tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-235250902024-03-25T01:09:42.009-05:00Poor Man's TelepathyTrying to get the point across the moors.Jenny Jenny Flanneryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07621715431584059448noreply@blogger.comBlogger127125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23525090.post-58172590251895795362017-11-09T23:39:00.001-05:002017-11-09T23:39:51.753-05:00<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 18.0pt; margin-right: -81.0pt; margin-top: 0cm; text-indent: -18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">Probable, possible, my black hen,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 18.0pt; margin-right: -81.0pt; margin-top: 0cm; text-indent: -18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">she lays eggs in the relative when.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 18.0pt; margin-right: -81.0pt; margin-top: 0cm; text-indent: -18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">She doesn’t lay eggs in the positive
now,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 18.0pt; margin-right: -81.0pt; margin-top: 0cm; text-indent: -18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">because she’s unable to postulate how. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 18.0pt; margin-right: -81.0pt; margin-top: 0cm; text-indent: -18.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 18.0pt; margin-right: -81.0pt; margin-top: 0cm; text-indent: -18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">---The Space Child’s Mother Goose<o:p></o:p></span></div>
Calix Stayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02754723073792242517noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23525090.post-84393717562660427332011-11-03T14:31:00.001-05:002011-11-03T14:31:25.937-05:00What?Here we are...reviving.Jenny Jenny Flanneryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07621715431584059448noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23525090.post-29993968210172977072009-02-19T13:39:00.000-05:002009-02-19T13:42:10.539-05:00What have you been doing to keep busy?<a href="http://i269.photobucket.com/albums/jj77/bird_lfs/Random%20Crap/idiot.jpg"><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 351px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 450px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://i269.photobucket.com/albums/jj77/bird_lfs/Random%20Crap/idiot.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div></div>Dochttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16979621370660001312noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23525090.post-4744789086959520492007-03-10T08:14:00.000-05:002007-03-10T08:15:31.960-05:00IN PRAISE OF NORTHERN LIVIN'<strong>I got a call from my good friend NORTON!<br />Who discussed the way the winter is shorten (-ed)<br />Here in the brightly-lit sunshine state<br />And he had a point he wanted to reiterate.<br /><br />“you know how I now live here in upper New York,<br />And at this time of year my truck tires use torque<br />As I attempt to drive in the deep, deep snow<br />From my place of work and back to my lovely chateau,<br /><br />“and though it will be weeks before this snow will melt,<br />And you don’t GET snow there south of the Bible Belt,<br />This weekend it’s supposed to be fifty degrees--<br />At least as far as the weatherman forsees--<br /><br />“And I want to point out a little thought I just thunk<br />One that lifted me out of my wintery funk:<br />When it’s 50 down THERE, you all put on a jacket<br />While when it’s 50 up HERE we grab the badminton racquet<br /><br />“And we rush on outdoors into the day bright and shiny,<br />And we lay in the grass and sit on our hiney<br />And we pound the neighbour’s door and hammer door knockers<br />‘cuz it’s warm enough to run ‘round in our knickerbockers!<br /><br />“So while it may be grand down there in the Florida heat<br />I find my life up here just perfectly complete.<br />I’d think myself crazy, and devoid of all reason<br />If I lived in a place that had only one season!<br /><br />I like the fall when it turns orange, brown and yellow,<br />And I like the spring when the ground is mushy as Jell-O.<br />Of course I like summer, of that you don’t need to be told,<br />But I should remind you that some of us actually LIKE the cold.<br /><br />I love to go skiing with long boards on my feet<br />Zipping down frozen mountains just can’t be beat!<br />I like to build snowmen and throw hardpack snowballs<br />And I like to sit by the fire with a copy of McCall’s!*<br /><br />Of course there’s blizzards and possible frostbite<br />And sometimes we go seven weeks without sunlight<br />But at least we don’t get massive hurricanes<br />And heat that’s so hot it melts down your brains<br /><br />And our insects are small and not of the size<br />Where a swarm of them will block out the skies<br />and fly in your mouth making you wheeze and cough<br />(and some are so big they could carry small children off!)<br /><br />I’m not near an ocean where they hang up a purple flag<br />To warn of “dangerous sea life” that can put’cha in a body bag<br />After wading through the tall green sea grass<br />And a jellyfish swims up to sting you on the… foot.<br /><br />No, I’m miles away from that bright world of Disney<br />And those other 2 parks owned by a beer company<br />But I’m doin’ just fine, I do swear,<br />It’ll be 50, and I’ll be in my underwear.</strong>Anonymousnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23525090.post-86375125382732542007-03-07T16:55:00.000-05:002007-03-07T16:57:58.356-05:00Haiku for a bad day...<div align="center"><a href="http://www.abc.net.au/science/news/img/health/counting200804.jpg"><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://www.abc.net.au/science/news/img/health/counting200804.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div align="center">Fuck it</div>I can't be bothered<br />to count syllables </div>Jenny Jenny Flanneryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07621715431584059448noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23525090.post-91216066526645090182007-02-08T09:38:00.000-05:002007-02-08T10:18:35.300-05:00Dorks Riff And You Have Walt Whitman To Thank For It<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_auJyNd2jdmE/Rcs_S4rUCMI/AAAAAAAAAMA/yMx9Z6XdTTY/s1600-h/dorks.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5029183002573539522" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_auJyNd2jdmE/Rcs_S4rUCMI/AAAAAAAAAMA/yMx9Z6XdTTY/s320/dorks.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div><em>A transcription of an IM conversation from this morning NOT edited for spelling, grammar etc.</em> </div><br /><div></div><br /><div>Flannery: How you doin'?</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>Big Orange: 咻~~~(一陣冷風吹過,好冷喔~~)</div><br /><div>Big Orange: 啊~~~那會怎樣(台語)!</div><br /><div>Big Orange: how you?</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>Flannery: so far so good</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>Big Orange: actually, yes.</div><br /><div>Big Orange: I love Dr. [name withheld]</div><br /><div>Big Orange: no swelling, no pain</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>Flannery: cool</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>Big Orange: didn't even FEEL anything during the operation thanx to the IV valium!!</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>Flannery: awesome</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>Big Orange: oh, and old tech is still good tech.</div><br /><div>Big Orange: that is, an old fashioned ice bag is a wonderful thang.</div><br /><div>Big Orange: and a helluva lot cheaper than those chemical ice packs.</div><br /><div>Big Orange: hehehehe///</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>Flannery: true</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>Big Orange: I woke up with a half poem in my head.</div><br /><div>Big Orange: I'm trying to see if I can write it.... wanna see what I have so far?</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>Flannery: sure</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>Big Orange: Come gather ‘round, pull up a chair, and listen my friends</div><br /><div>To a tale about my most recent event</div><br /><div>a happening that made my heart most content,</div><br /><div>the cutting of my vas deferens.<br /></div><br /><div> </div><div>Flannery: oh, jesus</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>Big Orange: I thought I'd try covering ALL the blogs...</div><br /><div>Big Orange: so you like it so far??</div><br /><div>Big Orange: I'll work on it.</div><br /><div>Big Orange: can I send it to you for editing??</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>Flannery: I feel like I've been listening to a reality show about your vasectomy!!!</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>Big Orange: yup!</div><br /><div>Big Orange: you get the play-by-play AND the colour commentary!</div><br /><div>Big Orange: hehehehehehe!!</div><br /><div>Big Orange: I told Doc a lil' bit about it and he thinks there is much material to be mined therewithin.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>Flannery: I think I could do my phd on the subject; my knowledge is so intimate</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>Big Orange: ESPEICIALLY when I told him that the MD's office was an old HOUSE</div><br /><div>Big Orange: AND that four old, old guys were milling around the porch and coming outside, all walkin' reaaal funny and bent over.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>Flannery: I'm done picturing your balls and the workings therein</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>Big Orange: one old motherfucker could barely walk-- like he'd been repeatedly KICKED in the balls-- and was wearing an eyepatch!</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>Flannery: well, you are in the south</div><br /><div>Big Orange: I seriously thought about chickening out for a moment there.</div><br /><div>Big Orange: well, yeah....</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>Flannery: well, you are a big chicken</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>Big Orange: that's troo...</div><br /><div>Big Orange: remember the surgery in "Batman" where the Joker got patched up??</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>Flannery: not really</div><br /><div>Big Orange: well, there we go.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>Flannery: why don't you ask Doc to edit your poem?</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>Big Orange: hehehehe.</div><br /><div>Big Orange: OK.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>Flannery: let me know when you are moved to write about flowers...or ovaries</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>Big Orange: anyway, valium is wonderful.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>Flannery: word</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>Big Orange: I could write about ovaries.</div><br /><div>Big Orange: there's a new sterilzation process for wimmin-folken that doens't involve surgery.</div><br /><div>Big Orange: is that interesting to you?</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>Flannery: nope</div><br /><div>Flannery: oh, wait...<a href="http://cultureofbeer.blogspot.com/2007/02/clothing-is-dangerous-to-your-sex-life.html">new wardrobes</a>?</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>Big Orange: no... falopian tube implants</div><br /><div>Big Orange: you wanted to know when I was moved to write about ovaries, but when I ask if you're interested, you say nope.</div><br /><div>Flannery: do i contradict myself? then i contradict myself! I am vast; I contain multitudes</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>Big Orange: you know, a whorehouse would contain multidudes....</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>Flannery: a food court contains multifoods</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>Big Orange: a naturist camp contains multinudes...</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>Flannery: a bi-polar person contains multimoods</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>Big Orange: a college frat house on keg night contains multispeweds</div><br /><div>Big Orange: aaaand Christian churches at Lent will contain....</div><br /><div>Big Orange: uh....</div><br /><div>Big Orange: multiescheweds</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>Flannery: a vegas wedding chapel might contain multiwooeds</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>Big Orange: a mass jail break would might produce multieludes....</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>Flannery: A model-maker would collect multiglueds</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>Big Orange: back to the whorehouse: MULTISCREWEDS!!</div><br /><div>Big Orange: a hair salon: MULTISHAMPOOEDS!!</div><br /><div>Big Orange: an orthodox Jewish Synagogue: MULTISNOODS!!</div><br /><div>Big Orange: a Hollywood movie set: MULTICUED!!</div><br /><div>Big Orange: a room full of pathological liars: MULTIDELUDES!!</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>Flannery: a bad movie: multibooeds</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>Big Orange: a thorazine clinic: MULTISUBDUEDS</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>Flannery: hee!</div><br /><div>Flannery: a house with many fireplaces: multiflued</div><br /><div>Flannery: many flashers: multilewds</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>Big Orange: a whole collection of carnival sideshow barkers in the same room....</div><br /><div>Big Orange: ::ahem::</div><br /><div>Big Orange: MULTIBALLYHOOED!!</div><br /><div>Big Orange: back to the prison break: MULTIPERSUED!!</div><br /><div>Big Orange: a dozen soup kitchen cooks would be MULTISTEWED</div><br /><div>Big Orange: so would a roomful of drunks...</div><br /><div>Big Orange: ah! 25 cubist painters in the same room: MULTISKEWED!!</div><br /><div>Big Orange: how did we overlook the lawfirm: MULTISUED!!</div><br /><div>Big Orange: or a quadrouple rainbow: MULTIHUED!!</div><br /><div>Big Orange: a middle school: MULTIATTIDUDE!</div><br /><div>Big Orange: an outdoors/watersports sports store: MULTICANOED!!</div><br /><div>Big Orange: a pig farm manure pit: MULTIPOOED!</div><br /><div>Big Orange: same thing with a Disney Store....</div><br /><div>Big Orange: MULTIPOOHED.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>Flannery: hee!</div><br /><div>Flannery: or many cagey people: multialludes</div><br /><div>Flannery: or saturday mornings; multicartooned</div><br /><div>Flannery: racetraces: multivroooms</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>Big Orange: hehehehehe!!</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>Flannery: or ren-faire people: multipantalooned</div><br /><div>Flannery: or shipwreck survivors: multimarooned</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>And then Big Orange had to lie down.</div>Jenny Jenny Flanneryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07621715431584059448noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23525090.post-21596797158690260922007-02-06T13:40:00.000-05:002007-02-06T14:32:13.826-05:00If I Could Be AnywhereI'd jump into my calendar's panoramic photo<br />Of the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Menara_gardens">Ménara Pavillion</a>.<br />I would make my way to the edge of the balcony<br />Of the sandstone structure<br />On the edge of a square-acre pool<br />In Marakech.<br /><br />The hem of my turquoise linen gandora<br />Will graze around my bare feet<br />As the warm breeze plays with my hair<br />And melts the frost of winter away<br />From my heart, my bones, my blood<br />In Marakech.<br /><br />My eyes drink in the blues and purples of the sky and water<br />The incongruity of palm trees and pine<br />My toes soak up the heat of the stones<br />As I descend the stairs to dip them<br />In the mountain's waters<br />Of Marakech.<br /><br />I'll learn the language<br />And use my tongue to<br />Speak and taste<br />Foriegn things<br />And bend my neck to listen close<br />In Marakech.<br /><br />For now I keep my back to the window<br />And the brutality of winter<br />I Swallow pride<br />I Feign interest<br />I daydream<br />Of MarakechJenny Jenny Flanneryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07621715431584059448noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23525090.post-51136123802535708332007-02-06T03:45:00.000-05:002007-02-06T03:44:48.384-05:00CAULKING THE CRACKSI've not written a poem<br />in 8 1/2 weeks.<br /><br />that's not like me.<br /><br />I should correct that...<br /><br /><br />...Oh, maybe I have.Anonymousnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23525090.post-33681157182091283462007-01-08T14:16:00.000-05:002007-01-08T14:27:24.472-05:00Pitiful Poetry, Part 1<a href="http://lovestarz.com/sappho2.jpg"><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://lovestarz.com/sappho2.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div align="center">Higgledee Piggledee, pudding in pie,</div><br /><div align="center">I've got nuclear waste in my eye!</div><br /><div align="center">Since I became a spy, </div><br /><div align="center">I'm lucky to be alive.</div><br /><div align="center">'Cause Putin's been endlessly plotting my demise!</div><br /><div align="center"></div><br /><div align="center">*****</div><br /><div align="center"></div><br /><div align="center">Higgledee Piggledee, pudding in pie,</div><br /><div align="center">I've got a new law I'd like to decry</div><br /><div align="center">No child left behind</div><br /><div align="center">Is wasting my time</div><br /><div align="center">All the extra paperwork is making me blind!</div><br /><div align="center"></div><br /><div align="center">*****</div><br /><div align="center"></div><br /><div align="center">Higgledee Piggledee, pudding in pie</div><br /><div align="center">Justin Timberlake is one spicey guy!</div><br /><div align="center">He's made a new flick</div><br /><div align="center">That heats me up quick</div><br /><div align="center">But the plot is really ridiculous! It's a story that I would never watch under other circumstances, like, say, it starred someone else, like, I don't know, maybe <em>Mel Gibson</em>. </div><br /><div align="center"></div><br /><div align="center"></div><br /><div align="center"></div><br /><div align="center"></div>Jenny Jenny Flanneryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07621715431584059448noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23525090.post-75061364336251022712007-01-03T12:43:00.000-05:002007-01-03T13:07:16.435-05:00Limericks<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiac1i8Tz4r3JzoLpFSQZtG-mqM2NEm4O6tCR3iNKor-Jc5i22DlgRRVIwZrdLqOb3aNSSxS7upAg8chZ-H2wFCOOA5_dVwU6hEhbikFAoiVMqSOUiRQii2RgII8FV5G7uMTw_L/s1600-h/Dancing+Girl.bmp"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5015861762937210274" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiac1i8Tz4r3JzoLpFSQZtG-mqM2NEm4O6tCR3iNKor-Jc5i22DlgRRVIwZrdLqOb3aNSSxS7upAg8chZ-H2wFCOOA5_dVwU6hEhbikFAoiVMqSOUiRQii2RgII8FV5G7uMTw_L/s400/Dancing+Girl.bmp" border="0" /></a><br /><div></div><br /><p align="center">Some folks say limerick writing's a crime.</p><p align="center">Or at best, a complete waste of one's time.</p><p align="center">Though they're sometimes amusing,</p><p align="center">often vile, or confusing.</p><p align="center">They're the oldest known examples of rhyme.</p><p align="left">Red Green once said, "Poems don't have to rhyme and they don't have to be dirty, but people seem to prefer them that way." I agree. So without further ado, here's some limericks.</p><p align="center">There was a young lady from Cue,</p><p align="center">Who filled her vagina with glue.</p><p align="center">She said with a grin,</p><p align="center">"If they will pay to get in,</p><p align="center">They'll pay to get out of it too."</p><p align="center">*</p><p align="center"></p><p align="center"></p><p align="center"></p><p align="center"></p><p align="center"></p><p align="center"></p><p align="center"></p><p align="center">There was a young girl named Maxine,</p><p align="center">Who found a new use for the bean.</p><p align="center">As a vaginal bearing,</p><p align="center">She found it long wearing,</p><p align="center">And it varied her f*cking routine.</p><p align="center">*</p><p align="center"></p><p align="center"></p><p align="center"></p><p align="center"></p><p align="center"></p><p align="center"></p><p align="center"></p><p align="center">The prior of Dunstan St. Just,</p><p align="center">Consumed with erotical lust,</p><p align="center">Raped the Bishop's prize fowls,</p><p align="center">Buggered four startled owls,</p><p align="center">And a little green lizard, that bust.</p><p align="center">*</p><p align="center"></p><p align="center"></p><p align="center"></p><p align="center"></p><p align="center"></p><p align="center"></p><p align="center"></p><p align="center">Oh, pity the Duchess of Kent!</p><p align="center">Her c*nt was so dreadfully bent,</p><p align="center">The poor wench doth stammer,</p><p align="center">"I need a sledgehammer</p><p align="center">To pound a man into my vent."</p><p align="center">*</p><p align="center"></p><p align="center"></p><p align="center"></p><p align="center"></p><p align="center"></p><p align="center"></p><p align="center"></p><p align="center">A broken-own harlot named Tupps</p><p align="center">Was heard to confess in her cups:</p><p align="center">"The height of my folly</p><p align="center">Was f*cking a collie-</p><p align="center">But I got a nice price for the pups."</p><p align="left">Doc</p><p align="center"></p>Dochttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16979621370660001312noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23525090.post-41229926512480342642006-12-17T22:31:00.000-05:002006-12-17T22:41:49.020-05:00Team Poetry: Arts PoliceThere once was said at the Tiki:<br />"Come on let's get freaky freaky"<br />But it wasn't so nice<br />When Frank slipped on some ice<br />And yelled for another beer weakly.<br /><br />*****<br /><br />There once was a very old hermit<br />Whose skin was a fuzzy as kermit's<br />He drank from a pan<br />And would only eat flan<br />And he said, "Here's a flag; let's burn it!"<br /><br />*****<br /><br />Doc and FlanneryDochttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16979621370660001312noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23525090.post-46090688799807191522006-12-10T23:35:00.000-05:002006-12-10T23:41:00.246-05:00If For Moment...I’ve been jockeying the counter at the bakery of a local store for a few months now, and there is this lull, at about the same time every evening for me. It falls at suppertime. Most folks are eating, and the things I need to do, I can’t start until later.<br /><br />So I stand at the counter and watch, as the people go by. I have the opportunity to help each one find what their looking for, and move on to the rest of their shopping with little or no fuss. I stand, with a smile, like a circus barker and hawk my wares as they come past.<br /><br />I know the ones I can tempt. I’ve been selling the white stuff for a while now. (Sugar)<br /><br />I can tell by the contents of their cart where they have been. The beer drinkers want doughnuts and the wine drinkers want cheesecake or tiramisu.<br /><br />A lady came by this evening. She was small, dark haired and dark eyed, sweater and slacks, mid forties, with no cart or basket. She had nothing in her hands.<br /><br />“What can I get you?” I asked.<br /><br />And in one quick flush of honesty she said, ”A new life.”<br /><br />“Well,” I responded, “we don’t sell that back in the bakery.”<br /><br />“Oh come on,” she kidded, “you could put my head in the oven.”<br /><br />I didn’t know how to respond. To be honest, I was in such shock, that I don’t remember what I said next. It was something calm and friendly. I gave it a reassuring tone. Something to the effect of “There must be something here I can offer you to cheer you up?”<br /><br />I wish, in my heart of hearts, that I could remember what I said.<br /><br />I don’t.<br /><br />“Well, I’m going to be good and only get one thing,” and to add emphasis, she gestured with her index finger, like she was laying down the law.<br /><br />“What about one of these tea cookies?” she asked.<br /><br />I started to reach for a bag behind me, but stopped and spun on my heel. I couldn't charge her.<br /><br />I smiled, and grabbed a tissue and pulled the cookie from the case. The ones with the chocolate and sprinkles, not the cheap ones we give out to the kids.<br /><br />“We give these to good girls, and thank them for coming to {Store Name}”. I smiled.<br /><br />She took the cookie from my hands slowly. She nodded her head and curtseyed. She stood for a split second and looked at the cookie.<br /><br />“I feel like I should buy something now,” she said.<br /><br />“No,” I said firmly, “just smile, and remember that tomorrow is going to be a better day”.<br /><br />She stood stock-still and thought about it, then rounded the dairy case and was gone, smiling.<br /><br />The whole exchange lasted less time than it takes to recover from two good, healthy sneezes.<br /><br />There is no way of knowing if this was all a joke to her, or she genuinely was considering taking her own life. In the sixty odd seconds that our lives crossed paths, I felt like she was reaching out to me, grasping at the slim straw of vague human kindness.<br /><br />I gave her a cookie, and in some very small way, touched a life, when maybe it needed it the most.<br /><br />At least I'd like to think so.<br /><br />I’d like to think that perhaps I was doing the Lord’s work and helped someone, but regardless of what happens, I’ll be looking for that lady, and wherever she is tonight, I hope she enjoyed that cookie and is still smiling, ‘cause I still am, and I will never forget her, as long as I live.<br /><br />DocDochttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16979621370660001312noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23525090.post-12407810430963065052006-12-09T10:15:00.000-05:002006-12-09T10:11:56.365-05:00IN PRAISE OF BEING A GROWNUP<strong>I pulled back the sheet from the bed</strong><br /><strong>and tossed it into the wash</strong><br /><strong></strong><br /><strong>I suddenly remembered back </strong><br /><strong>to our 6 months in a leaking boat</strong><br /><strong>living with my in-laws</strong><br /><strong>and how they HAD to have our bed made </strong><br /><strong>every day</strong><br /><strong>and how much I HATE making beds.</strong><br /><strong></strong><br /><strong>MY parents were the same way</strong><br /><strong>as if a neat, made bed was the only thing</strong><br /><strong>holding Western Civilization together.</strong><br /><strong>...had they lived until 2006</strong><br /><strong>they might have said:</strong><br /><strong>"if you don't make your bed,</strong><br /><strong>you're letting the terrorists win!!"</strong><br /><strong></strong><br /><strong>I'm all grown up now, </strong><br /><strong>I DON'T make my goddamned bed!</strong><br /><strong>I also don't fold my underwear or match my socks.</strong><br /><strong></strong><br /><strong>I take long, hot showers and empty the water heater,</strong><br /><strong>I sleep in the nude</strong><br /><strong>I sometimes drink beer for breakfast</strong><br /><strong>and eat French toast for dinner</strong><br /><strong></strong><br /><strong>I turn out the lights and watch TV in the dark</strong><br /><strong>and sometimes I leave lights on in rooms</strong><br /><strong>where no one is.</strong><br /><strong></strong><br /><strong>I eat Corn Pops and Honeycomb and Sugar Smacks</strong><br /><strong>and sometimes I eat Cool-Whip right out of the tub</strong><br /><strong>with a spoon</strong><br /><strong>and declare THAT a meal worth having</strong><br /><strong></strong><br /><strong>I go outside in the cold without shoes</strong><br /><strong>and wear holes in my socks</strong><br /><strong>and don't replace my shoddy tennis shoes</strong><br /><strong>when the sole begins to come off</strong><br /><strong></strong><br /><strong>I swear sometimes, too, and curse</strong><br /><strong>and take guilty pleasure in crying out</strong><br /><strong>"well, goddamn!"</strong><br /><strong>and</strong><br /><strong>"Oh, Jesus Pumpkin Pie Christ!"</strong><br /><em><strong>which I first learned from a Stephen King novel</strong></em><br /><em><strong></strong></em><br /><strong>On the whole, being a grownup </strong><br /><strong>ain't all that damned bad.</strong>Anonymousnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23525090.post-1164561661477069932006-11-26T12:15:00.000-05:002006-11-26T12:21:01.506-05:00A SONG FOR SUNDAY<strong>Preacher won't you preach to me,</strong><br /><strong>I need a pint of philosophy.</strong><br /><strong>I'm hurt and thirsty, set me on my way.</strong><br /><strong></strong><br /><strong>Mondays come and Mondays go,</strong><br /><strong>But this one seems to be sort of slow.</strong><br /><strong>Can you tell me sir, when will there come a change?</strong><br /><strong></strong><br /><strong>I'm the one who's last at the table,</strong><br /><strong>I'm the one who never gets the gold.</strong><br /><strong>You're the one who says I'm able,</strong><br /><strong>But you turn your words with lies and fables...</strong><br /><strong>Lies and fables...</strong><br /><strong></strong><br /><strong>---Ellis Paul</strong>Anonymousnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23525090.post-1164112094417697982006-11-21T07:19:00.000-05:002006-12-09T21:35:17.906-05:00POOP!I awoke today to the smell of poop<br />it was 4 AM and it knocked me for a loop<br /><br />my children, a veritiable troupe<br />had filled thier pants up with poop<br /><br />I rose from bed and let out a whoop<br />for the DOG had left a pile of poop!<br /><br />I yelled "NOW LISTEN HERE, MY FAMILY GROUP!<br />THIS IS ENTIRELY WAAAY TOO MUCH POOP!"<br /><br />I put Styx on the CD player (my favorite musical group)<br />and set about to clean up all this poop<br /><br />I swished clothing the basketball hoop<br />of the toilet to remove the big chunks of poop<br /><br />and though the smell was so bad it made my moustache droop<br />I knew I had to be rid of all this poop<br /><br />I used shopping bags like a makeshift scoop<br />to pick up all that poop<br /><br />and though it was gross and very goop(y)<br />I ne'er shunned to clean up the poop(y)Anonymousnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23525090.post-1162845397712610042006-11-06T15:30:00.000-05:002006-12-09T07:57:48.665-05:003 years ago at this time<br />my eldest daughter flew down for a visit<br /><br />we were driving over the St. John's River<br />listening to America's <a href="http://www.lyricsfreak.com/a/america/dont+cross+the+river_20007170.html">Don't Cross the River</a><br /><br />"fitting, don't you think?" I asked<br />as the sparkling water flowed below us<br /><br />"Why did she have a broken heart?" she asked<br />making a connection to the <em>little girl</em> of the song<br /><br />"why, indeed?" I asked back<br />"what would give YOU a broken heart<br />and cause you to lie out on your own?"<br /><br />she looked out at the passing water<br />feeling the wind in her hair<br />(a luxury not afforded to her backhome in PA<br />at this time of year)<br /><br />"could you play that again?" she asked.<br />I did<br />and we sang with gustoAnonymousnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23525090.post-1161498768081176582006-10-22T01:30:00.000-05:002006-10-22T01:32:48.106-05:00WHEN EVERYTHING WENT DEADI discovered yesterday morning that<br /><br />the DVD player<br />my computer<br />my flashlight batteries<br />my cell phone<br />the batteries to my<br />itty-bitty-not-so-shitty-grab-my-titty-ain't-I-witty? booklight<br /><br />were all dead.<br /><br />I wondered if that MEANT something or not.Anonymousnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23525090.post-1161119661642525832006-10-17T16:15:00.000-05:002006-10-17T16:14:21.686-05:00PRACTICING TACITURNITYyes yes I know I know<br />I talk too damned much<br />but I'm in good company<br /><br />I have 10 radio buttons in my van<br />none of them play music in the morning<br />just babbletalk blah-blah-blah<br /><br />I didn't go to work today<br />I went to a workshop<br /><br />when I got there they had an icebreaker.<br />I fucking HATE icebreakers.<br />I wanted to practice taciturnity.<br />I didn't want to get up and ask anyone<br />if they took out their recycleables to the curb<br />or visited the Rain Forest<br />or had an uncle from Bolivia.<br /><br />I wanted to sit and be still<br />and say nothing<br />be a minimalist with my words<br />still my voice<br />contribute no sound to the noise of the room.<br /><br />I found a great deal of inner peace<br />inside that silence.<br />I also turned slightly invisible.Anonymousnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23525090.post-1159626045828431162006-10-03T06:15:00.000-05:002006-10-03T06:14:45.420-05:00DIRTY'S LAUNDRYwhen <a href="http://dirtylaundry.typepad.com/dirty_laundry/">Dirty </a>said that her <a href="http://dirtylaundry.typepad.com/dirty_laundry/2006/09/i_hate_pop_tart.html#comments">chosen super power</a><br />would be to turn invisible<br />(and hence be naked most of the time<br />[which is her preferred way of being])<br />a vision splended sprang to mind<br /><br />I spied her from behind<br />(this time *I* was invisible)<br />obsessively washing her dishes<br />in her birthday suit.<br /><br />I spied no tan linesAnonymousnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23525090.post-1159625261741360042006-09-30T09:00:00.000-05:002006-09-30T09:07:41.763-05:00I AM AUTUMN PEOPLEQuoth Ray Bradbury,<br /><br />"The October country.<br />That country where it is always turning late in the year.<br />That country where the hills are fog and the rivers are mist.<br />Where noons go quickly,<br />dusks and twilights linger,<br />and midnights stay.<br /><br />That country composed in the main of cellars,<br />sub-cellars, coal bins, closets, attics<br />and pantries faced away from the sun.<br /><br />That country who’s people are Autumn People,<br />thinking only Autumn thoughts,<br />who’s people passing at night<br />on the empty walks sound like rain."<br /><br />I am Autumn People, born early this month<br />I feel the thinning of the worlds<br />between life and death<br /><br />I delight in the creak of bones<br />the howl of wind<br />the flickering orange of candle light<br />from within a carved pumpkin.<br /><br />I step forward in the gloaming,<br />a child of twilight<br />walking with my own children of twilight<br />down the silent sidewalk.<br /><br />We are quiet,<br />thinking our own Autumn thoughts<br />faced away from the sun<br />our footsteps like rainAnonymousnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23525090.post-1159409678026537202006-09-27T21:09:00.000-05:002006-09-27T21:22:32.823-05:00To The StatesSome Walt Whitman that made me decide that I need a tattoo.<br /><br />To The States<br /><br />To the States or any of them, or any city of the States<em>,</em><br /><em>Resist much, obey little</em>,<br />Once unquestionong obedience, once fully enslaved,<br />Once fully enslaved, no nation, state, city of this earth,<br />ever afterward resumes its liberty.<br /><br /><br />DocDochttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16979621370660001312noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23525090.post-1159102694160790562006-09-24T08:00:00.000-05:002006-09-24T07:58:14.176-05:00MORE SPONTANEOUS, ANTIQUE HAIKUyet another installment from the series of 80 haiku I wrote in 1.5 hours while teaching up North in Cleveland. Some silly, some serious.<br /><br /><strong>I must grade these papers<br />The pile grows ever higher<br />Maybe I’ll burn them…<br /><br /><br />When can I go home?<br />I am tired of this place.<br />I want my own bed<br /><br /><br />Washing the chalkboards<br />The water soon turns milky<br />Must go dump bucket<br /><br /><br />Standards based lessons<br />They all need five elements, <br />Anyone know them?<br /><br /><br />In the math classroom<br />Students try to stretch their minds<br />Can you smell the smoke?<br /><br /><br />I’m teaching English--<br />My students can’t write at all<br />How did I get them??<br /><br /><br />“come to class prepared!<br />“I do not give out pencils!<br />Go buy them yourself!”<br /><br /><br />I find her gorgeous<br />She is so pretty to me<br />Though she is so old<br /><br /><br />Wrinkles on his hands<br />Shows the history of his life<br />And the work he’s done<br /><br /><br />My grandmothers face<br />Will come to me in my dreams<br />Though she is long gone</strong>Anonymousnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23525090.post-1158984604701203672006-09-22T22:55:00.000-05:002006-09-22T23:10:04.743-05:00Here again, I don't bring my own work to the table but a good friend has reminded me how much I love a good poem, and with this in mind, I present this piece.<br /><br />When Last In The Dooryard Bloom'd<br /><br /><br /><a href="http://rpo.library.utoronto.ca/poem/2292.html#1"> 1</a>When lilacs last in the dooryard bloom'd,<br /> 2And the great star early droop'd in the western sky in the night,<br /> 3I mourn'd, and yet shall mourn with ever-returning spring.<br /> 4Ever-returning spring, trinity sure to me you bring,<br /> 5Lilac blooming perennial and drooping star in the west,<br /> 6And thought of him I love.<br />2<br /> 7O powerful western fallen star!<br /> 8O shades of night -- O moody, tearful night!<br /> 9O great star disappear'd -- O the black murk that hides the star!<br /> 10O cruel hands that hold me powerless -- O helpless soul of me!<br /> 11O harsh surrounding cloud that will not free my soul.<br />3<br /><a href="http://rpo.library.utoronto.ca/poem/2292.html#12"> 12</a>In the dooryard fronting an old farm-house near the white-wash'd palings,<br /> 13Stands the lilac-bush tall-growing with heart-shaped leaves of rich green,<br /> 14With many a pointed blossom rising delicate, with the perfume strong I love,<br /> 15 With every leaf a miracle -- and from this bush in the dooryard,<br /> 16With delicate-color'd blossoms and heart-shaped leaves of rich green,<br /> 17A sprig with its flower I break.<br />4<br /> 18In the swamp in secluded recesses,<br /> 19A shy and hidden bird is warbling a song.<br /> 20Solitary the thrush,<br /> 21The hermit withdrawn to himself, avoiding the settlements,<br /> 22Sings by himself a song.<br /> 23Song of the bleeding throat,<br /> 24Death's outlet song of life, (for well dear brother I know,<br /> 25If thou wast not granted to sing thou would'st surely die.)<br />5<br /> 26Over the breast of the spring, the land, amid cities,<br /> 27Amid lanes and through old woods, where lately the violets peep'd from the ground, spotting the gray debris,<br /> 28Amid the grass in the fields each side of the lanes, passing the endless grass,<br /> 29Passing the yellow-spear'd wheat, every grain from its shroud in the dark-brown fields uprisen,<br /> 30Passing the apple-tree blows of white and pink in the orchards,<br /> 31Carrying a corpse to where it shall rest in the grave,<br /> 32Night and day journeys a coffin.<br />6<br /> 33Coffin that passes through lanes and streets,<br /> 34Through day and night with the great cloud darkening the land,<br /> 35With the pomp of the inloop'd flags with the cities draped in black,<br /> 36With the show of the States themselves as of crape-veil'd women standing,<br /><a href="http://rpo.library.utoronto.ca/poem/2292.html#37"> 37</a>With processions long and winding and the flambeaus of the night,<br /> 38With the countless torches lit, with the silent sea of faces and the unbared heads,<br /> 39With the waiting depot, the arriving coffin, and the sombre faces,<br /> 40With dirges through the night, with the thousand voices rising strong and solemn,<br /> 41With all the mournful voices of the dirges pour'd around the coffin,<br /> 42The dim-lit churches and the shuddering organs -- where amid these you journey,<br /> 43With the tolling tolling bells' perpetual clang,<br /> 44Here, coffin that slowly passes,<br /> 45I give you my sprig of lilac.<br />7<br /> 46(Nor for you, for one alone,<br /> 47Blossoms and branches green to coffins all I bring,<br /> 48For fresh as the morning, thus would I chant a song for you O sane and sacred death.<br /> 49All over bouquets of roses,<br /> 50O death, I cover you over with roses and early lilies,<br /> 51But mostly and now the lilac that blooms the first,<br /> 52Copious I break, I break the sprigs from the bushes,<br /> 53With loaded arms I come, pouring for you,<br /> 54For you and the coffins all of you O death.)<br />8<br /> 55O western orb sailing the heaven,<br /> 56Now I know what you must have meant as a month since I walk'd,<br /> 57As I walk'd in silence the transparent shadowy night,<br /> 58As I saw you had something to tell as you bent to me night after night,<br /> 59As you droop'd from the sky low down as if to my side, (while the other stars all look'd on,)<br /> 60As we wander'd together the solemn night, (for something I know not what kept me from sleep,)<br /> 61As the night advanced, and I saw on the rim of the west how full you were of woe,<br /> 62As I stood on the rising ground in the breeze in the cool transparent night,<br /> 63As I watch'd where you pass'd and was lost in the netherward black of the night,<br /> 64As my soul in its trouble dissatisfied sank, as where you sad orb,<br /> 65Concluded, dropt in the night, and was gone.<br />9<br /> 66Sing on there in the swamp,<br /> 67O singer bashful and tender, I hear your notes, I hear your call,<br /> 68I hear, I come presently, I understand you,<br /> 69But a moment I linger, for the lustrous star has detain'd me,<br /> 70The star my departing comrade holds and detains me.<br />10<br /> 71O how shall I warble myself for the dead one there I loved?<br /> 72And how shall I deck my song for the large sweet soul that has gone?<br /> 73And what shall my perfume be for the grave of him I love?<br /> 74Sea-winds blown from east and west,<br /> 75Blown from the Eastern sea and blown from the Western sea, till there on the prairies meeting,<br /> 76These and with these and the breath of my chant,<br /> 77I'll perfume the grave of him I love.<br />11<br /> 78O what shall I hang on the chamber walls?<br /> 79And what shall the pictures be that I hang on the walls,<br /> 80To adorn the burial-house of him I love?<br /> 81Pictures of growing spring and farms and homes,<br /> 82With the Fourth-month eve at sundown, and the gray smoke lucid and bright,<br /> 83With floods of the yellow gold of the gorgeous, indolent, sinking sun, burning, expanding the air,<br /> 84With the fresh sweet herbage under foot, and the pale green leaves of the trees prolific,<br /> 85In the distance the flowing glaze, the breast of the river, with a wind-dapple here and there,<br /> 86With ranging hills on the banks, with many a line against the sky, and shadows,<br /> 87And the city at hand with dwellings so dense, and stacks of chimneys,<br /> 88And all the scenes of life and the workshops, and the workmen homeward returning.<br />12<br /> 89Lo, body and soul -- this land,<br /> 90My own Manhattan with spires, and the sparkling and hurrying tides, and the ships,<br /> 91The varied and ample land, the South and the North in the light, Ohio's shores and flashing Missouri,<br /> 92And ever the far-spreading prairies cover'd with grass and corn.<br /> 93Lo, the most excellent sun so calm and haughty,<br /> 94The violet and purple morn with just-felt breezes,<br /> 95The gentle soft-born measureless light,<br /> 96The miracle spreading bathing all, the fulfill'd noon,<br /> 97The coming eve delicious, the welcome night and the stars,<br /> 98Over my cities shining all, enveloping man and land.<br />13<br /> 99Sing on, sing on you gray-brown bird,<br /> 100Sing from the swamps, the recesses, pour your chant from the bushes,<br /> 101Limitless out of the dusk, out of the cedars and pines.<br /> 102Sing on dearest brother, warble your reedy song,<br /> 103Loud human song, with voice of uttermost woe.<br /> 104O liquid and free and tender!<br /> 105O wild and loose to my soul -- O wondrous singer!<br /> 106You only I hear -- yet the star holds me, (but will soon depart,)<br /> 107Yet the lilac with mastering odor holds me.<br />14<br /> 108Now while I sat in the day and look'd forth,<br /> 109In the close of the day with its light and the fields of spring, and the farmers preparing their crops,<br /> 110In the large unconscious scenery of my land with its lakes and forests,<br /> 111In the heavenly aerial beauty, (after the perturb'd winds and the storms,)<br /> 112Under the arching heavens of the afternoon swift passing, and the voices of children and women,<br /> 113The many-moving sea-tides, and I saw the ships how they sail'd,<br /> 114And the summer approaching with richness, and the fields all busy with labor,<br /> 115And the infinite separate houses, how they all went on, each with its meals and minutia of daily usages,<br /> 116And the streets how their throbbings throbb'd, and the cities pent -- lo, then and there,<br /> 117Falling upon them all and among them all, enveloping me with the rest,<br /> 118Appear'd the cloud, appear'd the long black trail,<br /> 119And I knew death, its thought, and the sacred knowledge of death.<br /> 120Then with the knowledge of death as walking one side of me,<br /> 121And the thought of death close-walking the other side of me,<br /> 122And I in the middle as with companions, and as holding the hands of companions,<br /> 123I fled forth to the hiding receiving night that talks not,<br /> 124Down to the shores of the water, the path by the swamp in the dimness,<br /> 125To the solemn shadowy cedars and ghostly pines so still.<br /> 126And the singer so shy to the rest receiv'd me,<br /> 127The gray-brown bird I know receiv'd us comrades three,<br /> 128And he sang the carol of death, and a verse for him I love.<br /> 129From deep secluded recesses,<br /> 130From the fragrant cedars and the ghostly pines so still,<br /> 131Came the carol of the bird.<br /> 132And the charm of the carol rapt me,<br /> 133As I held as if by their hands my comrades in the night,<br /> 134And the voice of my spirit tallied the song of the bird.<br /> 135Come lovely and soothing death,<br /> 136Undulate round the world, serenely arriving, arriving,<br /> 137In the day, in the night, to all, to each,<br /> 138Sooner or later delicate death.<br /> 139Prais'd be the fathomless universe,<br /> 140For life and joy, and for objects and knowledge curious,<br /> 141And for love, sweet love -- but praise! praise! praise!<br /> 142For the sure-enwinding arms of cool-enfolding death.<br /> 143Dark mother always gliding near with soft feet,<br /> 144Have none chanted for thee a chant of fullest welcome?<br /> 145Then I chant it for thee, I glorify thee above all,<br /> 146I bring thee a song that when thou must indeed come, come unfalteringly.<br /> 147Approach strong deliveress,<br /> 148When it is so, when thou hast taken them I joyously sing the dead,<br /> 149Lost in the loving floating ocean of thee,<br /> 150Laved in the flood of thy bliss O death.<br /> 151From me to thee glad serenades,<br /> 152Dances for thee I propose saluting thee, adornments and feastings for thee,<br /> 153And the sights of the open landscape and the high-spread sky are fitting,<br /> 154And life and the fields, and the huge and thoughtful night.<br /> 155The night in silence under many a star,<br /> 156The ocean shore and the husky whispering wave whose voice I know,<br /> 157And the soul turning to thee O vast and well-veil'd death,<br /> 158And the body gratefully nestling close to thee.<br /> 159Over the tree-tops I float thee a song,<br /> 160Over the rising and sinking waves, over the myriad fields and the prairies wide,<br /> 161Over the dense-pack'd cities all and the teeming wharves and ways,<br /> 162I float this carol with joy, with joy to thee O death.<br />15<br /> 163To the tally of my soul,<br /> 164Loud and strong kept up the gray-brown bird,<br /> 165With pure deliberate notes spreading filling the night.<br /> 166Loud in the pines and cedars dim,<br /> 167Clear in the freshness moist and the swamp-perfume,<br /> 168And I with my comrades there in the night.<br /> 169While my sight that was bound in my eyes unclosed,<br /> 170As to long panoramas of visions.<br /><a href="http://rpo.library.utoronto.ca/poem/2292.html#171"> 171</a>And I saw askant the armies,<br /> 172I saw as in noiseless dreams hundreds of battle-flags,<br /> 173Borne through the smoke of the battles and pierc'd with missiles I saw them,<br /> 174And carried hither and yon through the smoke, and torn and bloody,<br /> 175And at last but a few shreds left on the staffs, (and all in silence,)<br /> 176And the staffs all splinter'd and broken.<br /> 177I saw battle-corpses, myriads of them,<br /> 178And the white skeletons of young men, I saw them,<br /> 179I saw the debris and debris of all the slain soldiers of the war,<br /> 180But I saw they were not as was thought,<br /> 181They themselves were fully at rest, they suffer'd not,<br /> 182The living remain'd and suffer'd, the mother suffer'd,<br /> 183And the wife and the child and the musing comrade suffer'd,<br /> 184And the armies that remain'd suffer'd.<br />16<br /> 185Passing the visions, passing the night,<br /> 186Passing, unloosing the hold of my comrades' hands,<br /> 187Passing the song of the hermit bird and the tallying song of my soul,<br /> 188Victorious song, death's outlet song, yet varying ever-altering song,<br /> 189As low and wailing, yet clear the notes, rising and falling, flooding the night,<br /> 190Sadly sinking and fainting, as warning and warning, and yet again bursting with joy,<br /> 191Covering the earth and filling the spread of the heaven,<br /> 192As that powerful psalm in the night I heard from recesses,<br /> 193Passing, I leave thee lilac with heart-shaped leaves,<br /> 194I leave thee there in the door-yard, blooming, returning with spring.<br /> 195I cease from my song for thee,<br /> 196From my gaze on thee in the west, fronting the west, communing with thee,<br /> 197O comrade lustrous with silver face in the night.<br /> 198Yet each to keep and all, retrievements out of the night,<br /> 199The song, the wondrous chant of the gray-brown bird,<br /> 200And the tallying chant, the echo arous'd in my soul,<br /> 201With the lustrous and drooping star with the countenance full of woe,<br /> 202With the holders holding my hand nearing the call of the bird,<br /> 203Comrades mine and I in the midst, and their memory ever to keep, for the dead I loved so well,<br /> 204For the sweetest, wisest soul of all my days and lands -- and this for his dear sake,<br /> 205Lilac and star and bird twined with the chant of my soul,<br /> 206There in the fragrant pines and the cedars dusk and dim.<br /><br />I'm sorry for the length and the line numbers and all, but I just can't type that much. I only use two fingers. Walt, like President Lincoln that he is writing about, mean alot to me.<br /><br />DocDochttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16979621370660001312noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23525090.post-1158870542695734102006-09-21T15:12:00.000-05:002006-09-21T15:29:02.786-05:00Nonsense SongIt has been quite some time since I have contributed to this site, and for that I am ashamed. I really need some high powered inspiration to let me write poems, and frankly, I have been running a little shy as of late, but to rectify that somewhat I would like to share with you, not a work of my own, but some of the poetry that I have been reading. The poem is by an englishman named W. H. Auden. Perhaps some of you have heard of him. I had not, until recently. Without further ado....<br /><br />Nonsense Song<br /><br />My love is like a red red rose<br />Or concerts for the blind,<br />She's like a mutton-chop before<br />And a rifle range behind.<br /><br />Her hair is like a looking-glass,<br />Her brow is like a bog,<br />Her eyes are like a flock of sheep<br />Seen through a London fog.<br /><br />Her nose is like an Irish jig,<br />Her mouth is like a 'bus,<br />Her chin is like a bowl of soup<br />Shared between all of us.<br /><br />Her form divine is like a map<br />Of the United States,<br />Her foot is like a motor-car<br />Without its number-plates.<br /><br />No steeple-jack shall part us now<br />Nor fireman in a frock;<br />True love could sink a Channel boat<br />Or knit a baby's sock.<br /><br /><br />(I just love the line about her rifle range behind.)<br /><br />DocDochttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16979621370660001312noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23525090.post-1158616488084771962006-09-18T16:45:00.000-05:002006-09-18T16:54:48.106-05:00A THEME SONG FOR MONDAY: "IT'S BEEN THE WORST DAY SINCE YESTERDAY"Today has GARFIELD written all over it. only one thing to do-- sing a few choruses of Flogging Molly:<br /><br /><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://i57.photobucket.com/albums/g219/Big_Orange/garfieldmonday-1.jpg" border="0" /><br /><br /><strong>Well I know, I miss more than hit<br />With a face that was launched to sink<br />An’ I seldom feel, the bright relief<br />It’s been the Worst Day Since Yesterday<br /><br />If there’s one thing I have said<br />Is that the dreams I once had, now lay in bed<br />As the four winds blow, my wits through the door<br />It’s been the Worst Day Since Yesterday<br /><br />Fallin’ down to you sweet ground<br />Where the flowers they bloom<br />It’s there I’ll be found<br />Hurry back to me, my wild calling<br />It’s been the Worst Day Since Yesterday<br /><br />Though these wounds have seen no wars<br />Except for the scars I have ignored<br />And this endless crutch, well it’s never enough<br />It’s been the Worst Day Since Yesterday<br /><br />Hell says hello, well it’s time to I should go<br />To pastures green, that I’ve yet to see<br />Hurry back to me, my wild calling<br />It’s been the Worst Day Since Yesterday<br />It's been the Worst Day Since Yesterday<br />It's been the Worst Day Since Yesterday</strong>Anonymousnoreply@blogger.com1