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| The Poetry Barn and Eatery
Posted: 5/3/2005 9:41:05 PM | Confused
My heart is a wasteland,
Torn by fear of the unknown,
So it is here that I stand,
And remain by myself, alone.
I long for the touch of another,
And have plenty of love to give,
But the worries of relationships do smother,
And hinder the way that I live.
Patience turns to sorrow,
Sorrow turns to disdain,
And no matter how much time I may borrow,
Only stronger grows my pain.
Darkness surrounds me,
Lost in the moments that go by,
My direction I no longer see,
And leave me to wonder why.
~Kobold~ | |
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| The Poetry Barn and Eatery
Posted: 5/3/2005 9:48:47 PM | Rory...Loved it!
Tell ya a man in tight pants anywhere would be good hahahahaha
Muah termorra
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longte
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Joined: 10/18/2004
Msg: 1579 | |
| The Poetry Barn and Eatery
Posted: 5/4/2005 2:34:26 AM | If you smell a bit of Fire and Brimstone
Don't worry...........................
.......................TOO Much
I will try not to set fire any bales
I'm busy playing hopscotch, with a bunch or Government Jerks
Seems they want to take away, one of my little perks
I just spent a little bit, bought a nice wee boat
Been knocked around a little, but seems that it still floats
The yacht is down in Florida, I'm pretty far away
But looking forward to sailing it, back to here one day
So I bought a oneway ticket, to these fair United States
Found out thats a silly thing. Found out much too late
So now they put a Flag on me. My name appears in red
Seems they think somehow, I'd rather live there instead
No matter that I have a yacht, or that I've got a crew
Route all planned past Panama, lots of other things too
Their minds are fixed on just one thing, That I want to stay
Cannot concieve that I'd arrive, then just Sail away
So instead of them just issuing, a visa fast to me
Putting me right through the hoops, lots of bloody grief
$2 every minute, they charge me if I call
Most of that's to a machine, no humans there at all
But I think we're getting somewhere, Hope that you agree
My Visa MAY be issued, PERHAPS within four WEEKS
Not too sure about goverment Employees World Wide
There are a few that try to help but the rest act like they've had frontal lobotomies
..............
Knight Burghers look promising tonight | |
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longte
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Joined: 10/18/2004
Msg: 1580 | |
| The Poetry Barn and Eatery
Posted: 5/4/2005 5:28:58 AM | I"m all happy again
Must have a little bit of Sadist tucked away inside me somewhere
Went down to my favorite beach for a quick dip
started raining just as I got there
Two girls walking up the track
"Can we get a ride back to the Bay with you???"
Electric fence between us
I am dry
I touch fence with back of hand and try to avoid grimacing as I get a couple of jolts
First wet girl grabs friends hand and straddles fence
Best thrill the pair of them have had for a while
Well thats my thoughts after seeing the looks on their faces
Especially the one straddling the fence | |
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| The Poetry Barn and Eatery
Posted: 5/4/2005 5:47:20 AM | lmao longte...bet you got a little bit of a thrill to..lol
well everyone here is my post for the day, a new one just finished up, not to sure if I like it or not, my mind has been on happiness and nothing tangible is coming out anymore...lol...oh well happiness is a good thing right?...hee hee
comments are welcome even if its criticism..honest...
Have a great day, will try to pop in later on maybe this beautiful day will inspire me..
The Witch's Revenge
Darkness fell on the little town
That nestled amongst the hills
Sleep overcame the day’s events
The town became so still
Silence surrounded the little town
Everyone settled in for the night
Praying they were safe in their beds
Till the morning light
The town was cursed three moons ago
A scorned witch cast her wicked spell
That upon every new and full moon
A soul would go to hell
If your deeds from now till then
Were not of purest intent
Your soul was at risk for collection
When the gatherers on this eve would be sent
When the darkness rose they would come to
Floating up from the ground
Becoming stronger and more aware
Alerting the residents with their eerie sound
House by house they searched
Until the tarnished soul is found
You pray and beg for a second chance
Even as they take your soul underground
Each time the soul is taken
You can hear the witches laugh echo the night
Warning the residents of the small town
The spell is cast don’t bother to fight
There was no end in sight you see
Revenge for the witch was here
All their souls would one day be taken
For now all they could do was live in fear
And pray their souls would remain clear
And untarnished from sin
So that when the new or full moon arrived
The witch and her spell would not win…
Miz...
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| The Poetry Barn and Eatery
Posted: 5/4/2005 4:59:52 PM | A rainy day in the mountains.....
Likin what I see miz, life must be good.
Pickles have a grand ole time- Think of us old folk here in the barn. :)
And a big howdy ho to the rest of the animals in the barn......
Fallen
They called you George
Surrounded by purple stars of clematis
Honey mushrooms in the sun
Fresh scents of red cedar
Tiny umbrellas, shades of green
Splatters of yew in the grass
Respecting as you saw
300 years begin to fall
You lived through natural disasters
Many marks to your skin
Little boys bite your bark
Aching to taste young sap
The sun lit your leaves today
You sat low on the mountain
High above new growth
A guide post to travelers
My hands felt that first cut
Inhaling your last scent
So powerful was your trunk
I watched you fall with dignity
Against a rising sun in the east
Eyes following as you met the ground
The timber of your voice echoed
Through the land below
I knelt to touch your open wound
Juices flowed from your centre
You were mighty against the mountain
You held strong till the end
You were the last one down the bluff
We bared witness to your death
We saw your life become
Fire for our hearth
You will be remembered in the flames | |
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| The Poetry Barn and Eatery
Posted: 5/4/2005 8:10:20 PM | Howdy all. Been a busy day, so I don't have much in the way of poetry...just a wee haiku.
Good to see ya'll here, even Kobold with his tight pants. Pickles seems to like them if ya got 'em. Me? My pants start comfy at the beginning and get tighter as the day goes on, for unspecified reasons.
Pickles...have fun where you're going. And isn't getting there half the fun...really? Play safe and have a good time. Don't forget about us, eh.
Longte...good to see you here again you old dragon. As usual, your words are kick-arse...excellent to see you haven't lost your form.
Breathing...rest in peace to Old George. He was too big to hug and too small to forget. Timberrrrrr!!! Love the poem.
Miz was here too...right? I thought that was yesterday...dangit. The days are blending together again. Urgh.
Ack...it's getting late...many things to tidy up. Miz, I loves what you spin no matter what it is. I'm going back to read it straight away...right after this:
=======================
One Flat Haiku
A flat tire in this
Big, flatter than flat province
How flat can one get?
=====================
Yup. It. Was. That. Kind. Of. Day.
And now I must take care of more de bidness. I'll be back to read more in the barn after a word from our sponsor...who ever that is.
Later, eh. | |
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| The Poetry Barn and Eatery
Posted: 5/5/2005 11:20:01 AM | Our sponser for this week is.....
barnyard delights.....makers of the wonderful scents such as.....pigsty in the sky...and brown cow delight....
the kind folks have created a new scent to add to their line in honour of our fine founder of the barn....they have named it...
GOATS COAT....a fine barnyard smell ....the smell of a dirty old goat who rolled around in the mud then on the barnyard floor....
If you would like a bottle, please contact the company direct for a wholesale price since your a member of the barn....lol
anyway....ok to much sun for me I think....
No poem just thought I would say howdy everyone, hope your day is going great, and I look forward to reading more wonderful writes...
later ...
Miz | |
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| The Poetry Barn and Eatery
Posted: 5/5/2005 3:29:06 PM | SO, here we go
On a trip to Jolly Old
Check in and lo behold
Mrs M. we would like to
Upgrade you
Flight is seemless
Lie flat beds
Music on earphones
Playing in my head
After Cognac and Hors d'oevres
Ear plugs... no more is heard
Sleeping high above the earth
Will wake when we are close to earth
Off the plane, I have arrived
London beckons, so alive
I am happy to be back
To my birthland I am on track
Looking forward to some fun
In Italy with my twin
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| The Poetry Barn and Eatery
Posted: 5/5/2005 8:18:40 PM | Hey all....just a quick stop in and will return tomorrow to read....hope ya'lls doing purdy good?
have a grand night barn folk....
Homage to A Poet
I knocked on your door again today
Poems for rent
The sign Red
You were from the outer planets you said
You began from the breath of a dead poet
Your pen near as you sat by Roblin Lake
One Rural Winter
Eurithe became your bride
You walked to touch
Trees at the Arctic Circle
You ran a fever like
Still Life in a Tent
You pondered
What do Birds Think?
Their old life flying above
But you belonged to
The Country of the Young
From the Manitoba Plains
You watched Trains
Road on boxcars of time
You tasted black flies amidst
The Dark Landscape
You questioned
Am I alive or Not
You reached to feel
A Handful of Earth
May 23, 1980
Dinner was to be served
You remembered
Scents of lilacs in the breeze
You could not envision
An Adam and no Eve
In the Beginning was the Word
It was then you knew, we are not alone
The Other
Our kin
In the Desert You Wrote
For Milton Acorn
You ended with thoughts
On Being Human
All of this sitting below stars
In a Café Terrace at Night | |
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| The Poetry Barn and Eatery
Posted: 5/5/2005 8:29:00 PM | Heh heh...love it Miz...you make me roar sometimes...
Sorry I can't stick around too much...post and run. Ya'll be good and I'll see you tomorrow.
So, here it is:
====================================
A Lot of Loud, Round Nothings
Keys on the table, disturbing the dust
Laptop at the ready, trying to shake off the rust
Tapping keys to no avail
Trying to find a poetic Grail
Words flow like half-congealed rubber
The only thing that rhymes now is "Flubber"
But, is "flubber" a real word?
Isn't it more like a fictionally-elastic turd?
This is what happens when the sun bakes my head
This is what happens when language begins to be dead
Though I could regain the insipiration with a cup of good cheer
It could even be a glass of Kool-Aid with a friend so dear
Or sharing a lot of loud, round nothing with a heart so close
Good company is what I'd like in dose
A summer seems like a long thing to suffer through
The heat, the bugs and the rain can warp one out of true
It's almost like a body needs the stilling winter chill
To settle down those steep summer ills
==================================
G'night all.
PS: Breathing....WOW!! Just...WOW!!
Okay, later youse guys. | |
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| The Poetry Barn and Eatery
Posted: 5/6/2005 6:42:29 AM | Good Morning all...
Glad I could make you smile Goat...sometimes my mind works other times it is on permanent vacation...lol
Breathing, I was set to write a poem about you, it's in my thoughts but won't come out, instead this came out,not sure why, but it did..lol
So here is my post for the day, hope you all have a great day as I am sure I will, it is going to be beautiful here and I like that very much...
Take care
Free....
Words flowed freely speaking many thoughts
Trying to sort them out mind becomes lost
Sea of troubled thoughts invade her mind
Passion thunders pain left behind
Crying tears of pain heart full of decay
Longing deep inside dormant it must lay
Sunny days arrive escape is near
No longer holding onto lost pain and fear
Friendships new cease the crying mind
Helping her to see love can again be kind
One day her prince arrived darkness turned to light
Pleasure abundant no pain in sight
Longing released like a river so free
No more hidden pain allowing love to be
Miz | |
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| The Poetry Barn and Eatery
Posted: 5/6/2005 4:58:56 PM | hi yas all.... a perfect night for a fire on the beach and some poetry....hey ya Miz, such a heart you have....tis free :)
Well ole' goat you did it again i say....a whole lot of round nothing is so full of everything!
till later all
Verbiage
I talked to a poem today
Its adverb said I’m afraid
Its nouns were heavy with despair
Immense were the conjunctions of its time
Juxtaposition sat in its colon
Answers lurked behind the question mark
There was a brief pause in its apostrophe
Fragmented by a catastrophe
It began with a capitol on feelings
It ended with a period of belief
Knowing new chapters would be built
Paragraphs of peace began to settle
The center was the foundation of life
Layer upon layer the structure was build | |
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| The Poetry Barn and Eatery
Posted: 5/6/2005 7:57:04 PM | Ah you guys...you're all incredible. I feel priveleged to be in the same barn as ya'll.
Not much time again tonight. The weekend should be better, as I have nothing planned for it at all. I may not even get dressed at all. Let the heavens tremble.
Here's a little ditty that was knocking about in my brain today. I don't think it's finished yet, though...
===========================
23 Words at 30 Cents Apiece
The Classified Man is a terrible thing to behold
He’s quite a sight and is often uptight
But always does what he’s told
================================
Yuh. That's all I have. I couldn't get anything else to work with it. There might be the ballad of Classified Man meeting Catalogue Woman now that I think of it...
Hmm....maybe...
Er..but I have to do de bidness again...I'll see you later, eh. G'night. | |
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| The Poetry Barn and Eatery
Posted: 5/6/2005 11:57:52 PM | breathing, loved your Al Purdy poem. Did you actually meet him?
Goat-- cheers, buddy.
Bless all the inhabitants of the Barn.
RON VAN VORST
You were a skinny kid with a crew-cut.
In our fourth-grade class we traded pens
from a collection I don't know how got started.
I changed schools (O Carleton !
Your mortar had frown lines ancient
and menacing as your principal--
Amy: "I'll volunteer! I'll volunteer to clean
the blackboards, Mrs. Cantone!" I'll volunteer
to swing the first wrecking ball)
and when we met again
girls were of more use.
Ron, I remember you as a fifteen-year-old Atlas boy-man:
hoarse, forceful voice argueing with your widowed mother;
smashing car windows to take out a tape deck
in 9.2 seconds, not caring that a woman watched
from her window; looking for the toughest
in any gang to prove yourself to yourself;
passed out in your shed, hand around
an empty rum bottle; making out with girls
who had snuck out from their parents
to join our loose assemblage of a gang;
hating Doug Huml because
he beat up kids for no reason;
wailing loudly, unashamedly in front of everyone
because your latest Jeanette had got up
off your lap and onto Ken Nixon's;
your bear arm around my shoulder, saying,
"Jesus, Brian, we're getting older".
You were a thief, a young drunk, a sexual boaster,
a dominating tough,
who was an honest, caring friend,
who I can still hear laugh
heartier than anyone since,
who could be quiet as an empty church
and as still when boys turned yahoo,
who put an extra blanket on Jeanette and me,
who was totally absorbed by music, electronics, cars, books,
who was frankly good-natured to those he liked
and immediately blunt to those he didn't.
I walked by your old neighbourhood the other day:
it was raining fiercely, yet kids were out to play.
One of them was skinny, a wild look in his eyes
as he kicked a ball fiercely, his soaked clothes oversized.
Postscript: (Except for the last stanza), these events happened when we were 15. I found out from a mutual friend a decade later that a few years before that, Ron died in his sleep, choking on his own vomit. | |
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| The Poetry Barn and Eatery
Posted: 5/7/2005 6:20:20 PM | howdy gang.... tis a bee stout if full day.....Hey rory, thanks for your words. No i never met that Mr. Pudry, only know him through his poems... The only poets I have met are the ones here, inside these walls.
have a sweet night all...
Spirits Die
You strike the match
With patriotism
Your arms held high
You have ignited the raging fire
Its power you feel
The trigger is pulled
Shots so loud
There is only silence
You watch her fall
You do not blink
All this,
In the name of Glory
Quietly you walk away
Believing you have honoured
Your country
You
Who have
Betrayed humanity | |
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| The Poetry Barn and Eatery
Posted: 5/7/2005 6:22:19 PM | Cheers back to you, Rory. Excellent writes, pardner.
A little time here today. I spent more time on this last one than I thought I would. without further adieu:
==============================
The Life Cycle of a Box of Donuts in a Corporate Setting
8:13 am:
Behold, a box of Tim Horton's finest
Twelve in all, each with their own flavour
Their own character, their own passion
So much potential is beneath the thin cardboard lid
They are left on a table in the lunchroom
An offering to those that may pass by
Although the poor, sweet rings don't know that yet
8:14 am:
The only security they have -- a thin piece of scotch tape
Is broken
Bringing the outside world and experienced hands
Into their realm
The Boston Cream goes first, a mayfly in October
It's cream innards are extruded and exposed ever so briefly
And it disappears in a gulp
It's twin soon follows the same fate
They die several seconds apart; the same way they arrived
In this world
In seperate digestive systems, they will meet again
In some faraway septic field
8:15 am:
The pillar of the dozen, the Walnut Crunch, goes down
Signalling the end of the fragile community
Huddled in a cheap box with the lid flung open
Like the hood of an abandoned car
It was seized by an administrative assistant
Who weighs no more than a hundred and two pounds
Drowned by a quick cup of coffee
And hardly an eyeblink
The Double Chocolate, likewise but puts up a fight
Against a 300-pound eating machine that has trouble walking
She coughs a little, dislodging the awkward pastry
It yields to the esophagal torture and drops
8:16 am:
A Honey Crueller dies in the morning light without a sound
It's soft, sweet flaky texture collapses
Not even a match against the teeth of an executive
Who can chew pens and spit memos between breaths
The poor crueller is no match for him
He eats it without stopping, memo in mind, pen at the ready
Spindly legs clad in $400.00 trousers carrying him away
To another meeting, another phone call
To another box of donuts that lay like an oasis
In that well-decorated Sahara
8:17 am:
The other Double Chocolate is grasped like the brass ring
A prize with chunks of it's hard, brown skin dropping
Like a protest, raining on it's former friends
A rain of grief
They all knew this journey was to be short
And those precious few: the strong and the chocolate
Always go first
And true to that donut adge: The other Walnut Crunch
Lies in near-state no more
Instead, it rests fitfully in bits
8:18 am
Word is out...there are donuts in the lunchroom
And just like that...two apple fritters leave this world
Plucked and packed into waiting mouths
In between words about nothing in particular
Close behind, two plain donuts
The twin spinster sisters that no one really likes
Are ravished
Their non-decorative bodies are licked to a frenzy
And swallowed whole
8:40 am
The Maple Dip is always the last to go
No one really knows why -- after all, it is a legitmate pastry
But yet it lies there, like the last survivor of a terrible wreck
For a half-hour or more after the others have fallen
It lies flat, not standing
In the crumbs and leavings and the small grease spots
That mark the others' passing
Mute sugary testomonials to the tight community that once
Stood secure, shoulder to shoulder, behind a flap
Of cardboard held by tape
A voice past the edge of its known world:
"Aw, geez...maple?"
A hesitant hand grasps it, examines it
A nose is turned up and a reprieve seems possible
But he eats it anyway
After, it is a legitimate pastry
And it is free
======================================
Those poor donuts never saw it coming. They're like sharks, those office people. And I didn't even get one donut. No, I'm not bitter...much...
Well, I'll see you all later...I'll see how the night goes. | |
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| The Poetry Barn and Eatery
Posted: 5/8/2005 1:41:25 AM | (Sheds a crocodile tear for orphaned donuts everywhere....)
NAKED SPAN
The Lions Gate bridge,
an erection out of Stanley Park ferns
slipping into the bushy North Shore
below the heaving breasts of the sweaty mountains.
Cars shooting along the bridge
with their funny headlights on
are the million-and-one candidates for a life,
and the ones zooming the other way
the furious rejections
of that towering, musteline mamma. | |
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| The Poetry Barn and Eatery
Posted: 5/8/2005 9:46:00 AM | Rory...man, you got that one down. The next time I visit that place, I will see it very differently. There's power in that language, pardner.
Hello all. It's Sunday and you know what that means...yup...let's go to church. I have a sermon for you from the Book of Goat. The collection plate will be coming around and I do accept Canadian Tire money. It's more stable than the Mexican Peso these days.
Please be seated:
==================================
Psalm 101 - The Book of Goat
Thy Lard doth spake after a fine meal of baked beans
Topped by a large bowl of Mini-Wheats:
It is difficult to fart whilst wearing a thong
For it doth block the cheek-flapping passage
Of a fine trumpeting, victorious Ripper
The resulting sound was a muffled cough
A dog barking in the night with mouthful of Wonder Bread
Pavarotti belting a note with his head in a bucket
Of the Colonel's Finest Chicken Parts
A gunshot in the mud
Now, thy may ask:
(And thy may)
What was thy Lard doing wearing a thong?
And that is truly a Great Question
One that deserves a Good Answer
Unfortunately, thy Lard hath no real answer
To that Great Question
Suffice to say
Thy Lard lost a bet and was Mildly Curious
But He has paid his dues and satisfied His Curiosity
Thy Lard hath determined that
Kilts are better wear for gassy days
And Windy Nights
Amen
================================
Okay...BREAK! Get out in that sunshine and say howdy to everyone you know for me.
Oh...happy Mother's Day to all the moms...sorry I didn't by enough flowers for all of you.
I may be back today with another poem, too. It's Victory in Europe day...the official end of WWII in Europe, a topic that is close to my heart. I can't let it go by without marking it in some way.
Later, eh. | |
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| The Poetry Barn and Eatery
Posted: 5/8/2005 10:00:49 AM | Can't.
Stop.
Laughing.
OMG - the visual of a barking dog with a mouthful of Wonder bread is priceless.
I'm already looking forward to what next Sunday will bring forth. | |
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| The Poetry Barn and Eatery
Posted: 5/8/2005 4:41:40 PM | Hey, thanks Agent. You might say I was a little -er- inspired for that one. Only thy Lard knoweth what may come next Sunday and He ain't telling me right now. We're not on speaking terms for the moment, if you know what I mean.
Well...another poem...VE day is today. 60 years ago WWII officially ended in Europe. Unofficially, it lingered on for some time after that...some say it ended when the Berlin Wall came down in 1989.
But, anyhow...here you go:
===========================
60 Years Ago
It is still within living memory
And there are times when I take it for granted
Like it was a piece of long, gross fiction
Sixty years ago today an unconditional surrender was signed
A flourish of a pen with no ceremony
Just five minutes was all it took
And six years of madness officially ceased
Six years of furious, infuriating, infernal activity
That left so many dead
So many lost
So many scarred
It was a four-dimensional thing
Occupying length, breadth and depth
So much depth
And time
So much time
No one believed the news at first
And waited for the next barrage of artillery
Or the hard burlap-rip of an MG-42
To rake the cities, the towns and the fields
To catch the unaware in mid-breath
The news was taken very cautiously for weeks
Over time, after some severe silence
The women, the old and the children
Emerged
Tired of fighting, tired of hiding
So very tired of the pure suffering
They crawled from the rubble
The burned fields, the holes they had to create
To simply live
While Allied soldiers arrived home, so tired
But elated
Travelling over the White Cliffs of Dover
Coming back to Tipperary
Never forgetting Vera Lynn and meeting her again
They left Lili Marlene behind
One former German hausfrau scrawls in chalk
On the side of her former and shattered home
“Wir Leben” – “We Live”
And leaves her name: “Elsi”
But no forwarding address; she can’t see that far
A young boy clutches her hand, already a veteran
Of moving on
She leaves the chalk behind and walks west
===============================
Well, I'm off to shoot a pizza and eat it. I like making the delivery guy jump like that.
See ya'll tomorrow. | |
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| The Poetry Barn and Eatery
Posted: 5/8/2005 9:45:35 PM | | Good one Goat. My father fought in WWII until it ended. I've heard many of his stories about it up til he died in 92. Much love and respect to WWII vets-and yes, how quickly we sometimes forget. Thanks for the poem! | |
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| The Poetry Barn and Eatery
Posted: 5/8/2005 10:05:06 PM | Good stuff, Goat.
Here's something from Raymond Souster--
R.C.A.F. STATION
Two nights of rain, three days of fog--
the drinking sound in the ears and the nuzzling gauze
unwound right to the barrack step.
Monotony begins to prick its exquisite needle
into a widening circle of arms,
and the eyes, lost to the touch of the sun,
turn deeper in their caves and eat the darkness.
The mind flickers, hangs balanced
on its delicate blue flame. | |
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