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| GoatSmell's Own Poetry Thread
Posted: 10/24/2004 10:20:46 AM | Cross...too true, pardner. I avoid malls essientally for that reason. Most of the people I knew (and still know) don't spend a lot of time outside, so that's where I am most of the time. I see, smell and hear too much to be packed into a crowd. Love the words and it probably isn't real Chinese food if it's at a mall. You may have an easier time finding thin people at the Dairy Queen.
And don't worry about "defiling" this place. It's a barn. Hell, you can write whatever jumps into your mind at any time here. You can even write it bare-arsed naked, sitting on a one-legged stool if you want. I do.
........
I meant to think that last part.
Holly! You're too classy to be a playa...how about be a Woman of Passion? You can put it on a business card and give it to people. Thanks for the thanks, eh. I like going through your stripped thread. Gives me idears...n' stuff...mostly....yeah....
......
Hm...I'm feeling strange today. Garcon! Another cup of coffee!!
I'll be right back. | |
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| GoatSmell's Own Poetry Thread
Posted: 10/24/2004 10:27:35 AM | Okay, I'm changing gears a bit. Got my coffee. Got my change of underwear...well, it's yesterday's newspaper, actually. Here we go with some memories from my younger years as a piss-broke student. I spent seven years like that...eugh...it is easier working for a living than doing that sort of thing. I feel for you students that don't live with your parents.
Memories...la la la la la....memories:
=================================
30 Days of Kraft Dinner
There are easier ways to punish oneself
For the lack of studentary budgetary skills
Sniffing bleach, drinking Screech
Popping found, unnamed pills
But when you’re a starving student and young to boot
You eat what you can get – anything can be fuel
It can be the grossest, most totally processed
Box of chemically saturated gruel
Yes, the dinner from Kraft is what I’m on about
That certain intestinal discomfort in a blue box
That fake n’ cheesy phoney chewy macaroni
Energy it gives, but from your health it docks
Cheap, it is, and my funds were desperately short
Books, beer, tuition, beer, movies, beer, student fees, beer…
Well, I suffered for my libations by intense privation
It was a choice of purchase through intense fear
The first few days with the dinner from Kraft were good
I ate it freely without the slightest compunction
After two weeks crept by, I wondered why
I suffered the loss of my bodily functions
At the end of another week I was sick of the sight and the smell
Of that blasted cheery blue box and the happy lettering
Another one week more, breathing became a chore
With coming funds, my nutrition I would be bettering
Finally more money arrived and my first trip was not for cold beer
I decided to go to the hallowed and blessed grocery store
Gathering my wits and battling the sh*ts
I journeyed beyond the Kraft Dinner and searched for more
To my surprise there were aisles of choices beyond comprehension
I passed by the Spork, Klik and Spam
I passed through the shelves, paused, wondered to myself
How my body would react to Ichiban
============================================
I haven't so much as touched a box of KD for over 12 years now thanks to that fateful month. I probably still have tapeworms crawling through my system....and it occurs to me that I haven't named them. And it occurs to me how many I might have. Things are occuring to me.
Garcon!! Another cup of coffee!! And a lapdance!! GARCON!!!
See you later, eh. | |
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| GoatSmell's Own Poetry Thread
Posted: 10/24/2004 10:33:00 AM | The Meaning of You In My Life
Everyone seems to be on this search for the meaning of life
I used to be one of them, I was just like the rest
Looking for something that would make me complete
Wandering aimlessly on this constant quest
You were a nameless, faceless person in a crowd
Yet your spirit shined so much brighter then any others around
It was hidden , buried deep, but it was still so bright within
Something that you were trying so hard to protect, lock away, not let anyone in
Barriers began to come down, slowly at first
You let me see pieces of you, a few that didn’t still hurt
And as the barriers fell, I became intrigued, wanting more
Was this the end of the quest? Was this what I was searching for?
Then you showed me all of your heart, and I was in complete awe
It was so pure yet fragile, with some dark, deep scars
It scared me a little, seeing something so strong
Not accustomed to feeling such a powerful bond
A sudden need to become a better person, a better version of me
An overwhelming urge to fix all of the wrongs in my life, make them right
I never worried about hiding the ugly, vulnerable parts
I wanted you to understand me, and know ME, no fake or fairytale start..
All I want to do is make you happy, anyway that I can
Rub your shoulders when your tired, kiss you softly when you sleep
Hold you tight when things spin out of control
When your hurt comes to the surface, when you feel the need to weep
I no longer search for the meaning of life
I have found it, it lives and breathes in my kids and those I hold dear
it keeps me working hard, striving to be a better mom, lover, friend.
And it has become so evident with every “I love you” I hear
Maybe all this time it wasn’t about the meaning of life, maybe that’s not why I have been searching for so long..
Maybe it’s the meaning of YOU in my life, and finally finding that unbreakable bond | |
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| GoatSmell's Own Poetry Thread
Posted: 10/25/2004 9:18:03 PM | Almost time for bed, but first:
===========================
Duodenum Stew
I didn't recall ordering such a horrid stew
Crafted with chunks of taters that someone once spewed
Filled with meat chunks that were only partially chewed
Served by a man who could only be called lewd
I noticed something afloat in the bowl once so clean and so blue
It must have belonged to the beef chunks that once grazed and moo-ed
And it was a piece of something that I took a tremendous issue
Betwixt the stomach and intestine, a piece of connective tissue
A duodenum by any other name would be still so indigestible
Far too much courage it would take for me to call it palatable
Instead, I flung it hard at the waiter where it hit his testicles
And I went to McDonald's where the mystery meat is more edible
=============================================
Don't eat the borscht either -- it's a bit off these days.
G'night! | |
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| GoatSmell's Own Poetry Thread
Posted: 10/26/2004 2:24:16 AM | Good one!
Helped me procrastinate eating for 2 hours.
Also very suitable as 'wise words' for those who have failed to make the grade in previous weight-loss attempts.
Cheers, Goat :) | |
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| GoatSmell's Own Poetry Thread
Posted: 10/26/2004 5:16:12 AM | sitting in the home of a newmade aquaintance
unable to pronounce thier name
rain falling with that pitter patter rhythem on the thatched roof
the daily, the never ending ,the rain of the rainy season in the rainforest of Belize...
looking at the Mayan lady so busy cooking the toritillas on the iron slab over the burning embers
(why did they tell me all the mayans were gone, the mayan civilization disappeared without a trace, here she was in front of me...speaking Maya,. living breathing, cooking)
I watched...dressed in the Mayan blouse and skirt so graciously loaned to me by this woman when I came out of the jungle into the clearing of her villiage...soaked to the bone.
I felt special...wearing the hand woven skirt...the blouse with such delicate embroadary that gave notice to what station in the life the wearer bore...(the width of the embroadery)
I watched as she ground the corn that had spent the night soaking.... as she skillfully formed the tortillas and cooked them.... watched as the children sat in the hammocks so carefully hung between the rafters of the tiny hut...(how could 10 people live there)
breathed in the smells of smoke, watched the piglet in the corner as it was after some giant insect , the chickens busily pecking one another, trying to stay out of the rain...
overwhelmed by all the sites and smells...
then she brought it.... that bowl..
one of those metal enameled bowls...with a big red rose on the side...
no spoons , of course, you just drink your soup, (Caldo she called it) and use your fingers to eat the chicken.... they thought I was too skinny so they had given me the biggest portion the special portion...
as I looked in...there is was...
in the bowl...
the chickens foot... how do you eat the foot...what do you eat...how do I have good manners....
I watched,Ilooked ,I listened
now whenever I am in the grocery store and I see the package of chickens feet for sale in the meat case.... I never buy them...:-) | |
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| GoatSmell's Own Poetry Thread
Posted: 10/26/2004 9:40:51 PM | Howdy Ticket and Sukari...good to see you both here. And Sukari...interesting piece and a lot of descriptive detail in there. And I wouldn't know what to do with a chicken's foot either, apart from turn it into a backscratcher.
Not much time for me tonight, so here's what I have for this fine day:
=============================
Strawberry Pop-Tarts
I plugged them into the toaster
One slot for one tart
And she told me of how the hole behind her heart
Ached
And sucked
She told me she had to go and live by herself
She told me she couldn’t change herself
In front of me
She had to do all of it by herself
The pop tarts arrived
Hot and on time
Reliable and predictable
And
Very berry-licious
=============================
No, I dunno what to think of it either. Maybe I should sleep on it? Maybe I need the chocolate fudge poptars instead? With the funky sprinkles on them?
Hmm....
Well, see you tomorrow. | |
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| GoatSmell's Own Poetry Thread
Posted: 10/27/2004 5:09:22 AM | pop tarts...cherry ones...lots of gooey icing...
babysitting...9th grade....
2 little girls...barrel riders...
nail polish spilled on the walls...bright red
(how does a 4 year old manage that?)
neon green cabinets in the kictchen....
poptarts in the toaster.....
smoke, fire,
baking soda..(yep i listened in class , no water on electrical fires)
unplug
melted green paint under the cabinet...
waiting for their mom to come home...
she wasn't mad....
babysitting the next day....
not a bad job for the 9th grade.... riding horses...
playing outside....an excuse to do the fun kid things with kids....
watching the kids at the rodeos while mom rode barrels and the dad rode bulls
a summer full of exciting experiences...practice for years to come...... | |
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| GoatSmell's Own Poetry Thread
Posted: 10/27/2004 7:57:35 PM | Another couple of good ones by the Masters of "Instant Baking"
Cheers, Sukari & Goat :) | |
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| GoatSmell's Own Poetry Thread
Posted: 10/27/2004 8:44:48 PM | Howdy Sukari and Ticket. Sukari...as always. Those words and memories are so needed here to offset my rough poetic ramblings. Thanks and I loved it.
Agreed, Ticket. I may have OD'ed on KD but I've never lost the love for PopTarts.
Well, here's one inspired by our odd Saskatoony weather:
========================
A Fog Named Kermit
Foggy, it's so frigging foggy
In the heavy mist barks a doggy
Cars try to glide through it quickly
Cyclists manage in it very sickly
All this damp and wet combined
With the cold makes us feel resigned
To accept this blasted Fleet Street fog
And suffer the barks of disembodied dogs
=============================
G'night all...see you tomorrow. If it's still the same outside, just keep yelling until I find you. | |
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| GoatSmell's Own Poetry Thread
Posted: 10/28/2004 7:57:43 PM | lunar eclipse..
sign of the dead....sign of life
signs from god....or so columbus said...
red, blood red...
gently creeping...darker, darker, red.....
going away.....
shadow of the earth..... | |
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| GoatSmell's Own Poetry Thread
Posted: 10/28/2004 8:08:07 PM | walking on a black top road...
late at night...
the moon used to be full..but you cant see it anymore...
there is fog.... so thick you can almost taste it as you are walking...
just us girls you know.... sneak out of the house to talk , who can talk when your in a house with 7 kids... 6 are sisters and the oldest is your best friend...so you sneak out and go walk on the black top road to talk...
the world looks different at night....the dark changes the world......the fog changes the world...
creates its own ambiance...
walking, talking, laughing, giggling...
just like so many other times before...
but this time there is something different...
is it the fog...
is it a feeling.
..foreboding..
.warning.
..something about to happen..
if you continue on ...following the road something bad will happen...
we turned around....walked back home...through the window , ...climbed into the bedroom...
but to this day I wonder...what would have happened in the fog, had we continued...... | |
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| GoatSmell's Own Poetry Thread
Posted: 10/28/2004 9:00:34 PM | Howdy all. Hello Sukari. Incredible couple of posts there. You have this way of illustrating experiences that is matchless. I bow to your skill and craft, pardner.
As for me...I have nothing really to add tonight. No time to sit and think about a poem, nor do I feel inspired to create a so much as a haiku. Tell ya'll what...I'll do two tomorrow and that should make up for tonight's uhm...omission.
Righto? Righto.
G'night. See you tomorrow. | |
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| GoatSmell's Own Poetry Thread
Posted: 10/29/2004 6:59:53 PM | candy corn
pumpkin pie
jacko'lantern cookies
A&W, 7UP
Kit Kat Bars... whoopie cushions
ghostly pencils...
stickers on the clothes....
costumes...
songs and plays performed for others....
apples, oranges, plums
organic bananas
halloween plates, napkins to match
tours of haunted mansions
last day of school before halloween | |
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| GoatSmell's Own Poetry Thread
Posted: 10/29/2004 9:21:48 PM | Sukari...good to see you here.
Me? Not much time....how about a failed haiku?
===============
No time to sit on
My a*** these days because I
have to go away
===================
Wow, that sucked. Let's try again.
=================
Beer makes me lovely
I know this to be so true
I love it back too
==================
Feh..forget it. I'll be back with something better tomorrow...I think... | |
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| GoatSmell's Own Poetry Thread
Posted: 10/30/2004 1:15:33 PM | Thanks, Zee, but a haiku can barely cover my butt these days. I have a lot of skin hanging out if I try to wear them. But thank you for the kind words. Love your thread as well...I'be having a wee look right after.
I know I promised something better, and maybe this is...I really don't know:
======================
Caution! Fingers at Work!
I know what you might be saying
And I’m thinking I know you might be asking
What’s the difference between medicinal and recreational scratching?
After years of study and some months of observation
And asking people with great intellectual powers
The difference is merely one to three hours
=======================
Well, it's different. Better? Maybe "new Coke" kind of better...
Hm.
Okey-dokey. Time to wander to other threads... | |
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| GoatSmell's Own Poetry Thread
Posted: 10/30/2004 1:51:48 PM | I was working in a little country gas station ,called "the Noonday Store",
it was in the town of Noonday,
when new coke came out...and ya know they didn't sell "classic coke" for a while...but people would come in and offer all kind of money for the "old coke"
thank goodness they swtiched back.....
so with the medicinal and recreational scratching...
where does adjusting your jewelry come in....medicinal or recreational...? | |
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| GoatSmell's Own Poetry Thread
Posted: 10/30/2004 2:00:13 PM | blue store....wooden porch
slice the meat, make the sandwiches...
pump the gas for the groom to be....
give directions...
count out crickets...
drink a coke...
no chair, no stool, not allowed to sit....,
clean the shelves...put away the cans
smile, give change...
talk to everyone
learn something....
share something...
gallon of milk, loaf of bread, a king size butterfinger..
dirt road....blacktop road...
stop sign...
highway... | |
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| GoatSmell's Own Poetry Thread
Posted: 10/31/2004 6:35:33 AM | Mornin'. It's been a while since I was here in the morning. It's quieter. Like Wal-Mart before the hard-core shoppers get up and swarm the place.
And it's nice to see you, Sukari. More memories, more words painting as fine as a #0 badger hair brush. Elegant and simple. Thanks.
Adjusting the jewellery -- or as I like to call it: "Adjusting the set" -- can fall into either the medicinal or the recreational category, depending on how long the adjusting goes on. It could be in the aesthetic or therapeutic categories too. I'll -ah- have to do some research and get back to you on that.
Well, it's Halloween folks. You know what that means? Well, besides the costumes, kids and candy? Yup:
================================
It Always Snows on Halloween
It’s a tradition
Almost a certainty
When the end of October rolls around
The white stuff comes with it
That white lumpy rain
Forcing the kids to throw parkas
Over their costumes
Toques over their carefully-crafted faces
I can imagine a few dozen soaked Spidermen
A tragically dampened Shrek
A host of other sodden kids and their parents
Prowling from place to place
Putting a brave face on
While donning a garbage bag as a makeshift poncho
To keep the elements out
====================================
There are times when I curse the weather in this northern land, but then I catch myself and think that it could be worse. I could live in California, for instance. Or Florida. Or..erk..West Virginia.
Then I'm all happy about being here in good old boring, flat Saskatchewan. You really can watch your dog run away for three days here. Really.
Well, more coffee for the goat. See you huys later. | |
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| GoatSmell's Own Poetry Thread
Posted: 10/31/2004 11:13:55 PM | thought i'd poke my head in an say hello....since i have a new me, i'd thought i'd come in here and say hi, i'm not dead, just was naughty and got deleted...silly me. anyway, hugs for my goaty and hi ya'll for the rest........
by the way.....it always snows or pours on halloween here too, but today was the most perfect halloween i can remember.....very mild, slight breeze, hardly a cloud in the sky. me and the little puppy boy ( my boy child in costume, he's 16 months, his first real halloween! ) had a fabulous nite of tricker treating at the family's houses! | |
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| GoatSmell's Own Poetry Thread
Posted: 11/1/2004 3:46:12 PM | working hard...working fast..sew, cut, sew , iron , tear sew
creating the perfect constume... for the perfect child
for their first halloween....
cape...shaped like bat wings
a hat that she wont keep on...
the glee in her voice...
the smile on her face...
candy...
plastic jack o' lantern to carry the candy
smiles of the elders...
smiles of the child...
time for hugs
time for kisses
sharing...
homemade candies
popcorn balls
fruit and pennies..
a time to share...
a time to visit...
halloween
harvest festival...
celebration of new life...
of life past....
circle of life.... | |
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| GoatSmell's Own Poetry Thread
Posted: 11/1/2004 6:07:18 PM | Hi Kota! Good to see you here in the barn. Still the same, huh? Had an adventurous Halloween? I sure didn't and that was all right with me. Strange that you're forced to make these profile changes once in a while....weird, huh? Don't be a stranger...in any form you may have to take, Kota.
Sukari....how you can make a mundane task sound like art like is beyond my literary powers. Thanks for posting. Keep 'em coming.
As for me...well, here it is:
=============================
Conversation with a Truck Driver
The road is callin’
Can ya hear that?
Callin’ in loud, round vowels
Words as big as mountains
Like a billboard with lights and everythin’
Man, that Alaska Highway is yellin’ for me
Windin’ all about
I still don’t know if I’m heading in or out
Sitting here behind the wheel
This here, this is what’s real
Crawlin’ around on this planet
Sendin’ diesel inta the air
Sendin’ me like an arrow to my drop
It’s like that Zen archery stuff
All in the mind
You smoke?
You should
Maybe you’d hear the road callin’ too
=============================
Okey-dokey....awaaaay I go for another daaaaayyyy-ooooo.... | |
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| GoatSmell's Own Poetry Thread
Posted: 11/2/2004 5:45:25 AM | sometimes you get that feeling
that desire
uncontrollable
you just have to be on the road
have to travel
to drive
to ride
to fly
to walk
to run
to go someplace else
see someplace new
experience the land and all it has to offer
breathe the air
see the light...feel the dark...
hear the sounds as it tells you its stories....
warm, cold, wet, dry,low, high
travel , stop, explore,
always more
never satisfied | |
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| GoatSmell's Own Poetry Thread
Posted: 11/2/2004 5:48:26 PM | A traveller you are, Sukari. Travel lightly with a bag of words and perhaps a change of underwear...keep turning them inside out until they disintegrate.
Thanks for coming to the barn and posting. I love those words.
As for me, here's a bit of an educational one:
====================================
Goat-like Poetry -- a Primer
It’s rather simple, you see
Just take an ordinary string of thoughts
Of feelings
Of suitable words
(or even unsuitable words)
Combine them together
And break them apart
Into scattered
Fuzzy images
Obscured by odd spacing
Of fragments beginning with prepositions
Questionless questions
Unshouted sxclamations
Consitpated
Pauses
And if that doesn’t work
Shake it up
And see what happens
=======================================
That's all I ever do...shake and bake poetry. It always comes out smelling like..well, like underdone potatoes.
I'll try something else tomorrow.
G'night all. | |
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