Frank McTag, I think you just created a fantastic prose poem.
Loved it!
BBB
I picked cotton, cut raisin grapes to lay out on trays, cut apricots for the drying sheds - such like. My grandfather busted his arm falling out of a walnut tree about a year after we arrived in California.
McT-- I loved your poem.
Wild stars awake
In pearl-drawn sky;
No heart weighs down
Those worn white spheres.
All things can burn,
Or fade to ash--
But you guide still
To poor, to rich.
slip those sleepy-time dreams beneath your pillow
for now its apple time air as curtains billow
suns arose to throw a shadowy scribble
of aspin leaves and a bit of willow
leave those sleepy-time dreams with the teddy bears
leave them with the rust of yesterday cares
leave them with the dark at the top of the stairs
leave them to the tasks of at night-time affairs
i butcher hogs on the plains of my seeming
in plain view of the scruples standing there preening
dont i feel debauched and yet i kill the hogs
until at last i go home greeted by dogs
which i feed and then the wife home from working
she says i killed the hogs not just once shirking
then pulls off her shoes in the dim teevee light
i massage her feet the dear says shes all right
we trundle to bed for a fitful time of it
in a jumble of sheets and how we love it
before its off once again to butcher hogs
tousled hair grandson
grinning big as the sun
run with outstretched arms
into hugs snuggly warms
little hand in my hand
for a day aint it grand
Dreams tossed of many
a long a road found to climb
finally reached the top
of which rest is just decline
the final exit has begun
the day will tell it now
when it has finally reached the top
it can show all how
motionless rock
men of great steel
hearts like a clock
tense movie reel
let me count the dead
A net loosely woven
Insouciant threads
Catching naught but the
Chilled and torn.
Their red-eyed search
longs for jongleur pity
From pages frayed and worn.
A lenient joyance
Tended to surround them
While loose weaves
Cast them adrift
Darkness, black as new moon
Passes over like enfilade
So swift
Depression? Deep impressions
Repeating and more and Oh, more
Do we prowl further depth, yet?
Shall the throstle be done
And the strings all set free
To motionless tranquility ---forget.
Premature, the ash prospers,
Having its own secret dopplers;
Cold wind and relentless rain
Could only rattle the ash tree's chain.
It stands near the swimming pool
In spring raiment when jackets rule,
Cheery as Easter children,
Offering leaves birds can build in.
Valentines - a little late..
Love may be beautiful, love may be bliss
But I only slept with you, because I was pissed
Roses are red, violets are blue, sugar is sweet, and so are you.
But the roses are wilting, the violets are dead, the sugar bowl's empty and so is your head.
Of loving beauty you float with grace
If only you could hide your face
Kind, intelligent, loving and hot;
This describes everything you are not
I want to feel your sweet embrace
But don't take that paper bag off of your face
I love your smile, your face, and your eyes -
Damn, I'm good at telling lies!
My darling, my lover, my beautiful wife:
Marrying you screwed up my life
I see your face when I am dreaming.
That's why I always wake up screaming
My love, you take my breath away.
What have you stepped in to smell this way
My feelings for you no words can tell,
Except for maybe "go to hell"
What inspired this amorous rhyme?
Two parts vodka, one part lime.
Suddenly I feel cold. And alone.
Ready to lie in the ground prone.
Why did my mama let me survive?
I don't deserve to be alive.
morbid poetry speaks aloud
to cry among the faceless crowd
dim feelings awake and see
of imortal beings
none are we
I love the little birds
That flit in my trees and sing
I love the naughty squirrel
That sits above everything
I love the springtime loom
That weaves the leaves
And makes the color bloom
I love it too. I just finished typing this spontaneous poem up a few minutes ago, but I had to put it into Word to get the alignment right.
Damn! It didn't work. The every line in the sequence of 1,4,7,10, etc was meant to have no indent, every line in the sequence 2,5,8,11 was meant to be indented by one tab, and every line in the sequence 3,6,9,12 was meant to be indented by two tabs. Oh well...
The first mistake he made
Was banning it! Boy, does that rile
Just anyone! Doesn't everyone know
That banning something makes
People who wouldn't do that something
Do it: to be bad,
To fight for liberty?-
It's all the same.
I can safely betcha
That if old Papa Dieu came out today
And said he was banning
People taking pleasure from
Being tied down
By North Korean fish-maids
With greyish French chastity belts
While dis-eyeing them
And putting said globes into
A suspicious soft-drink from Osaka;
Or said he was stopping
Men from being corseted?-
With real Edwardian ones
Not the lightweight crap
They claim corsets to be?-
Whilst rabid halitosis-problem
Ex-girlfriends
Heave over the men's
Humiliatingly frilly
Bodices, take
A fine bite out of their red spleens,
And whisper gently
?'You might love me no more,
But I'll always have
A piece of you in me,'
The attention God foolishly gave
Would make it the next craze.
People would do it?-
It is their right, of course.
And the good people of Eden
Paid their taxes and voted Him in:
They deserve the fruit
Of their own sideways labour.
Everyone is equal?-
And some are just communists
Spying into the country
With Fisher-Price telescopes.
Anyway,
Dear Eve claimed
That the whole thing
Was a great fiasco,
Completely undemocratic
Against what they should stand for
And that God was really showing
His ?'side' now.
And as sure as
Icicle pops in Mid-Summer
Or scavengers behind the rotisserie
Chicken depot
The one thing they craved
Was the thing they could not have.
So, God threw them out
On an eviction order?-
The court of human rights
Will gauge the whole situation
And the poor, maltreated couple
Should be back where they belong
Before the next TV season.
Until then,
The swarm of the picket line
Gathers in flinty bees,
The news channels argue,
A dronish hum of words,
And the pressure groups
Are set to show the leaders what they're worth.
drom
That's a masterpiece.
Your writing comes from quite a master too, Edgarblythe!!
The piece from Robertlevin (welcome Robert) is hilarious. Well written too.
(sorry- it is on a separate topic-- STILL IS GOOD
)
[quote]morbid poetry speaks aloud
to cry among the faceless crowd
dim feelings awake and see
of imortal beings
none are we[/quote]
colorbook, I rarely critique your little gems in all these topics, but may I take a space and tell you... I am too busy enjoying your talent to comment. I especially like the one in quote.
Lou
