Poets' Corner
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28-12-2017, 07:46 AM (This post was last modified: 28-12-2017 07:50 AM by BikerDude.)
RE: Poets' Corner
And another from Bukowski

and the sun wields mercy
but like a jet torch carried to high,
and the jets whip across its sight
and rockets leap like toads,
and the boys get out the maps
and pin-cushion the moon,
old green cheese,
no life there but too much on earth:
our unwashed India boys
crossing their legs,playing pipes,
starving with sucked in bellies,
watching the snakes volute
like beautiful women in the hungry air;
the rockets leap,
the rockets leap like hares,
clearing clump and dog
replacing out-dated bullets;
the Chinese still carve
in jade,quietly stuffing rice
into their hunger, a hunger
a thousand years old,
their muddy rivers moving with fire
and song, barges, houseboats
pushed by drifting poles
of waiting without wanting;
in Turkey they face the East
on their carpets
praying to a purple god
who smokes and laughs
and sticks fingers in their eyes
blinding them, as gods will do;
but the rockets are ready: peace is no longer,
for some reason,precious;
madness drifts like lily pads
on a pond circling senselessly;
the painters paint dipping
their reds and greens and yellows,
poets rhyme their loneliness,
musicians starve as always
and the novelists miss the mark,
but not the pelican , the gull;
pelicans dip and dive, rise,
shaking shocked half-dead
radioactive fish from their beaks;
indeed, indeed, the waters wash
the rocks with slime; and on wall st.
the market staggers like a lost drunk
looking for his key; ah,
this will be a good one,by God:
it will take us back to the
sabre-teeth, the winged monkey
scrabbling in pits over bits
of helmet, instrument and glass;
a lightning crashes across
the window and in a million rooms
lovers lie entwined and lost
and sick as peace;
the sky still breaks red and orange for the
painters-and for the lovers,
flowers open as they always have
opened but covered with thin dust
of rocket fuel and mushrooms,
poison mushrooms; it's a bad time,
a dog-sick time-curtain
act 3, standing room only,
SOLD OUT, SOLD OUT, SOLD OUT again,
by god,by somebody and something,
by rockets and generals and
leaders, by poets , doctors, comedians,
by manufacturers of soup
and biscuits, Janus-faced hucksters
of their own indexterity;
I can now see now the coal-slick
contaminated fields, a snail or 2,
bile, obsidian, a fish or 3
in the shallows, an obloquy of our
source and our sight.....
has this happened before? is history
a circle that catches itself by the tail,
a dream, a nightmare,
a general's dream, a presidents dream,
a dictators dream...
can't we awaken?
or are the forces of life greater than we are?
can't we awaken? must we forever,
dear friends, die in our sleep?

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09-03-2018, 07:07 PM
RE: Poets' Corner
“Beware:
Ignorance
Protects itself.
Ignorance
Promotes suspicion.
Suspicion
Engenders fear.
Fear quails,
Irrational and blind,
Or fear looms,
Defiant and closed.
Blind, closed,
Suspicious, afraid,
Ignorance
Protects itself,
And protected,
Ignorance grows."

[Image: dobie.png]Science is the process we've designed to be responsible for generating our best guess as to what the fuck is going on. Girly Man
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20-04-2018, 08:24 PM
RE: Poets' Corner
Hello everyone! It’s been a while since I posted here. Just thought I’d drop in and leave a poem Smile

WINTER

A cool morning breeze
To rustle her fading autumn leaves
It has been a long year

The spring woke her kindly
And though she's a tired worn old tree
He told her there was nothing to fear

Spring is always false hope
Promises of new life
Spring tells her that she's beautiful
He's insincere and full of lies

The torturous sun of a thousand hells

Summer beats her back down
He tells her faith is futile

Summer always burns her
He revels in her misery
Summer thinks she's worthless
A bent and broken nothing tree

Autumn starts with hurricanes
Painful wind and forceful rains

Autumn seeks to drown her
He knows her ugly secrets
Autumn speaks of past mistakes
He plays his song on her regrets

But winter makes her shine true
Sparkling in her crystal limbs

Winter is the cold truth
He's not here to cause harm
He'll give her what she's longed for
A sweet death inside his arms

Winter won’t deny her
Gone today, but not forever

Swing with me a while, we can listen to the birds call, we can keep each other warm.
Swing with me forever, we can count up every flower, we can weather every storm.
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20-04-2018, 09:51 PM
RE: Poets' Corner
(09-03-2018 07:07 PM)Dom Wrote:  “Beware:
Ignorance
Protects itself.
Ignorance
Promotes suspicion.
Suspicion
Engenders fear.
Fear quails,
Irrational and blind,
Or fear looms,
Defiant and closed.
Blind, closed,
Suspicious, afraid,
Ignorance
Protects itself,
And protected,
Ignorance grows."

OCTAVIA BUTLER!!! Heart

"When spring arrives,
And I by then should happen to be dead,
The flowers will blossom as before
And the trees be no less green than in spring of last year.
Reality has no need of me.

I sense a tremendous joy
At the thought that my death has no significance whatever.

If I knew I would die tomorrow
And that spring would be there the day after,
I would die content, since it was spring the following day.
If it was time for it, for when else would it come than when it was time?
I relish the fact that all is real and all as it must be;
And relish the fact it would also be so even if I did not relish it.
For all is real and all is as it must be.

Let prayers be said in Latin over my coffin, if so desired.
If so desired, let there be dancing and singing around it.
I have no preferences for when I no longer can have any preferences.
Whatever will be, when it shall be, will be what it is."
Fernando Pessoa

"E se non passa la tristezza con altri occhi la guarderò."
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06-06-2018, 05:54 AM
RE: Poets' Corner
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living word
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20-06-2018, 07:01 PM
RE: Poets' Corner
O Wounded Bird by Deidre

O wounded bird, why did you take your eyes off the sky?

You were flying along, minding your own business, and one day...another bird saw you.

He flew alongside you, in a comical rhythm. He didn't disrupt your flight, he led you to the morning worms.

You skimmed the dewy leaves together, at dawn. His incessant chirping never bothered you, and eventually, a friendship blossomed.

You'd swoop down and then in a flash, soar high above the leafy trees, looking at the world, below. Together, you made the other birds jealous, and they'd fly in a pattern, to be just like you.

He wanted to be with you always, wounded bird. You thought he was the finest gentleman in the area, always fending off the ravenous vultures.

And then one day, bam! You hit a tree while you had your eyes on him. It came out of nowhere. The sharp, jaggedy bark clipped your left wing, and you spiraled to the ground. You tried to call out for your friend, but he never came.

He was there just a minute ago.

Writhing in the dirt, you found your way to your feet, and hobbled along, with one broken wing dangling...lifeless. That tree, where did it come from? How did you not see it? You were blindsided by its strength, its beauty, its stoic nature.

Trees are quite stoic, aren't they?

If you hadn't had your eyes on your love, you would have seen it. He didn't help you that day. Such is a bird's life, I reckon. You fly, and sometimes, you rise above all the smoke and chatter. Other days, you don't, because your eyes were pressed on another bird who you thought cared for you like no other.

O wounded bird, why did you take your eyes off the sky?

Be true to yourself. Heart
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