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poems

Discussion in 'Antimatter' started by Strangelight, Mar 23, 2005.

  1. Bambi

    Bambi Villain of the piece

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    Location:
    Evil lair
    ha ha i still remember that poem too,but i remember it right :Smug:
    scab and matter custard
    snot and bogey pie
    dead dogs giblets
    green cats eye
    spead on bread
    spread it on thick
    and wash it all down with a cup of cold sick
     
  2. Mtine

    Mtine NL

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    Ursa Minor I

    De hemelboog wordt sedert weken
    slechts door jouw sterrenbeeld beheerst,
    en of ik nimmer had gekeken
    zie ik de wereld voor het eerst.

    Ik heb de straten en de stegen
    waarvan ik elke tegel weet
    om jouwentwille liefgekregen
    en met betekenis bekleed.

    En alle nooit van mij geweken
    en steeds ondragelijker druk
    verliest zijn dreiging vergeleken
    met dit onmogelijk geluk.

    Wat is geweest is om het even,
    wat wordt van geen belang, zolang
    ik zulke liefde nog kan geven
    en zulke liefde nog ontvang.

    Ik weet niet of dit nieuwe teken
    mijn noodlot wel of niet vervult,
    maar hart, ik sta voor deze weken
    voor eeuwig bij je in de schuld.

    -J.P. Rawie
     
  3. pagan2002

    pagan2002 danny cavanagh

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    needed time to clear my mind and breathe the free air find some peace there
    i used to keep my heart in jail but the choice was love or fear of pain and
    i
    chose
    love
    ....because everything is energy and energy is you and me...
     
  4. pagan2002

    pagan2002 danny cavanagh

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    ...sunlight failed but only for a while
    in moonlight pale someone made me smile
    the shining almost took me but i made it through that night
    and in the morning life it graced me and i ran for miles
    into sunlight that failed but only for a while...
     
  5. pagan2002

    pagan2002 danny cavanagh

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    lightening splits the sky
    shining blinding white
    and here i lie almost alseep
    reckoning in a place of peace

    so i take a walk to the top of a hill
    and the rest of the world is just standing still

    and i am happy now that your near to me and i´m happy now that you stayed
    cos in all those many years of wilderness you never faltered
    and you know you never ever strayed

    do you know what it is that drives us on do you know why it is that we belong
    through all those many years of questioning
    to see just whether i was right or whether i was wrong

    and i´m happy now that your near to me and and i´m happy now that you tried
    cos in all those many years of wondering
    you never turned your back and i know you never ever lied

    so i offer up this song to you and i love you all until i die

    and
    i
    love
    life

    lightening splits the sky
    shining blinding white
    and as the storm rises and nature screams
    then i find strength for the future in dreams
     
  6. Bastet

    Bastet ironing...

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  7. Etaoin

    Etaoin :<>:<>:<>:

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    truly lovely - thank you
     
  8. Allan

    Allan New Metal Member

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    Location:
    Copenhagen
    Lawrence Ferlinghetti- Junkman's Obbligato

    Let’s go

    Come on

    Let’s go

    Empty our pockets

    And disappear.

    Missing all our appointments

    And turning up unshaven

    Years later

    Old cigarette papers

    stuck to our pants

    leaves in our hair.

    Let us not

    worry about the payments

    anymore.

    Let them come

    and take it away

    whatever it was

    we were paying for.

    And us with it.


    Let us arise and go now

    to where dogs do it

    Over the Hill

    where they keep the earthquakes

    behind the city dumps

    lost among gasmains and garbage.

    Let us see the City Dumps

    for what they are.

    My country tears of thee.

    Let us disappear

    in automobile graveyards

    and reappear years later

    picking rags and newspapers

    drying our drawers

    on garbage fires

    patches on our ass.

    Do not bother

    to say goodbye

    to anyone.

    Your missus will not miss us.


    Let’s go

    smelling of sterno

    where the benches are filled

    with discarded Bowling Green statues

    in the interior dark night

    of the flower bowery

    our eyes watery

    with the contemplation

    of empty bottles of muscatel.

    Let us recite from broken bibles

    on streetcorners

    Follow dogs on docks

    Speak wild songs

    Throw stones

    Say anything

    Blink at the sun and scratch

    and stumble into silence

    Diddle in doorways

    Know whores thirdhand

    after everyone else is finished

    Stagger befuddled into East River sunsets

    Sleep in phone booths

    Puke in pawnshops

    wailing for a winter overcoat.


    Let us arise and go now

    under the city

    where ashcans roll

    and reappear in putrid clothes

    as the uncrowned underground kings

    of subway men’s rooms.

    Let us feed the pigeons

    at the City Hall

    urging them to do their duty

    in the Mayor’s office.

    Hurry up please it’s time.

    The end is coming.

    Flash floods

    Disasters in the sun

    Dogs unleashed

    Sister in the street

    her brassiere backwards.


    Let us arise and go now

    into the interior dark night

    of the soul’s still bowery

    and find ourselves anew

    where subways stall and wait

    under the River.

    Cross over

    into full puzzlement.

    South Ferry will not run forever.

    They are cutting out the Bay ferries

    but it is still not too late

    to get lost in Oakland.

    Washington has not yet toppled

    from his horse.

    There is still time to goose him

    and go

    leaving our income tax form behind

    and our waterproof wristwatch with it

    staggering blind after alleycats

    under Brooklyn’s Bridge

    blown statues in baggy pants

    our tincan cries and garbage voices

    trailing.

    Junk for sale!


    Let’s cut it out let’s go

    into the real interior of the country

    where hockshops reign

    mere unblind anarchy upon us.

    The end is here

    but golf goes on at Burning Tree.

    It’s raining it’s pouring

    The Ole Man is snoring.

    Another flood is coming

    though not the kind you think.

    There is still time to sink

    and think.

    I wish to descend in society.

    I wish to make like free.

    Swing low sweet chariot.

    Let us not wait for the cadillacs

    to carry us triumphant

    into the interior

    waving at the natives

    like roman senators in the provinces

    wearing poet’s laurels

    on lighted brows.

    Let us not wait for the write-up

    on page one

    of the New York Times Book review

    images of insane success

    smiling from the photo.

    By the time they print your picture

    in Life Magazine

    you will have become a negative anyway

    a print with a glossy finish.

    They will have come and gotten you

    to be famous

    and you still will not be free.

    Goodbye I’m going.

    I’m selling everything

    and giving away the rest

    to the Good Will Industries.

    It will be dark out there

    with the Salvation Army Band.

    And the mind its own illumination.

    Goodbye I’m walking out on the whole scene.

    Close down the joint.

    The system is all loused up.

    Rome was never like this.

    I’m tired of waiting for Godot.

    I am going where turtles win

    I am going

    where conmen puke and die

    Down the sad esplanades

    of the official world.

    Junk for sale!

    My country tears of thee.


    Let us go then you and I

    leaving our neckties behind on lampposts

    Take up the full beard

    of walking anarchy

    looking like Walt Whitman

    a homemade bomb in the pocket.

    I wish to descend in the social scale.

    High society is low society.

    I am a social climber

    climbing downward

    And the descent is difficult.

    The Upper Middle Class Ideal

    is for the birds

    but the birds have no use for it

    having their own kind of pecking order

    based upon birdsong.

    Pigeons on the grass alas.


    Let us arise and go now

    to the Isle of Manisfree.

    Let loose the hogs of peace.

    Hurry up please it’s time.

    Let us arise and go now

    into the interior

    of Foster’s Cafeteria.

    So long Emily Post.

    So long

    Lowell Thomas.

    Goodbye Broadway.

    Goodbye Herald Square.

    Turn it off.

    Confound the system.

    Cancel our leases.

    Lose the War

    without killing anybody.

    Let horses scream

    and ladies run

    to flushless powderrooms.


    The end has just begun.

    I want to announce it.

    Run don’t walk

    to the nearest exit.

    The real earthquake is coming.

    I can feel the building shake.

    I am the refined type.

    I cannot stand it.

    I am going

    where asses lie down

    with customs collectors who call themselves

    literary critics.

    My tool is dusty.

    My body is hung up too long

    in strange suspenders.

    Get me a bright bandana

    for a jockstrap.

    Turn loose and we’ll be off

    where sports cars collapse

    and the world begins again.

    Hurry up please it’s time.

    It’s time and a half

    and there’s the rub.

    The thinkpad makes homeboys of us all.

    Let us cut out

    into stray eternity.

    Somewhere the fields are full of larks.

    Somewhere the land is swinging.

    My country ‘tis of thee

    I’m singing.


    Let us arise and go now

    to the Isle of Manisfree

    and live the true blue simple life

    of wisdom and wonderment

    where all things grow

    straight up

    aslant and singing

    in the yellow sun

    poppies out of cowpods

    thinking angels out of turds.

    I must arise and go now

    to the Isle of Manisfree

    way up behind the broken words

    and woods of Arcady.
     
  9. Etaoin

    Etaoin :<>:<>:<>:

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    Bastet, are those your paintings in your avatar and sig?
     
  10. Bastet

    Bastet ironing...

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    the avatar:yes.
    the sig's a photo
     
  11. LoboUivante

    LoboUivante my tummy hurts

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    Location:
    Amidst enlightenment and gloominess
    Row Sweet Little Boat


    row sweet little boat
    across the gentle sea
    for therein lies a graceful story
    created solely for you and me
    over the costal waves of unending might
    beyond the slopes that ever bring light

    row sweet little boat
    beyond the frontier of dreams
    perhaps you may not be there right now
    however nothing is what it seems
    centuries of never before spoken lines
    rainbow weaved he remotely proudly shines

    row, row sweet little boat
    we plea you not to become jaded
    the moment you exit the threshold of Man
    all world’s beauty hence will have faded
    constellations of eyes binding bright.
    soon shall become our ever-present sight

    row, row sweet little boat
    but please never become tired
    although fatigue is sleep bound
    to our reverie she is not wired
    alas we found our panorama of joyous bliss
    our body we pledge you and a modest kiss

    so row sweet little boat
    nothing but a mirage is left behind
    awakening from the nightmare thus
    better shores indeed are left to find

    by N. Ego
     

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