are asleep and no longer talk,
And I feel like a songbird lost his voice
And with a thousand options, I don't even walk.
Thought upon though, inward I turn
All the dreams seem dull and not so high.
If I hadn't clipped wings,
I'd stretch out and fly.
I'd fly to where she is,
The woman in my dreams
I'd be where she is again
And then again have many more dreams.
Homesick for a place never gone.
I'm tired of wanting to go away.
With my usual leisure chair, I'm done.
Typical diversions are boredom.
The walls are asleep and no longer talk,
And I feel like a songbird lost his voice
And with a thousand options, I don't even walk.
Thought upon though, inward I turn
All the dreams seem dull and not so high.
If I hadn't clipped wings,
I'd stretch out and fly.
I'd fly to where she is,
The woman in my dreams
I'd be where she is again
And then again have many more dreams.
08 March 2011
Haiku Hiatus
Breath of cold spring wind
With last of frost's cold chill, ah.
Tonight's Silence sings.
With last of frost's cold chill, ah.
Tonight's Silence sings.
07 March 2011
The Endangered Species Monetary Standard
Our dear money has currently gone awry
Firms and our finances cause the bankers to all cry
Ah, but currently there now is a way to grow
Out of this tragedy that we all call, America, our home.
In the forest of Bretton we desperately tried to peg the dollar to gold,
But in the end of the nineteenth century there was no gold to be sold.
We then found a depression we could not at all adore.
But now, to promote the environment and economic stability
I propose a new system that will give us all tranquility;
Endangered species I think would be just the thing;
The dollar to be pegged to each pound of endangered and rare,
It'd promote the animals and the ones that give them their care.
Whether in aquariums or the parks that the nation does own,
There'd be food and the salaries, money we'd put into circ.;
Government would no longer be hoarding and seem like a jerk.
You see animals require more care than gold.
And to protect them at first, they couldn't be sold.
We'd populate parks owned by the nation,
And there'd be biologists stationed at each station.
They'd look over and care for the aging and dying,
But at the same time they'd be giving money something underlying.
In the end we'd be able to turn dollar to meat.
So if there's deflation we wouldn't have a treat.
In those times we only try to to brings more pounds to bare,
And we'd breed all the rabbits that had love to share.
But in times of inflation we wouldn't go downhill,
We could grill up a whale and not worry about refills.
This way we'd all help the environment be number one
So if the bill comes, please vote yes yes yes dear son.
Firms and our finances cause the bankers to all cry
Ah, but currently there now is a way to grow
Out of this tragedy that we all call, America, our home.
In the forest of Bretton we desperately tried to peg the dollar to gold,
But in the end of the nineteenth century there was no gold to be sold.
We then found a depression we could not at all adore.
But now, to promote the environment and economic stability
I propose a new system that will give us all tranquility;
Endangered species I think would be just the thing;
The dollar to be pegged to each pound of endangered and rare,
It'd promote the animals and the ones that give them their care.
Whether in aquariums or the parks that the nation does own,
There'd be food and the salaries, money we'd put into circ.;
Government would no longer be hoarding and seem like a jerk.
You see animals require more care than gold.
And to protect them at first, they couldn't be sold.
We'd populate parks owned by the nation,
And there'd be biologists stationed at each station.
They'd look over and care for the aging and dying,
But at the same time they'd be giving money something underlying.
In the end we'd be able to turn dollar to meat.
So if there's deflation we wouldn't have a treat.
In those times we only try to to brings more pounds to bare,
And we'd breed all the rabbits that had love to share.
But in times of inflation we wouldn't go downhill,
We could grill up a whale and not worry about refills.
This way we'd all help the environment be number one
So if the bill comes, please vote yes yes yes dear son.
06 March 2011
I'll Meet You In My Dreams
In this we are, required, apart,
And day by day my chest is tight.
But in the dark with strength of heart
We meet in dreams of love at night.
Finally whole we two can be
Each the other as we wish to see.
It's you I long to tightly hold
After days of sleepless nights.
I long to greet you, my love so bold,
And hold you to my chest so tight.
Forever I long to be with you
Clinging to a love so true.
And day by day my chest is tight.
But in the dark with strength of heart
We meet in dreams of love at night.
Finally whole we two can be
Each the other as we wish to see.
It's you I long to tightly hold
After days of sleepless nights.
I long to greet you, my love so bold,
And hold you to my chest so tight.
Forever I long to be with you
Clinging to a love so true.
05 March 2011
Nighttime
A speck of darkness fell to my heart
From the place in between the stars,
In the lightless heavens where it got its start.
It clouds and covers o'er old scars.
Black chokes out the brilliant bright
Prisoning noise, too, inside silent bars.
Contrast and colors lose their fight
They fade into grey and then nothing.
Furthering and deepening depth of sight.
Slowly, perception reaches not one thing,
But comfort there is instead of fear.
It comes on silent darkness wing.
There's a unknown warmth in here,
In cool silence and dark of night.
Memories and worries that appear
Dissipate into that sad lonely night
Lack of perception brings sleep
And then another tomorrow's light.
From the place in between the stars,
In the lightless heavens where it got its start.
It clouds and covers o'er old scars.
Black chokes out the brilliant bright
Prisoning noise, too, inside silent bars.
Contrast and colors lose their fight
They fade into grey and then nothing.
Furthering and deepening depth of sight.
Slowly, perception reaches not one thing,
But comfort there is instead of fear.
It comes on silent darkness wing.
There's a unknown warmth in here,
In cool silence and dark of night.
Memories and worries that appear
Dissipate into that sad lonely night
Lack of perception brings sleep
And then another tomorrow's light.
04 March 2011
Magic
What is the fascination of magic?
It is the power to do the unthinkable.
If used incorrectly, things go tragic.
If used for wrong, it achieves the inconceivable.
So why such a fascination with fiction?
Why does the mind mind such things implore?
Why rehearse a magical diction,
When no fruition is in store?
It gives the mind a place you see
To travel across plains unexplored.
To make the unthinkable come to be
And receive something much adored.
Magic gives an extra reality,
An otherness unexplored.
It allows mind and thought to be
Thinking on the hidden and untoward.
It is the power to do the unthinkable.
If used incorrectly, things go tragic.
If used for wrong, it achieves the inconceivable.
So why such a fascination with fiction?
Why does the mind mind such things implore?
Why rehearse a magical diction,
When no fruition is in store?
It gives the mind a place you see
To travel across plains unexplored.
To make the unthinkable come to be
And receive something much adored.
Magic gives an extra reality,
An otherness unexplored.
It allows mind and thought to be
Thinking on the hidden and untoward.
03 March 2011
Early Morning To Work
I came 30 minutes early;
Today is a busy day.
On my walk I didn't hurry
As I sauntered my normal way.
Today in twilight I saw
What normally stays unseen.
I saw the wakening of the grounds
As I traversed the grass's green.
Squirrels were waking the lawn
Playing with each bladed of grass
They also roused the trees
Shaking the branches as I passed.
Birds worked on buildings
Singing to every brick
To make the walkway clean,
A dog removed a stick.
Nature plays is part;
It does its job with care
For another campus day
Electrifying the air.
Today is a busy day.
On my walk I didn't hurry
As I sauntered my normal way.
Today in twilight I saw
What normally stays unseen.
I saw the wakening of the grounds
As I traversed the grass's green.
Squirrels were waking the lawn
Playing with each bladed of grass
They also roused the trees
Shaking the branches as I passed.
Birds worked on buildings
Singing to every brick
To make the walkway clean,
A dog removed a stick.
Nature plays is part;
It does its job with care
For another campus day
Electrifying the air.
02 March 2011
+ 'I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings'
By Maya 'Madam Maya' Angelou
The free bird leaps
on the back of the win
and floats downstream
till the current ends
and dips his wings
in the orange sun rays
and dares to claim the sky.
But a bird that stalks
down his narrow cage
can seldom see through
his bars of rage
his wings are clipped and
his feet are tied
so he opens his throat to sing.
The caged bird sings
with fearful trill
of the things unknown
but longed for still
and is tune is heard
on the distant hillfor the caged bird
sings of freedom
The free bird thinks of another breeze
an the trade winds soft through the sighing trees
and the fat worms waiting on a dawn-bright lawn
and he names the sky his own.
But a caged bird stands on the grave of dreams
his shadow shouts on a nightmare scream
his wings are clipped and his feet are tied
so he opens his throat to sing
The caged bird sings
with a fearful trill
of things unknown
but longed for still
and his tune is heard
on the distant hill
for the caged bird
sings of freedom.
The free bird leaps
on the back of the win
and floats downstream
till the current ends
and dips his wings
in the orange sun rays
and dares to claim the sky.
But a bird that stalks
down his narrow cage
can seldom see through
his bars of rage
his wings are clipped and
his feet are tied
so he opens his throat to sing.
The caged bird sings
with fearful trill
of the things unknown
but longed for still
and is tune is heard
on the distant hillfor the caged bird
sings of freedom
The free bird thinks of another breeze
an the trade winds soft through the sighing trees
and the fat worms waiting on a dawn-bright lawn
and he names the sky his own.
But a caged bird stands on the grave of dreams
his shadow shouts on a nightmare scream
his wings are clipped and his feet are tied
so he opens his throat to sing
The caged bird sings
with a fearful trill
of things unknown
but longed for still
and his tune is heard
on the distant hill
for the caged bird
sings of freedom.
01 March 2011
+ 'Annabel Lee'
By Edgar Allen 'Old Man' Poe
It was many and many a year ago,
In a kingdom by the sea,
That a maiden there lived whom you may know
By the name of ANNABEL LEE;
And this maiden she lived with no other thought
Than to love and be loved by me.
I was a child and she was a child,
In this kingdom by the sea;
But we loved with a love that was more than love-
I and my Annabel Lee;
With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven
Coveted her and me.
And this was the reason that, long ago,
In this kingdom by the sea,
A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling
My beautiful Annabel Lee;
So that her highborn kinsman came
And bore her away from me,
To shut her up in a sepulchre
In this kingdom by the sea.
The angels, not half so happy in heaven,
Went envying her and me-
Yes!- that was the reason (as all men know,
In this kingdom by the sea)
That the wind came out of the cloud by night,
Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee.
But our love it was stronger by far than the love
Of those who were older than we-
Of many far wiser than we-
And neither the angels in heaven above,
Nor the demons down under the sea,
Can ever dissever my soul from the soul
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee.
For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And the stars never rise but I feel the bright eyes
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side
Of my darling- my darling- my life and my bride,
In the sepulchre there by the sea,
In her tomb by the sounding sea.
It was many and many a year ago,
In a kingdom by the sea,
That a maiden there lived whom you may know
By the name of ANNABEL LEE;
And this maiden she lived with no other thought
Than to love and be loved by me.
I was a child and she was a child,
In this kingdom by the sea;
But we loved with a love that was more than love-
I and my Annabel Lee;
With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven
Coveted her and me.
And this was the reason that, long ago,
In this kingdom by the sea,
A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling
My beautiful Annabel Lee;
So that her highborn kinsman came
And bore her away from me,
To shut her up in a sepulchre
In this kingdom by the sea.
The angels, not half so happy in heaven,
Went envying her and me-
Yes!- that was the reason (as all men know,
In this kingdom by the sea)
That the wind came out of the cloud by night,
Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee.
But our love it was stronger by far than the love
Of those who were older than we-
Of many far wiser than we-
And neither the angels in heaven above,
Nor the demons down under the sea,
Can ever dissever my soul from the soul
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee.
For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And the stars never rise but I feel the bright eyes
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side
Of my darling- my darling- my life and my bride,
In the sepulchre there by the sea,
In her tomb by the sounding sea.
28 February 2011
+ 'Mending Wall'
by Robert 'Grandpa Robert' Frost
SOMETHING there is that doesn’t love a wall,
That sends the frozen-ground-swell under it,
And spills the upper boulders in the sun;
And makes gaps even two can pass abreast.
The work of hunters is another thing:
I have come after them and made repair
Where they have left not one stone on a stone,
But they would have the rabbit out of hiding,
To please the yelping dogs. The gaps I mean,
No one has seen them made or heard them made,
But at spring mending-time we find them there.
I let my neighbour know beyond the hill;
And on a day we meet to walk the line
And set the wall between us once again.
We keep the wall between us as we go.
To each the boulders that have fallen to each.
And some are loaves and some so nearly balls
We have to use a spell to make them balance:
“Stay where you are until our backs are turned!”
We wear our fingers rough with handling them.
Oh, just another kind of out-door game,
One on a side. It comes to little more:
There where it is we do not need the wall:
He is all pine and I am apple orchard.
My apple trees will never get across
And eat the cones under his pines, I tell him.
He only says, “Good fences make good neighbours.”
Spring is the mischief in me, and I wonder
If I could put a notion in his head:
“Why do they make good neighbours? Isn’t it
Where there are cows? But here there are no cows.
Before I built a wall I’d ask to know
What I was walling in or walling out,
And to whom I was like to give offence.
Something there is that doesn’t love a wall,
That wants it down.” I could say “Elves” to him,
But it’s not elves exactly, and I’d rather
He said it for himself. I see him there
Bringing a stone grasped firmly by the top
In each hand, like an old-stone savage armed.
He moves in darkness as it seems to me,
Not of woods only and the shade of trees.
He will not go behind his father’s saying,
And he likes having thought of it so well
He says again, “Good fences make good neighbours.”
SOMETHING there is that doesn’t love a wall,
That sends the frozen-ground-swell under it,
And spills the upper boulders in the sun;
And makes gaps even two can pass abreast.
The work of hunters is another thing:
I have come after them and made repair
Where they have left not one stone on a stone,
But they would have the rabbit out of hiding,
To please the yelping dogs. The gaps I mean,
No one has seen them made or heard them made,
But at spring mending-time we find them there.
I let my neighbour know beyond the hill;
And on a day we meet to walk the line
And set the wall between us once again.
We keep the wall between us as we go.
To each the boulders that have fallen to each.
And some are loaves and some so nearly balls
We have to use a spell to make them balance:
“Stay where you are until our backs are turned!”
We wear our fingers rough with handling them.
Oh, just another kind of out-door game,
One on a side. It comes to little more:
There where it is we do not need the wall:
He is all pine and I am apple orchard.
My apple trees will never get across
And eat the cones under his pines, I tell him.
He only says, “Good fences make good neighbours.”
Spring is the mischief in me, and I wonder
If I could put a notion in his head:
“Why do they make good neighbours? Isn’t it
Where there are cows? But here there are no cows.
Before I built a wall I’d ask to know
What I was walling in or walling out,
And to whom I was like to give offence.
Something there is that doesn’t love a wall,
That wants it down.” I could say “Elves” to him,
But it’s not elves exactly, and I’d rather
He said it for himself. I see him there
Bringing a stone grasped firmly by the top
In each hand, like an old-stone savage armed.
He moves in darkness as it seems to me,
Not of woods only and the shade of trees.
He will not go behind his father’s saying,
And he likes having thought of it so well
He says again, “Good fences make good neighbours.”
27 February 2011
+ 'O Captain! My Captain!'
by Walt 'Odd Uncle Walt' Whitman
1
O CAPTAIN! my Captain! our fearful trip is done;
The ship has weather’d every rack, the prize we sought is won;
The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,
While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring:
But O heart! heart! heart!
O the bleeding drops of red,
Where on the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.
2
O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;
Rise up—for you the flag is flung—for you the bugle trills;
For you bouquets and ribbon’d wreaths—for you the shores a-crowding;
For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;
Here Captain! dear father!
This arm beneath your head;
It is some dream that on the deck,
You’ve fallen cold and dead.
3
My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still;
My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will;
The ship is anchor’d safe and sound, its voyage closed and done;
From fearful trip, the victor ship, comes in with object won;
Exult, O shores, and ring, O bells!
But I, with mournful tread,
Walk the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.
1
O CAPTAIN! my Captain! our fearful trip is done;
The ship has weather’d every rack, the prize we sought is won;
The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,
While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring:
But O heart! heart! heart!
O the bleeding drops of red,
Where on the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.
2
O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;
Rise up—for you the flag is flung—for you the bugle trills;
For you bouquets and ribbon’d wreaths—for you the shores a-crowding;
For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;
Here Captain! dear father!
This arm beneath your head;
It is some dream that on the deck,
You’ve fallen cold and dead.
3
My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still;
My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will;
The ship is anchor’d safe and sound, its voyage closed and done;
From fearful trip, the victor ship, comes in with object won;
Exult, O shores, and ring, O bells!
But I, with mournful tread,
Walk the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.
26 February 2011
+ 'There Is Another Sky'
by Emily 'Aunt Emily' Dickinson
There is another sky,
Ever serene and fair,
And there is another sunshine,
Though it be darkness there;
Never mind faded forests, Austin,
Never mind silent fields -
Here is a little forest,
Whose leaf is ever green;
Here is a brighter garden,
Where not a frost has been;
In its unfading flowers
I hear the bright bee hum:
Prithee, my brother,
Into my garden come!
There is another sky,
Ever serene and fair,
And there is another sunshine,
Though it be darkness there;
Never mind faded forests, Austin,
Never mind silent fields -
Here is a little forest,
Whose leaf is ever green;
Here is a brighter garden,
Where not a frost has been;
In its unfading flowers
I hear the bright bee hum:
Prithee, my brother,
Into my garden come!
A new idea
Last time I did this, I kept getting behind. This time, when I find myself without enough time in the day--like this week--I will post poems that have inspired me.
25 February 2011
Levity
For each step
That beats down
Into seriousness
And listlessness,
There must be
Something to bring
Back up into gaiety.
TV can bring levity.
That beats down
Into seriousness
And listlessness,
There must be
Something to bring
Back up into gaiety.
TV can bring levity.
24 February 2011
14 Hours at Work
First one here today
At nine thirty I sit
In my red chair to play
And to work myself commit.
I wake my lamp from sleep,
Warm the computer from night
From my books I hear not a peep
Their eyes not yet seen light.
Grinding through the day
Catching up from behind
I strive to lay aside play
And concentrate my mind.
Now its eleven thirty two--
Shaky eyes and dreary hands.
There's not much more I can do
Despite works continuing demand.
Further and further see,
And more and more it burns,
That nasty law that be
The Law of Diminishing Returns.
At nine thirty I sit
In my red chair to play
And to work myself commit.
I wake my lamp from sleep,
Warm the computer from night
From my books I hear not a peep
Their eyes not yet seen light.
Grinding through the day
Catching up from behind
I strive to lay aside play
And concentrate my mind.
Now its eleven thirty two--
Shaky eyes and dreary hands.
There's not much more I can do
Despite works continuing demand.
Further and further see,
And more and more it burns,
That nasty law that be
The Law of Diminishing Returns.
23 February 2011
Imaginary Mannequin Meal
Me? Today?
Three books I read.
I went to a lunch lecture,
Listened there while I was fed.
I won't sleep tonight
I've too much to do.
I'll also think all night
Of how much I miss you.
Between you and school,
Friends and work,
Human contact,
I'm beginning to shirk.
We're apart;
We planned it so.
But the next two years
I'd gladly forgo.
And friends that're here,
They're the same as me.
A Masters Degree holder
They're striving to be.
It's not that I'm sad,
Really I'm not.
My life is in
A rather nice spot.
There's just no contact
No one with whom to talk.
In free bits of my day,
I my shadow begin to stalk.
So this evening,
Instead of dining alone.
With an imaginary mannequin I ate
To keep insanity postponed.
Three books I read.
I went to a lunch lecture,
Listened there while I was fed.
I won't sleep tonight
I've too much to do.
I'll also think all night
Of how much I miss you.
Between you and school,
Friends and work,
Human contact,
I'm beginning to shirk.
We're apart;
We planned it so.
But the next two years
I'd gladly forgo.
And friends that're here,
They're the same as me.
A Masters Degree holder
They're striving to be.
It's not that I'm sad,
Really I'm not.
My life is in
A rather nice spot.
There's just no contact
No one with whom to talk.
In free bits of my day,
I my shadow begin to stalk.
So this evening,
Instead of dining alone.
With an imaginary mannequin I ate
To keep insanity postponed.
22 February 2011
21 February 2011
Dreams
Like birds
Dreams float into my room
Into flowers
They grow and then they bloom
Far away
I skip and travel to
Forest twilight
Sunbeams sneaking through
Backlit canopy
The umbrella of light and green
From under
Veins of trees can be seen
Iridescent life
Pumping through each living thing
Melodic themes
To every life it brings
Restive dreams
Marching through woods silent still
Moving heart
Letting minds move at their will
Dreams float into my room
Into flowers
They grow and then they bloom
Far away
I skip and travel to
Forest twilight
Sunbeams sneaking through
Backlit canopy
The umbrella of light and green
From under
Veins of trees can be seen
Iridescent life
Pumping through each living thing
Melodic themes
To every life it brings
Restive dreams
Marching through woods silent still
Moving heart
Letting minds move at their will
20 February 2011
A Cool Summer Day in February
There's lots and lots of work
That's sitting, waiting on me.
Books are queued up on the table
Grumbling and waiting to be read.
Emails flagged for completion
Entertain themselves in boredom.
The keyboard and mouse at work
Fell asleep together again in peace.
I ignore their groanings and silent pleas.
Today, there's clouds you see,
And they're my favorite
That fluffy grey quilt laid over blue sky.
It is so much more gentle
To lay our thoughts upon.
The air is damp and cool and clean.
It creates reverence, a holiness
None are willing to disturb.
Footsteps fall softer.
Wheels turn slower.
Birds sing only peace and calm
As they list in the branches
With heavy eyelids
And sleepy feet.
All I want is to continue.
I want to sit still
In this oft' neglected chair
In my cold cave home.
It feels and looks so natural:
The walls are a cave,
And water drips in the back
From the faucet,
Plip
Plop
...
Plip.
And electricity has deserted;
The appliances are stone dead.
In their sleep they are eternal
Maybe having slept there
For one thousand years plus one.
The cold floor kissing bare feet.
Skin to skin they cuddle
On this cool summer day
In February
As I sit.
That's sitting, waiting on me.
Books are queued up on the table
Grumbling and waiting to be read.
Emails flagged for completion
Entertain themselves in boredom.
The keyboard and mouse at work
Fell asleep together again in peace.
I ignore their groanings and silent pleas.
Today, there's clouds you see,
And they're my favorite
That fluffy grey quilt laid over blue sky.
It is so much more gentle
To lay our thoughts upon.
The air is damp and cool and clean.
It creates reverence, a holiness
None are willing to disturb.
Footsteps fall softer.
Wheels turn slower.
Birds sing only peace and calm
As they list in the branches
With heavy eyelids
And sleepy feet.
All I want is to continue.
I want to sit still
In this oft' neglected chair
In my cold cave home.
It feels and looks so natural:
The walls are a cave,
And water drips in the back
From the faucet,
Plip
Plop
...
Plip.
And electricity has deserted;
The appliances are stone dead.
In their sleep they are eternal
Maybe having slept there
For one thousand years plus one.
The cold floor kissing bare feet.
Skin to skin they cuddle
On this cool summer day
In February
As I sit.
19 February 2011
Lazy Saturday
High sun and warm breeze
Forsaking homework
Working on rest
Cleaning up self
Not concentrating
Enjoying the weather
Trying to relax
Finding solace
In seas of stress
Forsaking homework
Working on rest
Cleaning up self
Not concentrating
Enjoying the weather
Trying to relax
Finding solace
In seas of stress
18 February 2011
Language
Learning to speak a language,
It's like watching the fog lift.
You can't understand the whole,
But little by little
One begins to perceive
Portions of periphery.
Bit grows into parts,
Parts into most,
And most into whole,
But the process,
The process is beauty.
It's like watching the fog lift.
You can't understand the whole,
But little by little
One begins to perceive
Portions of periphery.
Bit grows into parts,
Parts into most,
And most into whole,
But the process,
The process is beauty.
17 February 2011
The Sound That's In My Ear
A signal strong and proud I hear.
From far away it transmits sincere,
That sound that's in my ear.
And though it rings so loud and clear
No one else can hear the sonorous sound
That's singing in my ear.
Bit by bit the waves to me endear;
The emotions, thoughts, and Love I hear.
There's longing also in my ear.
A signal that's free of knee-bending fear.
No jaded side of Love is there here
In the voice whispering to my ear.
From opposing sides of the blue sphere,
I speak to her, and she to me here.
Sending from my heart into her ear.
Only with strength that won't disappear
Can voices carry steadily year to year
From heart to ear and heart to ear.
It's through this that we persevere;
It's through this that will persevere--
Heart to heart and ear to ear.
From far away it transmits sincere,
That sound that's in my ear.
And though it rings so loud and clear
No one else can hear the sonorous sound
That's singing in my ear.
Bit by bit the waves to me endear;
The emotions, thoughts, and Love I hear.
There's longing also in my ear.
A signal that's free of knee-bending fear.
No jaded side of Love is there here
In the voice whispering to my ear.
From opposing sides of the blue sphere,
I speak to her, and she to me here.
Sending from my heart into her ear.
Only with strength that won't disappear
Can voices carry steadily year to year
From heart to ear and heart to ear.
It's through this that we persevere;
It's through this that will persevere--
Heart to heart and ear to ear.
16 February 2011
You
You're half a world a way,
And every single day
My thoughts begin to stray.
Concentration does not stay.
I often think of you
Until sky's no longer blue.
Mind wandering ensues;
Your face emblazoned true.
My days are dreary yellow;
I'm no longer mellow.
My heart plays sad cellos;
I can't connect with fellows.
In sun I see but fog.
Each day will but bog
As sun slowly jogs
Just as a tired dog.
Will it ever come true,
And suddenly eschew
A day no longer blue
That brings a sigh, a "Phew!"?
Will future present shove
Afar and away all of
The pains I'm sick of
And so impatient of?
It is but only you
That will bring fruition to
Happiness yet undue;
And dreams will be made true.
And every single day
My thoughts begin to stray.
Concentration does not stay.
I often think of you
Until sky's no longer blue.
Mind wandering ensues;
Your face emblazoned true.
My days are dreary yellow;
I'm no longer mellow.
My heart plays sad cellos;
I can't connect with fellows.
In sun I see but fog.
Each day will but bog
As sun slowly jogs
Just as a tired dog.
Will it ever come true,
And suddenly eschew
A day no longer blue
That brings a sigh, a "Phew!"?
Will future present shove
Afar and away all of
The pains I'm sick of
And so impatient of?
It is but only you
That will bring fruition to
Happiness yet undue;
And dreams will be made true.
Here we go again...
It was about this time last year that I started and didn't finish but a little. I'm going to start again.?
29 June 2010
A Father's Bedtime Story
Lie there my dear children and go off to sleep.
I'll tell you a story if I don't hear one peep.
I give you a tale of such wonder that you'll feel
That this newer old story could actually be real.
Goldylocks, the blonde, went out one day for a ride;
A ride in her Mustang that would hum and would glide.
The color was ruby and red as her hot-rodded lips;
And going around curves was like swinging her hips.
But soon she got tired of the top being down
And thought that she'd take a venture out of town.
She drove in the forest and found such a site
With still green and old brown that gave her delight.
She liked the forest she thought to herself;
And the rumble of cars that comes from cliffs that look likes selves.
Eventually she came to a part of the forest that was thick;
The stuffiness here would to skin easily stick.
She saw a little shanty by the edge of the grove
With interest she over to that house quickly drove.
With a screech she swiftly came to definite stop
And opened the door with a screech and a pop.
She marched up the path and then banged on the door.
She knocked and she knocked: one, two, three, four.
After knocking and knocking she heard no one home,
She opened the door to a house all alone.
The little small cottage was bright with family life.
She looked at the pictures of father, son, and wife.
'Twas three forest bears living in this small house.
They lived all alone except from one grey-haired mouse.
(continued tomorrow)
I'll tell you a story if I don't hear one peep.
I give you a tale of such wonder that you'll feel
That this newer old story could actually be real.
Goldylocks, the blonde, went out one day for a ride;
A ride in her Mustang that would hum and would glide.
The color was ruby and red as her hot-rodded lips;
And going around curves was like swinging her hips.
But soon she got tired of the top being down
And thought that she'd take a venture out of town.
She drove in the forest and found such a site
With still green and old brown that gave her delight.
She liked the forest she thought to herself;
And the rumble of cars that comes from cliffs that look likes selves.
Eventually she came to a part of the forest that was thick;
The stuffiness here would to skin easily stick.
She saw a little shanty by the edge of the grove
With interest she over to that house quickly drove.
With a screech she swiftly came to definite stop
And opened the door with a screech and a pop.
She marched up the path and then banged on the door.
She knocked and she knocked: one, two, three, four.
After knocking and knocking she heard no one home,
She opened the door to a house all alone.
The little small cottage was bright with family life.
She looked at the pictures of father, son, and wife.
'Twas three forest bears living in this small house.
They lived all alone except from one grey-haired mouse.
(continued tomorrow)
28 June 2010
Dreams
I hear the pit and pat of my feet while walking
While a lion in my head with similar sound is stalking.
I often find myself lost in daydreaming,
Sometimes purposefully, oft' accidentally,
Wishfully I am my own future scheming.
I dream of right and privapedge,
Power and responsibility;
I fight with evil,
Run to far off lands,
Learn all sorts of things.
I have friends who, in my life, just perpetuate these things
They too dream, you see, and two dreamers often find wings.
And day by day I do this thing.
It makes me aim far away ahead.
I place a goal longer and further away,
But often fall shorter instead.
Little by little though,
I gain ground.
I take rule over new land,
Aim away again,
Plodding ever onward.
And bit by bit with fistfuls at a time I bring my dreams.
I bring them with me back to reality an conquer what I see.
Onward I conquer my dreams.
While a lion in my head with similar sound is stalking.
I often find myself lost in daydreaming,
Sometimes purposefully, oft' accidentally,
Wishfully I am my own future scheming.
I dream of right and privapedge,
Power and responsibility;
I fight with evil,
Run to far off lands,
Learn all sorts of things.
I have friends who, in my life, just perpetuate these things
They too dream, you see, and two dreamers often find wings.
And day by day I do this thing.
It makes me aim far away ahead.
I place a goal longer and further away,
But often fall shorter instead.
Little by little though,
I gain ground.
I take rule over new land,
Aim away again,
Plodding ever onward.
And bit by bit with fistfuls at a time I bring my dreams.
I bring them with me back to reality an conquer what I see.
Onward I conquer my dreams.
27 June 2010
The Summer Toad
Waiting in the air conditioner water,
Between 701 and 703,
The toad stands in the hot summer
As still as a knotted oak tree.
Terrorizing flies
And running from feet,
He tells not lies
For he never speaks;
He waddles from lethargy
From stoop to his bed.
Only a simple philosophy
Runs in his head.
Between 701 and 703,
The toad stands in the hot summer
As still as a knotted oak tree.
Terrorizing flies
And running from feet,
He tells not lies
For he never speaks;
He waddles from lethargy
From stoop to his bed.
Only a simple philosophy
Runs in his head.
26 June 2010
Paperless
I forgot the music as I walked today;
I instead listened to the wind in my ear play.
The on and off tapping of my slow feet
Gave me a poetic beet to meet.
I thought up a verse while on my way,
But in rarity I had nothing to write what I'd say.
I tore off home with a thump-thump and a phew.
Jogging and thinking more lines to spew.
Finally I reached home and entered with a pout;
Not a single word I thought would dare to come out.
I instead listened to the wind in my ear play.
The on and off tapping of my slow feet
Gave me a poetic beet to meet.
I thought up a verse while on my way,
But in rarity I had nothing to write what I'd say.
I tore off home with a thump-thump and a phew.
Jogging and thinking more lines to spew.
Finally I reached home and entered with a pout;
Not a single word I thought would dare to come out.
25 June 2010
Rain
From far away the thunderhead does roar.
It blows its coming, trumpeting the storm;
It's pround of all effects it holds in store
And boldly calls so all will be forewarned.
The power billowing on high-skyed wall,
The whiteness flecked with wounds of sorrowed grey.
So massive does it move--it seems to stall--
Larthargically the mass comes on its way.
However from its high and gilded throne
He saw the bright and sunny, long Monday.
The many people going to work and to home,
And, touched, decided to storm another day.
He just put a bit of a heavy drizzle in place
To wet the road and splash the Earth's face.
It blows its coming, trumpeting the storm;
It's pround of all effects it holds in store
And boldly calls so all will be forewarned.
The power billowing on high-skyed wall,
The whiteness flecked with wounds of sorrowed grey.
So massive does it move--it seems to stall--
Larthargically the mass comes on its way.
However from its high and gilded throne
He saw the bright and sunny, long Monday.
The many people going to work and to home,
And, touched, decided to storm another day.
He just put a bit of a heavy drizzle in place
To wet the road and splash the Earth's face.
24 June 2010
Ants
There
they
go
in
a
march,
all
of
them
with
big
loads,
Car-
ry-
ing
on
their
backs
food
for
them
and
for
all.
In
a
line
they
will
go
on
all
their
worn-
out
paths.
Far
and
wide
they
search
for
food
and
ma-
ter-
i-
als.
One
grain,
one
peb-
ble
each,
One
at
a
time
they
bring
and
build
Rome
bit
by
bit.
they
go
in
a
march,
all
of
them
with
big
loads,
Car-
ry-
ing
on
their
backs
food
for
them
and
for
all.
In
a
line
they
will
go
on
all
their
worn-
out
paths.
Far
and
wide
they
search
for
food
and
ma-
ter-
i-
als.
One
grain,
one
peb-
ble
each,
One
at
a
time
they
bring
and
build
Rome
bit
by
bit.
23 June 2010
Car Wash
Slowly it begins.
Fizz, fizz, fizz...
Building up steam,
And with stronger bubbles,
It starts to clean.
Then the strength and speed come
Fast and full--
The most productive section.
Beat and beat and beat,
Swash and swash and swash,
Then slowing,
Showing relaxation.
After the hard fast times,
Finally fizzing again.
Two more passes;
Then it stops.
The water goes down the drain.
The cycle begins again and again.
(mom-inspired)
Fizz, fizz, fizz...
Building up steam,
And with stronger bubbles,
It starts to clean.
Then the strength and speed come
Fast and full--
The most productive section.
Beat and beat and beat,
Swash and swash and swash,
Then slowing,
Showing relaxation.
After the hard fast times,
Finally fizzing again.
Two more passes;
Then it stops.
The water goes down the drain.
The cycle begins again and again.
(mom-inspired)
22 June 2010
Madam Maya
Finger on the pulse of the world,
Proud and standing tall,
Rafting up tributaries to culture,
And seeing the beauty she carries.
Madam Maya taught how to be proud:
Proud of the herritage
Proud of the body
Proud of the mind.
She taught how appreciate
Even if others cannot give thanks.
Her rhymes were new.
But the beat,
The beat that she made,
It came from the ancestral drums of humanity.
She is life and she is love.
She is pride and she is confidence.
Maya the observer.
Maya the giver,
Maya the lover.
Proud and standing tall,
Rafting up tributaries to culture,
And seeing the beauty she carries.
Madam Maya taught how to be proud:
Proud of the herritage
Proud of the body
Proud of the mind.
She taught how appreciate
Even if others cannot give thanks.
Her rhymes were new.
But the beat,
The beat that she made,
It came from the ancestral drums of humanity.
She is life and she is love.
She is pride and she is confidence.
Maya the observer.
Maya the giver,
Maya the lover.
21 June 2010
Old Man Poe
Living on the fringes
Of society's thought
The Old Man Poe
In measerured rhyhme
Tells what he sees
Without concern for taboo.
He tells of his friends
Macabre, Fright, Darkness.
Singing their tales and dreams
Making others shudder:
Their thoughts are where
Nightmares are made.
Their sanity is where
Psychoses are born.
Of society's thought
The Old Man Poe
In measerured rhyhme
Tells what he sees
Without concern for taboo.
He tells of his friends
Macabre, Fright, Darkness.
Singing their tales and dreams
Making others shudder:
Their thoughts are where
Nightmares are made.
Their sanity is where
Psychoses are born.
20 June 2010
Grandpa Robert
I remember you walking lonely in the fields.
You always listen to trees and bushes
And can translate to me their feelings.
You tell me of their life and emotions,
And oddly they always mirror your own.
You stop when others would go onward;
You dreamed when others would have woken.
You told me to leave myself and listen,
But I have often failed to obey.
Because of you I can love more deeply,
And I've finally come to know nature as a friend.
Furthermore, today I'm reminded of both my parents and the virtues they have taught me. This poem reminds me of them:
If...
by Rudyard Kipling
If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise:
If you can dream - and not make dreams your master;
If you can think - and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with wornout tools:
If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: 'Hold on!'
If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with kings - nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run -
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And - which is more - you'll be a Man my son!
You always listen to trees and bushes
And can translate to me their feelings.
You tell me of their life and emotions,
And oddly they always mirror your own.
You stop when others would go onward;
You dreamed when others would have woken.
You told me to leave myself and listen,
But I have often failed to obey.
Because of you I can love more deeply,
And I've finally come to know nature as a friend.
Furthermore, today I'm reminded of both my parents and the virtues they have taught me. This poem reminds me of them:
If...
by Rudyard Kipling
If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise:
If you can dream - and not make dreams your master;
If you can think - and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with wornout tools:
If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: 'Hold on!'
If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with kings - nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run -
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And - which is more - you'll be a Man my son!
19 June 2010
Odd Uncle Walt
I know that no one else understands you
Because your words to them seem confusing.
You see the beauty in everything around
Even when it is too beautiful to express.
And it's not that you can't describe it,
But it's that society did not want to hear it.
Well, Uncle Walt, they still don't want to hear.
You without speaking but through your words,
You've taught me beauty, You've taught me life.
You have shown me how to appreciate what no one sees.
However, I, I am still learning what you knew.
I cannot find ways to put down in many words
The many things that I think and see and know.
I strive to be more like you, able to express
All the things that no one wants to mention.
Because your words to them seem confusing.
You see the beauty in everything around
Even when it is too beautiful to express.
And it's not that you can't describe it,
But it's that society did not want to hear it.
Well, Uncle Walt, they still don't want to hear.
You without speaking but through your words,
You've taught me beauty, You've taught me life.
You have shown me how to appreciate what no one sees.
However, I, I am still learning what you knew.
I cannot find ways to put down in many words
The many things that I think and see and know.
I strive to be more like you, able to express
All the things that no one wants to mention.
18 June 2010
Aunt Emily
I see you in your room--In a chair by the window,
Your day filled with a world of paper and ink.
You in your simple dress, you sit by for hours;
You write of night and days of night without light.
I see you having sat there for such length,
And I, I wish I had your patience to only sit and think.
Hearing others talk of you in downward words
Hurts me past my skin -- A feeling in the bones.
Pen and ink, pen and ink, pen and ink--
Oh to have the diligence to sit and think.
You taught me to sing in a world of only words.
Your day filled with a world of paper and ink.
You in your simple dress, you sit by for hours;
You write of night and days of night without light.
I see you having sat there for such length,
And I, I wish I had your patience to only sit and think.
Hearing others talk of you in downward words
Hurts me past my skin -- A feeling in the bones.
Pen and ink, pen and ink, pen and ink--
Oh to have the diligence to sit and think.
You taught me to sing in a world of only words.
17 June 2010
Life Scares and Low Points
Many things in life will bring one to their knees.
Stressfull situations--wondering how they came to be.
Sitting with a doctor who's concerned about your health,
Or fretting over checkbooks and bills depleting wealth.
Concern for a loved one or plans that go awry;
A lost and dear relative for whom one often cries.
Period's between work and times that're spent alone,
Being injured or stranded, unexpectedly away from home.
If one can keep one's chin from dropping,
one's mood from downward swinging,
Keep a smile and a gleam in the eye,
Then Life's journey will easily go by.
Stressfull situations--wondering how they came to be.
Sitting with a doctor who's concerned about your health,
Or fretting over checkbooks and bills depleting wealth.
Concern for a loved one or plans that go awry;
A lost and dear relative for whom one often cries.
Period's between work and times that're spent alone,
Being injured or stranded, unexpectedly away from home.
If one can keep one's chin from dropping,
one's mood from downward swinging,
Keep a smile and a gleam in the eye,
Then Life's journey will easily go by.
16 June 2010
The Crazy Mild King
The crazy mild king,
In his youth he sits.
Boredom he's never brought
Surrounded by misfits.
He sits all day long
Barely eating a bit
'Cause the crazy mild king
Likes his clothes to fit.
His people are happy
They're all proletariat:
They've no reason to complain
In a kingdom so fit.
He sometimes makes laws,
But doesn't enjoy it.
The crazy mild king
Would rather just plain sit.
Those that are unhappy
Are thrown in the muddy pit;
Then the people and the king
All watch the sloppy fit.
Everyone does laugh
And use a bit of wit
The crazy mild king though
Just sits and sits and sits.
There's food and joy and beds
In this kingdom you won't forget
Somehow the crazy mild king,
Has performed his lonely bit.
In his youth he sits.
Boredom he's never brought
Surrounded by misfits.
He sits all day long
Barely eating a bit
'Cause the crazy mild king
Likes his clothes to fit.
His people are happy
They're all proletariat:
They've no reason to complain
In a kingdom so fit.
He sometimes makes laws,
But doesn't enjoy it.
The crazy mild king
Would rather just plain sit.
Those that are unhappy
Are thrown in the muddy pit;
Then the people and the king
All watch the sloppy fit.
Everyone does laugh
And use a bit of wit
The crazy mild king though
Just sits and sits and sits.
There's food and joy and beds
In this kingdom you won't forget
Somehow the crazy mild king,
Has performed his lonely bit.
15 June 2010
The Blonde in the Window
Sitting there quietly
A car pulls up.
Two chit and chat
And comment on life.
The one in the car
Asks, "Who drew that."
"Oh, that's from my son."
Then she replies,
"How old are you?
You're too young for that."
"I'm twenty-six now,
And he's six and a quarter."
Then the conversation turned:
Divorce, youth, and hair.
The car drives away
And she sits just there.
She's proud of her life,
Her son, her beauty, her love.
She'd never trade any
Of these things listed above.
A car pulls up.
Two chit and chat
And comment on life.
The one in the car
Asks, "Who drew that."
"Oh, that's from my son."
Then she replies,
"How old are you?
You're too young for that."
"I'm twenty-six now,
And he's six and a quarter."
Then the conversation turned:
Divorce, youth, and hair.
The car drives away
And she sits just there.
She's proud of her life,
Her son, her beauty, her love.
She'd never trade any
Of these things listed above.
14 June 2010
We Are Made Such by Love
I have your heart.
It's my prized possession.
When e'er we are apart,
I hold it in obsession.
But being apart for prolonged years
Without you here in whole,
Makes me every moment close to tears.
I feel hollow and without a soul.
But ss you know, o're there each day
My heart goes along with you,
My dear love, so far away,
Making each day possible to start anew.
Never heartless do we go along;
We each a one we've not used before.
I in trust listen to your's song
And hope that mine to you is not a bore.
So we learn each others hearts this way
As these long years go by.
By choice we have chose this way
Even though we did so with a sigh.
We are made such by love,
And by such are almost undone.
We are made such by love,
You who're away from me but never gone.
It's my prized possession.
When e'er we are apart,
I hold it in obsession.
But being apart for prolonged years
Without you here in whole,
Makes me every moment close to tears.
I feel hollow and without a soul.
But ss you know, o're there each day
My heart goes along with you,
My dear love, so far away,
Making each day possible to start anew.
Never heartless do we go along;
We each a one we've not used before.
I in trust listen to your's song
And hope that mine to you is not a bore.
So we learn each others hearts this way
As these long years go by.
By choice we have chose this way
Even though we did so with a sigh.
We are made such by love,
And by such are almost undone.
We are made such by love,
You who're away from me but never gone.
13 June 2010
Life
I hit a car--
Perfectly it was parked.
It wasn't far;
I just didn't see it.
I got out and knocked
To tell the owner my fault.
He didn't seem so rocked
By having his headlight hit.
Instead of nitty gritty
Insurance, quotes, and such,
He was alright with three twenties,
And I went on my way.
I didn't have cash
So in ten minutes
To the ATM I made a dash,
And remained responsible and unknown.
Serving in the moral moment
I realized how blessed I am.
Though not a time from heaven sent,
I realized how blessed I am.
I have loans and bills,
But I pay them.
Life has it hills,
But I go over.
I have a place to live,
Certain creature comforts,
And when I am trouble given,
I can get through.
Perfectly it was parked.
It wasn't far;
I just didn't see it.
I got out and knocked
To tell the owner my fault.
He didn't seem so rocked
By having his headlight hit.
Instead of nitty gritty
Insurance, quotes, and such,
He was alright with three twenties,
And I went on my way.
I didn't have cash
So in ten minutes
To the ATM I made a dash,
And remained responsible and unknown.
Serving in the moral moment
I realized how blessed I am.
Though not a time from heaven sent,
I realized how blessed I am.
I have loans and bills,
But I pay them.
Life has it hills,
But I go over.
I have a place to live,
Certain creature comforts,
And when I am trouble given,
I can get through.
12 June 2010
Bad Day Events
Spilling a cereal bowl,
Forgetting a debit card,
Showering with socks on,
Breaking a coffee cup,
Shirts on backwards,
Does the Theory of Everything
Explain why a person--
Logical in their ways--
Would be upset
By such a something
They cannot control?
Forgetting a debit card,
Showering with socks on,
Breaking a coffee cup,
Shirts on backwards,
Does the Theory of Everything
Explain why a person--
Logical in their ways--
Would be upset
By such a something
They cannot control?
11 June 2010
Toes in the Grass
Warm summer wind
Green leaves rustle and sway.
Barefoot again
Watching some children play.
Hair blown about
Sun kissing one's white skin
Symphony of clouds
Listening to summer's din.
Out of a suit,
Apart from air conditioning.
Feeling Earth's heartbeat
While grass keeps tickling.
Green leaves rustle and sway.
Barefoot again
Watching some children play.
Hair blown about
Sun kissing one's white skin
Symphony of clouds
Listening to summer's din.
Out of a suit,
Apart from air conditioning.
Feeling Earth's heartbeat
While grass keeps tickling.
10 June 2010
The Bank Window
Legs crossed in my seat,
No customers to greet,
Sitting in dullness at work
And slowly tapping my feet.
Outside the drive-thru glass
Cars zoom slowly passed.
The winds makes the leaves blow,
And Sun shines making green things grow.
Sky turns somewhat gray
A dog nods his head this way.
I contemplate to keep from sleep;
My coworker files her nails away.
There are old magazines about,
Papers that need tossed out.
The fans blows back to and fro,
And the credit card machine starts to shout.
No customers to greet,
Legs crossed in my seat,
Sitting in dullness at work
And slowly tapping my feet.
No customers to greet,
Sitting in dullness at work
And slowly tapping my feet.
Outside the drive-thru glass
Cars zoom slowly passed.
The winds makes the leaves blow,
And Sun shines making green things grow.
Sky turns somewhat gray
A dog nods his head this way.
I contemplate to keep from sleep;
My coworker files her nails away.
There are old magazines about,
Papers that need tossed out.
The fans blows back to and fro,
And the credit card machine starts to shout.
No customers to greet,
Legs crossed in my seat,
Sitting in dullness at work
And slowly tapping my feet.
09 June 2010
Out to Play
Always kept pinned
To be disciplined,
Behaved, mannered,
Taught sitting,
Perfect at staying,
Fantastically heeling,
Coat all clean,
With a little sheen,
Not heard, but seen,
Occasionally though
In order to grow,
All these must go
And in carefree way,
Despite what all will say,
One must play.
To be disciplined,
Behaved, mannered,
Taught sitting,
Perfect at staying,
Fantastically heeling,
Coat all clean,
With a little sheen,
Not heard, but seen,
Occasionally though
In order to grow,
All these must go
And in carefree way,
Despite what all will say,
One must play.
08 June 2010
If I Could Have
If I could have stayed,
Remained with my heart,
Together we'd've played,
And not now be apart.
If I could have gone
To the other school,
A better job have done,
And not now often feel a fool.
If I could have lept
Myself just a little further,
Stayed up instead of slept,
And not now have my druthers.
But I being me
Didn't stay or go or leap.
Yet taking two steps back
Take joy in all I'll keep.
Remained with my heart,
Together we'd've played,
And not now be apart.
If I could have gone
To the other school,
A better job have done,
And not now often feel a fool.
If I could have lept
Myself just a little further,
Stayed up instead of slept,
And not now have my druthers.
But I being me
Didn't stay or go or leap.
Yet taking two steps back
Take joy in all I'll keep.
07 June 2010
Summer Wind
Laden with pollen, the wind does blow
Slowing a walk from quickened pace.
Sunshine always coming and berating the face.
Walking on curbs where the weeds do grow,
Bag on the back without socks on feet,
Gives one a chance to surroundings meet.
Summertime flowers and grasses flow
As streaming strong rivers in fields by roads,
And distant is heard all the locusts and toads.
Ants that do carry tremendous loads below,
Birds that compete showing who's song is best
They all do know with what gifts they're blessed.
Flower in hand with one's feet in a snow
Of Cottonwood flakes that have drifted on grass.
Footprints now left where there's a wearing pass.
Workers in cars do not see the show
Busily going, forgetting to slow,
And never will Summer's dear Wind come to know.
Slowing a walk from quickened pace.
Sunshine always coming and berating the face.
Walking on curbs where the weeds do grow,
Bag on the back without socks on feet,
Gives one a chance to surroundings meet.
Summertime flowers and grasses flow
As streaming strong rivers in fields by roads,
And distant is heard all the locusts and toads.
Ants that do carry tremendous loads below,
Birds that compete showing who's song is best
They all do know with what gifts they're blessed.
Flower in hand with one's feet in a snow
Of Cottonwood flakes that have drifted on grass.
Footprints now left where there's a wearing pass.
Workers in cars do not see the show
Busily going, forgetting to slow,
And never will Summer's dear Wind come to know.
06 June 2010
Missed Friend
Strange accents,
Talking about philosophy,
Two different arts,
Now turned catastrophy.
Comfortable with telling
All thoughts and wants,
But because of distance
Creativity wants.
Missing a friend
That lives far away,
Is like a child
That can't go and play.
たけぶ裕へ
Talking about philosophy,
Two different arts,
Now turned catastrophy.
Comfortable with telling
All thoughts and wants,
But because of distance
Creativity wants.
Missing a friend
That lives far away,
Is like a child
That can't go and play.
たけぶ裕へ
05 June 2010
Moving Day
Looking again at three lives I've had
Taking from each both happy and sad.
Friends from generations helping me move
With conversations changing to fit the grove.
Rockabilly and speed along with the space race;
Should we put the piano in a different place?
Music and poetry, modal changes and style;
Would you unpack the kitchen for a while?
Fever and cultures, love and distant talks;
If you put that there no one can walk.
Moving is tiring and inspiring and sore
So what does this new home have in store?
Taking from each both happy and sad.
Friends from generations helping me move
With conversations changing to fit the grove.
Rockabilly and speed along with the space race;
Should we put the piano in a different place?
Music and poetry, modal changes and style;
Would you unpack the kitchen for a while?
Fever and cultures, love and distant talks;
If you put that there no one can walk.
Moving is tiring and inspiring and sore
So what does this new home have in store?
04 June 2010
Package
The smell of a letter
Hand-written and new.
A gift here and there
Bidding adeau.
Obsessing over writing,
Addresses, and tape;
Oh, and forms for customs,
...with a few mistakes.
Items carefully selected
Now packaged nice and neat
To see the other's face
Would be such a treat.
I've received many,
And now it's time to give.
Both bring their joys
That add to how I live.
For a loved one far away
Desirefully I mail.
Please enjoy a package
Though it's slow as a snail.
Hand-written and new.
A gift here and there
Bidding adeau.
Obsessing over writing,
Addresses, and tape;
Oh, and forms for customs,
...with a few mistakes.
Items carefully selected
Now packaged nice and neat
To see the other's face
Would be such a treat.
I've received many,
And now it's time to give.
Both bring their joys
That add to how I live.
For a loved one far away
Desirefully I mail.
Please enjoy a package
Though it's slow as a snail.
02 June 2010
A Break
I managed to make it this far before making asides. I started this project in order to be able to better examine my life and be able to write about it. However, this last week was my sister's wedding, and I didn't have the time to devote to this. She came first. I will go back and try to reflect on what I've experienced to make up for the lost entries. However, I'm worried. In my experience, writing outside the moment of the emotion doesn't make for better poetry.
Today's:
New Wine
There's a high barrier of entry
Breaking in to the vines--
The definition of finesse
In the form of bottles of wine.
It's an old industry that's full
Of the perfect, expensive, and refined;
Sultry, haughty, simple, or sweet
Nothing beats old bottles of wine.
But creating something that's new,
In something typified and defined,
How should one start to make
Newer bottles of older wines?
Drinkers' palettes all adjusted
Critics there are many to malign
The dreaming vintner should plug the ears
And keep making new bottles of wine.
Today's:
New Wine
There's a high barrier of entry
Breaking in to the vines--
The definition of finesse
In the form of bottles of wine.
It's an old industry that's full
Of the perfect, expensive, and refined;
Sultry, haughty, simple, or sweet
Nothing beats old bottles of wine.
But creating something that's new,
In something typified and defined,
How should one start to make
Newer bottles of older wines?
Drinkers' palettes all adjusted
Critics there are many to malign
The dreaming vintner should plug the ears
And keep making new bottles of wine.
28 May 2010
Wedding
I cannot write the beauty of a wedding--
Cream-white gown worn in anxious excitement
Tuxes all matching and pressed,
Decorations chosen with meaning
Carefully placed, hung, and spread.
There's so many physical items;
They play to the eye,
But others--seen or not--
All make this moment special in time.
A sister and her smile of twentysomething years
(Years of summer skies and falling stars),
Her sweet smile beside her husband's,
Old and new friends brought together,
Loved family ties solidified by this union,
Snapshots of memories from a friend photographer.
I hope the remaining years will yield
All the joy and belief and love seen before now.
Cream-white gown worn in anxious excitement
Tuxes all matching and pressed,
Decorations chosen with meaning
Carefully placed, hung, and spread.
There's so many physical items;
They play to the eye,
But others--seen or not--
All make this moment special in time.
A sister and her smile of twentysomething years
(Years of summer skies and falling stars),
Her sweet smile beside her husband's,
Old and new friends brought together,
Loved family ties solidified by this union,
Snapshots of memories from a friend photographer.
I hope the remaining years will yield
All the joy and belief and love seen before now.
25 May 2010
Working With the Public
If you're the one
Who doesn't like generic
You can always be stunned
By working with public.
Service jobs are best
To see all personality sorts
There you'll never get rest
From laughing sports.
I've worked at banks,
Also groceries and restaurants,
And often I give thanks
For all the stories I've got.
Professionals
In unmatching clothes
Being obsessional
With their stuck up nose.
Farmers standing like wheat
With their empty pockets
Kind and with patient feet
Waiting for their turn on the docket.
Big tall high-schoolers,
Who from football practice stink,
In their own kingdoms, they're rulers,
But they always order something pink.
Some driving through naked
Or standing atop their cars,
The hilarity can't be mistaken;
It seems some are from Mars.
Please enjoy the public
By always people-watching.
You'll have stitches in your stomach
From such abundant laughing.
Who doesn't like generic
You can always be stunned
By working with public.
Service jobs are best
To see all personality sorts
There you'll never get rest
From laughing sports.
I've worked at banks,
Also groceries and restaurants,
And often I give thanks
For all the stories I've got.
Professionals
In unmatching clothes
Being obsessional
With their stuck up nose.
Farmers standing like wheat
With their empty pockets
Kind and with patient feet
Waiting for their turn on the docket.
Big tall high-schoolers,
Who from football practice stink,
In their own kingdoms, they're rulers,
But they always order something pink.
Some driving through naked
Or standing atop their cars,
The hilarity can't be mistaken;
It seems some are from Mars.
Please enjoy the public
By always people-watching.
You'll have stitches in your stomach
From such abundant laughing.
24 May 2010
Dreaming
Searching after sleep
In a Serengeti
Of pillows and sheets.
Laying about
In sand dunes
Of high thread counts
Diving in indigo
On barrier reefs
With more places to go.
Trodding in snow
Of down feathers
Attacking Matterhorn's glow.
To dream is to go
Wherever one wants
And constantly grow.
In a Serengeti
Of pillows and sheets.
Laying about
In sand dunes
Of high thread counts
Diving in indigo
On barrier reefs
With more places to go.
Trodding in snow
Of down feathers
Attacking Matterhorn's glow.
To dream is to go
Wherever one wants
And constantly grow.
23 May 2010
Letter
There's something about a letter
Other modes of communicaton miss.
Others in clarity may be better,
But letters are with words a kind of kiss.
They could also be punches to the jaw
Depending on emtions the words contain,
But from letters one does not withdraw
Feeling compelled to read all, e'vn in disdain.
A reader can show emotion to the paper--
If dear words, holding it close to the chest,
If hatefully, tearing and shredding in anger,
Or if happy, jumping around with zealous zest.
With personableness and personality
They are a special way to speak.
Handwritten or typed, with originality
They're a form of communication at peak.
Other modes of communicaton miss.
Others in clarity may be better,
But letters are with words a kind of kiss.
They could also be punches to the jaw
Depending on emtions the words contain,
But from letters one does not withdraw
Feeling compelled to read all, e'vn in disdain.
A reader can show emotion to the paper--
If dear words, holding it close to the chest,
If hatefully, tearing and shredding in anger,
Or if happy, jumping around with zealous zest.
With personableness and personality
They are a special way to speak.
Handwritten or typed, with originality
They're a form of communication at peak.
22 May 2010
Sales
I sometimes buy expensive clothes,
But never at full price.
I pay for all of those
At amounts that are nice.
In order these to get
I look forward, far away
To a place I've not yet met
And often buy for another day.
I find something I like,
Something I don't yet need,
And I buy it when moment strikes,
When I find a sale and future need.
But never at full price.
I pay for all of those
At amounts that are nice.
In order these to get
I look forward, far away
To a place I've not yet met
And often buy for another day.
I find something I like,
Something I don't yet need,
And I buy it when moment strikes,
When I find a sale and future need.
21 May 2010
Only A Poet (How to Write a Poem)
Writing a poem every day,
It often takes away from play.
One must put the mind in a place
And find that elusive poet face.
Some days what comes is only tripe,
Plain and hackneyed, no longer ripe.
Some days one's work shines like brass
Even if it only talks of grass.
Writing like this makes one think deep
It makes beauty stand out and further seep.
One feels all beauty as an emotion
Even through life's noisy commotion,
But it makes one truth very real:
Realizing the days when One nothing really feels.
It often takes away from play.
One must put the mind in a place
And find that elusive poet face.
Some days what comes is only tripe,
Plain and hackneyed, no longer ripe.
Some days one's work shines like brass
Even if it only talks of grass.
Writing like this makes one think deep
It makes beauty stand out and further seep.
One feels all beauty as an emotion
Even through life's noisy commotion,
But it makes one truth very real:
Realizing the days when One nothing really feels.
20 May 2010
Eating
Desires, for me, are there but only three,
And of the three the one that won is food.
Good food that--whether coming from a tree
Or fresh from a kitchen pot--gives good mood.
And of the three the one that won is food.
Good food that--whether coming from a tree
Or fresh from a kitchen pot--gives good mood.
One of the Many
I'm a tree like all the others.
We're all tall, leafy, and green
We act as a home for those with feathers
And from far away can be easily seen.
Some are taller than than even me,
Towering over everything around;
Some are shorter even for a tree
And don't make so loud a sound.
I may not be a standing-out profound,
But I have roots that run deep
And keep me tethered to the ground
Even when I dream while sound asleep.
We're all tall, leafy, and green
We act as a home for those with feathers
And from far away can be easily seen.
Some are taller than than even me,
Towering over everything around;
Some are shorter even for a tree
And don't make so loud a sound.
I may not be a standing-out profound,
But I have roots that run deep
And keep me tethered to the ground
Even when I dream while sound asleep.
18 May 2010
Sore
Sore
Sore
When the muscles roar
Pain like an eagles soars
Sore
Sore
Sore
Knotted
Knotted
When shoulder has rotted
And motion has halted
Knotted
Knotted
Knotted
Ache
Ache
A job that long is a mistake
My feet hurt so thy shake
Ache
Ache
Ache
Strained
Strained
To be so unjustly pained
Amongst ailments, to be famed
Strain
Strain
Strain
Sore
When the muscles roar
Pain like an eagles soars
Sore
Sore
Sore
Knotted
Knotted
When shoulder has rotted
And motion has halted
Knotted
Knotted
Knotted
Ache
Ache
A job that long is a mistake
My feet hurt so thy shake
Ache
Ache
Ache
Strained
Strained
To be so unjustly pained
Amongst ailments, to be famed
Strain
Strain
Strain
17 May 2010
Help!
"I didn't intend to put this off.
It just sort of passing, happened.
Now I cannot stave off this cough
Of bothersome work uncompleted.
"I'm neurotic and emotional
Because of all this stress I'm in.
I cannot complete this all alone.
I don't know how this will end."
"Here let me help.
We'll go it together.
It'll still take a while,
But at least you'll feel better."
It just sort of passing, happened.
Now I cannot stave off this cough
Of bothersome work uncompleted.
"I'm neurotic and emotional
Because of all this stress I'm in.
I cannot complete this all alone.
I don't know how this will end."
"Here let me help.
We'll go it together.
It'll still take a while,
But at least you'll feel better."
16 May 2010
Cottonwood
White fluff hanging smooth
Warmly in a springtime breeze.
This season's falling snow
Makes me itch and often sneeze.
Warmly in a springtime breeze.
This season's falling snow
Makes me itch and often sneeze.
15 May 2010
A Wet Oklahoma Saturday Morning
Spiderwebs all covered in mourning dew
Breathing in a thick helping of fog.
Watching fish splash and spew
And twenty yards away a laughing frog.
The distant chug of a tractor
Birds sing a quiet salutation.
Fishing hat and coat in worn-out splendor
And their statue owner in contemplation.
The gentle pat pat pat of ripples
From Emerald water that hugs the sky
And the hum of waking peoples
And their cars as they seldom pass by.
Wise fish with mountain-sage mustache
Kissing the air in unanimity
Clearly dancing for rodless me
As yonder empty-handed fisherman leaves.
We stare at each other
Them swirling their carpish dance.
I watch in eternity longingly
In a quieted, fixed trance.
Wet-hooved cattle chawing
And an existentialist bull.
Roadside pigeons philosophizing
And a mailbox stuffed completely full.
A Buddhist-believing tree
That peacefully overhangs the road.
A boulder in a pond that rests on its knee
And NPR classical to relieve any mental load.
Breathing in a thick helping of fog.
Watching fish splash and spew
And twenty yards away a laughing frog.
The distant chug of a tractor
Birds sing a quiet salutation.
Fishing hat and coat in worn-out splendor
And their statue owner in contemplation.
The gentle pat pat pat of ripples
From Emerald water that hugs the sky
And the hum of waking peoples
And their cars as they seldom pass by.
Wise fish with mountain-sage mustache
Kissing the air in unanimity
Clearly dancing for rodless me
As yonder empty-handed fisherman leaves.
We stare at each other
Them swirling their carpish dance.
I watch in eternity longingly
In a quieted, fixed trance.
Wet-hooved cattle chawing
And an existentialist bull.
Roadside pigeons philosophizing
And a mailbox stuffed completely full.
A Buddhist-believing tree
That peacefully overhangs the road.
A boulder in a pond that rests on its knee
And NPR classical to relieve any mental load.
14 May 2010
International Croud
International people are an understanding lot;
They know just how to hit the spot.
They listen well and comprehend most all,
And are always the people laughing in the hall.
They're multilingual and can bend as they please,
And for work they don't mind standing on their knees.
Even-keeled and well anchored when needed,
They are well structured and multi-pleated.
To understand them one must become one,
But one cannot translate something won.
One must continue as is and be,
To most people something of a mystery.
They know just how to hit the spot.
They listen well and comprehend most all,
And are always the people laughing in the hall.
They're multilingual and can bend as they please,
And for work they don't mind standing on their knees.
Even-keeled and well anchored when needed,
They are well structured and multi-pleated.
To understand them one must become one,
But one cannot translate something won.
One must continue as is and be,
To most people something of a mystery.
13 May 2010
Bad Dream
If you have a bad dream
Don't tell your mates;
Things like that
Should be left to Fates.
Take your bad dreams,
And cast them away.
Place them in seas
Along with the fray.
Don't take a chance
And speak your full mind;
Just keep still your mouth,
And happiness you'll find.
Don't tell your mates;
Things like that
Should be left to Fates.
Take your bad dreams,
And cast them away.
Place them in seas
Along with the fray.
Don't take a chance
And speak your full mind;
Just keep still your mouth,
And happiness you'll find.
12 May 2010
Desire Knocking At the Door
I'm drearily in bed at last,
The day's events slung on the floor,
I think I've finally quelled my mind
When Desire comes knocking at the door.
I fling some laundry in the way
To stop the sound that I abhor,
But gently there's a damning scratch
From Desire scraping on my door.
I turn and say it's just the wind
That shakes me to my quiet core,
But I cannot but help to hear
Desire whining at my door.
Covering my ears in dread
I try to quiet the droning score,
But gauntly and sonorously
Desire is dirging at my door.
My mind is grossly grasping now
To squash the sound of garish whore,
But nothing tears my self away
From Desire calling at my door.
I feel bewitching I can't stop,
A haunting 'till I slake the roar;
Gore and grotesqueness I will see
'Cause Desire's spooking at my door.
I'll stop the horror and be free,
Of beckoning I can't ignore
If I won't sleep then I will meet
Desire's knocking at my door.
The day's events slung on the floor,
I think I've finally quelled my mind
When Desire comes knocking at the door.
I fling some laundry in the way
To stop the sound that I abhor,
But gently there's a damning scratch
From Desire scraping on my door.
I turn and say it's just the wind
That shakes me to my quiet core,
But I cannot but help to hear
Desire whining at my door.
Covering my ears in dread
I try to quiet the droning score,
But gauntly and sonorously
Desire is dirging at my door.
My mind is grossly grasping now
To squash the sound of garish whore,
But nothing tears my self away
From Desire calling at my door.
I feel bewitching I can't stop,
A haunting 'till I slake the roar;
Gore and grotesqueness I will see
'Cause Desire's spooking at my door.
I'll stop the horror and be free,
Of beckoning I can't ignore
If I won't sleep then I will meet
Desire's knocking at my door.
11 May 2010
Prometheus' Fire
Huge in understanding
The brother of shoulders stands
Defying couped ruling
With stealthy, giving hands.
A founder of thinking,
Of development he sings.
He pays for his doing:
Fire, a bird, and ring.
But woefully he's living
For man forgoes much thought.
With pain he doubles remembering
What his gift should have brought.
Man, upon receiving
His wonderful thing so bright,
Instead of further proceeding,
Only used it for light.
The brother of shoulders stands
Defying couped ruling
With stealthy, giving hands.
A founder of thinking,
Of development he sings.
He pays for his doing:
Fire, a bird, and ring.
But woefully he's living
For man forgoes much thought.
With pain he doubles remembering
What his gift should have brought.
Man, upon receiving
His wonderful thing so bright,
Instead of further proceeding,
Only used it for light.
10 May 2010
The Ocean in My Dream
The ocean in my dream
Flows in Emerald green
It ebbs and flows
Like lime Jell-o
And laughingly it gleams.
To Sky it winks each day.
Together they always play.
They seek and find
And hide behind
The clouds that float and sway.
Flows in Emerald green
It ebbs and flows
Like lime Jell-o
And laughingly it gleams.
To Sky it winks each day.
Together they always play.
They seek and find
And hide behind
The clouds that float and sway.
09 May 2010
The Shore of Machu Picchu
With neatly terraced lawns
And grey old walls of rock
Children play
As trees do sway
In their mossy-colored socks.
The waterfalls of green
Forever flow and roar.
Glowing mornings
And mid-day stormings
On Machu Picchu's shore.
These islanders are blessed
To live so far away
From bumbling strife
Of city life
And on their island play.
And grey old walls of rock
Children play
As trees do sway
In their mossy-colored socks.
The waterfalls of green
Forever flow and roar.
Glowing mornings
And mid-day stormings
On Machu Picchu's shore.
These islanders are blessed
To live so far away
From bumbling strife
Of city life
And on their island play.
08 May 2010
Poison Ivy
Afraid to step into the green
For fear of touching leaves unseen;
To quiet stay upon the path
For fear of reaping itchy wrath.
On sidewalk 'lone intent I stand
And reach out not one single hand.
Instead in safety I walk tall
Admiring greenry like a wall.
For fear of touching leaves unseen;
To quiet stay upon the path
For fear of reaping itchy wrath.
On sidewalk 'lone intent I stand
And reach out not one single hand.
Instead in safety I walk tall
Admiring greenry like a wall.
07 May 2010
ER
Talking.
Cooking.
Chopping a vegetable.
Preparing the table.
Oh-noing.
Hurrying.
Washing in the sink.
Fainting then taking a drink.
Rushing.
Waiting.
Chatting with the nurse.
"Did you bring my purse?"
Calming.
Soothing.
Continuing life again.
With bandage and grin.
Cooking.
Chopping a vegetable.
Preparing the table.
Oh-noing.
Hurrying.
Washing in the sink.
Fainting then taking a drink.
Rushing.
Waiting.
Chatting with the nurse.
"Did you bring my purse?"
Calming.
Soothing.
Continuing life again.
With bandage and grin.
06 May 2010
Nice To Meet You
Nice to meet you.
What's your name again?
I'm sure we'll become
The best of friends.
What do you do?
Why'd you choose here?
Being here alone
Doesn't make you fear?
How do you like it?
Getting on well so far?
How's the weather outside?
Did you come by car?
Will you go now?
Wherever to?
Without my new friend,
I'll surely be blue.
If not just a bit longer,
I'm glad at least we've met.
Perchance we'll cross again
As fate my might just let.
What's your name again?
I'm sure we'll become
The best of friends.
What do you do?
Why'd you choose here?
Being here alone
Doesn't make you fear?
How do you like it?
Getting on well so far?
How's the weather outside?
Did you come by car?
Will you go now?
Wherever to?
Without my new friend,
I'll surely be blue.
If not just a bit longer,
I'm glad at least we've met.
Perchance we'll cross again
As fate my might just let.
05 May 2010
Humanity Larder
I have jarfulls of understanding
In my humanity larder.
It's the drink that I love sipping
And wouldn't for anything barter.
I've also sweet small cakes of talking
That I so dearly love to munch,
And pralines of perfect passifying
With their piquant, light crunch.
But the one snack I can't leave
On shelf as it seething lies
Are sugary tarts of bitterness
I can't quit no matter how I try.
In my humanity larder.
It's the drink that I love sipping
And wouldn't for anything barter.
I've also sweet small cakes of talking
That I so dearly love to munch,
And pralines of perfect passifying
With their piquant, light crunch.
But the one snack I can't leave
On shelf as it seething lies
Are sugary tarts of bitterness
I can't quit no matter how I try.
04 May 2010
A Letter to Love
Today I wrote down words to love,
Some things I've meant to say,
Pithy prose I've oft dreamt of
But lost along the way.
For some reason though,
Today was the riper time.
With ink and paper in tow
I commenced my outline.
I spat down quandaries that do baffle,
I threw out character attacks in a huff,
I carved in faults of the emotion that ruffle,
And sealed the note with all it's haughty stuff.
Upset though I sat as one,
Before my envelope I could send,
I daydreamed of that someone--
My love and dearest friend.
So sits this letter now
On the desk all untouched,
If I'll send, I don't know,
But by love I've been touched.
Some things I've meant to say,
Pithy prose I've oft dreamt of
But lost along the way.
For some reason though,
Today was the riper time.
With ink and paper in tow
I commenced my outline.
I spat down quandaries that do baffle,
I threw out character attacks in a huff,
I carved in faults of the emotion that ruffle,
And sealed the note with all it's haughty stuff.
Upset though I sat as one,
Before my envelope I could send,
I daydreamed of that someone--
My love and dearest friend.
So sits this letter now
On the desk all untouched,
If I'll send, I don't know,
But by love I've been touched.
03 May 2010
Paint Tomorrow
If the day hurts,
If the life spins fast,
If an ear burns or
Energy doesn't last,
If feet ache,
If someone's lost,
If much is at stake
And it's loss will cost,
If ideas quarrel,
If feelings put down,
When memories whirl
And one must sit down,
When love lives away,
The heart feels alone,
Paint tomorrow a better day,
And stand on firmer stone.
If the life spins fast,
If an ear burns or
Energy doesn't last,
If feet ache,
If someone's lost,
If much is at stake
And it's loss will cost,
If ideas quarrel,
If feelings put down,
When memories whirl
And one must sit down,
When love lives away,
The heart feels alone,
Paint tomorrow a better day,
And stand on firmer stone.
02 May 2010
Too Much To Eat
A long busy day
Makes one forget
To pay attention
To point of regret.
Talking and going
Arguing too
Never looking at
What one does do.
In bed before sleep
One looks back in wait
Seeing there was too much
Put onto ones plate.
Makes one forget
To pay attention
To point of regret.
Talking and going
Arguing too
Never looking at
What one does do.
In bed before sleep
One looks back in wait
Seeing there was too much
Put onto ones plate.
01 May 2010
Blocked Out and Taken Back
Whether through a pair of inexpensive earphones,
Or by way of the top of the line speakers,
The right music at the proper time can hone,
Transform the moment into solace for seekers.
Even in quietness it can drown out surroundings,
It can also toss ones mind neatly back in the past.
It brings back a time with specific feelings,
And it jolts the mind to a moment that sprints passed.
Or by way of the top of the line speakers,
The right music at the proper time can hone,
Transform the moment into solace for seekers.
Even in quietness it can drown out surroundings,
It can also toss ones mind neatly back in the past.
It brings back a time with specific feelings,
And it jolts the mind to a moment that sprints passed.
30 April 2010
The Coffeers
To a cup of contemplation
Each morning they rise;
Until they have drank a cup
There isn't a surprise:
They're tired and sluggish
From just having woke,
And to friend or the cat
They'll hardly have spoke.
In they scoop and poor
Ingredients of a liquor,
That innervates the body
And moves them quicker.
It energizes the toes
And taps on the mind,
Giving means to a day
And to feeling, is kind.
Each morning they rise;
Until they have drank a cup
There isn't a surprise:
They're tired and sluggish
From just having woke,
And to friend or the cat
They'll hardly have spoke.
In they scoop and poor
Ingredients of a liquor,
That innervates the body
And moves them quicker.
It energizes the toes
And taps on the mind,
Giving means to a day
And to feeling, is kind.
29 April 2010
In a Vision of a Fairtytale
In a vision of a fairytale
Where wishes come true,
In a land with a sky
That's the softest of blue,
After swinging on a star
And dancing with moonbeams,
After entertaining want
And tickling dreams,
Two souls intertwined
And came into one
In a way no one thought
Could ever be done.
Where wishes come true,
In a land with a sky
That's the softest of blue,
After swinging on a star
And dancing with moonbeams,
After entertaining want
And tickling dreams,
Two souls intertwined
And came into one
In a way no one thought
Could ever be done.
28 April 2010
I'm Not There Anymore
I realized today
I'm not where I was.
Surroundings are different,
And this gives me pause.
Cravings I have
Cannot here be filled.
The mover in me
Is forceably stilled.
The haunts I have there
Are so far away.
I can no longer enter them
At end of the day.
Sights I enjoy
Can no longer be seen.
That type of beauty
Cannot now be gleaned.
Faces I saw
From close or far
May as well be as distant
As twinkling star.
Voices and words
That tickled my ear,
I their dulcetness
Do not hear.
The love that was there,
Comfortable and warm,
Far away, it's louder now
To be heard like a storm.
I'm not where I was.
Surroundings are different,
And this gives me pause.
Cravings I have
Cannot here be filled.
The mover in me
Is forceably stilled.
The haunts I have there
Are so far away.
I can no longer enter them
At end of the day.
Sights I enjoy
Can no longer be seen.
That type of beauty
Cannot now be gleaned.
Faces I saw
From close or far
May as well be as distant
As twinkling star.
Voices and words
That tickled my ear,
I their dulcetness
Do not hear.
The love that was there,
Comfortable and warm,
Far away, it's louder now
To be heard like a storm.
27 April 2010
The Kicking Rock
It divorced the pavement where long it was joined,
And laid about the crag with others freshly separated.
Occasionally, it could change its side like a chance coin,
But ultimately, without mode of movement, it frustrated.
Then along came the pondering toes of a wandering foot
That accidentally bumped the fuming 'lil pebble.
It shied out straight and gaily came to halt,
And on the second beat, went again fast and terrible.
Now lo and soon, those stepping toes could not the pebble keep;
It zigged and zagged for freedom left or right,
And toward the curb, into the street
The feet would dart in protective fright.
Now raging against unwillfull caging, the stone it thought.
It halted suddenly under the oppressive toes;
It stabbed and delighted in the pain it had brought,
But was soon astounded by such worse woes.
The feet had hands that reached down in spite.
They pinched the pebble dexterously despite its, "NO!"
And with no thought nor show of excessive might,
Plunged the pebble into the sewery hell below.
And laid about the crag with others freshly separated.
Occasionally, it could change its side like a chance coin,
But ultimately, without mode of movement, it frustrated.
Then along came the pondering toes of a wandering foot
That accidentally bumped the fuming 'lil pebble.
It shied out straight and gaily came to halt,
And on the second beat, went again fast and terrible.
Now lo and soon, those stepping toes could not the pebble keep;
It zigged and zagged for freedom left or right,
And toward the curb, into the street
The feet would dart in protective fright.
Now raging against unwillfull caging, the stone it thought.
It halted suddenly under the oppressive toes;
It stabbed and delighted in the pain it had brought,
But was soon astounded by such worse woes.
The feet had hands that reached down in spite.
They pinched the pebble dexterously despite its, "NO!"
And with no thought nor show of excessive might,
Plunged the pebble into the sewery hell below.
26 April 2010
Creativity Problems
With banker's shoes
And banker's ties,
The Poet inside me
Slowly dies.
With mundane thought
And maudlin talk,
The pen in my hand
Can no longer walk.
Into imagination
I again retreat
In order my soul
To entreat.
I find a Poet's spirit,
The Discerning Ear,
And words again
Begin to appear.
And banker's ties,
The Poet inside me
Slowly dies.
With mundane thought
And maudlin talk,
The pen in my hand
Can no longer walk.
Into imagination
I again retreat
In order my soul
To entreat.
I find a Poet's spirit,
The Discerning Ear,
And words again
Begin to appear.
25 April 2010
Dancing God
I saw in a dream
That God was dancing
With the Heavenly host
He loved entertaining.
With a drink in his hand,
He was singing;
With the song on his lips
He was swinging.
Like Zarathustra
Who loved philosophizing,
I couldn't love a god
Who didn't like his dancing.
That God was dancing
With the Heavenly host
He loved entertaining.
With a drink in his hand,
He was singing;
With the song on his lips
He was swinging.
Like Zarathustra
Who loved philosophizing,
I couldn't love a god
Who didn't like his dancing.
24 April 2010
Pottery
Cold, wet hands.
Yawning clay.
Slowly it bends.
Greeting the day.
Motivating it awake slowly.
Just from sleep it remains lowly.
Sluggish.
Watered down.
Flexible.
Energy found.
Now malleable.
Potter can now pull and bend in place
The walls and bottom to a vase.
Lovely
Yawning clay.
Slowly it bends.
Greeting the day.
Motivating it awake slowly.
Just from sleep it remains lowly.
Sluggish.
Watered down.
Flexible.
Energy found.
Now malleable.
Potter can now pull and bend in place
The walls and bottom to a vase.
Lovely
23 April 2010
Rings
On this finger
For the first time,
Silver will linger.
Those before now:
Trying one one
Just to see how--
What would life be,
If we were there
Permanently.
But now I see
It's not the ring
But she that be
In life from now,
Forever more,
This we both know.
For the first time,
Silver will linger.
Those before now:
Trying one one
Just to see how--
What would life be,
If we were there
Permanently.
But now I see
It's not the ring
But she that be
In life from now,
Forever more,
This we both know.
22 April 2010
Disconnected
About to depart
But
Shut down,
Cut off,
Left out,
Separated.
People, friends
That...
I long to see...
I want to talk to...
I desire to be with,
But
Walled off by silence
By absence,
By disconnect.
Torturous hours
Without a phone.
But
Shut down,
Cut off,
Left out,
Separated.
People, friends
That...
I long to see...
I want to talk to...
I desire to be with,
But
Walled off by silence
By absence,
By disconnect.
Torturous hours
Without a phone.
21 April 2010
The Q-Tips
They stick up in a sea of dark--
White fuzzy hairdos that wave and fluff--
And constrast against younger stuff.
Bent down with age and experience
And often hackneyed words and thoughts,
These Q-Tips relax from lives well fought.
Before being thrown into a rubbage bin,
They wave and shake to show their rage,
And flare their spirit without a cage.
With many stories this cotton can give
Amusement and wisdom never before seen:
Something the current generation should glean.
White fuzzy hairdos that wave and fluff--
And constrast against younger stuff.
Bent down with age and experience
And often hackneyed words and thoughts,
These Q-Tips relax from lives well fought.
Before being thrown into a rubbage bin,
They wave and shake to show their rage,
And flare their spirit without a cage.
With many stories this cotton can give
Amusement and wisdom never before seen:
Something the current generation should glean.
20 April 2010
The rock...
It was hard.
It was soft.
It was light.
It was heavy.
It was rounded.
It was jagged.
It was dark.
It was lighter.
It was sharp.
It was dull.
Maybe it wasn't a rock.
Maybe it was a tree.
Maybe it was sky.
Maybe it was air.
Maybe it was a cat.
Maybe it wasn't.
It was soft.
It was light.
It was heavy.
It was rounded.
It was jagged.
It was dark.
It was lighter.
It was sharp.
It was dull.
Maybe it wasn't a rock.
Maybe it was a tree.
Maybe it was sky.
Maybe it was air.
Maybe it was a cat.
Maybe it wasn't.
19 April 2010
Swollen
Twice as thick,
Uneven.
Left bigger than right.
Quasimodo
In the neck.
Noncontagious,
Self conscious
Of setting afright
Those around.
Ashamed of something
Not self-caused.
Embarrassed
By being sick.
Uneven.
Left bigger than right.
Quasimodo
In the neck.
Noncontagious,
Self conscious
Of setting afright
Those around.
Ashamed of something
Not self-caused.
Embarrassed
By being sick.
18 April 2010
Doodling
Bored from this speech,
She for a pencil does reach,
And pictures starts to write
To ignore what one will teach.
Eyes rolled left to right;
On paper her fingers delight
Just to be scribbling down
Instead of picking a fight.
She for a pencil does reach,
And pictures starts to write
To ignore what one will teach.
Eyes rolled left to right;
On paper her fingers delight
Just to be scribbling down
Instead of picking a fight.
17 April 2010
Traveling Song
When I fly to the West,
Those times are the best.
Just Do Doh Doh Do Do,
Travelin' along.
If I'm travelin' East,
I just feel like a beast,
Pat Pat Pat Tat Tattin',
Singing this song.
Talking to Jim,
As I sit next to him.
Chat Chat Chat
Tete-e-tettin' strong.
Walking so fast
With luggage that lasts
Stomp Stomp Stompin' Out
This Travelin' Song.
Those times are the best.
Just Do Doh Doh Do Do,
Travelin' along.
If I'm travelin' East,
I just feel like a beast,
Pat Pat Pat Tat Tattin',
Singing this song.
Talking to Jim,
As I sit next to him.
Chat Chat Chat
Tete-e-tettin' strong.
Walking so fast
With luggage that lasts
Stomp Stomp Stompin' Out
This Travelin' Song.
16 April 2010
Thinking of You
A picture of us,
One of two ticket stubs,
A letter of yours:
Memories dancing on my brain
Makes my heart beat and grow,
Puts a tickle in my ear,
Puts an itch in my fingers,
Makes words stand on my lips.
Oh, the sway of your back,
The taste of your voice,
The sound of your listening,
The feel of your words.
One of two ticket stubs,
A letter of yours:
Memories dancing on my brain
Makes my heart beat and grow,
Puts a tickle in my ear,
Puts an itch in my fingers,
Makes words stand on my lips.
Oh, the sway of your back,
The taste of your voice,
The sound of your listening,
The feel of your words.
15 April 2010
14 April 2010
30 minutes to wait
30 minutes to wait,
Writing down words,
Cursing at thought.
29 minutes to wait.
Playing the writer,
Sitting in the corner,
Stealing others' stories.
The starving writer.
Looking down the road,
Reading road signs,
Yelling at the curb,
Kicking the road.
Staring at the sky,
Thinking about planes,
Throwing mud at clouds,
Wanting a closer sky.
Writing down words,
Cursing at thought.
29 minutes to wait.
Playing the writer,
Sitting in the corner,
Stealing others' stories.
The starving writer.
Looking down the road,
Reading road signs,
Yelling at the curb,
Kicking the road.
Staring at the sky,
Thinking about planes,
Throwing mud at clouds,
Wanting a closer sky.
13 April 2010
Poor
All the money
I have
Right now
Is in
My pocket.
I don't
Have a job,
But
I do
Have debt,
But
I do
Have
An education,
A bed,
Heat,
Food,
Love,
And
I try
To not
Worry
About tomorrow.
I have
Right now
Is in
My pocket.
I don't
Have a job,
But
I do
Have debt,
But
I do
Have
An education,
A bed,
Heat,
Food,
Love,
And
I try
To not
Worry
About tomorrow.
12 April 2010
A Drowning Wish
Sitting at the bottom,
Under all the water,
A silver wish sunk,
Handcuffed to the others,
Breath by breath
It starts to go;
It fades slowly away
Into anonymity.
Once tossed,
Once wished,
Formerly hoped,
Now forgotten,
The drowning wish.
Under all the water,
A silver wish sunk,
Handcuffed to the others,
Breath by breath
It starts to go;
It fades slowly away
Into anonymity.
Once tossed,
Once wished,
Formerly hoped,
Now forgotten,
The drowning wish.
11 April 2010
Bobble Heads
I am one of the heads
Sitting in a crowd
Bobbing up and down,
Riding down the street--
Other people to meet,
Walking around--
Shopping or going to town,
Putting food in my face--
To help get from place to place.
A few stick up,
And some are short,
But en masse,
Black and brown,
Blonde or grey,
Onward we bobble
Through the day.
Sitting in a crowd
Bobbing up and down,
Riding down the street--
Other people to meet,
Walking around--
Shopping or going to town,
Putting food in my face--
To help get from place to place.
A few stick up,
And some are short,
But en masse,
Black and brown,
Blonde or grey,
Onward we bobble
Through the day.
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