Problem is, having purposed a set time-
It has lost all rythym and rhyme.
The late is the first to hurt, all ways
and the others think all of it as plays.
Deep upsurge from spontaneous fountain comes;
And the painful beginning, to the agonized, numbs...
There is no joy to the disparate pairing
Or to the incordinate bent to sharing.
How could she know? No billboard proclaims
NO phone rings, and not one has names,
The billing is abstract, the blinding discreet
Yet, the heart just grows sadder, when messages meet.
It shall pour on the ground, like a wasted pail of water
And some who will clear up, will care, it will matter.
The prickly toes will rest now, the skin will lose it's scars-
While all memory of the pilliage will be viewed from afar.
Ah yes, do not tarry long.
Really liked that one, ollady
when generation of vipers became can of worms
cannot pinpoint it exactly
like watching as a bowl of jello gently firms
we tolerate matter of factly
not heeding the gentle itch until it becomes a boil
is as human as knock on wood
as natural as pure white undies with their bit of soil
at least we know to launder them good
Anyone Here?
Words falling on silent walls
Silent as a lone tree falls
Deep in the forest of no ears
Where no one ever hears
Pouring out silent passions
Understanding quiet compassions
Lamenting mine anger aloud
Speaking as if to a crowd
Foolish am I? So, it may appear
Orations that no one can hear
Expressing mine indignation
Mine ego sings with elation
While the dawning of a new sun
Word's battles are victoriously won
Without regret, without sorrow
No apologies are due tomorrow
to live the hobo's dream
hear an old one's scheme
talk no words that preach
eat no meat that stinks
bathe anytime you can
make coffee in a rusty can
beg never borrow
pray the sun comes up tomorrow
to double post is accidental
but post ye twice and I'll go mental
I know this is a lemerick (sp?) but I didn't want to talk about dollars so, I'll post it here:
There once was a woman named Aidan
Past the first blush of youth - not a maiden
Pure of intent, none-the-less
Though her being, I confess
Prompted some faceless folks sneak their blades in.
She loved writing stories and singing
And some voices joined hers and ran ringing
Over chords and through rhyme
Down the corridors of time
And do still grace the page, ever mingling.
The songs they would sing were Bob Dylan's
The strength that they gave- it was thrillin'
When his lyrics she read
Her brain'd smile in her head
And her soul, it would seek its "fulfillin".
So how will this strange story end?
What twist waits untold 'round the bend?
We will just wait and see
Knowing only- "We're free"
with sweet love and regard for our friends. :wink:
*Edited once to change a word and add a wink.
I sneak in a little edit all the time.
Comforting, Aidan.
Your words are comforting and tender--
As Edgars are revealing and supportive,.
Strong and uncompromising
(
so edit when it makes a point 
)
i saw an old friend today
she didnt see me at all
so many words there are to say
so many ladders would scale the wall
i saw her fading away
like echoing in the hall
so many feelings that drift astray
so many edifices crumble and fall
i'll have a blue elvis
thank you
a big old blue elvis
thank you
a velvet elvis to hang tearfully
would be the thing i'll pay cheerfully
i'll hang the blue elvis
in my bedroom
it'll take an elvis
to dispel the gloom
you'll be doing all right
with your van gogh tonight
but i'll have a blue blue blue elvis
never buy a truck from a friend
you wouldn't buy a duck from a fiend
for a duck can be set to explode
whereas the truck can be set to implode
my silvry hair is hanging down
in ponytail sublime
my tattoes are big and round
blurs of olden times
my bulbous nose is big and fat
with hairs so stiff and long
and my eyes are sunk in bags
my breath is gag me strong
its nice im old instead of dead
though i wonder all the time
is this thing really my own head
who would have stolen mine
Though your silvery hair may hang down
And your ponytail makes you act like a clown
With drawings upon your blurs of olden times
You have no trouble writing in charming rhymes
Tell me true, proud of such a prominent snout
Tweaked with noble eyes dancing about
Morning mirrors reveal such sights as these
Morning breath of garlic and limburger cheese
So, are you certain you are still among the living?
Death is something not known for ever forgiving
As far as your head is concerned, I lost mine
Long ago to a full-bodied, full-flavored red wine
do not go unarmed into that good night
creepy crawlies and things of flight
uglies that may scratch and claw and bite
lurk among lillies and gloomy tales of fright
and you owe me five bucks
zen over utah
make my pillars break
not because of ptah
i philly the steak
i sang of moloch in the caves of fire
then journeyed home with a bale of chicken wire
to fence the cage in my heart
made a glory chant for my first-born son
who boldly ran a hummer into the sun
camp by the gate to my heart
ulysses
drank the fishies
out of the bay
one day
he spat out a shark
and a species that barked
as he collapsed on the quay
