Poets' Corner
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08-10-2011, 05:09 PM
 
RE: Poets' Corner
Sorry, changed my mind....
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08-10-2011, 06:01 PM
RE: Poets' Corner
(08-10-2011 05:09 PM)Zatamon Wrote:  Sorry, changed my mind....

Okay, but I had already saved my responses locally. You sure, 'cause I kinda liked it brother and had something to say about what makes me stop from bashing in skulls in a demented attack.

But, it's your call.

There is only one really serious philosophical question, and that is suicide. -Camus
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08-10-2011, 06:11 PM
 
RE: Poets' Corner
(08-10-2011 06:01 PM)GirlyMan Wrote:  But, it's your call.


What do you believe in?


What do you believe in?
What makes you breath in,
breath out,
what makes you stop
from bashing in skulls
in a demented attack
on your kind…
…any part of it
you can reach?


This poem was a response to an experience I once had with a plumber:

Mice and the plumber

We got a new neighbor
the other day,
and he came over
- I thought -
to say hi!
maybe to see the kids close up
(they are so cute)
and I was so embarrassed:
the house was in such a mess
and I didn’t have much
to offer him
for an afternoon snack.

I was about to apologize
when he barged in
without as much as a ‘how are you’,
ripped one wall off
of the family room,
poked an ugly, filthy lead pipe
through the pantry,
demolishing most of the food
we collected
for a long and hungry winter.

When I shouted for him to stop,
he noticed me, for the first time,
standing right there,
trembling in desperation
(he was so much bigger than I)
and he must have seen
the wife and the kids
all cowering behind me,
because he yelled out
in what I thought was
fear or disgust
(his face was a contorted mask)

Then he jumped back
as if bitten,
stood still, staring at us
for what seemed eternity,
then he grabbed a big, smelly can,
made it shoot
hot, searing, blinding, torturing flames
at me, my beloved, and my
lovely children,
till we all fried
into a heap
of black, charred flesh,
burned out eyes,
lost happiness,
demolished life.
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08-10-2011, 06:32 PM (This post was last modified: 08-10-2011 07:34 PM by GirlyMan.)
RE: Poets' Corner
(08-10-2011 06:11 PM)Zatamon Wrote:  What do you believe in?


What do you believe in?
What makes you breath in,
breath out,
what makes you stop
from bashing in skulls
in a demented attack
on your kind…
…any part of it
you can reach?

Girly don't believe in a goddam thing. Girly don't even believe in Girly. Girly spent several months some decades ago analyzing Descarte's Cogito Ergo Sum and came away with, what the fuck, I still can't even admit myself. That's what keeps me from bashing skulls.

(08-10-2011 06:11 PM)Zatamon Wrote:  Mice and the plumber

... When I shouted for him to stop,
he noticed me, for the first time,
standing right there,
trembling in desperation
(he was so much bigger than I)
and he must have seen
the wife and the kids
all cowering behind me,
...

My wife and children know perfectly well how to operate a Mossberg. When I go pussy they step up.

There is only one really serious philosophical question, and that is suicide. -Camus
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08-10-2011, 07:02 PM
 
RE: Poets' Corner
...as an auxiliary explanation, here is another ... I know I have already posted it on another thread, but it really belongs here:

Vision

Adjusting the zoom
of my imagination
I can observe anything I like:
any time, anywhere,
there’s no limit,
not even the sky.

I can watch galaxies collide,
black holes sucking in light,
colourful nebula spinning on its axis,
limitless space: sterile beauty,
peaceful, reverent,
like an abandoned Cathedral.

I notice a blue-white planet
orbiting a star
and wonder how small,
how fragile it looks
out this far.

As I get closer
I fall through the clouds
and fly over the landscape below.
I drink in the colours:
oceans, trees, grass,
golden grain of endless prairies;
pink-gray granite mountains
clawing at the sky;
millions of bluish-white sparks
as I cross from azure day
to indigo night.

One more notch
and I’m close enough to
see the cities, people,
roads, cars, canals,
factory chimneys belching at the sky;
battlefields with white crosses;
bronze statues of generals
who planted them;
magnificent mansions
side by side with the slums,
tin-roof houses,
built of discarded packing crates;
dark-skinned children
scavenging on the dumps;
well-bred youngsters
on the golf-course
learning new intricacies
of self-absorbed,
pitiless lives.

As I fly on,
the landscape changes again,
I’m skimming the canopy
of an old-growth jungle
with its bustling life:
monkeys leaping through space,
rainbow parrots dazzling my eyes,
a slithering anaconda hugging a branch,
armored alligators floating like logs
on a slow-moving river,
winding its way to where it must -
This picture, too, has death, fear, pain
but still, it is clean, balanced,
does not fill me with a sense of doom,
impending disaster.

One more notch, and
I am watching a colony of termites
like the inside of a Swiss watch
when it was an art
to make things work flawlessly,
with relentless precision
like the passage of time.
Perfect order,
machine-tooled by billions of years of evolution
separating transient from everlasting
until it hit upon the idea
of subjecting the parts to the whole…

…It feels so right that
I can’t help wondering
what the world would be like
if god had stopped
on the fifth day:

Then,
his creation would be perfect.

it would be Art.
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16-10-2011, 01:59 AM (This post was last modified: 16-10-2011 02:06 AM by GirlyMan.)
RE: Poets' Corner
(04-10-2011 08:39 AM)Peterkin Wrote:  I wondered when ol' Leonard would show up!

Gotta bump this thread with this. Gives me shivers no matter how many times I listen to it. Dunno why, don't much care.

Hallelujah - Leonard Cohen

Now I've heard there was a secret chord
That David played, and it pleased the Lord
But you don't really care for music, do you?
It goes like this
The fourth, the fifth
The minor fall, the major lift
The baffled king composing Hallelujah

Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah

Your faith was strong but you needed proof
You saw her bathing on the roof
Her beauty and the moonlight overthrew you
She tied you
To a kitchen chair
She broke your throne, and she cut your hair
And from your lips she drew the Hallelujah

Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah

You say I took the name in vain
I don't even know the name
But if I did, well really, what's it to you?
There's a blaze of light
In every word
It doesn't matter which you heard
The holy or the broken Hallelujah

Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah

I did my best, it wasn't much
I couldn't feel, so I tried to touch
I've told the truth, I didn't come to fool you
And even though
It all went wrong
I'll stand before the Lord of Song
With nothing on my tongue but Hallelujah

Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah
...



There is only one really serious philosophical question, and that is suicide. -Camus
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16-10-2011, 10:15 AM
RE: Poets' Corner
GM,

Do you know the Jeff Buckley cover of Hallelujah?

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WIF4_Sm-rgQ

Religious disputes are like arguments in a madhouse over which inmate really is Napoleon.
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16-10-2011, 06:05 PM (This post was last modified: 16-10-2011 06:16 PM by GirlyMan.)
RE: Poets' Corner
(16-10-2011 10:15 AM)cufflink Wrote:  GM,

Do you know the Jeff Buckley cover of Hallelujah?

Sure do, cufflink. Thiink I know just about every cover of it on YouTube. I find this one especially powerful given that he drowned not long after recording it. It almost feels like seeing a ghost to me.

Jeff Buckley, 1966-1997




There is only one really serious philosophical question, and that is suicide. -Camus
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19-10-2011, 03:51 PM
 
RE: Poets' Corner
I felt 'poetic' again today.

So I decided to post this poem I wrote for my Grand-daughter's first birthday.

As usual, religious references are only symbolical.

Here it goes:

First birthday

Today my grown-up mind is banished
to the painful awareness of tomorrows,
because today has to be innocent, clean,
suitable for the glorious birthday
of a one-year-old,
who believes us to be gentle, loving beings,
surrounding her like an embrace
of benevolent, warm affection.

Today I will celebrate the ‘could-have-been’,
the still unspoilt marble, or canvas, of creation
that started so well,
promising us David and the Sistine Chapel,
before the chisel slipped
or the brush mugged up in the creator’s hand,
producing this tragic, disfigured,
crippled creature we are,
with breathtaking beauty
and horrifying ugliness
merged into one.

Today I want to forget the accident,
close my eyes and see the monster transformed
into beauty, peace, compassion, honour
and, of course,
intelligence that we need to cope with our demons:
our ugly little impulses, jealousies, fears
that we inherited
from our terrifying history of survival,
against all odds,
against a relentless, indifferent nature.

Today I want to be like the boy was,
now lying broken at the bottom of a memory well,
buried so deep under years of
already knowing better:
I want to relive the excitement, wonder
of discovering benevolent nature,
and the power of the human mind
comprehending, coping, transforming
all unknowns to familiar and safe.

And, just like you wash up
and don your best suit, comb your hair
and cleanse your soul before entering church
for your Sunday worship
of a merciful, all-loving god:
with my mind emptied of all knowledge
of pain, brutality and ugliness,
I will be ready to face
the clean mind of an innocent child,
celebrating one year
of unsullied existence.
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22-10-2011, 06:27 PM (This post was last modified: 22-10-2011 06:48 PM by GirlyMan.)
RE: Poets' Corner
(19-10-2011 03:51 PM)Zatamon Wrote:  First birthday
...
Today I will celebrate the ‘could-have-been’,
the still unspoilt marble, or canvas, of creation
that started so well,
promising us David and the Sistine Chapel,
before the chisel slipped
or the brush mugged up in the creator’s hand,
producing this tragic, disfigured,
crippled creature we are,
with breathtaking beauty
and horrifying ugliness
merged into one.
...

Fucking beautiful, Zatamon, while somehow being horrifyingly ugly at the same time. ... which in and of itself is just fucking beautiful.

Tonight I got William Shatner channeling the late great Freddie Mercury. Holy Shatner!





Kudos to Charles Johnson at little green footballs for turning me on to it.

There is only one really serious philosophical question, and that is suicide. -Camus
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