Spontaneous Poems

We tried to say - but no one would listen
Seems like that these days - very fault's forgiven...
Each time they let us down they have a reply
But their excuses turn to drivel as time goes by
Honour is for them a dying trait
Politics before the people, ain't it great?
That's the only way that they can see
Cos they're blinded by their own hypocracy

hello Edgar
Just thought i'd drop in
Any tea in the pot?

I brougt biscuits....

Sure. Which kind? Green, black, Darjeeling, Earl Grey, Lipton?
It's a small parlor, but we got room for everybody.

What have I been up to? Stuff like this:




This is the latest edition of your life
Another tale to be told or sung
It's like my favorite version of them all
The hero's entirely too young
for you

Each new chapter has you with your friends
And I'm waiting home all alone
And so missing your voice and the songs you sing
Wondering what I did that's so wrong

Hero hero hero
You were my hero
Yesterday
Hero hero hero
What did I know
anyway

I couldn't wait six months for the paperback
Hard cover cost thirty bucks
Took it home read it through a sleepless night
My heart ran over by thirty trucks

I read about the way you like em tall and blond
Lookin like a movie star
Movin club to club all around the town
In your so famous touring car

Hero hero hero
You were my hero
Yesterday
Hero hero hero
What did I know
Anyway

Waiting for you to crash and burn one final time
Your body lying at my door
All your friends have left you for a brighter star
You begging to sleep on my floor

Waiting until your burning ashes cease to smoke
Yearning to hug you to my heart
Closing the book taking up my pen to write
Looking sage wonder where to start

Hero hero hero
You were my hero
Yesterday
Hero hero hero
What did I know
Anyway

I'm partial to Earl Grey in the morning (If I'm trying to stay off fresh coffee)- but I'll take whatever's in the pot

You write good, Edgar. I like the latest.

I think it's time to reminisce,
To the days of tolerance,
The days of bliss,
Now that our happy days are gone,
We're less loving,
We're more withdrawn,
I think that God left us today,
But what could he have done anyway?

amongst all this chaos all this confusion
he couldn't possibly have found a way
this is destruction
as it can be
from the core of its dose
from the epic of the quake
it's only about time
that the earth would shake...
so considering what he said
it is about time

(very interesting cobbler)

Speaking

The door does close
The window will slam
The words will float
Landing with a bomb's BAM!

not the best but w/e

Hi there. Welcome to a2k. Don't be no stranger, now.

i can remember saying these things
and thinking
you can't really mean that

i can remember thinking these things
and saying
you can't really mean that

i can remember both these things
intersecting
at the moment i said i thought i loved you

All across this wicked land
Shadows crawling from the sun
No drop of water for our tongues
Half crazy steers a bawling

Cattle drive stumbling through the draw
Buzzards circling way down low
"If you're going to die just let us know
We'll catch you as you're falling"

And a band of reckless riders
Shouting as they top the rim
Hands filled with iron and faces grim
"We'll have that herd you cowboys"

Curley reaches for his iron
A round of bullets drops him down
Herd gets spooked by the thunderous sound
"It's the Jamboree, you cowboys"

All across this wicked land
Nothing like a cow stampede
You can follow You can't lead
We turn our hearts to Texas

All across this wicked land
As the rustlers chase the herd
We chase the mockingbird
All the way home to Texas

So ride the wind back to Texas, boys
On the scent of gun smoke & blood.
Ride the wind back to Texas,
Through the lead rain & the mud.
Ride it hard back to Texas

I usually read in silence here, but these have been so good that I want to let you all know that your words are well read and loved.

Edgar, your last really touched my heart.

Diane, thanks very much. Your opinion is valuable to me.

I don't want to live in a world where torture is acceptable
I don't want to live in a world where nothing comes free
I don't want to see anymore lies that try and hide
The essence of pure cruelty
It's a travesty of justice
It's the neo way of life
But I don't want to share in their glory
I don't want their kind of life

i'm not bleeding on the outside yet
don't lick my buttons shep
my heart pleading at the outset
don't lick my loafers shep
maybe a trickle
get away dog

I'z on the f*ckin phone for a whole f*ckin hour
While earth froze over and my juice turned sour
Try'na get some rum for a one legged man
Like try'na find a grain of rice
On a beachful of sand
Hold the line hold the line
Please hold the f*cking phone
Til night shadows day
Til the cows come on home
I been waiting for some help
For a long f*cking time
All I ever get is
"Please hold the line"

i knew a man name of pirkle
which reminds me of pickle
he wore a sweater of purple
i wouldn't buy for a nickle

Cold wind whips the weary face,
Atop the mountain's glow,
Kneeling down to say my prayer,
Only talking to the sky,
And any happiness to be embraced,
Is now buried in the snow,
Listening to the silence there,
As I wait for my reply,
Any faith once had now crushed,
And any views now blind,
Belief in which I put my trust,
Now brushed slowly to the side,

Always falling into things
Ain't no need to push or shove
If I'm falling anyway
Might as well fall in love

Tell me that I fell into your heart
Rode Cupid's arrow like a dart
Love jab really meant to smart
Tell me how I messed your heart

Always falling out of things
Like a tree or relationship
Hey when I pass your way
Hold on so I don't slip

Falling like a bird
To his lady love
Soaring up again
Dream we're making love

Tell me that I fell into your heart
Rode Cupid's arrow like a dart
Love jab really meant to smart
Tell me how I messed your heart

The pterodactyl
Can be rather docile;
A quiet contemplater is he.
Wise pterodactyl;
He lives on his rock pile,
Shunning bustle and community;
Polishing his claws,
Humming without pause,
Often slipping into dormancy.

The pterodactyl
Is wholly without guile;
A solitary wisher is he.
Round pterodactyl,
Fat his chosen life style;
A monumental fisher is he.
Indifferently
Allows men to breathe ;
They taste very un-fishlike, you see.

I love the description of the pterodactyl's personal qualities, and the unusual, intriguing dénouement. I love many of the other poems on here also. I liked the effective emotional bluntness of the religion poem, and 'Always Falling into things' reminds me of something particularly tender that one would hear on the side of a collector road, over some wonderous steel guitar.

I wrote this a few hours ago. I'm not particularly proud of it; nonetheless, it is the first piece of verse that I have written for a year or so, when poetry stopped in me like a stagnant old bayou.

'I disagree about your voice'

I would, stolen G-d, if I had the hues,
paint the denim of the sky and the challice stars,
the mercurial sun and the bistre hills.

I would, crooked G-d, had I the colours in my palms,
spill onto your easel broken tabernacles,
Persian green meadows and punctured taupe clouds,
cerulean lochs and mended shackles.

I would paint, whored lord, my achroous soul,
an F minor spirit and a burnt-out canard,
but no watercolour can produce such trist tones.

My master, I've shattered your preterite throne,
thrown my easel beneath your polluted canal,
but you still rot in me like a leperous dawn.

Ah, you have your own voice, and spirit. Good. And, the poem ain't bad. Revisit it now and then and you will either begin to edit it some, or else decide you love the present form. I like your command of the language. Oh. And, welcome.