I don't mind letty, i would be very proud....
I don't mind letty, i would be very proud....
Well, Adele, it has been done, but just once. <smile>
sorry bout the posting twice, but the first time, i got a message about some debug mode
the pages of grass on a general lawn
wax from green to yellowish to even brown
with dandelion kings and hosts of clover
til lawnmower blades cut them inches lower
and then hiding hiding spurts of furtive growth
about mid week the fiesta bursting forth
chem-lawn drunken orgy and then saturday
groans of oh no its the weekly battery
whacked like enemy clans on ancient lands
storming back like vast armies of ghengis khan
so it goes the struggles of a general lawn
Rose's are Red
Violets are blue
I'm sick of this Beginning
aren't you
Inspired by Mathos' Bull poem:
His eyes shone flint,
His head lowered bent
And I was the adrenalin
surging
We stood, neither flinched
Nor gave one paltry inch
but stood firm, entrenched
Urging.
The battle was finished
The bull was diminished,
I won, but I lost,
In converging
"Every "no" we encouter leads us to a different "yes"
Every challenge we accept, brings a new and harder test
Where we once were fair-to-middlin', now we're forced to be our best
Every "no" we encounter leads us to a different "yes".
The first and last lines of this poem are not original. They are a line in a rejection letter I received- so the credit to them goes to Sy Safransky.
I know this is kind of corny, but my kids liked it, so I thought I'd post it.
grasshoppers in the meadow grass
lookin like somebodys thumb
and the dew like a broken glass
shines brightly in the yellow sun
all the worlds made for meadow larks
and distant sounds well the doggy barks
all the worlds made for mellow thoughts
ingenious rounds for minimal costs
im looking to save the melody
in a cup of morning tea
loved ones on the telly i see
in the mid day returns to me
all the world turns for moments we save
and children out on the meadow we play
all the world turns on omens of mystery
and children so gentle and all whispery
Edgar- that's just beautiful.
with a withered soul comes he
living a void existence
wishing he was what he could be
he twice refused persistence
he's the other and the same
the man who's made of stone
lethal as a mocking stare
medusa's brethren are his own
it's no secret he's a hero
in a land that lacks a name
the true sphinx's riddle
is when or how he came
what's ahead was once behind
like a ring for nature's hand
round permutation of the time
that's left him blunt and broken
Thanks, Aidan.
Pantalones, thanks for a worthy effort.
take your hands down
from your eyes
he stands upright with
no disquise
body broken yet
not unwise
be aware of what is purchased
with your lives
glancing back
to the day
you died
Doug
Still truckin' I see.
there's no wonder why
gifts come in boxes
roses in bouquets
and lies in a pack
they come and hit you like thunderbolt
and they will not stop till they hit the same spot thrice
so you tried dettol and counterpain
yet they do not kill the pain
nor relieve you from aches and pain
stick to the saying my dear girl,
"time heals all wounds".
the portrait of god*
hung anonomously on air
the handsome face the black hair
van dyke whiskers and royal blue robe
eyes invisible though i probe
look you stare at it until you die
examine with evry eye
a lifetime in the portrait's rare glow
where it ends you'll never know
*based on a dream i had
Monarch of the Mendips
King Richard takes his leisure at the top of the hill
Though the clouds obscure the sun, he is sitting there still
And because he knows no time, he will be there until
The moon rises up to meet him.
He sits in the rain, a newspaper open, reading
As the light goes cold and gray and the daylight is receding
Though the wet grass stains his trousers, his mind is elsewhere heeding
Words and voices he alone will ever hear.
And I wonder what he makes of the headlines and the stories
Does he mourn the needless violence and applaud heroic glories?
And if he were led to vote would he go Labor or Tory?
Or would he tell them all where they could go?
But I get the message later, that he found the news upsetting
Because he stripped the paper angrily and flung it not regretting
That those words would lie there bleeding into grasses soft as bedding
Until they become as earth becomes to time.
Though he never says a word, unless it's to himself he's talking
And it's more than slightly obvious it's his own thoughts he's stalking
I wonder if he laments the world's news as he's walking
Striding quickly across his kingdom on the moors.
*This is about a local village man who has autism. I often see him sitting up on the moors reading the paper, and the next day I will find the paper shredded into strips. I just wonder if that's his uniquely fitting commentary on how he perceives the news and the direction our world is taking.
the orangutan poets
o take my hand
i have arms as long as a python
but my steps are something puny
let us go like brothers
into the lazy fruit trees
where we eat the sweet meat
and take bugs from behind our ears
o swing languidly from a branch with me
don't get in your jeep and go
i want you to laugh with me
and feed me tasty treats
Some time in the not too distant future, we will hit 60,000 views. Not bad for the type of thread it is. It's due to the fine friends who have participated with me, I think, more than any individual thing. I thank you all who have posted here.
gone this way 
