OT: Original Poetry Thread

[The Eristic]

Seriously, post your original poetry, of any type.
I'll start with my free verse from the 9-11 thread on the guitar forum.

Recollections,
the classroom filled with the volume of the utter silence,
the roar, drowning the cries of the civilian, the newscaster,
as we sit, stand, faint.
I have seen the evil of man.
I have heard his anger,
moving thousands to tears,
to places we are not, but shall be.
We have changed,
we have not,
we have had,
we now give.
Prayers,
the bees,
the traffic of the day, the week,
now, the year.
Remembering,
the nation weeps,
shedding tears that carry the shell,
the empty husks of locust that we once were,
to the wounded, yet healed soil.

[mattburnside]

I posted a bunch of stuff on USENET back in 1996 designed to irk and annoy. Here you go.

It may have been the way she fell
greasysmooth into the chair that seemed
hewn for her arrival

Or the languid dangling
of the shoe pivoting on her toe
that stopped Billy short
and forced him to whisper
"jesus did you see
the butt on her"

[The Eristic]

Speaking the masses agree to the production line running a foot away, leaving them behind in an uproar, a stupor from which they refuse to recover those things they have lost themselves in a way they do not realize what has taken place they have not been around the corner shop of cathartic words that condemn each for his belief that he should believe that faith is his choice of life, attempted restraint of his desire to do harm to those that wish upon a Star that could save them if they allow it to do so. They will not.

[casper gomez]

here is one that i wrote that still moves me:

tapped on my window
a gentle reminder of things to come
and out across the field where my grandfather lies
this stranger's droning, ever-droning voice doesn't comfort me
he can't deliver you

by j. wells

[The Eristic]

Improvise something. Come on, people! I know more than three people have poetic ability.

As I stand, watching the world turn upon itself,
I mourn, for that, the pain, the destruction,
Is bound upon the hearts of men,
And so shall it be.
Loosed from those iron hearts,
The iron hands grasp the will of the weak,
Bending them,
As the drums of war are beaten, I am Caesar,
I am the powers that were, and will be.

[Guitar Centaur]

Here's one I posted a while back:

Push me, pull me
Steering my life off course
Like the balding tire on my car
Pulling me toward that twisted guardrail
Where the last life was taken

Push me, pull me
Self control like stripped rack & pinion
Careening wildly through the night
Images of long-dead lovers
Beckon like sirens from the abyss

Push me, pull me
Two tires on pavement
Two in thin air
Chewing through my brake lines
She draws me closer to the ledge

Push me, pull me
Like suicide, so selfish
Wanting only what my soul was told to desire
Swerving to the wrong side
Almost took out that family of five

Push me, pull me
Cut the wheel hard
Vision clears, the wind carries the voice from my ears
That was too close for comfort
Won’t ever fall asleep at the wheel again

[NervePoet]

Sometimes America

The place was filled with business men
Farm boys and truant kids
Housewives and working men
Cops and young soldiers

We tried to hook a ride
From Lamar to Boulder
In our p-coats and stash bags
And hair below our shoulders

The locals and their attitudes
Stares and whispers, looking rude
Helped to make our hard time harder

The winter storm was blowing in
I had twenty-seven cents
You hummed tunes from Big Pink and Revolver

An American scene, we were two James Deans
We were lost, but never alone
No regrets, nobody sweats
Someday those times would take their toll

Today you are a CPA
I waste my time in cyberspace
Cocktail parties, football games
Years fly by like bullet trains

We suffer from this heart disease
It’s hard to stay
But we won’t leave
Symptoms are maturity and boredom

I got into my car
Drove up to the cold north shore
Watched waves break like battle hordes
‘Cross big Gitchigumi

Returning I hit traffic jams
Big rigs, smog, and minivans
Things just seemed so out of hand
Lost my need to understand

On the worn out seams of American dreams
We were lost and never returned
Now what was said, and what we read
Just never spun it’s spell on our souls

[casper gomez]

Originally posted by The Eristic

As I stand, watching the world turn upon itself,
I mourn, for that, the pain, the destruction,
Is bound upon the hearts of men,
And so shall it be.
Loosed from those iron hearts,
The iron hands grasp the will of the weak,
Bending them,
As the drums of war are beaten, I am Caesar,
I am the powers that were, and will be.

that is awesome eristic! just awesome.

nerve, i dig "sometimes america" too. i have read that before i think. most excellent.

[Sam Therapy]

I *will* turn this into a song one day...

Scarecrow

The King stands on top of his hill
looking out with dry and empty sockets that will cry no more.
Not a thought stirs in his head
nothing to disturb the hollow numbness.
A heart as dry as tinder
and as black as mildewed straw.

His coat of glory, now tattered and torn
flaps in the breeze like a warning flag
to sailors in uncharted waters
where many put to sea, yet none returned,
or a battle standard of faded victories
mocking its own past.

No more to walk and breathe,
crucified on his frame of old sticks,
the scarecrow sees the dawning day
and screams his silent agony
across the waking world.

[NervePoet]

Originally posted by casper gomez


that is awesome eristic! just awesome.

nerve, i dig "sometimes america" too. i have read that before i think. most excellent.

Thanks Casper! This is the first time I've posted the finished version, I posted a rough draft once. Actually it's a song, Moe has agreed to sing it for me.

[Sam Therapy]

Not one of mine, but by an ex-girlfriend, an author. She wrote this very clever parody of "Dulce et Decorum", and it's called...

Dolce et Gabbana

by Jane Lovering

Here they come, rows on endless rows
From Knightsbridge trudging on down Oxford Street.
Each as blackly dressed, as uniform, as crows
Marching forward, Gucci shoes on Gucci feet.
And - dear God - the children, each a mother's son
Clad in ill-fitting sports wear - daughters too.
Proud to show they're Gap Kids, every one.
We ordinary mortals draw away, we let them through.

Harrods Sale! We must be there, the prices tumbling
Of Versace ... and that Chanel dress I'm told
Supports, contains, prevents the body crumbling,
When one buys designer wear one cannot gracefully grow old.
Everything which can must be tucked, stitched around
Or else upraised, oh blessed Wonderbra!
That stops my boobs from dragging on the ground.
One cannot praise too highly Wonderbra.

But are they happy? Sticklike, thin and pale?
That look as though they need some food and sun
And have instead cocaine and smoke - though none inhale,
Stay up all night at parties having fun.
Sleeping with male models - chiselled faces
Who know how to roll a joint in just one hand,
Make love in front of mirrors, and kiss places
That the plain suburban girl has yet to understand.

Oh yes. The beautiful, the rich, they have the best.
It's still the same, the old, old story,
Sadly, but Dolce et Gabbana est Pro Patria Mori.

[miss-banana]

Very nice thread indeed.

[The Eristic]

Excellent poetry. We should publish a HCVF compilation book.

Thanks, Casper.

Keep it up. I'll be back tonight to write more, and check on everyone.

[thamiam]

Your insurgent verse
Is no match for the awesome
Power of haiku

:D

[The Eristic]

I strangle your haiku with incessant rhymeless rhyming of the ways in which we are falling upon stoned fooling none other than themselves in whom we find solacing ourselves once again in apathetic joy to this world is rejected by those seeking life have found it and given it away. :p

[miss-banana]

A silly little thing I wrote years ago about my sweetie's parents. I hadn't looked at it in ages. Made me laugh. Their relationship really is like this:

Rooster in the Hen's House

So what does he do?
sits in a chair all day
reads the paper
don’t look up
maybe she’ll go away
or at least, shut up
she’s got a neck like a chicken
and she knows how to use it
better not stick his pecker out
unless he wants to lose it
she fluffs and fusses
but he don’t really mind
because she fixes meat and taters
just the way he likes
and keeps a good house
and is his biggest fan
when her big-haired friends drop by
to play Bridge
and eat nuts out of a can
and tell her how lucky she is
to have such a good man
who picks up the paper
when he’s all done reading
and takes out the trash
before it’s needing
she clucks and bobs her head
he acts shy and looks about
but he knows better than
to stick his pecker out
Good God! The hen has laid an egg
He cringes at her squawk
He hides out in the toilet
with a book and flips the lock
says his guts are a symphony
of left-over southern fried
her cackle grows cacophonous
there on the other side
about all the gossip that surely is true
and about all the things he still needs to do
But he won't stick his pecker out
because he knows it’s true
that sometimes life is tough
when you live with a chicken.
but when life is good
it’s downright finger-lickin’

[The Eristic]

Bump. I'm currently too tired to write anything new. I'll write tomorrow, perhaps.

[turnip]

not necessary

so uncomfortable blanket me – padded muted sound
a bottle – hands against the glass scream let me out
not enough air to last not enough to live on suffocating
twist inside myself neither cold nor hot indifferent –
slow movements involuntary twitch an eyelid – thicker
air fills compresses and weighs down – fuzzy coated
a shell some kind of skin some kind of life – lungs fill
exhale collapse hands against the glass scream
clenched teeth break from the strain blood smearing
pattering on the floor drip drip drip – nothing to breathe
head on the floor hands against the glass fingertips blood
smears a path – not enough to live on not enough to live
muted sound lungs exhale collapse collapse collapse

[turnip]

one-pound gift

i just stand here in front of you
with my heart in my hands
i’m tired of crying myself to sleep

but i’m tired of wearing this skin
i’m tired of wearing it thin
and i’m pulling

watching these scabs you peel off
opening my shell again and pulling me out
spilling my blood down my legs
and down your arms

watching you devour me with your eyes
then spitting me out on the ground
scraping my bones against the concrete
to try and pull a little bit closer

pulling this skin
and wearing it thin
exposing myself to your light
grinding your teeth
and bleeding me
wearing my skin a little thin

i just stand here in front of you
with my heart in my hands
bleeding my pain between my fingers
and staining your hair my shade

i’m tired of not being able to sleep
of your far-away focus behind my head
i’m anxious to leave my scars with you
if you’d only pull out my skin

but you don’t know me
i could be anything
but what you want

how dare you come here and ask me this?
how dare you?

if i could wake up tomorrow
someone completely different
i’d be okay i’d take it
as long as it wasn’t me
as long as i don’t have to
keep this skin
it’s wearing thin

[turnip]

hotel

the beetle scuttles start-stop-start across
a harsh and off-white background – tick-tac-tick.
a bluish lip, apart; still slightly soft.
the chitin forms a contrast: stark and sick.
antennae twitch in search – mute feelers find,
they graze the flesh now unresponsive. now
the sound of insect feet on teeth; it climbs
down, scurries fast along the curve of brow.
a calmer time now. feasting, gorging. feed.
the face begins to bend, deform, to sway
and deconstruct. more flesh consumed, a need
to propagate, to breed; has eggs to lay.
the flesh has gone, her bones described in white
and all the sounds of life, and death, in light.

[turnip]

Just one more, I promise. Then the drek will go away...

bleed

i see you touch me and break me bending
too far and snapping under your flesh
i must make myself stronger more able
to match you discourage you encourage you
to come too close for comfort

i will sharpen my bones and let me bleed
out your stains - clean me of impurity
strip me down until i’m weightless
but for these bones i let you hold me
and let me see inside you

come lay with me
feel my bones
inside my bed
with me
come feel my bones

form myself to defend me and teach you
shape my feelings of form and substance
with my sharpened bone let me
enter you and push you around me
replace my skin with you - my love

this edge is cold and sharp my bones
are hard and hungry and not hesitant
to taste you at all

come inside with me
and feel my bones

[WattsUrizen]

Betrayal of Purity:

Winter, won't you let me in
To dragon's bane, to demon's wrath, to fire's cage
Where shadows dance to quench the fiery heavens
A soothing cold and ice to numb the pain

Winter, won't you let me in
A frozen purity to nurse my soul
To stand tall upon your crystal spires
And see all the worlds of ages taint

But Summer has seduced me
With burning blood and sensual delight

I still taste sweet wine on my lips
I still feel warm breath on my neck
I still need to drown in this golden doom
Winter's just a painting on some wall

Winter, won't you let me in
Forgive my lust and lies and hollow heart
Let me bathe in diamond lakes once more
And hope your love is still waiting for me

[WattsUrizen]

Of Sundered Spirits

For forgiveness, was the only thing I asked
And an end that was clean and swift
But I was hunted down by godlings, and zealots with burning hearts
My martyrdom was denied, because God has forsaken me

Here I dwell, with shattered souls, that wail and shriek their unrest
Their torment is forever, and so is the bond we all share
Solace denied, and now sorrow eternal, because of our ways of protest
Freedom is unreal, I could never make a choice, without fate taunting me

Time has no meaning, here all things are one and the same
Our own half-existence, is a pain beyond all despair

No eyes for tears, no voices for laments
Our screams of discord
Are a symphony composed
In agony!

I shudder so violent when my mind starts to wander
Resting on memories that burn and scar
Hideous now seems what once was so fair
My thoughts are twisted, in my yearning for release

I wish I could return to live once again
To drink in the warmth of the sun's embrace
And shiver in a cold which I know soon will end
How I wish I could return, to make things right

Or to die!

But I am condemned to this prison
Of endless bounds and misery
In the light that never warms
But sears our unseeing vision

But soon the time will come
And wrath will replace grief
The wails and cries will gain strength
And we will roar in one mighty voice

Break through the chains and shackles
That bind us forevermore
Tear through the waning barriers
Of this fading vault of torments

No longer I wish for solace or redemption
I shrug off transgression, only one goal I see
The downfall of faith, destroy misguided beliefs
To usurp the throne of divine rule
I'll pollute the Earth with sadness and fear
Under my reign of terror, no bounds has my malice
The cauldron of rage inside, it boils and overflows
Revenge now has no meaning, only death and destruction

Heaven has stirred, it senses my wrath
It gathers its host, seraphim and cherub alike
Never before has Paradise sprouted such a mighty horde
But they'll not prevail, against those they forsook

I lead my army of spirits once sundered
Now we are whole, our desire is our unity
We fall upon the armoured angels
We crush them beneath us
We are...

Victorious!

The divine herd lies slain
Angels fall like rain
I speak my desolation
My words will come to life
Mankind will begin its pilgrimage
To Armaggedon

Dominion is mine, triumphant I stand
But what have I become, a king of emptiness
Rivers run red with blood
Fire bursts from infernal clouds
Nothing is left, I am blind to see
My spirit is sundered still...

Sundered still.

[WattsUrizen]

Great thread, by the way! :)

[miss-banana]

Yep, great stuff, all of it, and it makes me wonder -- in a good way -- about the minds behind the words.
Hey! Am I the only one thinking that Kodiak and Turnip could use a hug? :(
{{{{ :) }}}

[turnip]

Originally posted by miss-banana
Hey! Am I the only one thinking that Kodiak and Turnip could use a hug? :(
{{{{ :) }}}

But I'm all cold and prickly, :( and KODIAK smells funny. And not funny-haha. Funny-strange.

[miss-banana]

<sniffs armpit>
Whew, hokay, so it's not me, then.
Kodiak, I don't care how cold the water is up there.
Take a bath, ya stinkin' rancid heap of bear blubber :mad:

Then I can hug you :)

In the meantime, I'll go get my tweezers and pluck Turnip's prickles, because I'm gonna hug somebody, dammit :mad:

[WattsUrizen]

Originally posted by miss-banana
<sniffs armpit>
Whew, hokay, so it's not me, then.
Kodiak, I don't care how cold the water is up there.
Take a bath, ya stinkin' rancid heap of bear blubber :mad:

Then I can hug you :)

In the meantime, I'll go get my tweezers and pluck Turnip's prickles, because I'm gonna hug somebody, dammit :mad:

Can you hug me. Pweety Pweese. :)

[miss-banana]

Originally posted by Anomandaris


Can you hug me. Pweety Pweese. :)

<opens arms>
Awwww, c'mere and get some sugar.
I hope you don't mind that I'm in this incredibly sensuous, lacey silk nightie, but it's late here on the sultry Pacific coast of Mexico, very nearly my bedtime.
See what you're missing, Turnip?

:D

[turnip]

Originally posted by miss-banana


<opens arms>
Awwww, c'mere and get some sugar.
I hope you don't mind that I'm in this incredibly sensuous, lacey silk nightie, but it's late here on the sultry Pacific coast of Mexico, very nearly my bedtime.
See what you're missing, Turnip?

:D

:mad:

I'll have your head for this, Stevo!

[WattsUrizen]

Originally posted by turnip
:mad:

I'll have your head for this, Stevo!

I like your poems dude. :)

[Sam Therapy]

Originally posted by turnip
one-pound gift

i just stand here in front of you
with my heart in my hands
i’m tired of crying myself to sleep

but i’m tired of wearing this skin
i’m tired of wearing it thin
and i’m pulling

watching these scabs you peel off
opening my shell again and pulling me out
spilling my blood down my legs
and down your arms

watching you devour me with your eyes
then spitting me out on the ground
scraping my bones against the concrete
to try and pull a little bit closer

pulling this skin
and wearing it thin
exposing myself to your light
grinding your teeth
and bleeding me
wearing my skin a little thin

i just stand here in front of you
with my heart in my hands
bleeding my pain between my fingers
and staining your hair my shade

i’m tired of not being able to sleep
of your far-away focus behind my head
i’m anxious to leave my scars with you
if you’d only pull out my skin

but you don’t know me
i could be anything
but what you want

how dare you come here and ask me this?
how dare you?

if i could wake up tomorrow
someone completely different
i’d be okay i’d take it
as long as it wasn’t me
as long as i don’t have to
keep this skin
it’s wearing thin

I really, really like this one.

[The Eristic]

Sleeping lies, the dogs,
the minds of a generation,
that clothed themselves,
took on appearances in public places,
made their demands met
and are still depraved.
The strength of lack,
the lost,
wanted documents with power,
unwanted children screaming,
in acronical ademption of good intentions.
You beasts,
you would-be men,
facilis descensus Averno.

[The Eristic]

Bump, in the most artistic way. ;)

Falling, round corners of roads leaving blue days and green nights, lives rushing onward into the walls they have built 'round themselves are falling upon them, keeping in the hordes they so wish to flee, escape is simple, but is not easily accomplished.

[belle]

Wow...everyone..that was certainly amazing reading... Beautiful infact.:) Thank you.

[Metalcore4christ825]

"One Last Time"
Sick of playing this game called life
I just want to make it end
I will not put my loved ones through
what you put me through
Somtimes the ride gets rough
Somtimes I just want to give up
but bye the time my life is at its end
I'll want it back one more time
let me live again
one more time
erase my past
bring you back again
just for a moment
to tell you that I love you
One last time...

[russb]

wow! some cool stuff in here. i posted this in the guitars thread, but it seems to be dropping faster than a newbies questions about the buzz on their new squire.

An Observation at the Onset of Night


A shroud of twilight
somnolence
falls, woven
from the delicate breath
of sleeping insects,
their lost empire grown
in exiled secrets,
in lightless depths
of nether space reserved
for things banished,
for uncontested heresies,
for truth
best written in dead tongues
on crumbling skins
stripped from living sages,
and for dreams.

[Bluedoggy]

Silken trails
Jamaican flax
Wisdom seen
on tortoise backs
Bolder die
too nobly bear
Drink hot tea
from eye of hare.

Wind blown trees
now autumn greet
Grass roots grow
above deaf feet
Drink hot tea
from eye of hare
Bolder die
Too nobly bear.

[mcflytrap]

I want to eat
But alas, I'm beat
There's a seat
I think that's neat

[The Eristic]

Originally posted by mcflytrap
I want to eat
But alas, I'm beat
There's a seat
I think that's neat

I can clearly see the influence of Blake in this one. :D

[zarriel]

Nocturnal Rainbow


In dusk
of motionless clouds and rainless skies, I watched love die
gasping.


How shall I revive my heart –
Prying my chest open and wringing it repeatedly to life?
Is it Love,
this act of killing myself to save myself?


I shall reveal to you the despondent reverie of a morning dewdrop slumbering in the petals of a desert cactus. On its emaciated thorns crawls an unhurried caterpillar, chrysalising its dream into feeble wings of butterflies.
Flutter,
flutter,
flutter
past the endless scorching sand dunes,
against the tempestuous desert storms,
across the generation chasms,
over the peaks of time, back to the valley of innocence, so as
with one final flap of its sapping wings,
to die
at the root of the tree of memory,
under the branches of remembrance, and
amidst of the paradise of youth. There,
through songs of the cicadas, I’ll tell you of the raptures blossoming on parched lips that have learned to smile
once more.


But now, I am the night.
I shall never be able to explain to you the anguish of a lifeless star
whose radiance of a million years ago still sparkles in your hopeful eyes.
I believe there are those of us who will sit silently in the darkness of the night, exalting the luminous solar dawning in their hearts – For they are few who know that
Love and Death
are the last two certainties.
One is absolutely not ours.
One is absolutely ours when we completely belong to someone else.


Once,
I watched the funeral procession of the sun setting
behind drift-less dark clouds in sprinkle-less skies. I knew
love is a nocturnal rainbow
forming as the condensed air cascading the moonlight
on insomniac nights.


Night is I.
You know?


Zarriel

[The Eristic]

Quite good, Zarriel, and welcome to HC.

Anyone want to discuss poetry? Influences? Structure and form?

[zarriel]

Monotonous Nocturne


night
heart ascertained
sleepless

in utter silence, seated solitude
lexes foliated
logic cogitated
hand and pen dialogued

in trance, the poet
seanced the spirits
chanted poems incomprehensible
words miscarried
died fetal deaths
under gestated
within vaginal rhymes

the poet watched his child -
cries, when sad
laugh, if happy
uncomplicated
how to express in totality such simple harmonies
(wisdom polluted his hellish soul)

living, a verse of love in teenage years
a sonnet of perspicacity in adulthood
a limerick of abandonment in mid-life

now, in evaporating maturity, beholding
his wife breastfeeding his child
the poet, alas, eulogizes his innocence
in a language that is pure

where as time constricts into nights
deeper, darker
more immense with each passing instant
the poet reflects upon
the asymmetrical shadows of his traitorous thoughts
to find his heart in equilibrium

gazing at a sheet of paper
that is blank


Zarriel

[The Eristic]

Experiments with basic French (if you speak French well, please help with grammar, etc...):

Vous parlez plus fort,
Mais je prefere tous les jours
Plus de vos vetements noirs.
C'est le dernier.
Il s'habille avec Eris,
Avec elle,
Une soeur que n'aime pas
Les Enfants que s'adorent.
Vous criez silencieusement,
Mais je prefere les vieux
Plus de vous, parce que vous dormez.

[The Eristic]

More:

Les chapelure,
Je n'ai pas pas plus.
Nous sommes minuscule
En les yeux de tout le monde
Souf nous.
Tu vas avec tes cheveux;
Il te retent.
C'est un poids,
Une plume que te faire tombe.
Je n'appelle pas moins.
La barriere, c'est faible.

[babybatter]

I dont recall seeing this thread before. But i havent been in a real writing mood for ages. Maybe my memory is more selective than Id like to admit. :eek: trippy.

Any how, Im now going to sit and think of something. Ill report back, either way.

Cool!

:)

[babybatter]

And so far I blow at lovey-dovey poetry. :D

EW! I was writing mushy love-poems! :eek: :eek: :eek:





Guess I'll have to call her soon. :D



(ahem) Ill try to control myself and get focussed on the task at hand. ;)

[babybatter]

Richard was annoyed
scissors in hand, his flamed face in the other
never cut outside the lines

thowing his mistake into the corner
he rest upon elbows on knees
pursing his lip brow and mind

Licking off a sweaty lip -
hiding his dirty perspiration
scouting for his elevation......

....guessing one of them so called 'doc-ters' would have been a better idea.

[ETH_Meldody Man]

.My Dying Faith
More and More my faith keeps dying
Don't know why...I feel like crying
My heart hardens
hidden in the depths of sorrow
Broken inside
Killing the pain in my mind
wishing for death
hoping for life
but even though I try
My faith continues to die

[The Eristic]

Originally posted by babybatter
Richard was annoyed
scissors in hand, his flamed face in the other
never cut outside the lines

thowing his mistake into the corner
he rest upon elbows on knees
pursing his lip brow and mind

Licking off a sweaty lip -
hiding his dirty perspiration
scouting for his elevation......

....guessing one of them so called 'doc-ters' would have been a better idea.

I think this may be the most disturbing thing I've ever read (and I've been reading for 16 of my 18 years on the planet). :eek: :D

[The Eristic]

Bump, 'cause I'm getting the urge to write..... :cool:

[The Eristic]

Written, words that hold nothing more than what one should have said. To wit, what was spoken was once what all believed, held dear, yet let go while clutching the perception of the brevity, the ephemeral. Were something inevitable, would that we try to change it.

[The Eristic]

Fell free, first falls the phrase "Flattering trees is the easiest way to climb them" upon the ears of a vagrant businessman, who washed his face in the reflective skin of a glass pool table. The pockets are deep, but typically empty.

[chuckw/atruck]

Thankless Jobs abound.
Mine is one.
There are others for other people.
Some are happy
Lucky Haberdasher.

[The Eristic]

I can't believe this thread is still here. :eek:

[Fred5]

Originally posted by The Eristic
I can't believe this thread is still here. :eek:

History is important.

[The Eristic]

Originally posted by Fred5


History is important.

I know, I'm a History major. :D

[Fred5]

Originally posted by The Eristic


I know, I'm a History major. :D
Kewl. It would be even more important if we could learn more from it.

Btw, wouldn't it be cool to have all posts
ever made available for searching? I wonder if they are all gone to file heaven
or if they are stored somewhere?

Maybe the tall one knows?

[whamtone]

An old one of mine, any comments appreciated.

I remember golden days
The sunlight breaks the morning haze
And sends a few undaunted rays
Shining down your hair
God, I wish that I was there
God, I wish that I was there
'Cause then I still would be with you
But now I know our sweet love is through

I remember walking miles
Just to see one of your smiles
And we'ld just sit and talk a while
Until the day was done
God, that was so much fun
God, that was so much fun
That I could only have with you
But now I know our sweet love is through

I don't know where I found the power
Of faith that helped me through that hour
When I found out our love turned sour
With nothing left me in its place
God, the tears run down my face
God, the tears run down my face
But there was nothing I could do
Because you'd proved our sweet love was through

Now maybe somewhere in L.A.
Or in New Yok or by the 'Frisco bay
There's still a couple who can say
That their love still flows on strong
God, I cannot say they're wrong
God, I cannot say they're wrong
I only say good luck to you
And I hope your sweet love is true.

[The Eristic]

Originally posted by whamtone
.

It has a rather wistful, positive vibe to it. It would make a good folk/rock song, I think. :cool:

[The Eristic]

Originally posted by Fred5
Btw, wouldn't it be cool to have all posts
ever made available for searching? I wonder if they are all gone to file heaven
or if they are stored somewhere?

Maybe the tall one knows?

In the bigger forums, posts are usually pruned after a certain period of time. There is actually an archive somewhere, but it's not current, I don't believe. Storing all the posts made here would require an ocean of bandwidth (along with an ocean of money). :eek:

[Timezarrow]

I have some things at home more in line with this thread, but here's a bit of doggerel (penguinerel?) I wrote. The first several stanzas were written in the mid-seventies, and I added the rest recently.

Mock Turtle Ties




A row of sad penguins wearing mock turtle ties,
In line for a lunch of old, cold French fries.

A tall one stepped up and snapped out a salute,
Saying, “Bring me a bottle of Old China Boot!.”

“Old China Boot,” said the clerk in chagrin,
“Doesn’t come in a bottle, it comes in a tin!”

“A tin what?” said the first, and they all stood up straight.
“At ease,” said the clerk, and cursed his sad fate.

“A tin can,” he explained, and gave it no thought,
Then sighed when the other cried, “A tin can what?”

“A tin can,” tried the clerk, “is a container of sorts.”
The tall one cried, “Sorts! Sorts won’t rid me of warts!”

“I need Old China Boot, so get out of my way,
There must be some back there, now hand me that tray.”

With that the long penguin leapt over the bar,
And taking the tray, grabbed hold of a jar.

With a glare at the clerk, he spun off the top,
And drank it right down, as the clerk cried, “Stop!”

“Stop now, Old Shoe, or should I say Foot?
That’s not Old China Boot, it’s Mold, Grime, and Soot!”

But it was too late; the fool’s fate was sealed,
Though his warts would live on in his grave by the field.

To come up with a reason, the clerk taxed his head,
“P’rhaps a penguin with warts is better off dead.”

Then he spied an old tin, way back on the shelf,
“Old China Boot is Good For Your Health.”

But the irony here, how the whole thing went south;
You rub it on warts. It’s not taken by mouth.

:D ;) :p ;) :D

[whamtone]

Hey erisitic, you nailed it exactly!
Semi-bluesish folk-rock vibe is what I wrote for that.
(Or more precisely, what I wrote that for...)

Here, try another:

The times are hard
People are scared
The end is coming soon
But we don't know from where
And if you love someone
Better show them you care
Before the end...

Did you find your own place
In the struggle and the strife?
Did you make some good freinds?
Do you love your wife?
Can you finish what you started
To do with your life
Before the end?

The end is coming soon
With a whimper and a bang
The final fulfillment of the
Prophecies we sang
And when the last note of that
Trumpet has rang
It is the end...

[Fred5]

Originally posted by The Eristic


In the bigger forums, posts are usually pruned after a certain period of time. There is actually an archive somewhere, but it's not current, I don't believe. Storing all the posts made here would require an ocean of bandwidth (along with an ocean of money). :eek:

Okey... thanks. Just storage can't be such a big deal but making it all searchable from the internet (us users) definitely would.

An ocean of keyboard yapping.

[FlyingBloodyFrogBiscuit]

You can buy my book of Poetry:
"Tales from the Swamp Diner and Other Menu Items", just send me a postal money order for $25 made out to Swamp Diner Book, c/o FBFB.
pm me and I'll send you the book.

[Timezarrow]

Originally posted by FlyingBloodyFrogBiscuit
You can buy my book of Poetry:
"Tales from the Swamp Diner and Other Menu Items", just send me a postal money order for $25 made out to Swamp Diner Book, c/o FBFB.
pm me and I'll send you the book.

Seriously, you have a published book of poetry? Or is this just a scam? :mad:

Or are you going to write the book after you get some orders? I assume it's hard cover from the price.

How about some samples to prime the pump?

;)

[FlyingBloodyFrogBiscuit]

It was a joke, BUT

I've got the book, just don't have the resources or the balls to publish it.

Here's a short one:

Fear & Embrace

I do not fear my enemies
But embrace the chance for confrontation
I do not fear leadership
But embrace the chance to question authority
I do not fear for the future of my children
But embrace their chance for individualism
I do not fear the unknown
But Embrace the unforseen
I do not fear fire and damnation
But embrace spiritual enlightenment
I do not fear my God
I embrace him.

[FlyingBloodyFrogBiscuit]

Another, somewhat lighter:

Swamp Tails

We took a lick on a Pogo Stick
Around the Swamp we rode
Tied our knee to a Cypress Tree
Searched for a big bull toad
Made our lunch from a mossy bunch
of bugs from under a log
so hard to see beyond the tree
knee high in a bog
The locust swarm meant no harm
tasty to a frog
The red sun sets, we smoke cigarettes
drink liquor from a jar
Ponder our fate as it's at the gate
Can't get their in a car
We think we'll stay and be happy today
Oh, Lord, we love the swamp!

[The Eristic]

:cool:

[Bernie Franks]

Hey neat, I'll take a shot...

Narcissus
The foul stench of arrogance
Permeates through your
Self-righteous insulation

I’ve sailed upon many wings
But never (dare I speak of never?)
Never upon wings such as hers
The power of her grace astonishes
(What was I to do?)
Beautiful, she said, so beautiful

I spoke only of he in my mirror
Perfection, I said (it isn’t perfect)
O! The torment she had endured
She had fed this comely monster
(What was I to do?)
Ugly, she said, so ugly

My castle does not raise its flags
I am done (or she is done with me!)
My lore had come so suddenly
When my bird had taken flight
(What was I to do?)
Vacant, she said, so vacant

Whisper my name nevermore
Lover of yourself
I will not obstruct your view

[Bernie Franks]

And another, I have more so you'll probably have to suffer them, too. :)
I can't format it for indentations, so it's not as nifty as it could be.

The Ostrich King
A crown of weights adorns your head
You once sat tall in your throne
You had dignity then
But now your head hangs in shame
You falter at the simplest decisions
You do not know who you are

All hail the ostrich king!

Where is the great leader, the friend?
You were always quick to solve problems
And you never hesitated to help
But now the thought of work frightens you
You hide as the sun does from the moon
Run and run, faster and faster, escape

All hail the ostrich king!

You understood this world and you tried to fix it
You were the loving mother, the providing father
You kept this household safe from harm
Warm and caring, generous and giving
All love flowed from you
But now these loving parents have left
And the house is cold and empty
Drop your hammer upon the gavel
And judge the herd of your sheep
All rule flows from you

Hide your head in the sand
My tyrant, loving tyrant

All hail the ostrich king!

[The Eristic]

:)

[rheemond]

music's chemotherapy

beneath the grill the speaker moves,
cone's vibrations are bristles, magnetic
coils and copper wire becoming
the canister home to paint. the cone's
pushes and pulls send molecules colliding,
the traverse the grand time space continuum,
its energy unspent and unending.

when it hits, it hits with clarity,
trails of vibrant pigment flowing
across its ear drum canvas, painting
undulation cilia a tie-dyed swirl
of perpetuating luminosity

synaptic charges, connections, and
shockwaves overcome and overwhelm,
to release a pendulum of doppamine,
contracting and relaxing over time.

but slowly, surely, kryptonite dissented
the ranks, how could this be?
the paint has been poisoned, a blackening
carcinoma! infecting and annihilating
appetite devouring a sicilian masterpiece
into a sickly cigarette.

who sent this? this new disease,
this contagious parasite, born from
a green man with paper's greed,
with the same unquenchable thrist
that cannot be pleased

so pleas find the cure which will
cast me free, from this decapitating
capitalistic spending disease.

[FingerBone Bill]

What a wonderful bird the frog are

When he stand he sit almost;

When he hop he fly almost.

He ain't got no sense hardly;

He ain't got no tail hardly either.

When he sit, he sit on what he ain't got almost.

Not mine, but when I heard this years ago at school I cracked up. (Best read aloud in a serious voice and a Cornish/West-country accent)

[FlyingBloodyFrogBiscuit]

Originally posted by FingerBone Bill
What a wonderful bird the frog are

When he stand he sit almost;

When he hop he fly almost.

He ain't got no sense hardly;

He ain't got no tail hardly either.

When he sit, he sit on what he ain't got almost.

Not mine, but when I heard this years ago at school I cracked up. (Best read aloud in a serious voice and a Cornish/West-country accent)

Great! No mention of blood or biscuits, though....

[daddymack]

Originally posted by FlyingBloodyFrogBiscuit


Great! No mention of blood or biscuits, though....

That is is the second stanza...

I vaguely remember that from my youth, kind of Ogden Nash, (he did a lot of animal poems...) but not, I think, his...
but these are:

what a strange, strange bird, the pelican,
its beak can hold more than its belly can!

When asked by a panther
don't anther.

[daddysguitar]

Originally posted by NervePoet
Sometimes America

The place was filled with business men
Farm boys and truant kids
Housewives and working men
Cops and young soldiers

We tried to hook a ride
From Lamar to Boulder
In our p-coats and stash bags
And hair below our shoulders

The locals and their attitudes
Stares and whispers, looking rude
Helped to make our hard time harder

The winter storm was blowing in
I had twenty-seven cents
You hummed tunes from Big Pink and Revolver

An American scene, we were two James Deans
We were lost, but never alone
No regrets, nobody sweats
Someday those times would take their toll

Today you are a CPA
I waste my time in cyberspace
Cocktail parties, football games
Years fly by like bullet trains

We suffer from this heart disease
It’s hard to stay
But we won’t leave
Symptoms are maturity and boredom

I got into my car
Drove up to the cold north shore
Watched waves break like battle hordes
‘Cross big Gitchigumi

Returning I hit traffic jams
Big rigs, smog, and minivans
Things just seemed so out of hand
Lost my need to understand

On the worn out seams of American dreams
We were lost and never returned
Now what was said, and what we read
Just never spun it’s spell on our souls

Nerve


Very nice, Nerve.