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| GoatSmell's Own Poetry Thread
Posted: 11/3/2004 4:34:54 PM | thoughts, memories,dreams
you share them,
bring them out,
create them.
that is why we love to read your words
more filling than any meal | |
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| GoatSmell's Own Poetry Thread
Posted: 11/3/2004 8:24:35 PM | Finally made it here. What a day. My a*** itches because of it. No, it's best not to ask.
Sukari...as always, elegant and appreciated. Thanks.
ltlwhip...welcome. Poetry is better with red wine and some foul Ukrainian sausage on a stick. Now that's international cuisine. Welcome to the barn, by the way. Don't be a stranger, eh.
As for me....here's this night's load. Hot and steaming...get ready:
========================================
Window Watching
The young couple across the courtyard
Have moved away
And have been replaced by an older set
The young’uns would make out on the deck
In fact
Everything they did together
Would be a verb starting with the letter “f”
They would’ve farmed too if they had the land to do it
These new old people tend to watch TV most of the time
They move very little
They may have died last week
And the TV would babble into an empty room
Until someone notices a funny smell
Or the rent isn’t paid
Or both
Never mind
They turned a light on
And ventured onto the deck
====================================
Not much for inspiration these days. I kinda miss that young couple across the way. They were always good for a laugh, especially when they fought.
Well, g'night. More stuff tomorrow. | |
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| GoatSmell's Own Poetry Thread
Posted: 11/3/2004 9:48:26 PM | Conversation with a Truck Driver Part II
He was the kind of man that could make it anywhere,
He was the kind of man that could make it any place.
I've been around she said, in danger he had no care.
Bush Pilots once worked with me, I am not soft and lace.
He sailed away that day and disappeared without a trace.
They found him dead in the water, he won LIFE'S RACE .
It's COLD way up NORTH in Alsaka, a lovely place.
You see my son sought adventure, the thrill of chase.
Capsized, heavy weather stiking bow as shield against mace.
He is with Christ now she said. Yes... He won LIFE'S RACE... | |
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| GoatSmell's Own Poetry Thread
Posted: 11/4/2004 7:11:06 PM | Howdy Medic...Nice one...made me think of travelling the Alaska Highway in the dead of winter. Not much water involved, but an unidentifiable highway flanked by 100-foot drops without a guardrail.
I still have dreams about it.
Anyhoo...here's something light and quick from my perverse brain:
==========================
Brown Stuff
There is no gravy involved
With the Gravy Train
I found that odd
There is also very
Little pork
In the Pork Barrel
===========================
Light and strange. What did I say?
Well, g'night. See ya'll tomorrow.
Colour me confused | |
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| GoatSmell's Own Poetry Thread
Posted: 11/4/2004 7:17:36 PM | neighbors...through the window..
'sounds at night....rear window....
shades drawn...
shutters , if just at the right angle you see through
phones ringing....
horns honking....
women walking down the sidewalk....
cane in hand...
shoulders slumped...
glasses dark, those kind they give you when you have cataract surgery
practical shoes...
walking at that pace... same pace every day...
fearful of the dogs...
fearful of the kids...
around the block every day.... | |
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| GoatSmell's Own Poetry Thread
Posted: 11/5/2004 2:27:35 AM | | Hi GS ! My Proverbs Lady sister did AlCan ! Go for it ! BRING FOOD & WATER, extra gas, and car parts/tires. GO FOR IT ! | |
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| GoatSmell's Own Poetry Thread
Posted: 11/5/2004 4:04:08 PM | newborn baby...
wrapped in the blanket brought back from peru...
awaiting the time you would be born....
swinging in front of the christmas tree watching the lights...
being dragged along by the dog
your dog...
your very own spot dog..the one who loves, watches over, and carries you about....
digging in the dirt....hiding behind the tree...
walking on top of the swing set...(no it is not a balance beam)
riding a bicycle...
learning to swim...
losing your pet rat...
ferret escaping....
got your cartwheel on the beam...
your backhandspring.....
phlange
aerial
singing in the play...
walking hand in hand with a boy...
telling me you are all grown up....
how can it be
you are still my baby....
even if you are 18..... | |
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| GoatSmell's Own Poetry Thread
Posted: 11/5/2004 8:00:17 PM | Hello all...too tired to be really creative tonight. A haiku is coming. Soon.
Medic...did that trip six times -- two in winter and the rest in summer. Used to live right along the Alaska Highway for nine years too. It's much better now that they paved the darn thing.
Sukari...touching...haunting...I realy don't know what else to say but thanks.
Well, haiku time for me:
====================
Oddly warm today
In this too strange November
Perfect for biking
=====================
Yup, that's all I have for this night. See you tomorrow peoples. | |
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| GoatSmell's Own Poetry Thread
Posted: 11/6/2004 4:08:40 AM | | GS, you certainly have a taste for ADVENTURE ! Parts are still bad rock at last report and the road is falling apart. Motor City et. al. just don't need to ship jeeps, trucks, tanks, and airplanes to Stalin's USSR in order that they might halt the Third Reich's drive on Moscow anymore... Soon it will be like the Old Silk Caravan routes waiting for a modern Marco Polo likely believing a new discovery has been made... | |
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| GoatSmell's Own Poetry Thread
Posted: 11/6/2004 9:58:44 PM | Well, Medic...adventure seems to come and find me rather than the other way around. I just go and do stuff and things just seem to happen. I'm sure glad I had 4-wheel drive and a trusty winch. I also keep an axe in the truck just in case.
Zee...dearest Zee. Thank you for stopping in. I've been slacking lately due to the usual year-end madness at work and here at home. It all passes in time. Still love your haven and your words, you power poet, you.
As for me....well, let's see...a haiku?
===========================
Chicken gravy is
A fine lubricant for the
Moving parts of you
=========================
Heh heh....that really sucked. Ah, well. I'm turning in now. See yer all. | |
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| GoatSmell's Own Poetry Thread
Posted: 11/7/2004 9:16:28 AM | Get a Rope !
Get a ROPE for A Few Dollars More
The Good the Bad and the Ugly are sore !
4x4, four on the floor !
Stand up ! Hook Up ! Shuffle to the Door !
Sand, Rock, Hell bent for Leather & MORE !
GET THAT ROPE ! Wrap 'round WHEEL Chore !
Take loose end FIND TREE hard core !
Knot rope on tree ! Shuffle back to door !
Fire in the hole ! LOW GEAR ! Four on the floor !
Hammer Down ! Ahhh, SWEET self-recovery LORE !
Wind that rope round the Wheel MORE & MORE !
Shimmy, shake, Rock'n'Roll ! Rope no TORE !
Wind UP rope RUBBERBAND ! PULL 4x4 out some MORE !
My 4x4 YO-YO ! Bristling, cunning BOAR !!!
Now I gotta put my rope away... | |
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| GoatSmell's Own Poetry Thread
Posted: 11/7/2004 9:37:21 AM | Heh heh...that was a gooder, Medic. Reminds me of the times I had in the old tin box (the Toyota Landcruiser, that is). Best vehicle I ever used. Best winch I ever saw too.
Thanks for coming on in Medic. Hope the smell doesn't bother you. I'm used to it, y'see.
Well, here's my contribution for this Sunday:
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Where’s My Freakin’ Scissors?
I have a Gordian knot in my shoelace
I knew I should have not re-tied them
Now my foot remains trapped in a Converse
Size 10
I know Alexander the Great
Was great for cutting the Gordian knot
But I like these shoelaces
And I’m loath to buy another pair
Shall I try to replicate the bind
On the other foot
Or should I cut and not care?
===============================
Y'know, I may spend some quality time and attempt to unravel it. Yes, this is what my days are made up of. Glamourous, huh?
Tomorrow, then. | |
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| GoatSmell's Own Poetry Thread
Posted: 11/8/2004 5:12:04 PM | that my friend is why I prefer to wear go barefoot...
nothing quite like the feel of the earth on your feet....sand and warm salt water...walking down the beach...
sitting on a rock over a river letting your toes gently brush against the water...
walking ever so slowly over the rocks to get ther mind you.....
that feel of red dirt between your toes...it really does feel different than that black dirt that the cotton grows in..... the black dirt all sticks together and is clumpy and squishes between the toes....
walking through a bar ditch...with a seine catching minnows to fish with.... that grass that is soft and slippery beneath your feet....
moss in the pond that wraps around your toes...
the hot sand at the beach away from the water on a summer day...running fast...
the feel of hot black top under your feet...you gotta watch out or it can burn your feet...
jumping from clump of grass with no grass burrs to clump of grass with no grassburrs..it takes knowledge and experience to get it right...cause ooohh those sticker burrss can hurt!!!
walking carefully through the woods..feeling the leaves beneath your feet....that fresh brown dirt... nice and cool from the shade provided by the leaves and limbs above... making sure not to get into ants..
trying to walk quietly so as not to disturb the animals.
walking in the rain...little rivers forming around your feet if you stand still too long....
I will admit that snow can be a bit cold...(that is why I live where it is warm and I can go shoeless) | |
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| GoatSmell's Own Poetry Thread
Posted: 11/8/2004 8:49:48 PM | Hi Sukari....again...descriptive, powerful...great stuff. Thanks.
As, for me...I have the nastiness in me:
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Clear the Area!
I've got a gas bubble
It's bigger than my little gut can contain
All the air freshner in the world can't mask it
All the scented candles can't burn it away
The plants suffer, the windows fog over
The paint peels, the carpet reverts to a rolled state
The canary in the cage is dead
Clear out the mines...thar be coal gas present
Sound the alarm
Feet up against the wall, grab the chair by the sides
Yell a little...some kind of fart cry, maybe...
"I'm never gonna dance again!"
And let the sound and fury commence
Let it rejoin the biosphere
Let it help melt those polar ice caps
Let it ruin the Ross Ice Shelf
Let it kill the penguins
As it destroyed the pleather chair
In cyberspace, no one can hear you fart
But in here
In this room
Well...we all float down here, Billy
Yeah, we all float down here
==============================
Okay...I'm opening a window. G'night.
================================= | |
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| GoatSmell's Own Poetry Thread
Posted: 11/8/2004 10:31:36 PM | Wow... its very green in here
Tosses Goat some all clear
What happened in this vile room
The smell ranks of utter doom
What can be said
The canary is surely dead
Im holding my breath, Im plugging my nose
The cloud is drifting, where it lands no one knows
Holy hell goat, what was it that you chose to eat?
In the intrest of safety I have chose to smell my own feet!
The lingering cloud and the stench that is stuck in my mouth... its like sh*t
I can only think of one final answer... I have to reach to the left and lick my own armpit! | |
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| GoatSmell's Own Poetry Thread
Posted: 11/9/2004 3:04:38 PM | | I don't even know where to begin...and am not even going to try.... besides to type would take both hands..... and all 10 fingers....and I am not so sure they wouldn't be better spent holding my nose or at least trying to drag myself from the room..... | |
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| GoatSmell's Own Poetry Thread
Posted: 11/9/2004 8:20:40 PM | If you like that one...here's another:
=========================
Clean Loins Are Happy Loins
My loins are washed, I do proclaim
No trace of the daily sweat remains
Also gone are my aches and pains
That signal the oncoming frozen rain
Though my joints and tendons never know
When the sky will pour forth the snow
Into old age that skill will grow
Those seeds have yet to sow
As I sit upon this now well-worn chair
And run a hand through my stubbly hair
At the touch, it is then I compare
My scalp to the bum of a terrier
Of course, I butchered that last rhyme
Composing a good poem takes a bit of time
While the clock marches on and does chime
As I rescue bad poetry from my cerebral slime
=================================
G'night, eh. | |
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| GoatSmell's Own Poetry Thread
Posted: 11/10/2004 9:00:46 PM | Crossfade...I didn't read your poem until now. Great one! Did my rankness inspire you? It darn near put me out. Fortunately the HazMat crew rescued me.
Sukari...it weren't nothin but a burrito in the wrong place at the wrong time. I think it's okay here now.
So...a poem...lessee...
======================
Whut--?
Itchy, itchy butt
That what’s what
Thinking of Kurt Vonnegut
Thinking I’m in a rut
Scratching my hairy gut
Resembling that of Jabba the Hutt
Short, this poem I will cut
Inspiration has run the gamut
=======================
Goin' to bed now. Need sleep. | |
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| GoatSmell's Own Poetry Thread
Posted: 11/11/2004 9:23:44 AM | Today is Remembrance Day...and, to honour the occaision, I have written a little something. It's quite rough and I apologize for that. It's loosely based on an account I read in a book entitled "1915 -- the Death of Innocence". After an unsuccessful attempt on an objective a British batallion suffered very heavy losses. The following day the commanding officer took roll-call to see what the remaining battalion strength was. Almost every name he called was answered with "He's ower the hill, sir" -- meaning the soldier had died on the ridge.
==================================
Ower the Hill
It was in 1915 when war became real
It was that year when the lads lost their zeal
Many died taking a hill, a trench a ridge
Or a town, a road or an approach to a bridge
It was September of that year when 12,000 strong
Tried to take a well fortified hill on some dawn
Only 112 returned from the failed try
The others still lay where they died
Most were boys, but some were men
They all went ower the hill
And never came back again
It was during the roll call the following day
When the CO knew things weren't going their way
He called the names of the living and the fallen
When silence answered him, he continued callin'
Where's Larson? Connor? Needles? Smith?
What about the other lads they were with?
What about Baker? Hornby? Even O'Shea?
None of them returned that day
Most were boys, but some were men
They all went ower the hill
And never saw home again
After names were called and no answers got
The COs face became taut
He capped his pen and folded up his board
The losses were too much to afford
Most were boys, but some were men
They all went ower the hill
And never breathed again | |
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| GoatSmell's Own Poetry Thread
Posted: 11/11/2004 10:45:58 PM | fabulous goat............wonderful. you amaze me, your ability to be so serious and emotional in the same week you publish poetry about farts......a rare man you are, my dear......a rare and wonderful man.
i was thinking about war today....and how scared i am, even now, at the thought of my 16 MONTH old son ever having to know the horrors of war. even if you make it home, your innocence does not. it changes you.....it kills you just a little bit, too, no matter how alive your body is...something integral in your soul dies.
i pray........i pray all the time that my baby will never lose his little peice of heaven in his soul...will never have to know the hurt that comes with seeing so much death. i pray.......and i pray some more. | |
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| GoatSmell's Own Poetry Thread
Posted: 11/12/2004 1:01:29 AM | I am sure some vets would appreciate that, goat.
Hell, I almost did ... lol
Right on! A Farm Animal with a Sense for the Occasion.
We'rent most of our soldiers that laid their life on the line farmers? | |
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| GoatSmell's Own Poetry Thread
Posted: 11/12/2004 8:03:13 PM | i watched the memorial on t.v.
another soldier who's future would never be.
the tears they clouded my eyes in a haze,
such a common thing these days.
i can't stand to hear the story,
of a soldier struck down in all his glory.
to see the pictures of his wife,
to hear about the shattered life.
my baby saw me so upset,
he handed me his teddy, his favorite pet.
he looked at me with such caring eyes,
i know he hates it when mommy cries.
i look at him and more tears start,
i think of another mother with a broken heart.
that soldier was her baby boy,
her son, her love, her pride and joy.
it kills me to think of her,
to think of him and the days that were.
all the soldiers that have lost their lives,
they were someone's love, sons, daughters, husbands, wives.
i look back to my little boy,
i look down at his offered toy.
so innocent, so loving, so full of care,
i hug him tight and kiss his hair.
and as i lay him down to sleep,
once again i start to weep.
god, please i beg you keep them all in your care,
those sons, those daughters, those babies, over there.
it's killing me, this horrible war. it's getting to the point where i can't turn on the news. i just end up crying and upsetting my son. only 17 years for us to learn that wars are not the answer. i'm just not sure that's anywhere near enough and it scares the hell out of me.
no matter what their age, they're always your babies.....i can't imagine sending them off to war. my thoughts and prayers are with all the soldiers, and the ones who love them. may they come home safe to the lives they're missing so badly and the ones who are missing them in their lives. | |
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