Fish
I
It is good to sit in the kitchen with her,
she puts butter on my bread.
II
I go to her job, she sees me,
and makes the welcome smile.
She laughs,
she pantomimes abandon like a child.
It is nice to be near her,
among the racks of synthetic lingerie.
III
We walk together.
We both like trees and grass.
We look...
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I
It is good to sit in the kitchen with her,
she puts butter on my bread.
II
I go to her job, she sees me,
and makes the welcome smile.
She laughs,
she pantomimes abandon like a child.
It is nice to be near her,
among the racks of synthetic lingerie.
III
We walk together.
We both like trees and grass.
We look...
Read More
mervin:
Sometimes poetry is just personal. And I have been journalizing for some 20yrs. This poem has come around again and I am no better equipped for coping now than then. Chasing what cannot be captured. But, I think I'm learning something.
Theres no love song finer
But how strange the change
From major to minor
Every time we say goodbye
Cole Porter
But how strange the change
From major to minor
Every time we say goodbye
Cole Porter
Aches. Not heart aches, not loin aches, like broken bone aches,
too deep to soothe, like girl aches, longing, persistent, without agony.
Keen indigestible solid a polished stone in my gullet.
Semi-precious, precious.
Ever so Lucy in the sky,
utterly without edges.
A taste on the tongue that does not diminish,
a taste so inseperable from a craving,
waking , sleeping, longing.
Sweat soaked pillows,...
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too deep to soothe, like girl aches, longing, persistent, without agony.
Keen indigestible solid a polished stone in my gullet.
Semi-precious, precious.
Ever so Lucy in the sky,
utterly without edges.
A taste on the tongue that does not diminish,
a taste so inseperable from a craving,
waking , sleeping, longing.
Sweat soaked pillows,...
Read More
kenyon:
i really enjoyed reading that, dear.
Try though we might,
we cannot teach the caged bird to sing,
the silver bells
the cuttle stone
dainty mirror
seed treat
a satin tether, for hand feeding.
Try though we might,
we cannot teach the caged bird to sing,
the impetus of Bach,
Brahms,
carefully administered liberties,
these are not enough
to bring melody
to the hushed throat.
And so we find
the gilt...
Read More
we cannot teach the caged bird to sing,
the silver bells
the cuttle stone
dainty mirror
seed treat
a satin tether, for hand feeding.
Try though we might,
we cannot teach the caged bird to sing,
the impetus of Bach,
Brahms,
carefully administered liberties,
these are not enough
to bring melody
to the hushed throat.
And so we find
the gilt...
Read More
VIEW 3 of 3 COMMENTS
kenyon:
sorry i don't have too many answers tonight. just a list of questions to add to yours, at best. 'night.
lassie:
Punctual.
"History is made at night. Character is what you are in the dark."
The Adventures of Buckaroo Banzai Across the 8th Dimension.
The Adventures of Buckaroo Banzai Across the 8th Dimension.
I still think this site has way too much pink.
There's no way to know what she's doing when she's not around.
Assume she is doing as she likes. Hope she is having a good time.
If she likes you she'll come back.
Question is: "can you handle it?".
Assume she is doing as she likes. Hope she is having a good time.
If she likes you she'll come back.
Question is: "can you handle it?".
I'd to hate think my life could become one of those dramas that could not end:
cinematic hauntings,.
Where we do violence,
violence remains;
interminably tangible shades of old passions.
A house with bad memories.
cinematic hauntings,.
Where we do violence,
violence remains;
interminably tangible shades of old passions.
A house with bad memories.
zak:
you should post in the 'urban poetry' group. it's a good group.
The hippies are dead, the flower children have grown thorns.
"...breasts so large that other smaller breasts will want to orbit them."
Weeds
Weeds
kenyon:
heh. i love weeds.
kenyon:
"little man in a big hat all over again" - funny. i suppose, in the end, it's all about "casting a glamour" over oneself to appear however you see yourself, however you wish to appear. and maybe others' perception of you will meet you halfway. or maybe you (and i . . . ) will just stop caring. i'd take either option.