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| BarnSmells
Posted: 8/23/2005 6:21:05 PM | Congrats Charming!
Hi Miz, Breathing, Goat, Rory and all.
Well...if ya feel sappy, ya get sappy!
Here it is:
Beneath The Books Cover
Let not your gaze, pass me by,
For there’s more to me, than meets the eye.
A passion within me, that quietly burns,
The inner strength and honesty, for which you yearn.
I’ve traveled many roads, and seen many things,
And have the experience, which living brings.
I am not without fault, and it’s the same about you,
But as long as we’re aware of them, we can see them through.
I have a lot to offer, you just have to open your eyes,
Or you can go with the player, and deal with only lies.
You will find more than you bargained for, beneath this books cover,
A best friend indeed, and yes, a life long lover.
I am always there, for family and friends,
And I always will be, until the end.
~Kobold~ | |
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| BarnSmells
Posted: 8/23/2005 6:37:58 PM | Congrats Charming! Good to know you're still alive out there!
Howdy to all the barn-dwellers and lurkers. I have a post and run for you all here:
==========================
The Incredible Poof, Part II
It didn’t happen on this rainy cloudy day
That spandex man looking so ghey
He saw the cloud, wind and the rain
And drove his BMW and spared himself pain
===========================
I will meet him again on these windy streets. One day.
Maybe. G'night, eh? | |
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| BarnSmells
Posted: 8/24/2005 2:00:10 AM | Hi ya Goat. Sorry I missed yer sermon on Sunday. I just said five Hail Marys and raided the cheesecake in the makeshift confessional. Is that repentance enough? And hi to breathing....yay the mountains are mountainish today, with trees and tangly bits n' stuff like that, y'know? They're so stoic, though, I always fear a pulchritudinous lava-flow if some vehicle revs its engine athwart their ankles. OK, no illegal substances were ingested prior to this post. Time for a few lines of .....whatever.
==================================================================
THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
Did Robespierre care about the fair
and special peasants as the swift blade
severed another head, another shade
of power sprouting blood along the stair?
"What war? This is who I am, always have been.
The lesser men? We've brought them all up now."
Another slice, another cheer, and how
glad were the hearts; how foreign to them, sin.
Mania, the fireman's fuel tap, was on
full. What's right and wrong? Only momentum
matters, the lawyer's head added to the sum.
The next speaker-- fire-chief-- exultant, then done. | |
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| BarnSmells
Posted: 8/24/2005 5:36:00 AM | Hi all
Kobold, I always knew there was more under the books cover when it came to you, passion and tenderness lay in wait....I hope you find that someone to open the cover and dare to see what lies beneath, because yes it is a wonderful person.....
Hello breathing and goat, still in the honeymoon stage?, hope your both doing well,and goat maybe now that breathing is around we can get those air freshners changed , been a little while....lol
Hope everyone else is doing fine, I have been busy, and my head has been on overload , some words are coming out but jumbled none the less, so in time I will be back posting...
for now I lurk and comment the odd time..
take care
Miz  | |
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| BarnSmells
Posted: 8/24/2005 6:57:22 AM | Saying the words
You see her smile in the morning
It brings a ray of sun to the day
Her hugs so gentle and protecting
Help you along the way
Throughout the day you remember
The way she looked that morn
All soft and innocent full of strength
Your heart becomes so torn
Torn in two and feeling lost
You don’t know what to say
You want to open up say the words
But your mind says wait just stay
Fear holds you back one more day
Until you know for sure this time
That she is the one that forever holds true
The one that won’t ever break the line
The line of trust two hearts share
When their love is strong
Two souls joining to be one
Together through all that’s wrong
One day the time shall come
Just trust in your heart to say
That she is the one for all time
And you will always feel this way…….
Miz | |
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| BarnSmells
Posted: 8/24/2005 1:44:04 PM | Hello all.......
Hey, hey Miz - - - Tis great to see you writing with ease and grace...
Rory - - -Glad the mountains remain,,, mountainish. So did you leave the imbibing/ingesting/inhaling, until after your post ;-) ... You have a style that never falters... A great read.
Howdy Kobold - - - Tis always a pleasure to read your soul on the page
Sweet sweet goat - - - You are the bestest in the land... You will always be amazing and brilliant, even your farts are wonderous. ....And Miz wonders if we are still in the honeymoon phase?!
~~
She wakes in the stillness of dawn
She turns with the wind
Fresh is the touch
Of an August snow
Nestled between the warmth
Of summer and fall
Awaiting the chill of winter
A fire crackles near
Souls rest in silence
Watching seasons rise and fall
Trusting in the hand they hold
Gentle the scent of quiet caresses
Stars awaken in the night
Beneath sheets they slumber
Time holds the memory of their love
Each breath, a lifetime of wonder
~~
See you all later......... | |
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| BarnSmells
Posted: 8/24/2005 7:26:14 PM | Howdy all...good to see the Mighty Rory here with some fine poeticizing. It was an interesting topic, since I'm right in the middle of "The Measure of All Things" -- the story of the creation of the metric system in France amid the Revolution. A good read, if anyone is interested.
Oh, and that wasn't cheesecake in the makeshift confessional...if you know what I mean. Seek medical attention soon, if you see what I'm saying.
Howdy Miz! Lovely as per usual. Breathing and I are still doing just fine here -- we're at the pee-with-the-bathroom-door-open stage of our relationship.
Hi Breathing-dear! You are still deeeeeVINE!
A poem? Yuh:
===========================
Half a Rip is Better than None
She says my farts are wondrous
But they are simply thunderous
Fuelled by variety of eats
My farts can cause a scare
And make one lose their hair
Or rip the toenails from their feets
The gaseous cloud appears
Causing public alarm and fear
That panic cannot be beat
A good fart is so keen-o
Don’t ruin it with Bean-o
They make me feel so complete
=======================
Okay..I must be wandering away for a beer and a nap. An eight hour nap.
Be good, eh? Later... | |
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| BarnSmells
Posted: 8/24/2005 7:44:23 PM | I left my barn door open
Not to welcome anyone in
Just ...because I was lazy
On a hot hazy afternoon
And now I am paying.
You see while that door was ajar
While the whole underworld could have robbed me blind
While I was oblivious to this transgression
Something came in, entered my abode
Took up residence,established a foothold
He/she/it is as elusive as the Scarlett Pimpernel
Has turned my world to a chirrpping hell
Who was this intruder, this persnicket
Who has got me in a snit?
F*ucking Jimminy Cricket
 | |
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| BarnSmells
Posted: 8/24/2005 10:21:36 PM | Hi all,
Just got to ask!!!
If Pickles would have zipped it up
She wouldn't have such rants
Is she really sure thats what is was
That got inside her pants!!!!!
HeHeHeHe
 Sam | |
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| BarnSmells
Posted: 8/25/2005 6:36:23 PM | Hi Pickles! Hi Mari!
Hello all.
Post and run night again...
======================
Say it all Really Fast
I spoke to a representative of the definitive Receiver-General
I’m sure he had no legs and very tiny genitals
He defies classification as animal, vegetable and mineral
Porting his warts both natural and venereal
His attitude and lack of knowledge totally insufferable
He could only be employed by offices federal
And spew only mumbled half-assed doggerel
His world is contained in matters only numerical
He cannot grieve for his dried up genitals
==============================
G'night, eh? | |
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| BarnSmells
Posted: 8/26/2005 5:41:34 AM | La Virgen/La Malinche
Saint, Sinner, Caretaker, Whore are just a few names given, by men, to women such as you . Names meant to place each one of You, Her, She, Mother in a dual role. La Virgen/La Malinche are names given to you in my homeland of Atzlàn. You find yourself restricted by the images of a/the, man/men. La Virgen worshiped above La Malinche but both assigned below me. The former on a pedestal, objectified caretaker, saintly mother of life. The latter beneath the moon, beneath the covers, beneath the man-- my weight pressing down on You. You're one or the other, yet, you're one and the same, depending on the man, the moment, the need.
La Virgen/ La Madre my first image of a woman, I never outgrew You. You took your preordained place on the pedestal, closer to heaven, while I was still in your womb. I'm born with the silver spoon in my mouth. You're born with a gag in yours. My need to be dependent grew from within as my body grew from without. From the golden mornings in the East till the dying embers in the West, She caters to my every whim. Her Caretaker's life is filled with doing what I deem too unimportant for me. The saint in You gratifies my need for nuturing; without all this, I'm lost.
A growing erection for La Malinche. A growing lust only each You, Her, She fulfills. A reputation that precedes You. Whispered to me in my youth that She belongs to my desires. A picture in a magazine draped with silk and lace for me to fantasize our carnality. Younger is better. Lighter is better yet. In the darkness of the night I'm alone, under the sheets, and it's Her hand I imagine, not mine, stroking me past the brink. You with my lust glistening over your body. I smell Her submission like sweet perfume. I know She wants it, loves it-- my way. You with my false desire, Her wetness is for me, She submits to me
alone.
One image for one reason. And tell me I'm the best ever.
Since the beginning of time, my nature is the hunt, Predator versus Prey. I devour flesh to sustain my life. I drink the blood of my victims to quench my thirst for power. Stand alone on a street corner and I'll circle from above. Gather in a pact and I'll pick out the weakest. Leave the young susceptible and I'll pounce without mercy with the promise of never again-- till the next time. It's my illusionary natural order-- You lose, She's withering away, Her death, an unmarked grave.
My nature is never to accept the blame, to never see my weaknesses. I see the brief moments of equality, compassion, justice as enough to justify my behavior. It's God's fault. Not the asexual God, the true God, but the male God. He institutionalized my learning. He allowed, condoned my actions and so did his Son, both turning a blind eye. They must have known about the images' destructive nature, and who's the sinner now?
I force my control, my limits. A dull knife and tribal tradition to cut away the pleasure from your body. My guarantee to your fidelity. A sterile knife and a diploma gives me the power to deny Mother, without knowledge, any future children. My contribution to the welfare of society. I turn Her monthly life giving cycle into a curse to further Her subservience to me. I set forth the laws to deny you any recourse against me and hold myself to a higher morality.
Saint/Sinner, reject the latter and another will embrace the former-- makes no difference to me. You're one and the same, a collective. Always Mother is expected to sacrifice for the good of all. The individual is reserved for me. I sit with arrogance upon my throne. Sacrifices are set before me: a Wife's blood on drunken Friday nights when I feel destructive, a daughter-child virgin when I feel ignored, inferior.
Oh, but don't reject both images. Reject one, and You'll become the other. Reject both and become the rejected-- from society, from women, especially from men. Reject both and anger masking hurt is the result. Anger has its consequences: guilt for You, rape for Her, abuse for She, denial for Mother. Submission or isolation, take your pick, the choice is yours
alone.
My game, my rules. Reject both in public and I'll laugh, when Your back is turned, standing in the shadows with other men-- our cigarettes glowing red, our eyes to match. Other men desire You as I. Reject me now and become ****. Other women desire You as I. Reject me then and become worse than rejected. Rejected would mean I still recognize your presence. Love her, not me and become Invisible. My love is bared open to You. I kneel before Her, a golden ring in my hand. Before the altar, I utter "Till death us do part." Reject my heart for another's and You, Her, She becomes "Cunt!" So tread lightly on my needs, my images, my desires and live happily ever after. Don't wander from the path worn down from centuries of (Ab)use. Feel no sorrow, cry no more. Let the tears, staining cheeks, dry-- along with dreams. A place in heaven awaits-- Vaya Con Dios. So stay seperate and don't unify. Listen to me and sleep at night and dream of a life controlled by You, Her, She, Mother and awake to Your isolated reality of my power. After all, a life lived in submission can't be worse than a life lived in rejection, now can it? | |
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| BarnSmells
Posted: 8/26/2005 8:00:35 PM | Evenin. I had too much to eat and the beer is kicking in. This is all I have for now:
=============================
Half-Shrugged and Lying in Repose
A hank of hair, a cuppa beer
A pile of words that show some fear
Why speak volumes when one can jot
The distilled bits of unprocessed thought?
==============================
Okay...I'm going to bed. G'night ya'll. | |
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Nibe
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Joined: 6/17/2005
Msg: 2139 | |
| The Poetry Barn and Eatery
Posted: 8/26/2005 8:02:58 PM | There once was a boy named Brady,
He liked young girls and the lady,
He was a perv,
He had lots of nerve,
That was the boy named Brady. | |
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| The Poetry Barn and Eatery
Posted: 8/26/2005 8:58:22 PM | Howdy ho all.....
Greets to Pickles and Sam- - - ya made me chuckle ;-)
And a hello to the newest barn patron, Nibe - - Nice write!
Goat - - - your words hit the nail on the head - - - Y'ar the bestest.
~~
In the quiet stillness
Of the breeze
I feel the warmth
Of your caress
Inside the silence
I hear you breathe
~~
Well, tis off to bed for this gal......night all ;-) | |
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| The Poetry Barn and Eatery
Posted: 8/27/2005 6:42:35 AM | Howdy all. Good to see you here once again. Just a quickie for now...
=====================
A Quick Weekend Trip
A journey into the belly of the beast
Alberta-bound we go
To Calgary where the cow doesn’t roam
But the oil executive does
Free-ranging with cellphone
And cowboy boots
And never learned to ride a horse
Like he does his SUV
That he complains about
Every time the tank is filled
Yup, the belly of the beast
At least it isn’t Edmonton
=======================
Okay...I'll be back in a bit with an early sermon for this Sunday. You might be guessing I'll be in Cowtown this weekend and I may be a bit distracted. Stay tuned. | |
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| The Poetry Barn and Eatery
Posted: 8/27/2005 6:55:50 AM | And I am back.
How about an early sermon?
Read it again on Sunday and know Thy Lard hast blessed thee with sticky fingers. Wish Him a safe return from Calgary. Oh, and Breathing, too....wish her a safe return. I need her around to cook and clean for me.
And Thy Lard winces for the Inevitable Beating that will ensue from his Pithy Comments.
Sermon?
=========================
Psalm 49 – The Book of Goat
Beware the elderly relative
That kisseth with an open mouth
At weddings, funerals and Christmas dinners
Beware the grandmother with
The raspy Humphrey Bogart voice
That demands the Wee Ones
Come over and
“Give yer grandma a kiss!”
Whilst her left hand shakes
Like Mohammed Ali in a funhouse
And the cigarette, delicately balanced
Two inches of ash defying gravity
A lipstick-stained tube of tobacco
Is pinched between yellow fingers
Beware
Their teeth can fall out at a moment’s notice
And scare the children
And disgust the adults
And make the teenagers have something
To talk about until the next family gathering
Amen
================================
Okay...I'll see you guys on Monday. The Goat is on hollerdays now, so the fun times will go on. Well, for a week at least.
Hugs, kisses and deep-tissue licks for anyone who's interested.
Later ,eh? | |
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| The Poetry Barn and Eatery
Posted: 8/27/2005 9:14:21 PM | I Surrender
Empty and alone, funneling madness,
Can’t get a grip, can’t control my sadness.
Feel so out of place, like I really don’t belong,
Alone to my thoughts, I fight to stay strong.
It’s as if destiny has cheated me, denying me of any joy,
As if I’m only God’s game piece, nothing but a toy.
I grasp onto the words in my head, trying so hard to be sane,
And let them flow out onto paper, but at times it seems in vain.
No end seen in sight, but there just has to be,
But maybe the only end, will be the death of me.
Sinking, spiraling, sucked even deeper still,
To the blackness, to the void, I surrender my will.
~Kobold~ | |
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| The Poetry Barn and Eatery
Posted: 8/28/2005 3:45:52 PM | hey there...
good sermon as always goat, my brother had an episode recently that had him thinking this whole kissing relatives thing....lol
Kobold, I hope your writing is just words coming out and not what your going through right now, but if it is, keep strong and know you have friends there to help you whenever you need them....hugsssssss
to all the other lurkers, keep lurking and clean up the stray hay once in awhile, its starting to get a little ripe in here....lol
take care all
Miz | |
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| The Poetry Barn and Eatery
Posted: 8/29/2005 12:31:40 PM | After a really down and lousy weekend I read the Lard's Sermon and whoops back to the Depends or at the least the plastic covers back on the chairs!!
I live in a war zone
Incoming all the time
When they hit
They make me jump and start
Make most of us f*art
With alarm
Take cover ye who enter here
Hide thy head
Beware
This year is a bumper crop for
Black Walnuts that drop
And dint my car
This Carolinian forest sucks
BIG TIME | |
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| The Poetry Barn and Eatery
Posted: 8/29/2005 8:00:34 PM | Hello all. We're back from the Wicked City -- Calgary, that is. A whirlwind tour of lights, sound, beer, food and busy people in ties feeling and sounding important. It all made me miss the slow, socialist pace of Saskabush.
How about a poem? Breathing and I are ready for a big ol' sleep priddy quick hyar...
==========================
I Peed In Hanna
I peed in Hanna last week
The home of Nickelback
My urine mingled with Chad Kroger’s
Wandered along some subterranean
Water supply and emptied into some
Septic field somewhere
The best part of Hanna, Alberta
Is the A&W we stopped at
The onion rings were exceptional
And the root beer float was stunning
==========================
Yup...you know, it even says on the welcome sign into Hanna that it's the home of Nickelback. Sadness abounds. Saskatoon is the home of virtually nothing, which is just fine by me.
Okay...time for a shower and about eight hours of shuteye. The Goat is on holidays as of now. I shall return. G'night eh? | |
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| The Poetry Barn and Eatery
Posted: 8/29/2005 9:02:59 PM | Hi, pickles ! And Kobold. Miz, it's good to see you around the Barn, how are things with you and the man? Good, I hope. The Goat in Cowtown.......hmmm, something about smelly Goats and cowpies, thought it would be a civic match made in heaven, or at least on the north forty. Hi, breathing....and other posters and lurkers. carlito, another passionate effort a page or two back. It always interests me how movies pick that up as a popular theme, yet poets don't (or I'm just not aware of those particular obsessions in verse).
Goat, as regards your last post, I thought this one (vvvvv) below would be timely.
====================================================================
ON ONE SIDE THERE'RE THE SOCIALISTS
Worry and fret; stew and sweat;
you're lucky you're still alive.
You're drearier than the last time we met.
You look like you're eighty-five.
That's an especially dreary three-piece....
Three stinking cheers for Louis MacNiece !
No time to shirk, it's time for work
as always, as ever to be.
It's thirty-five years till the healthiest perks.
O mercy, O mercy, O me.
Crawl to the office, or hop like six fleas....
Three stinking cheers for Louis MacNiece !
All your teeth floss; smile at the boss;
you're employee of the year.
It's five-eighths gain and fifty-two loss
and a briefcase full of fear.
Day's done. To the diner. Feed on that grease....
Three stinking cheers for Louis MacNiece !
It's time for bed, hold onto your head
and pump those pills down your throat.
O to be born another instead
or to transform into a coat.
More years of that phony hope of peace?....
Three stinking cheers for Louis MacNiece ! | |
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| The Poetry Barn and Eatery
Posted: 8/29/2005 9:10:24 PM | ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
Rory you make me laugh so hard I pe............never mind
I think you are now truly the Lards Apostle
Disciple
Can you bicycle as good as he?
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| The Poetry Barn and Eatery
Posted: 8/29/2005 9:16:57 PM |
I is the Lawd's right hand man
Sitting on the left hand of his bicycle.
If anyone can fumigate that epistolary neo-prophet with stick-on tan
It is the one who picks up his droppings and uses them as fencing icicles. | |
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