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| The Poetry Barn and Eatery
Posted: 7/6/2005 9:11:35 PM | Little Shadows
Everyone has a little darkness inside,
That little shadow, that they like to hide.
Those little things they wouldn’t rather say,
So they keep them, out of the light of day.
We like to write of flowers and frolickings,
And paint pretty pictures, of all sorts of things.
But reality is that we have a dark side too,
And no matter how much denied, you know it’s true.
For as much as we are part of the light,
We are at least that much, part of the night.
So when we lay out our written word,
Sometimes the little shadows, become uncovered.
I say be not afraid and let it show,
Flow out in psalm, let everyone know.
For I can think of nothing better for our society,
Than in our word and art, a little variety.
~Kobold~ | |
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| The Poetry Barn and Eatery
Posted: 7/6/2005 11:30:16 PM | PRAYERS
The neighbour's tomcat's at it again:
yowling in the invisible rain.
The neighbour also turns up his eyes,
muttering Marys for his one prize. | |
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| The Poetry Barn and Eatery
Posted: 7/7/2005 8:03:02 PM | Sorry I'm late...this poor barn has dropped to page two. TWO! Dangit...
It's another post n' run for me tonight....Pickles inspired me once again. Good to have you back.
=================================
A Midsummer’s Night Prayer
Zits, everywhere the zits
It’s an abomination, it’s the shits
The prickly heat and moisture does allow
A face to resemble a field, freshly ploughed
With high falling craterous rocks instead of a till
Leaving a load of pus instead of gentle backfill
Though the pimples love to attack me
I pray I will not develop disfiguring bacne
=================================
Yup..it ain't art but you can squeeze it until it crunches and delivers it's goodness.
Ergh..sorry.
From now on, Breathing and Rory are in charge of the barn's art department. I have just been rendered artless with tonight's poem. I apologize most heartily. I will return to my pasttime of painting murals with my own feces.
"Feces" isn't a censored word here on POF is it? I know shit is, but harmless little chunks of fecal matter...? Hmn...?
Well...I'll see you guys tomorrow. G'night. | |
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| The Poetry Barn and Eatery
Posted: 7/7/2005 8:14:06 PM | Kobold...Again, good stuff! Howdy Rory.....
And Da Goat....All hairy and stuff ;-) ....I am in awe of your mind and heart... You make me laugh..You the shiznits....
Just a few words today ...
Unseen Beauty is Felt
Spokes form on water wells
Objects of a fallen life
Splash of purple words
Obsessed with pain
Spirits drown in the dust
Obliterated by the knife
Serenity trembles in the light
Obstacles are cut by truth
Sanctity is lost in a shooting star
Oleander scents the night
Silent touches resting on the moon | |
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| The Poetry Barn and Eatery
Posted: 7/7/2005 8:26:31 PM | Gawd she's good....isn't she good? I mean, really.
I read your poem aloud, m'dear...standing on the chair and crooning it to the wall. Absolutely gorgeous. And I'm not being biased here. Nuh uh.
I also re-read Kobold's poem and it is one of my favourites of his. You don't mind if I clip and keep that one, pardner? I rather like it.
Rory...the shorter your poems are, the more powerful and loaded they are. Your last one made me want to get the pellet rifle and take care of some felinity I've been hearing once in a while. Oh, nothing...I never shoot to kill...but I sure like to scare the crap out of unruly critters that wake me up in the middle of the night.
Okay...I'm really going to bed now. G'night, eh? | |
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| The Poetry Barn and Eatery
Posted: 7/7/2005 9:08:31 PM | Goat, thanks again for your kind words. Giving the art dep't to breathing and me? Nah.... there's a word that rhymes with art and starts with an 'f' which has just as important a function as art. In fact, any "artist" who can't fart (or laugh about it) is not a poet I would care to read ,anyway. So don't worry if your meters don't always add up, or your rythyms are skewed. We all realize the ever-present green cloud in front of your eyes makes composition a sometimes difficult chore.
We don't usually talk about poetics in this here Barn. But this one might need an intro: it deals with just one long-time popular Canadian "poet", one of the dreaded "deconstructionist" ilk. For those not up on trends in poetry, and art in general, it's basically a university-formulated art-hating approach/philosophy that takes all great art of the past to task for "errors of history", politically incorrect assumptions, subjective illusions, the list is endless. Anyway, it's ironic, since from what I can tell, there's not much "poetry" coming out of this school of thought.
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ERIN MOURE
The Madam Isaac Newton and polluters
of poetry are dropping sour prunes
on the heads of the grasshoppers
but when he/she/they (sorry, she/he, s/he,
h/sh/e?) deconstructivize(s) everything with
a reminiscence of life in it
what is left (not a political term here) is
not the horse
not the wind
not the fly carried with the wind to the horse
not the wing of the fly
not the costa of the wing
but the dust on the costa
teeming with a million mites
of furious nonsense
the (fe/male) horse
would be puzzled by
if it knew of its existence. | |
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| The Poetry Barn and Eatery
Posted: 7/7/2005 9:53:04 PM | Woderful write breathing!
Help yourself there Goat-glad you liked it!
Ya lost me on that one Rory-course I'm not up on anything too analytical-lol. Sounds like people with too much time on their hands.
This is based on one of Bill Cosby's funny stories, one of my favorites actually. His is funny, mine a little darker in tone-go figure-lol.
Monster In My Closet
The trees scrape at my window,
Giving me a chill,
As I listen to the wind howl and blow,
In the dark I sit still.
I watch the shadows dance on the wall,
Oh how they trick the mind,
So quickly into my bed I crawl,
And into my blanket become entwined.
The door of my closet slowly creaks open,
The sound gives me a start,
Instantly in fear I become frozen,
Listening to the pounding of my heart.
The room gets darker still,
And the temperature begins to drop,
Then there is a high pitched shrill,
As the door bangs against its stop.
Under my blanket I am frozen in fear,
With barely a hole for air,
As whatever was in the closet draws near,
My terror I can hardly bare.
Its labored breathing is all that I hear,
And it is only inches away,
My eyes begin to well up and tear,
As I quietly begin to pray.
It slowly circles my bed,
Looking for a way in,
But past my blanket it won’t tread,
Which safely I lie therein.
It lumbers back to the closet door,
And I hear it slowly creak until closed,
But I know it’ll soon be back for more,
At some time that remains undisclosed.
I only hope that when it does reappear,
That I’ll be safely snuggled in my bed,
With the blanket I now hold so dear,
And keep the closet monster unfed.
~Kobold~ | |
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| The Poetry Barn and Eatery
Posted: 7/8/2005 2:05:21 PM | Breathing, Rory and Kobold
Absofu*ckingloutely brilliant
Hides head in shame ....zits schmitz pimples whimples
Do Nuns who wear Whimples
Have zits and pimples or even dimples
Under their habits
I guess if the habits are rude and crude
The good Lard may be moved
To say "A Pox on those in Dirty Habits"
On the Other hand, as I understand it
Cleanliness is next to Godliness
So I don't think pimply bu*ms will be found on Nuns
Whoose habits are publicly acceptable | |
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| The Poetry Barn and Eatery
Posted: 7/8/2005 5:12:42 PM | Well good day all…muggy again in this neck of the woods…
…..
Rory -- I could not agree with you more!! …You gotta laugh ~ Most pompous a***s hide their fartz and I don’t think they laugh enough!! …Your poem made me laugh….
Kobold -- Thanks for your words… you have style – I’m laughing….I look forward to the words you leave here.
Pickles – Thanks eh…Ya’ see, I think you are brilliant…. You have humour and you’re quick….If I could be as witty….
Miz -- If you’re lurking, I hope you’ll pop back in soon and weave a tale –Miz style
Goat -- Thank you for such kind words…..I’m just a prairie gal. Me thinks y’ar a lil bias.
But you, Your mind is amazing…a Gifted poet… Y’ar….! You have such wit and such a heart, consistently you. I recall reading your poems for the first time.. and thinking...Wow, what a wordsmith..... ~~
~Oh And, you have sweet smelly goat farts ~
A heart of marrow and dust
He rejected everything
Disassemble the threads
They said
Exclude the ideas
Defame the Pope
Exalt religion
Spirits were hurled
By a burning heart
Set in contradiction
Would he one day
Wake to life inside
His imprisoned heart
Finding balance in open hands
Healing the wounds of his words | |
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| The Poetry Barn and Eatery
Posted: 7/8/2005 5:16:18 PM | I just noticed that a***s gets bleeped…. Such a bad word that is ;-/ Hmmm I wonder, does ass get bleeped too? Nope...Apparently the later is acceptable… the things I learn each day :-)
well all yee barn dwellers...G'night, eh! | |
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| The Poetry Barn and Eatery
Posted: 7/8/2005 6:45:16 PM | It's strange what gets bleeped in POF. I think a*** got censored because people started to use it instead of ASS because that was censored. Then the kill-filter was changed to allow ASS through but not a***. Shame, really..."arse" is beautiful word.
Hello all. Good to be here on such a nice warm Friday night on the Canadian prairie. A cold beer at my hand and a poem in my little warped brain. I'll try to ad-lib something in a bit from whatever there is in there.
Rory...farts are funny and can be an art form if cultured properly. I still recommend you and Breathing for the deans of the art department, though. I just don't have what it takes to make the words sing...but my words sure can do pratfalls well, I suppose. Thanks for the Moure poem. I heard of her on CBC a few years ago and decided I couldn't get into her stuff and instead favoured the bumpy homilies that Al Purdy spun. He still ranks as my favourite poet...heck he wrote many poems about beer and that's alll right.
Kobold...why thanks, pardner. I already clipped and kept it even before you gave permission. And I love your latest poem as well...the monster in the closet has been the nemesis for every child, even those with siblings. You touched a memory or two there. Thanks, eh.
Pickles...if there's someone that consistently makes me laugh, it's you. That's an art all by itself and there's no reason to hang your head in shame. You are a genius with the wit. Pure genius. Tonight is no exception. You even introduced me to the word "whimple", which almost rhymes with "nipple". That alone is golden. Bless ya, dear.
And Breathing....dearest breathing. Now that I know the sound of your voice, I can hear it all through your written words. You have such gracious strength in those words and I suppose I may be a little biased, but there are a lot of other people who see you as brilliant as you are. It will be an honour to brew your coffee in the morning -- but you'll have to flush your own toilet. I have to draw the line somewhere.
Alrighty...give me a moment or two and I will have the daily poem here. See ya'll in a bit. | |
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| The Poetry Barn and Eatery
Posted: 7/8/2005 7:28:57 PM | Well, here we go. It doesn't feel quite finished, but I don't know where I can go after the last stanza.
Ah, well...I'll drop it here and call it done:
===========================
A Bit of Saskatoon
A chair by a doghouse
“Brown Penetration” scrawled on the wall
A quiet celebration
Of hardly anything at all
Down the street a man tends a lawn
A herbicidal fight
That will draw past the sun
And end only with night
Further still a pair of kids
Share a slurpee in the oppressive heat
I miss the first one’s name
But the other is named Pete
A silent pair of wheels
Pass through a cross section of life
Past seniors sweeping gravel
And young couples wrestling with strife
====================================
Yep, that's it. I'm going to bed. See ya'll tomorrow, eh? | |
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| The Poetry Barn and Eatery
Posted: 7/8/2005 10:44:57 PM | Thanks pickles!
Goat-You're welcome to any poems you like pardner-no problem. I like the Saskatoon poem. Some of the best poems, writings, are made up of mere observations of our surroundings. Very reflective-sitting back and taking it all in.
Breathing-beautiful words again-and thank you for the compliment. Coming from a poet such as you means a lot.
This poem was inspired by Mari Sam, from one of her poems she posted in my Dark Side thread. It was called "Waking As I Fall"
Here's mine:
Death
With a dark shroud,
Covering a hidden stare,
Your powers endowed,
None escape your snare.
Your timing no one knows,
And it is that which they fear,
For at anytime you can show,
And take their life so dear.
So you go out and about,
Doing your grisly deed,
And call souls out,
On which to feed
The name you go by is death,
No one living has seen your face,
Until their last wisp of breath,
And you remove them from life’s race.
I know you’re there waiting,
Somewhere in the shadows for me,
My soul ripe for the taking,
But so far you’ve left me be.
I know the clock is ticking,
And that goes for all of us,
So there’s no use in us tricking,
And putting up much a fuss.
For death is in store for everyone,
In the shadows he quietly does wait,
And when your time here is finally done,
He’ll make is final move-checkmate!
~Kobold~ | |
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| The Poetry Barn and Eatery
Posted: 7/8/2005 11:41:38 PM | Kobold, you're so right. Much of my verse, too, comes from recollection of simple observation while on a walk. Love your recent entries, BTW. Hey, everybody else. And pickles, your wit and good humor are irreplaceable. Remember what I once said about not worrying about comparisons.
====================================================================
BURNABY IDYLL
Green and blue,
life and harmony,
dust on fences,
orange thickening
in Burnaby twilight,
rhythm of breathing
on a backstop of ferns,
a purple sift
through, down,
the ground swelling
like a loved woman,
silent greetings
from the subdued neighbours,
the colors burnished
over mysterious paths
when the inner lights
take over
from the last flickers
and smells of the approaching
blackness wrapping
up this day's gift. | |
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| The Poetry Barn and Eatery
Posted: 7/9/2005 12:06:28 PM | Planning
In our fate that we borrow,
We all attempt to plan,
Our dreams of tomorrow,
For a long lifespan.
But fate isn’t always kind,
It’s own design will run,
And to its direction we’re blind,
Until its course has been run.
Now I’m not going to say,
To give on your dreams,
But just that in life you weigh,
And be flexible in your regimes.
Don’t be so self-consumed,
Death shouldn’t be an afterthought,
But it actually should be presumed,
And given some forethought.
Live life not for wealth,
And to fellow man be kind,
Reaping a different kind of wealth,
When this life is left behind.
~Kobold~ | |
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| The Poetry Barn and Eatery
Posted: 7/9/2005 6:39:45 PM | Ergh...I'm too hot and tired and I have a bit of a beer buz that's making me sleepy.
Poetry...difficult...full...sentences...impossible...
How about a haiku?
===============
Brains did bake this day
Biking in the summer sun
Head goes in freezer
=================
And that's where I'm going to stick my melon...right under the frozen peas for a while.
Be here tomorrow for the sermon....after all, that's what good people would do. Right?
Yuh. | |
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Mooks
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Joined: 6/1/2005
Msg: 1943 | |
| The Poetry Barn and Eatery
Posted: 7/9/2005 9:02:18 PM | Sometimes
Sometimes I have no tears to shed..as I lie with a heart of dread..
Knowing that life is slipping by
All the nights that I cannot cry
Hurt and pain surfacing to be,the only companion that I can see
The love that I had and tossed away..never to come back another day
In these times of gray and night ..the only thing I wish for was foresight
To try ..more …another time..maybe not.. who does know?
Coldness as deep as driven snow
This will pass till another day..this pain ..this hurt..this love that I tossed away.
~Mooks~ | |
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| The Poetry Barn and Eatery
Posted: 7/9/2005 11:43:16 PM | its been a while since i have been in the barn - but alas - it does the nostrils good dontcha' know ....
s to the barn dwellers
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| The Poetry Barn and Eatery
Posted: 7/10/2005 5:44:19 AM | Good Morning everyone.....looking forward to the sermon of the goat today...bet its as good as always..
So nice to see familiar faces around here, and it's always nice to have a place to curl up to take in the barn smells.....mmmmmm can't you just smell that?...lol
well this is one I wrote today, my mind has had alot of things jumbled inside so not sure what this is about...lol....or if it is even good, but it's there....out for the world to read....so enjoy!!!!
Betrayel of The Teacher
I met you in a small cafe
Only seems like a short time ago
Barely a young lad of eighteen I was
There were a lot of things I didn’t know
You took me in under your wing
And showed me all the best
Focused yourself on teaching me
To become better then all the rest
In my eyes you could do no wrong
My heart was only for you
I would always do what you needed
And what you asked me to do
I have begged and borrowed and stole for you
I’ve wandered aimlessly around
I’ve longed and wanted only you
Shared with you everything I have found
Come to me my precious
See it in my eyes
That my words are honest and true
To you I could never lie
So tell me sweet Caroline
Whisper words of love in my ear
Tell me please wont you share
The words I need to hear
I only open up my heart
And my soul to a precious few
Tell me my sweet Caroline
What else is it you need me to do?
The awakening day came to me
When you asked me to take a life
Then and only then would you say
Yes to becoming my wife
Sweet Caroline you wronged me
Used me only for your toy
Never treated me like a man
Only your servant boy
So now you must pay the price
Yes you must be taken care of
Trust me my sweet Caroline
I have learned from the best my love
The teacher becoming the student
This is your final test
Pass or fail makes no difference
Close your eyes for your final rest
You won’t feel a thing
Just close your eyes sweet one
And remember all you taught me
Think of this as just another night of your fun...
Miz | |
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| The Poetry Barn and Eatery
Posted: 7/10/2005 9:39:56 AM | Good morning to all. Look at all these happy faces, all rubbing the sleep out of their eyes..
...oh, wait that's my face. Jussa sec...
There.
Hey there, Mooks...welcome to the barn. I don't mean to make light of your poem (which is lovely and aching), but love is recyclable. It comes around again when you least expect it. Good to see you here and keep on making words...it's very therapeutic. Don't ask how I know, though. You won't get a coherent answer from me.
Zee...er, Wolf...always good to see you here. Did your visit clear up those sinuses? Sure the vapours are hard on the paint, but man, can it ever dissolve stubborn mucous. Always love having you here, m'dear. You're still one of my favourite poets, doncha know.
Miz...an excellent trip through the muddled middle of the mind. Thoughts and feelings never make sense and, the more pure they are, the more difficult it is to box them into language. You took up the challenge admirably. Bless your mind and your heart.
Okey-dokey-smokey...a Psalm from the Book of Goat...let's see what we have here:
==============================
Psalm 821 – The Book of Goat
Every time thou masturbateth
God doth kill a kitten
Just think of it:
Every time thou engageth in
The Five Knuckle Chuckle
An innocent young cat dies
In a manner Most Unpleasant
Personally Thy Lard has fapped up
A Mighty Storm for well over 20 years
And not ashamed to admit it
But Thy Lard is trying to cut down a bit
And is trying to be a little less public
About it from now on
Thy Lard now considereth that just
May fall into the category of
Too Much Information
Sue Thy Lard, then
If thy not liketh it
There may be more effective ways to
Tone thy arms rather than
An Hourly Wank
But there is none more satisfying
Remember to switch hands every fortnight
To keep from looking like a freak
Rather than simply being one
Stand on thy head to make it interesting
Put on some music
(Play that funky music, White Boy)
Wear some hockey gloves for that
Rough and ready, Drop-the-Gloves
Feeling
Watch Animal Planet
And not blink for the duration of
The Great Fap
Where was I?
Oh, yes...the kittens
Thy Lard thinks of the kittens
After the deed is done
But there's too many damn cats as it is
So keep on keeping that population down
But if a rash develops
Be kind to yourself
And give it a five minute break
Then get back to the
Eradication of felinity
Amen
============================
Alrighty....let's go out and greet the day. Keep your pants on until you get home, or if you happen to visit Wal-Mart. Even Costco...
Ah, hell...go nuts. I'll see youse guys tomorrow, eh? | |
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| The Poetry Barn and Eatery
Posted: 7/10/2005 9:47:00 AM | Good morning all you poets and storytellers—
Well Goat... watch them Kittens.....Your Psalm was delivered well….. Blessings all around and a Sunday hello to Mook and Spirited -- This barn is a swell place to hang your thoughts.
Miz -- ya done it well!
Kobold -- I liked planning -- it hit home with me…
Rory – you always leave splashes of colour…
Brilliant Goat----A bit of Saskatoon was wonderful! …Stanza after stanza you carry the words along as they dance across the page….Brilliant.
It will be a blessing to drink a Cupa brewed by your hands… But Flush the toilet myself -- come on -- must I !! ;-) Well, it is off to brave Sunday rain and storytellers…. See you all later……
Last night you slept inside my heart
I felt the rhythm of your dreams
Breathing in my veins
I could taste the sound of your words
Swimming across the page
I could see your smile as I closed my eyes
Warm winds woke sleeping trees
Mountains gave way to the sunrise
I settled with the scent of you on the shore | |
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| The Poetry Barn and Eatery
Posted: 7/10/2005 11:56:05 AM | UH...OK
Lard, woulds't explain to me
About the Rules
Of the book of Masterbateth
Cos every time I engageth
It is NOT
With a five Knuckle Chuckle
Cos it wouldn't fit
That private bit,
Called "My Nether Regions"
So does that mean
I have to make me
Cometh five times
Before the time line for kitten genocide
Is achieved?
Arrived at?
Comments please! | |
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| The Poetry Barn and Eatery
Posted: 7/10/2005 12:08:37 PM | Spirited!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
How are you???????..
Too buzy huh???? hehehe
Good to see you Zee
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| The Poetry Barn and Eatery
Posted: 7/11/2005 1:30:11 AM | BETWEEN
Under her undulant thighs
I grappled with hope and lust.
Now it's memories and dust
and a hoped-for further surprise.
She capped the air between us
with sweet and tremulous sighs,
becoming feverish cries.
I used to make such a fuss.
Four green shoots in the garden
surround the damp, soft earth.
Another ambivalent birth.
Leaves fall as green stems harden. | |
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