the wild dogs of kentucky
race me to my zen
snack time and sack time
a raccoon for them
searching for another walrus
through the bullrush of time
finding all the scraps of tartar
on the bones of an endless rhyme
the themes he taught us
tongs with grapes he brought us
laced them all hard and driving in the sun
grieving well im moving on
still i play his song
Lo! The dove takes flight
To meddle in our fight
To end this reign of terror
And make us see our error
And see, the dove has landed
On soil forever branded
Now hold your wicked wants at bay
Lest it fly away
Btw Edgar
I really like the last one you posted. "...still I play his song" It reverberates within me..
That makes my day, Cyracuz.
still the rain gotta fall
when it washes us clean i don't know
smell a stain after it all
dont know if any flowers could ever grow
flower pots on top of the head
for helmet against the ones you secretly dread
knot in the stomach gets fed
until the ulcers making you virtually dead
come home to the farms the cities
hang the hate and anger and glory on a pole
leave the anger the hates the pities
and nobility to pursue in life a worthier goal
To the spring
on the hill
under a June moon
yellow dafodil
glow in
the darkness
Stars in the sky
tumble gently
to my eye
there is no answer
why
I've been
chosen
travel long roads
it just shows
how the music comes
and goes
as each step becomes
another
turning oh so subtly
up toward
the heavens
is there ...
a reason why?
Hey Ed ... sorta ran outa pixels
The rain is falling on the moor,
That peacefulness that I adore,
Weeks to months, and months to years,
Could never wash away the tears,
To the barrow downs I go,
Weary as I walk,
When I talk my voice is low,
More and more distraught,
Getting even colder still,
Wish I was back home,
I wish I wasn't even here,
Need to find where I belong,
Hello, bawb, and welcome. I hope you like it here and keep on coming back.
Thanks Edgar, I sure will.
how will you be my love
when amber days turn to cold
with white on the rows of posts and rails
and clouds turn to flows from puffs and billowed sails
the blood refuse to move
all new things groaning old
with frosting eyelid and sweater too thin
and a stranger at the door with a toothless grin
will you hold me closely
through the coming night
will you light a candle
for my failing sight
summers home
in the ripe green valley
grapes growing on
slow the lazy birds
gray shadows rove and dally
and the hands of brown
cutting stems
for the winemakers talley
til they go home
and the sun bakes the heavens
oer the owners homes
in the ripe green valley
Re: the very first post:
Have you ever been disappointed Edgar?
That's a very broad question, theollady. I would need something to narrow it down.
Streams of blood,
Lakes of red,
People scream,
Filled with dread,
The dark is growing, everflowing
Midnight run for death, unknowing
Getting closer,
Death is near,
Feared disposer,
It is here,
Cold
My house is cold,
the walls are stone
flint and slate
and no one home.
Build a fire-
wood in the grate
ash and oak
it's getting late.
Kindling, matches
watch it catch
shut the door and
turn the latch.
Flue is open
feel the draft-
vapors climb
the chimney's shaft.
The sky above
is streaked and waiting
for ash and smoke
as day's abating.
And now it's caught-
slow warmth returns.
The woodstove hums
logs snap and burn
I light the lamp-
room's lit by gold.
I'm safe and warm-
no longer cold.
This is about lack of inspiration to write - and how it feels when it returns.
Aidan, Bawb and Doug (gelisgesti): I truly appreciate your presence here.
blessed are the bombs
with which we instill gratitude and democracy
hallowed are the tombs
in which we bury the lives of millions without mercy
may the wisdom of goons
guide us through our divisions in times of uncertainty
surely peace will bloom
and we will sit atop the dung hill for ever in wealthy poverty
Thanks, edgar.
Into the misty bog I go,
To find out where the wild things grow,
Walking through the muggy fog,
These things are somewhere in the smog,
Where they are I do not know,
i wrote home
said mother i love you
and brother too
i telegraphed it
still of the night
cars in the headlights
home
home
rattled and went
wheels
stilled in ruts
and grass
door unlocked
i saw their ghosts
i swear i did
