autumn has arrived
in cahoots with the falling leaves
to steal away summer's sunshine
and those playful days
phonecalls that lasted til daylight
no longer exist
and so do text messages that whispered sweet nothings
your identity and purpose was clearly bleak
yet left an impression that was remarkably unforgettable
remember how you whistle to the tune of that latino song?
guess we'll probably have to wait till next summer.
**this is a little ironic, i guess. from the words clearly bleak. bleak yet clear.
Enjoyed it, even if it is nearly summer.
edgarblythe wrote:Enjoyed it, even if it is nearly summer.
it just came into my head cos i was thinking about someone who was with me last summer.
the smile
that grips your heart
when a long past
illusion ... reveals it's patina
sealed in aged youth
is a smile too long
in passing
Our Sweet Experience
Sweet Peanuts - your one and only favorite
Me, I can equally and happily anticipate:
lemon or apple bon-bons, caramel whirls, mint toffee lumps
pineapple rock, aniseed balls, coconut truffles,
fruity cable chews or winter mix
Just to name a few.
They all have the POWER to make me happy
I try to convince you to broaden your scope,
exercise your palate and try a new sweet
You shake your head, "NO".
The girl at the counter offers sour strawberry bites
Rhubarb and custard, dolly mix, fizzy cola bottles
Or chocolate brazils.
You demur - entrusting your gastronomic
happiness to one solitary strip of taste buds.
"I only want sweet peanuts," you say.
I wonder what this says about you.
What does it bode for your future-
that given fifty choices, you can only imagine savoring one?
Will you be narrow-minded and constricted in your tastes?
Or should I take the positive view and see you as steadfast and loyal-
single-mindedly determined- a girl who knows what she wants?
But they're out of sweet peanuts today
so whatever you'll be tomorrow- right now you're SOL
You leave as you came in, empty-handed.
You covertly eye the small, white square bag I carry.
You watch as my hand dips in and out.
I say, "Try one."
You stop walking.
I offer you the bag of small yellow spheres dusted in sugar.
Your hand hovers.
"Bon-bon," I tell you, "means good-good" - you laugh.
"They're lemony, but sweet- and chewy" I say.
You hesitate.
I hold my breath.
But then you shake your head, "NO"
remaining faithful, resolute-
a martyr to sweet peanuts.
I don't know whether to laugh or cry.
At midnight, a mole
Peeking out of it's hole
Gazing on high
With blinded eye
Mole premonition
Furry and small
Aren't we all
I'm down in a hole
Just like a mole
Male hindsight
summer spreads gold
i traipse in the glow
red buds of joy
fat bees employ
early as dawn
the curtain is drawn
black birds that scream
lost in the gleam
summer means birth
passion springs forth
sweet eaglets need meat
bun rabbits are fleet
summer means calm
soft breeze's balm
a heart bursts with love
sending a dove
Smokering
Strange thing
Like hazy slice of bubble
A halo
But not so
It mostly speaks of trouble
A gunshot
Exploding pot
Things often most dramatic
Aftermath
A real mudbath
Wich makes for deeds erratic
Ahh.. But...
Smokering
Strange thing
Like hazy slice of bubble
A clear sky
Through it's eye
Smokering be my Hubble
Another day in the slipstream
One more layer, an onion dream
Filled with tears, and the more I peal
More mysteries my tears reveal
Not only sad, but joyous too
One layer fell and exposed you
And now I cry the sweetest tears
While precious moments turn to years
All the while our hearts entwined
Always you are on my mind
A thing of wich I dared not yearn
Has come to be, may it always burn
This love, this bliss, this carnal fire
This cupid's breath that takes us higher
Let me in your arms remain
My savior and my sorrow's bane
Cyracuz
You are getting to be pretty good. I like that. Thanks for posting.
Thank you. I'm in love, you see, and that tends to inspire.
last i bid easy farewell i know what's lost
as little men and angry women talley the cost
to ride a purple SUV around the block
a thousand ships unload more down at the dock
my numbers fail to conjur in lotto bubbles
my wifes back gone the way they pile work and troubles
on poor workers what american dream is that
just play baseball but dont even hold a bat
ah but you got games and lawns that youre mowing
and you got cell phones that have numbers glowing
and youre in a boat you think someones rowing
The dandelions bloom
Ere seed takes to the air
And me, here in my swoon
I am dandelion's heir
Swift winds that carry forth
The blessed southern heat
Steal me from my cold north
The world is at my feet
But helpless in the air
On lofty breeze I soar
A soul without a care
Has nothing to live for
To earth my seedlings yearn
To walk and run and dance
Before the evening burns
The last of this romance
And ash is all that's served
In place of swelling fable
When at last I find the nerve
To approach the table
I am enjoying this thread. I think it has some strong stuff on it.
Sometimes I wish there was another, though - called 'the bin' where you could stick 'throw away lines' - how many times do I think of a line I really like, but nothing wants to grow up around it?
-----------------------------------------------
He dropped a tear in the sand and watched a tree grow
I have bin type lines in my documents. Sometimes I ressurect a few, but most get deleted with time.
What's a line in time?
A row of words
No longer on the mind
I feel better already! Thanks Edgar
Endymion
Your line is a complete poem all by itself if you ask me.
He dropped a tear
In the sand
And watched a tree grow
I think it's moving.
Dear Mrs Roosevelt
Bury the rag in your face
All the progress your husband spelt
Has gone without a trace
The poor man's lucky
To see new dawns
I saw a change when Nixon came
I saw succeeding frames
I knew we were in trouble when
Reagan sauntered in
The poor man's lucky
To see new dawns
I learned about Bill Clinton's ways
When he chalked up the right wing's plays
I knew he cut off his party's legs
He cut out their hearts and heads
The poor man's lucky
To see new dawns
Dear Mrs Roosevelt
Now's the time for your tears
All the progress your husband spelt
Is the fog of former years
The poor man's lucky
To see new dawns
* Not satisfactory- -toying with a Woody Guthrie song, with a Dylan tie-in.
Cyracuz
Many thanks. That line has been going around in my head
for some time now.
Instead of binning it - I feel that it's now been 'planted' !
Right here.
It's an Olive tree, you know.
I've been talking with CrazyDiamond a bit about song writing - (he makes it look easy but I've been trying stuff out for a few weeks now - with zilch results)
Anyway, I was thinking - some of your stuff would make great lyrics Cyracuz
I'll continue reading here with interest.
Endy
