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| GoatSmell's Own Poetry Thread
Posted: 9/30/2004 9:17:23 PM | Evening all. Did you miss me? No? Ah, well...
Thanks to Ticket and Medic. Good to see you guys here and thanks for the compliments. I am not above (or below) kind words. It helps me to realize there are people reading what I write and I love a good audience.
Sukari...Sure the heat of the deep south is nice, but there's something about the change of seasons up here in Canuckistan. I love watching the changes everything goes through. And people think life has to stop for the winter...fah...
Grey is a colour and a mood. It's one of those delciously ambiguous things, that greyness.
Always love your words, pardner.
And this one didn't take any love to produce:
==============================
There's always room for Jello
Jello does melt in your hands
I felt it slip away into thick liquid
As I fell asleep on the couch with a bowl of it
I had raspberry dreams
And was mired in a glucose quicksand
For an hour or two whie the news roared by
The usual disasters and presidential stunts
The irrelevant sports, the non-NHL
It all whipped by
I heard bits of it through my personal fog
But preferred to sleep in sweet stickiness
===============================
Yup. I got it all out later. Sticky fun.
Well, g'night folks. Tomorrow is another day, or so the experts say. | |
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| GoatSmell's Own Poetry Thread
Posted: 10/1/2004 7:43:02 PM | Little quiet here. Ah well...here's another one from ye old Tickle Trunk:
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A Pheasant Plucker, or a Pleasant....Well, you know...
Gently, I crept
Carefully on this idea
I found without the help of a muse
Located it through the effort of being confused
Careful, I was
Gently with this notion
I touched it gingerly on the nape
I grasped it, wanting to seize it lest it escaped
Deftly, I waited
Patiently basking in its meaning
I waited for what seemed to be like a year
Without the aid or benefit of coffee, wine nor beer
Reluctantly, I plucked
Regretfully spoiling a maturing grape
Removed from the vine before its time
Cast in rigid form and set into clumsy rhyme
===================================
Okay, see yer all tomorrow-ish. | |
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| GoatSmell's Own Poetry Thread
Posted: 10/1/2004 8:56:19 PM | | i love the way you make me think! The thoughts..the dreams ...the desires...the memories...your words stir up within my mind......Thanks!!!!! | |
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| GoatSmell's Own Poetry Thread
Posted: 10/1/2004 8:59:17 PM | Why, it's no trouble Sukari. I write poetry for selfish reasons and also because it stirs up my imagination.
It's good to know people are drawng something from my leavings. Thanks, pardner. | |
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| GoatSmell's Own Poetry Thread
Posted: 10/2/2004 7:39:42 AM | the way it runs
it curves
it mesmerizes me
slowy at first
then with such
velocity
a down pour
running down my body
the soothing feeling
cleansing
refreshed feeling
of hope
aknew | |
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| GoatSmell's Own Poetry Thread
Posted: 10/2/2004 5:03:06 PM | don't push...use your words
don't hit.....use your words....
don't kick the ball into the wall..use your words....
dont' break in line....use your words....
don't beat your head against the wall...use your words
so very simple...but only if you give them the gift of words....
the vocabulary to voice their feelings....what they need or want or what is bothering them...
give them words and you open up the world | |
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| GoatSmell's Own Poetry Thread
Posted: 10/2/2004 7:49:11 PM | Evening all. Sukari and Zee. Two great thinkers and poets, together...right here. I'm sorry I missed you both today. You two are great..beyond great, actually. Thank you for coming here.
Well, guess who I ran into as I was leaving the place this morning? Read on and ye shall know. It was interesting...well, for me:
=======================================
An Unconvertable Goat
Give to me, the man said
Give me your heart and your mind will follow
Give me your wallet and your a*** will come along
Give me your time and you can do with eternity what you will
Take from me, I asked
Take my heart and you get the whole meal deal
Take my wallet and you'll get my bills too
Take my time and my resentment will tug at you like a beggar
Give to me, the man intoned
Give me your trust and I will show you the way
Give me your hope and I will keep it safe
Give me your faith and I will ensure it will endure forever
Take from me, I questioned
Take my trust that is freely given but jealously guarded
Take my hope that is a flighty creature at best
Take my faith which has remained whole and unshakeable
Tell you what, I furthered
Take nothing from me and I will give to whom I choose
Keep your trifling words and slick pamphlets, I do not care
Your baubles and structures will gather rust and lose luster
And your trifles are as light as air
=========================================
I didn't take any brochures this time. I don't have a woodstove to chuck them into anymore...but I do have a seldom-used fireplace...
Hmm...maybe next time...
Okey dokey...see you tomorrow. | |
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| GoatSmell's Own Poetry Thread
Posted: 10/2/2004 8:38:23 PM | Hey, I just noticed the word "a.r.s.e" is now censored. I'll have to come up with a new word to describe the gluteous maximus in a nice, peasanty way...
Butt? Derriere? Bue-ttocks? Bum?
Naw...those words don't have the nice roll to them like a***. Let's try again...arse a*** a*** a*** a*** a*** a***....
Testing 1...2...3...
ARSE!! | |
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| GoatSmell's Own Poetry Thread
Posted: 10/3/2004 7:35:53 AM | walking through the jungle...
hot sweaty..batting away mosquitos...
reaching to drink from my bota of water
readjusting the backpack..
checking to make sure all the medical supplies were still in place
slivers of sunshine making their way through the canopy
butterflies out of no where...orchids high in the trees...
sounds of insects all around....
mud, mud ,mud, more mud
balancing on a log , a muddylog, to cross even deeper mud
reaching out to grab hold of a tree
only to discover it was covered with thornsl..an acacia tree
light ahead.....a river....a waterfall...wash off the mud...enjoy the cool move on
more mud more jungle..more mosquitos..
coming out...in the distance a house
a thatched roof hut....at the top of the hill...the jungle clears...
light shows through now.. another thatched roof hut
another ....then another....but no people, no children, no dogs
where are all the people....
army ants carrying away leaves..chickens scratching, pigs following
.but where all the people...
singing.... in the distance.... soft and gentle...
loud and hearfelt.... whispers drift on the wind......where does it come from...
looking through the doorway.....there are no doors on the thatched roof huts..
inside....the villiage....the whole villiage expcept for one family....
it is almost easter they have been praying for 48 hours...
praying for the one family...not here....
no pamplets...no pressure.... just prayer.......
me...I was 16.....I had never prayed for 48 hours..... sitting on a little
piece of wood in a thatched roof hut in the middle of the jungle...
it made me think
still makes me think | |
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| GoatSmell's Own Poetry Thread
Posted: 10/3/2004 9:22:40 AM | Sukari...wow. Just...wow. You have a divine memory and the words to carry it through. Thanks for posting that. I'm sad to say all my religious experiences revolve around trying to stay awake while an 80-pound pastor (hey, there's another poem title!) droned on about Jay-ZUS. Western religion probably would have taken on more meaning for me if it reached me the way it did you. Alas, it did not.
Well, I have another theme for the week's poems. Yup....songs. I was busy compiling a CD for someone and ran across a lot of tunes I hadn't heard for some time. The memories hung out like a thread, and like anoy thread, I tugged on them until they came loose and examined them. (yes, I know you can attach a dirty euphamism to that metaphor...I'm the king of dirty euphamisms, or at least the librarian).
Some songs pull out funny memories, other sad, some thought-provoking...well, the whole gamut of feelings and remembrances.
So, I'm going to shut up and let it run:
==================================
Memoirs of a Younger Goat
A half step, a turn
Her hand touched mine
I don't know how she bore that roughness
Her other hand found the back of my neck
And pulled me close enough to smell her hair
That auburn flow I saw every day
It took on its own magic
That shampoo she used didn't smell
Near as good in the bottle
As it did when flavoured by her warnth
Another step, gentle persuasion
A kind halt backwards
She collected all those stray moments
And used them
All at once
All for me
Her lips, that portal for words and thoughts
They found mine, chapped from the wind
Drinking her softness, they yielded
A deep slow kiss enough to defy winter
Hot enough to melt glacial waits
With every deep, mining kiss
A quick peck follows
Like a signature
Each a moment, each unique
==============================
The song that pulled that thread of memory is "Peter Gabriel's In Your Eyes"
Tug tug. See you tomorrow. | |
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| GoatSmell's Own Poetry Thread
Posted: 10/3/2004 3:56:13 PM | Here's some cheatin' bullhonkey for ya....
I pulled an old haiku out of my "own" poetry thread ("CAUTION: MASTER AT WORK"). Nobody checks that one any more -- not even me -- so I'll repost something just to let it get attention.
=================
HAIKU
Five sounds on line one
On the second line, seven
And then back to five
I can't make them ryhme!
Three-line poems p*ss me off!
But just gime me time...
So how should they be?
A-B-A, then B-A-B?
Then what about C?
Interlaced triplets?
Foul my fear of transitions?
I like this mission.
Individuals?
Each one standing on it's own?
Un-original!
Tongue-twisters, I think
Truly that strains the thinker
Rhetoric rules reek.
So now I give up
Man, I just can't do this sh*t
At least, not that well.
Kill the Japanese!
Who designed this blind disease?
Give me new thrills please. | |
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| GoatSmell's Own Poetry Thread
Posted: 10/3/2004 6:33:11 PM | | MasterBart, hell bent for leather on steeds of word ! I laughed out loud. Thank you,sir ! | |
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| GoatSmell's Own Poetry Thread
Posted: 10/3/2004 7:02:18 PM | so...do you think if I used that same shampoo..someone would feel the same about me...???
your words are beautiful... there is nothing I can say but wow!!! you paint an incredible picture | |
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| GoatSmell's Own Poetry Thread
Posted: 10/3/2004 7:09:14 PM | remind me not to invite you to be a guest teacher on the day I am teaching haiku's in my class...
but how about a cinquain...do you feel any better about them
Line 1 - a one word title
Line 2 - a 2 word phrase that describes your title or you can just use two words
Line 3 - a 3 word phrase that describes an action relating to your title or just actions words
Line 4 - a 4 word phrase that describes a feeling relating to your topic or just feeling words
Line 5 - one word that refers back to your title
Goat
gifted man
writes beautiful words
shares his daily insights
Poet | |
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| GoatSmell's Own Poetry Thread
Posted: 10/4/2004 9:05:21 PM | Hmm...I'm going to suspend the weekly theme of songs n' memories for a day. I'm feeling uninspired tonight. I might try my hand at a cinquain. It's been at least a thousand years since I heard of that poetic method and I completely forgot about it. Thanks, Sukari.
Hey MasterBart...good to see ya again. I think your thread sank to page 20 or 22. You've been away for a long time.
A cinquain? Let's give it a go:
===================
Sukari
Sharp memories
Holds time so close
Words roll like thunder
Insightful
===================
Hmm...I kinda like it. More practise is needed, ah reckon. Well, I'll get back to the weekly theme tomorrow...I think.
G'night all. | |
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| Recess
Posted: 10/5/2004 11:02:08 AM | clouds above
clouds below
clouds within
children counting
children swinging
don't let your feet touch the ground
gentle breze
mosqitoes buzzing
leaves swaying
flowers blooming
kicking a ball
bouncing a ball
mining a sandbox
moving chairs
voices singing
whistle softly
sitting at a picnic table
wondering
just who is REALLY the teacher? | |
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| Recess
Posted: 10/5/2004 12:54:16 PM | | AWESOME, Sukari. There is ABSOLUTELY no doubt that wise adults are the HUMAN teachers and YET how amazing when a child shall lead and stir in us the beauty that the harsh reality of this dying fallen world has almost from us robbed ! The government has a BIG push on where I live to hit at prostitution and drugs. Murder is already higher than the whole of last year and it is now only October. Kino public hospital's Rx drug ring pilferage is being laid waste and I have heard the worry and care in the scared voice of my prostitute friend because of all the warfare in the streets here. She translates her native tongue to me through a child. That child not yet a teen I think longs to have a flying gas. 049 model airplane. I'm doing my best to finish it before I split. Children, as you observed, sometimes know simple blissful joy when they are not name calling and grinding each other in to the dirt as adults murder each other round about, but we must give them tools with which to play and grow and learn. Your poem was COOL ! | |
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| Recess
Posted: 10/5/2004 3:01:48 PM | When the moon shines on the mountain tops and the world is near asleep.
The gentle winds blow a soft cool breeze and the pine trees bend full deep.
Then the deer and foxes rest their heads on the warmness of the earth.
The night prepares a snow white bed and a fresh new day gives birth.
The peace of the mountains and the touch of your love.
Has filled me with your magic like a soft summer song.
With you, I can be an eagle to live free and wild flying far.
With you I love everything all my fantasies become true with you.
Gentle is the evening as the sun leaves the sky.
The earth holds us warmly while I lay by your side.
With you life begins and ends like the dreams we spin in our sleep.
With you, time waits breathlessly, love infinitely ours to keep with you.
Whten the day comes I am fading and the night starts to fall.
I'll drift in my memories and my heart still will call.
For you have enchanted me and endlessly I am bound.
And though I am far away my soul will stay at its home until we meet as one.
then as the wolf I shall wait in patience and when you finally walk threw my door I shall like wolf: pounce to my love and combine our souls in love.
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| Recess
Posted: 10/5/2004 3:22:19 PM | Beautiful, Karrarose. I dig all the imagery. The 'wolf' really hammers our lust and desire home. ALPHA WOLF. Noble. Ferocious. Lethal. Gentle and protective with family at best. For me it was the WINGS OF THE EAGLE I liked BEST. They consummate midair heedless of all the worldly 'apparent' rest. They have PEACE as on silvered wings and almost touch the face of God as that Supermarine Spitfire pilot Pilot Officer John Gillespie Magee, Jr. once wrote in HIGH FLIGHT.
http://www.wpafb.af.mil/museum/history/prewwii/jgm.htm | |
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| GoatSmell's Own Poetry Thread
Posted: 10/5/2004 8:16:03 PM | Wow. I love coming back here after work and seeing who's been by and who's posted what.
Sukari...the imagry, the sounds, the feelings you draw out with those spare words. There is elegant simplicity there, enough to roll in and feel the point of every syllable. Thanks.
Karrarose...good to see you here. Delicious selection of words. Reminds me of a land in the far north that I still love and still want to go back to. Memories are so easy to tug at these days and you helped me grab a handful there (and I ain't gonna say "if you know what I mean" after that sentence). Thanks and welcome to the barn.
Medic. Thanks for that link. Haven't looked at it yet but I never pass up information or a poem. I'm starting to like poetry now that I've had a fair try at it. I used to s at poets, but now I feel I'm starting to "get it" now. That changes everything for me.
Well, here's another for the bit-bucket. Continuing on with the weekly theme of mine:
=============================
The Girl With the Helter Skelter Eyes
(Let Her Cry – Hootie and the Blowfish)
Molasses eyes roamed the floor when she talked
Blond hair dropped straight down to her shoulders
After three beers, she was the best looking one at the Christmas party
And I had just enough courage to ask her to dance
And I had just enough beer to keep a straight line amused
Fortunately, so had she
Hootie wanted to let someone cry
And the words to the song that played as we swayed
Were so sadly prophetic
She was a tigress balancing upon a semi deflated beachball
She was a shellshocked warrior from another time
She fought with everything, even those who loved her
Her eyes darkened and shimmied when the anger broke
Her voice trembled like a jazz trumpet played too fast
She was fair too crazy for a 19 year old kid
And I was far too gullible when I was a young’un myself
==========================================
Ah, the memories. My back still bears the scars of that brief relationship. She did everything with her whole heart. But, too bad she was awfully bent out of shape.
Ah, well.. okay, see ya'll later. | |
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| GoatSmell's Own Poetry Thread
Posted: 10/5/2004 8:28:53 PM | | Roger that, GS. You touch on LUST ABANDON. Dangerous ground, providentially you escaped only with scars. We've all got scorched feathers, bro. Poetry has taken on a new dynamic reality for me. Previously I wrote because the power of words could be USED and ABUSED-- it was a power trip. Now I understand a little of how words have LIFE, BEAUTY, and LOVELINESS calling into being that which is NOT. First in the soul of the reader and then in more tangible ways. Poets should NOT abuse emotion with words... I'm learnin', bro. POWER TRIP word ABUSE is like an IV needle stick without subsequent pressure to form secondary fibrin clot. It just causes needles hemorrhage and bruising. | |
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